The Only Person Who Cares About You Is You
I graduated from college in 2009 in the midst of the Recession. I had just moved back to my parents’ home in a suburb of Los Angeles after graduating from a reputable private college in Massachusetts — a degree in American Studies in one hand, over $30k of debt in the other, and no job prospects. Possibly the worst time to be graduating with a liberal arts degree.
Four excruciatingly long months of searching later, I landed my first full-time job as an administrative assistant at a well-known nonprofit in Los Angeles. I was incredibly relieved to have finally found a full-time job, making somewhere around $28k/year.
But one month in, I knew I had made a mistake. The organization was incredibly poorly run, managerially and financially, and the Executive Director was a total nightmare. (People who work in nonprofit, I salute you. It’s thankless work.) I slogged through another five months so I could “put it on my resume.” At the six month mark, I put in my notice. I tried to do the responsible thing of giving two weeks but they told me not to come back. I had no backup plan.
What I had was a computer, a bootleg version of Adobe CS4, a slew of art classes throughout my childhood that gave me a foundation for design, and Google, YouTube, and trial-and-error as my teachers. I picked up a few design jobs through word of mouth, knowing little about it. A handful of odd jobs followed. A jack-of-all-trades office manager at a tiny lighting ballast company. A part-time customer service/design job at a wedding invitation company housed in the back shed of a couple’s home. A few freelance design projects scattered in between.
I kept myself busy to push down the shame of not having a full-time, salaried job with benefits after doing everything “right” — good grades, extracurriculars, internships throughout college—as any dutiful Korean-American of immigrant parents would. Where had I gone wrong? I had no idea what I was doing, but I just kept doing it because I didn’t know what else to do.
Just another gig
In 2011, my now-husband introduced me to a friend of his that was starting a marketing agency, which led to a part-time design freelance gig. Eight years later, through many iterations of my role, three office moves, and with a lot of new hires, I’m now COO/CDO of the same agency which has grown from two people working remote between LA and San Diego to a now 40 person full-service creative agency.
As a woman of color who is introverted, anxious, stubborn, and would always rather be barefoot and curled up on the couch in my PJs, I never thought that I would be helping lead a rapidly growing agency and managing a team of creatives.
Being part of a startup environment has taught me a lot. I’ve run the full gamut of emotions in the past eight years — frustration, excitement, fear, relief, gratitude, anger, anticipation, burnout, self-doubt. I’ve learned to have thicker skin. I’ve learned when to dig in and when to let go. I’ve learned how to advocate for myself and for others. I’m continually learning how to be a better manager and a better leader.
But the main lesson I’ve learned is this:
No one really cares about you, except you.
This isn’t to say that your coworkers don’t care about you as a person. I’ve had incredibly supportive people throughout my journey who genuinely want the best for me. I’ve been presented with numerous opportunities and privileges that I’ve benefitted from. But you are the only person who genuinely cares about your growth and you are the only person who can drive it. Everyone is working through their own set of unique problems, insecurities, questions, and goals. People aren’t really thinking about you and your needs.
So practically: Don’t expect to have your career plan dropped into your lap. Be proactive about your growth. Volunteer for projects that will push you outside of what you think you know and what you think you can handle. Have the humility to ask for help and learn from it. Don’t complain about something and expect someone else to take care of it for you, provide solutions. When you feel stuck or at a crossroads, pull back and see the big picture.
You’ll only get back what you put in
The question “What do you want?” is a difficult question to answer. During my 1:1s with employees over the years, the answer I often get back is, “I’m not sure.” It’s okay to not have a grand plan for your future. I never knew what I wanted and I still don’t particularly know what I want now. I followed opportunities as they came and did my best to meet each challenge head-on. (Also because I didn’t know how to say no, nor could I afford to.)
The main thing I would tell the me of eight years ago is that you are the driver of your own growth. Put in the research and the time into building a clear plan, however big or small, and sell it to the people who can sign off on it. Be strategic, be straightforward, be honest.
For me, that has been by creating small, tangible, short-term goals for myself and pushing for them. These goals have almost always come about as a result of me seeing a gap and inserting myself to fill it. In doing so, I’ve also had to identify what to leave behind in order to create a sustainable role for myself—a lesson I’ve had to learn the hard way through many cycles of burnout.
What do we need as a growing agency? Is this something that I can help with that will add to my growth? What projects do I enjoy working on? What makes me want to rip my hair out? What do I need to let go of that will allow other people to thrive? How can I build these things into the next iteration of my role?
You have to put in a lot to get ahead.
Be realistic
You can’t always get everything you want, when you want it. Sometimes the timing isn’t quite right. (I have a knack for proposing changes two years too early. Always thinking ahead.) Sometimes it’s genuinely not possible with the current company structure and finances. When I’ve asked for things that weren’t possible at the moment, I’ve had to be patient and work with my company to figure out a more realistic timeline and plan.
If what you want isn’t possible at all or not in the timing you’re hoping for, it may be time to reexamine what you value. Being a part of a young, growing company has its own unique challenges and perks, as much as an established global corporation has its own unique challenges and perks, and going solo is a whole ‘nother ball game.
The grass isn’t always greener — the grass is just a different shade of green.
Find your ideal shade of green for where you are in your journey. Be your own number one advocate, one small step at a time.
