Job Therapy

Job Therapy Plot Summary

Introduction

Sarah stared at her resignation letter for the fifth time that week, cursor hovering over the send button. After eight years at the same company, she had risen through the ranks, earned a comfortable salary, and built a solid reputation. Yet something felt profoundly wrong. The excitement she once felt tackling new projects had faded to a dull obligation. Her work, once a cornerstone of her identity, now felt like an ill-fitting suit she couldn't wait to remove at the end of each day. "Is this all there is?" she wondered, as the familiar knot of anxiety tightened in her chest. Sarah's experience mirrors what millions of professionals face in today's rapidly evolving workplace. We invest years building careers only to find ourselves at crossroads, questioning whether our paths still align with who we've become. These moments of career crisis aren't simply about job dissatisfaction—they represent profound identity challenges that touch the core of how we define ourselves and our purpose. The journey through career transitions involves navigating complex emotional landscapes: the anxiety of leaving the familiar, the uncertainty of new beginnings, and the difficult task of reconciling our professional identities with our authentic selves. What makes these transitions so challenging isn't just practical concerns like financial stability, but the deeper psychological work of reimagining who we are and what gives our work meaning.

Chapter 1: The Identity Crisis: When Your Career No Longer Defines You

Timothy, a technology expert with eight years at the same company, initially dismissed the suggestion that he might be experiencing a career identity crisis. "I've been the go-to guy for helping people with technology since high school," he declared confidently, expounding on how technology forms the "underpinning of every function of society." His passionate defense made me question whether I had misjudged him—perhaps he wasn't questioning his career identity after all. Yet as our conversation unfolded over forty-five minutes, a more nuanced picture emerged. Timothy's relationship with his organization had grown complicated. During the pandemic, a malaise had spread through his workplace like a virus. People stopped coming into the office, though Timothy's role in tech support required physical presence to set up conference room equipment and resolve hardware issues. As mistakes mounted and colleagues either departed or were laid off, Timothy, proud of never succumbing to the disengagement around him, sought greener pastures in a different branch of the organization. To his dismay, all he found was more of the same malaise and unmotivated colleagues. A sobering realization was dawning: perhaps all IT offices shared this problem—maybe the era of engaged tech experts had simply ended. Almost imperceptibly, Timothy had begun questioning his future. He casually mentioned possibly moving to another state and working in higher education, though he quickly dismissed this as something for "when I'm much older." Throughout our interview, I watched Timothy oscillate between dreaming of a completely different career and fantasizing about advancement in his current one. He wavered between starting over entirely and pursuing the big promotion he'd always wanted. From my perspective, he was in the early stages of an identity crisis—the cracks were appearing, but nothing had broken yet. He still had enough good days to keep returning to work, but he was undeniably questioning whether a career in technology, which had always been core to his self-image, still fit who he was becoming. Others I spoke with were further along in their journeys. Susan, a professor who transitioned to UX research, experienced a stark change during the pandemic. Despite having tenure, her university underwent layoffs and unwanted top-down changes, including reassignment of courses she regularly taught. Most troubling was the internal shift she experienced—a sudden loss of self-efficacy. No matter her efforts, nothing seemed to matter anymore. "I was unsure of my value, even though I had accomplished a lot in my life and was proud of the things I'd done," she told me. Susan's experience reveals that identity crises don't require professional failure; many high performers find themselves questioning their paths despite external success. What makes these identity transitions so challenging is that they rarely happen overnight. They unfold in subtle ways, with complicated, messy emotions that take time to process. We don't simply wake up one day disidentified from our careers—it's a gradual unraveling that often includes contradictory feelings of both love and hate for the work we've built our lives around. The journey requires honest self-reflection about what parts of our identities we're ready to release, and what new elements we might want to incorporate as we reimagine our professional futures.

Chapter 2: Drifting Apart: Reconnecting with a Job You Once Loved

"I can't believe I used to do this damn commute every day," Mia remarks, struggling with her company's return-to-office mandate. As a marketing expert, she finds the requirement to commute on designated "in" days as senseless as wearing a school uniform was in middle school—restrictive and having zero impact on her ability to perform. Her frustration catches me off guard; Mia once loved coming to work and had been miserable with the pandemic's social isolation. I expected her to welcome the return to in-person work. "In my defense, it doesn't help that we don't really have an office anymore. We're doing this thing called 'hoteling,' where we basically meet in a different hotel conference room on our 'in' days," she explains. Like many companies avoiding expensive leases, hers now rents spaces in various locations, including hotels. When I press whether the fake office environment is the core problem, Mia hesitates. "Maybe, but I don't know, lots of things have changed," she says. The source of Mia's unhappiness proves difficult to pinpoint. There isn't one specific issue, but rather a complete shift in workplace atmosphere. Her colleagues seem disengaged and unhelpful, walking around like "bored zombies" with little concern for closing deals. To Mia, it feels like living in a world that once vibrated with color but now exists in muted tones. She lists several possible causes: pandemic-related budget cuts eliminated office comforts; economic downturns led to layoffs and bonus reductions; the remaining employees like herself feel underutilized and underworked; and recent restructuring has forced her to absorb responsibilities from departed colleagues without the expertise to perform them well. For people like Mia who have "drifted apart" from once-beloved jobs, the greatest challenge lies in identifying exactly what changed. She remembers what used to bring her joy at work and knows this isn't it, but she struggles to connect the dots between major organizational changes—layoffs, budget cuts, restructuring—and the day-to-day effects she experiences, like disengaged colleagues and uninspired meetings. Seeing patterns in these changes proves difficult, as it would for most of us. The psychological experience mirrors drifting apart from a romantic partner. Once, you couldn't imagine being away from this person—conversations flowed effortlessly, and everything clicked. Now you sit through awkward interactions wondering why you ever found them charming. As you go through the motions at work, feigning enthusiasm for new initiatives, you question: "When was the turning point in this relationship, and who's to blame?" Like romantic relationships that gradually fizzle, workplace disengagement rarely happens overnight. Instead, it accumulates through small changes that slowly erode the meaning we derive from our work. Understanding this erosion pathway becomes critical for reconnecting with work we once loved or finding new positions that reignite our passion. It requires honest assessment of what's changed—in the workplace, in our industry, and within ourselves. Only by disentangling these layers can we identify whether the relationship can be repaired or whether it's time to move on to something that better aligns with who we've become.

Chapter 3: Stretched Too Thin: Breaking the Cycle of Workplace Overwhelm

Jake, a data analyst at a bank, sat nervously drinking scotch in the corner of his own promotion party. The company president had announced his big promotion that day, but Jake felt no excitement. "I'm supposed to be excited that they fired my boss and I have to take over her job?" he said to no one in particular. "No, thank you." In our age of constant layoffs and inflation, many might think Jake should feel grateful. He'd been handed significant new responsibilities, including overseeing a team of twelve, along with the prestigious title of "Director," a raise, and an assistant to help with the transition. To many career-seekers, Jake's situation might sound ideal. But there was more to Jake's reluctance than mere ingratitude—he seemed genuinely afraid of the promotion. The root of Jake's concern became clear as he explained his carefully structured workday: "Every day from eight to ten a.m. I sit alone at my computer and do 'deep work.'" Through remarkable self-discipline, Jake accomplished more during this focused two-hour window than most people achieve in an entire day. He allowed no work emails, calls, or casual conversations during this time, and critically, no task switching. The remainder of his day—from ten until around four—was dedicated to meetings, emails, and administrative tasks. Though he experienced constant interruptions during these hours, it didn't matter. Because he excelled at completing important work early, he almost never needed to work after hours. Jake had long understood that being stretched too thin isn't just about what you do at work, but how you do it. "You can have two people with exactly the same five tasks to juggle, and one succeeds while one fails. The reason I succeed is because I know my shortcomings, and I know how to structure my time. No one is 'smart' all day," he explained. "I make sure to do the stuff that requires real thinking during that one small block of time in the morning." A month after his promotion, Jake's fears had materialized. "At first I tried to keep my morning routine," he told me. Although he didn't face many external interruptions, he began breaking his own rules. "One time, I couldn't stop thinking about this big meeting I had at eleven a.m., so I would stop my work and go through my notes again to make sure I felt prepared." Once his team noticed him checking Slack during his formerly sacred hours, "they started bugging me nonstop." His deep work time shrank from two hours to one, and within two weeks, disappeared completely. When Jake attempted to compensate by working evenings, he developed insomnia, eventually taking leave from work. His future plan involves seeking an individual contributor role—accepting less money and no assistant, but regaining his protected morning hours. "There's really no set of perks that can make up for that lost time," he reflected. "If someone really wants you to take on a role that involves juggling a million things, be honest with yourself about what trade-offs you're willing to make. If they come to you and say, 'We will give you more money or a better title,' but it will mean having no control over your time, think hard about that." Jake's experience highlights how being stretched too thin often starts a cascade that impacts our entire relationship with work. The things we love most about our jobs—the identity-defining elements that give our work meaning—are frequently the first casualties when we become overwhelmed. The profound irony is that as we take on more roles and responsibilities in pursuit of career advancement, we often lose the very activities that connected us most deeply to our work. This progression from overwhelm to disengagement to identity crisis follows a predictable pattern, one that many professionals recognize too late. Learning to protect the elements of work that fuel our sense of purpose isn't merely about productivity—it's about preserving the core relationship between who we are and what we do.

Chapter 4: The Endless Runner-Up: Why Promotions Remain Just Out of Reach

Six months after being denied his promotion to director, Sebastian still simmers with rage. "I spent about two years working as a senior manager—the step below this one—and I did a pretty good job," he tells me. When asked why he believes he deserves the promotion, he delivers a well-rehearsed speech—first listing his accomplishments, then emphasizing how he's "next in line." For Sebastian, being a Runner-Up creates a unique form of torture. First, he lost to Mark, who "knew the right people," then to two external hires who held his current title but worked for other organizations. Despite multiple interview rounds each time, he was ultimately told someone else was simply a better fit. Like most Runner-Ups, Sebastian obsesses over the "why not me" question. His team performed well, and he hadn't burned any bridges that he knew of. Yet he lies awake wondering, "Is this due to chance—I just happened to compete against three better people—or do I have a flaw no one has told me about?" His situation reminds me of a friend desperate to marry but unable to find someone willing to commit. There's nothing obviously wrong with him; things just haven't worked out. Despite his extensive self-reflection, Sebastian never asked two critical questions: How successful were these people in the roles they held before becoming senior manager? Did they hold different roles than I did before reaching this position? He assumed that once in his current role, his past performance and pathway there no longer mattered. He was wrong. "At the time there was no one to take on my position," Sebastian explained when I asked how he got his current job. His predecessor had quit due to long COVID, leaving the company scrambling for a replacement. Rather than investing time and money in traditional recruitment, they did what many organizations do in emergencies—they promoted the most motivated person immediately available. Eager and quick to learn, Sebastian fit the bill. What seemed like a career opportunity actually represented a "battlefield promotion"—an emergency appointment that made short-term sense for the organization but potentially damaged Sebastian's long-term trajectory. He had skipped a critical middle role: first-line manager. In this essential position, people typically learn to adopt an "enterprise mindset"—shifting from focusing on individual contributions to prioritizing company outcomes. They develop delegation skills and navigate the transition from buddy to boss. At Sebastian's company, these skills are traditionally developed by managing a team of five to seven people. Sebastian now oversees thirty, and the director position he covets would involve managing around one hundred. Sebastian eventually discovered that those who placed him in his current role weren't the same people making director hiring decisions. The latter group consisted of traditionalists who climbed through established channels and firmly opposed promoting anyone who skipped steps—especially one as fundamental as first-line management. It took considerable detective work for Sebastian to uncover this reality, information that should have been readily available. The company obscured the truth for self-serving reasons; they wanted him to feel flattered and accept the position so they could address more urgent matters. The painful lesson Sebastian learned highlights a reality many professionals face: promotions often depend not just on current performance, but on the complete accumulation of experiences along one's career path. In many workplaces, unspoken rules govern advancement, even when no one explicitly shares them. If Sebastian had completed my "Nobody told me that" exercise, his answer might have been: "Nobody told me that to become director, you need to ignore flattering offers of senior management positions, no matter how tempting, if you haven't been a line manager first. If they tell you it's okay to skip a step, don't believe them!" What makes Sebastian's situation particularly frustrating is the communication gap between decision-makers and promotion candidates. Both sides often operate with different understandings of what qualifies someone for advancement, creating a painful cycle of rejection without clarity. Breaking this cycle requires honest assessment of your career path, including potential gaps in experience, alongside strategic questioning to uncover the unwritten rules governing advancement in your organization or industry.

Chapter 5: Underappreciated Star: Turning Talent into Recognition

When writing this chapter, I struggled to select the perfect example of an Underappreciated Star. Should I feature David, the accomplished biologist conducting cutting-edge research for twenty years without seeing more than inflation-level raises? Or perhaps Christine, the chief financial officer who serves as office glue, spending as much time mediating conflicts between her boss and team as performing her actual job? Choosing among the stars I've interviewed proved difficult, largely because most struggled with the "star" label itself. "You want to interview me for what chapter?" many asked incredulously. "Oh, that's not me. Who would call themselves that?" While claiming the "underappreciated" part came easily, embracing the "star" designation required a certain boldness many lacked. My greater challenge involved convincing top performers they were indeed stars and underappreciated—even those who hadn't received meaningful raises in decades and were rewarded for excellent work with only more work. Many in this category don't recognize how exceptional their skills are, particularly when those skills remain undervalued in their professional marketplace. Few engineers, for example, are hired specifically for their conflict resolution abilities, yet those who excel at this soft skill dramatically impact turnover and engagement. Such talents often go unmeasured and undocumented, partly because they're difficult to quantify and partly because their performance effects appear indirect. Other professionals understand their worth (as do their bosses), but possess such specialized skills that their organizations would struggle to replace them if they moved up. These individuals find themselves simultaneously valued and constrained—appreciated for their unique contributions yet prevented from advancing beyond their current roles. Then there are those so accustomed to underappreciation they've forgotten what proper recognition feels like. Like spouses who've handled all household labor for years and can't imagine coming home to dinner prepared by their partner, these professionals have normalized the disproportionate workloads they've shouldered, often for years. Unlike other career categories where self-diagnosis comes more naturally, potential Underappreciated Stars must dig deeper before they can address their situations. The journey begins with embracing the label itself—acknowledging both their exceptional contributions and the recognition gap they experience. This self-recognition represents its own form of psychological work, requiring honest assessment of one's value relative to compensation and appreciation received. What makes the Underappreciated Star's position particularly challenging is that their excellence often becomes a trap. The better they perform in their specialized roles, the more indispensable they become in those positions, and paradoxically, the harder it becomes to advance beyond them. Organizations develop dependency on their unique contributions while simultaneously failing to create pathways for their growth. Breaking this cycle requires not just proving one's worth—which these stars have already done repeatedly—but strategically demonstrating how their talents could create even greater value in new roles or environments that properly recognize and reward their exceptional abilities.

Chapter 6: The Diagnostic Framework: Identifying Your Career Relationship Status

When Sarah, the marketing executive I met last year, first reached out for career advice, she was convinced her primary issue was burnout. "I just need better work-life balance," she insisted. Yet as our conversation unfolded, a more complex picture emerged. Her company had undergone three reorganizations in two years, each bringing new leadership and shifting priorities. Her once-clear role had evolved into an ambiguous collection of responsibilities that barely resembled what she'd been hired to do. Furthermore, despite consistently exceeding targets, she'd been passed over for promotion twice in favor of external hires. "I thought I just needed more vacation time," she reflected toward the end of our discussion. "But I'm realizing this isn't about being tired—it's about not recognizing my job anymore, and not feeling recognized for my contributions." What Sarah initially framed as simple burnout actually represented a combination of three distinct career relationship patterns: having drifted apart from a job that had fundamentally changed, repeatedly falling short of deserved advancement, and feeling chronically underappreciated despite stellar performance. This diagnostic complexity mirrors what I've observed across hundreds of professionals contemplating career transitions. We often misdiagnose our workplace unhappiness, attributing complex relational breakdowns to simplified narratives like "I'm just burned out" or "I need a better culture." These surface-level diagnoses rarely capture the deeper psychological patterns that explain our disconnection from work we once found meaningful. More importantly, they lead to misguided solutions—like seeking identical roles at different companies only to encounter the same fundamental issues. Understanding your true career relationship status requires examining five key patterns, each representing a distinct psychological relationship with work. Are you experiencing an identity crisis, questioning whether your career still defines you in meaningful ways? Have you drifted apart from work you once loved, unable to recognize the job or industry you entered years ago? Do you find yourself stretched too thin, drowning in responsibilities that prevent you from engaging in work that matters? Perhaps you're an endless runner-up, repeatedly falling short of promotions despite meeting or exceeding expectations? Or maybe you're an underappreciated star, delivering exceptional value without receiving commensurate recognition? Most importantly, these patterns aren't mutually exclusive—many professionals experience two or three simultaneously. The stretched-too-thin marketing manager who takes on excessive responsibilities eventually drifts apart from work she once loved, potentially triggering an identity crisis. The underappreciated star, chronically denied advancement despite excellent performance, eventually becomes a runner-up questioning his value. These interconnected patterns create feedback loops that intensify career dissatisfaction over time. The power of accurate diagnosis lies in its ability to guide targeted intervention. When Sarah recognized she wasn't merely burned out but experiencing multiple relationship breakdowns with her career, she could develop strategies addressing each pattern—seeking role clarity to reconnect with work she once loved, documenting achievements to break the runner-up cycle, and identifying environments that would properly value her contributions. Within six months, she had transitioned to a role that leveraged her strengths while providing the recognition and advancement opportunities she deserved.

Chapter 7: Strategic Networking: Building Connections That Unlock Opportunities

Miguel stared at his phone, finger hovering over the "send" button on a LinkedIn message he'd spent three hours crafting. As a financial analyst with ten years of experience, he possessed the technical skills for the senior role he coveted. What he lacked was insider knowledge about the company's culture and unwritten expectations. After weeks of research, he had identified a second-degree connection—someone who had recently left the exact team he hoped to join. This carefully composed message represented his best chance at gaining critical insights beyond the sterile job description. "What if she thinks I'm using her?" Miguel worried aloud during our coaching session. "What if she ignores me or, worse, tells me she doesn't have time?" His anxiety reflected what I've observed in countless professionals: we recognize networking's importance yet remain paralyzed by uncertainty about how to approach it authentically and effectively. This hesitation costs careers dearly, as the most valuable information about organizations and roles rarely appears in formal job descriptions. Miguel's breakthrough came when he reframed networking from transactional information-extraction to mutual discovery. Rather than viewing his contact as merely a source of insider knowledge, he recognized their shared interest in the financial sector's evolution. His revised message focused on genuine curiosity about her perspective on industry trends, while acknowledging her unique experience with the organization. Within hours, she responded enthusiastically, suggesting a virtual coffee chat that ultimately provided invaluable insights about the company's unspoken promotion criteria and cultural expectations. Strategic networking differs fundamentally from the superficial connection-collecting many professionals engage in. It involves deliberately cultivating relationships with people who possess knowledge you need at specific career stages. For professionals experiencing identity crises, this means connecting with people who have successfully navigated similar transitions. For those feeling stretched too thin, it means finding mentors who excel at boundary-setting and work prioritization. For underappreciated stars, it means building relationships with hiring managers who recognize and reward exceptional talent. Most importantly, effective networking requires targeting connections strategically based on your specific diagnostic pattern. Those drifting apart from their profession need connections who can provide perspective on whether recent changes represent industry-wide shifts or organization-specific issues. Runner-ups need relationships with people who understand promotion pathways and can identify potential experience gaps. Each pattern calls for a distinct networking approach focused on acquiring specific knowledge rather than general career advice. The professionals who navigate career transitions most successfully employ what I call "network mapping"—identifying specific knowledge gaps tied to their diagnostic patterns, then deliberately cultivating relationships that can fill those gaps. They ask targeted questions that go beyond general advice: "What specific skills differentiated the person who got promoted from the other candidates?" rather than "Do you have any promotion advice?" They seek concrete examples rather than general principles: "Can you describe what a typical day looks like in this role?" rather than "What's the culture like?" What separates strategic networkers from their peers isn't necessarily larger networks, but more precisely calibrated ones—relationships specifically cultivated to provide information that addresses their particular career challenges. By building connections intentionally aligned with their diagnostic patterns, they gain access to the hidden knowledge that transforms career trajectories and unlocks opportunities that remain invisible to others.

Summary

Throughout our careers, most of us will encounter moments when we question whether we're on the right path—times when our relationship with work feels as complex and fraught as any personal relationship. These crossroads moments rarely stem from simple dissatisfaction, but rather from profound shifts in how we relate to our professional identities. Whether we're experiencing a crisis of identity, feeling drifted apart from work we once loved, stretched too thin across too many responsibilities, perpetually passed over for advancement, or chronically underappreciated despite excellent performance, the underlying challenge remains the same: reconciling who we've become with the work we do. The journey through career transitions requires not just practical strategies but emotional intelligence and psychological awareness. We must recognize that leaving a career that once defined us triggers grief similar to ending a significant relationship. We need to understand that feeling disconnected from our work often stems from changes within ourselves as much as changes in our organizations. Most importantly, we must embrace the uncertainty that accompanies transformation, recognizing that career pivots rarely follow linear paths. By approaching these transitions with curiosity rather than fear, strategic networking rather than isolation, and honest self-reflection rather than self-judgment, we can transform career crossroads from moments of crisis into opportunities for rediscovering purpose and meaning in our professional lives. The path forward isn't about finding perfect work—it's about creating alignment between who we are and what we do, recognizing that this alignment requires continual recalibration as both we and our workplaces evolve.

About Author

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Tessa West

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