“Actually, Carl. Do you think there’s another senior associate that could tag into this deal? I’m stretched pretty thin on the Brower Capital deal right now. It’s supposed to sign next week.” It was a really bad look for me to even ask, but I physically couldn’t do it.
“You already have all the background on this one. We can’t bill the client for the time it would take to get another senior associate up to speed. Plus, the guys at Choice love working with you. Can you just staff some extra junior associates, delegate most of it to them until you free up?”
But I still have to instruct them and review their work.It used to be an enjoyable part of the job: training the junior associates. But not this month. Not when my nerves were as fried as the charred remains of a July Fourth sparkler.
I pinched the bridge of my nose and closed my eyes. He phrased it like a question, but it really wasn’t one. “Yeah, let me call staffing right now and line up the team.”
“Thanks, Val.”
The line dropped with a click, and tears erupted from my eyes, pouring down my cheeks until they spilled off my chin. I should have worked from home today. I felt so exposed, visible to anyone walking past my clear glass office door.
And what the fuck is up with all this crying?I’d never been like this before. I clenched my fists, frustrated and helpless. My job had always been onerous, but it rarely brought me to tears.
Every other time I’d gone through a rough patch as an associate I’d convinced myself I could get through it, and there’d be some benefit in the end: client loyalty, high billable hours, a big annual bonus, my eligibility for partner improving for closing another high-profile deal successfully.
I closed my eyes again now and tried to picture a way through. But when I did, it was like a big, iron gateslammed down in my mental path.STOP!my body insisted.How many more times do I need to show you? You can’t go on like this.
But don’t I care?I asked myself.
Didn’t I want to make partner?
My drive to succeed had been an unflappable part of my personality for as long as I could remember. I dug deep, clawed to find it, but it wasn’t there anymore. At some point in this last month of hell, it had vanished.
And that was what scared me most of all.
Guilt clung to me like a weighted blanket, pressing on every pore, every appendage, as I took out my phone on my walk home to call my mom and cancel our plans for this weekend.
I trudged down the sidewalk, braced against the raw, March chill in the air, and waited for her response.
“Oh, it’s okay, honey. We won’t bother you. You can do your work, and we’ll occupy ourselves on Saturday, and then we’ll come by for a quick lunch on Sunday before we head home, okay? You have to eat anyway, right? I still want to bring you some groceries, too.”
I felt like I couldn’t even manage that, but I reluctantly agreed.
When my parents arrived on Sunday afternoon, I barely knew who I was anymore.
I hadn’t left my apartment since Friday night, when Jasmine emailed to say that we’d be getting the contracts back from the tech company on Saturday morning, earlier than expected, and asking us to keep an eye on our inboxes.
Just like that, the whole weekend became reviewing documents and hopping on and off phone calls with my client, my team, John, and the counterparty. We’d just sent the agreementsback to the tech company, and I’d only looked at the two contracts Carl asked me to review long enough to see they were sixty and eighty pages long, respectively.
When my parents called to say they were on their way, I wished they weren’t coming. And then I hated myself for wishing that.
What kind of daughter can’t spare an hour to have lunch with her dad on his birthday?
This isn’t who I am.
This isn’t who I want to be.
My hand shook violently as I reached for the door.I know!I wanted to yell at it.I know I’ve pushed myself so far beyond my breaking point that I’m a shell of who I used to be.
When I opened the door and saw their tentative smiles, I immediately burst into tears.
They dropped the boxes of takeout and bags of groceries on my kitchen counter and guided me to my couch like a histrionic child.
“I’m overweight and exhausted and—and miserable. I don’t have time to do anything for myself, let alone my friends or family. I haven’t gone to the gym in months. And even when I do have time to see my friends or do anything that’s not work, I don’t enjoy it. I couldn’t do anything with you guys this weekend after you traveled all this way,” I blabbered through heaving sobs.
And then I whispered, “I don’t care about making partner anymore.” And after another shaky breath, “I don’t know what I want, but it’s notthis.” My hands gestured to myself, my messy apartment, my desk in the corner.
My mom nodded, a look of pure sympathy on her face, like she was despondent, too. She rubbed circles on my back.
