you work for me

terrible work environments. part one.

Illustration by me

It had been over a decade since I was someone else’s full time employee. I’d spent a third of my life creating my own hours, moving at my own pace, spending my days exactly as I wanted but towards the end of last year, the money, the opportunities and my nerves were wearing thin. Being an entrepreneur was quite literally in my blood but I needed something reliable.

So I started my job search. Applying on job sites. Reaching out to people I knew. Replying to opportunities in Facebook groups all while still pursuing my entrepreneurial endeavors on the side. It took great effort not to fold under the truth about the job market. I needed to believe I could find something.

And then finally, after many applications and a few interviews, I got a job as an Executive Assistant. Going from CEO to Executive Assistant was a humbling experience but I had already asked God to humble me before I began my hunt. I’d left my ego in 2024.

I started my job 10 days after the inauguration of evil and those first 40 hours of work were a beast. I went from mid morning walks and afternoon breaks to calls every morning and three-hour film watch down sessions. It felt as grueling as the game of Survivor was to watch. Someone else was now telling me what to do, when to do it and how they wanted it done. This level of rigidity was new for my Sagittarius moon.

But the money would be on the way, so it would be worth it, right?

Bills

The challenges in this role began before I even signed my contract. If I decided to take this job, I would be full time on a NET 30. According to their policy, I would work eight hours a day for four weeks before I would see my first paycheck. That is 160 hours of work before I would see one dollar. It would net out in the end and I would start receiving payments weekly but still 30 days before the first check is WILD and inconsiderate. But - bills.

Separate from the NET 30, there would also be no benefits and no paid days off. All the time I took off would come without compensation. While I was nervous about having to make all these concessions, I made them — becauseeee

Bills.

Never on time

I was pressed to receive my first payment. I had been working hard and because I was behind on a couple of things, I was excited to use my first check to get ahead. On the day I was due to receive my direct deposit, I checked my account multiple times. When nothing came in by the end of day, I sent an email to the Head of Operations. Turns out, their policy was after 30 days, they would submit the payment. Which was not technically NET 30 in my book but when I asked about it, it was what it was. Nothing was going to change about what they were doing. Although if they wanted to make the changes, they could. This was a small business and we were a small team.

My boss tried to tell me this is how they do it at production companies, not knowing I had been running payroll and fulfilling invoices at my own production company for years and NET 30, to me, was my folks get their money within 30 days.

This inconsistent pay schedule would remain during my seven months there. One time, I received a payment 10 days late. So NET 40+. I’d ask multiple times if I could get on a schedule vs the NET 30 so that I could plan accordingly and it was a no. If I was to work there, I was to deal with whatever pay timeline they decided on.

Wondering when I would get paid while still showing up everyday on time doing my best work created so much anxiety in me.

The attitude

The attitude, smart comments and condescending communication started early. It was February and I remember asking my boss a question but don’t remember what I asked. I do remember my boss’ response surprised me and I said “That wasn’t nice.” I was just so shocked at how she responded to me that that was all I could say at the moment.

My boss’ response to that: “Oh I’m not trying to be nice. You work for me and there are plenty of people who would want to take your place.” She went on to give me a speech and I just couldn’t believe it. By the end of her spiel she questioned: “Can you repeat back what you heard me say?” I internally lost it. Because was I a kid? I felt like I was being reprimanded. You work for me echoed in my head for weeks.

I called my cousin, my best friends, another friend and told Sydney about what happened because I could not believe she spoke to me that way. My cousin was appalled. I told my therapist and I started looking for other jobs. But in reality, I was too exhausted from work to give energy to another job search. I had bills, I had a job, I was surviving. I would need to accept this environment as a dictatorship. There is no space for feedback and no space for accountability. Things would be as they were.

But my body could not accept what my mind tried to.

Within weeks, I was losing weight, my stomach couldn’t digest anything other than sweet potatoes, chicken and avocado, I had terrible acid reflux and my anxiety was overwhelming my partner. My partner and I grew distant, passing ships in the sea, doing our best to survive this moment without knowing how. This would go on for months, all the while, I still showed up on time for work, for calls and I made my deadlines.

I feel the need to insert here that it wasn’t all bad. There were moments I was ok with the work, there were moments when my boss’ energy was pleasant. It’s why I think I stayed as long as I did. The job felt survivable. But my therapist reminded me: I deserved more than that; that I could have better. That I didn’t have to wait until things were terrible for me to go find that better. But my actions showed – I didn’t believe her.

Urgent care

I did my best to keep up with the never-ending to do lists: from scheduling her calls, to tracking the expenses, to designing graphics and overseeing our social media vendor. Switching between these tasks was grueling. Managing so many logistical details at once was difficult for my free spirit. By the end of each work day, I was exhausted and before I knew it, the next morning had already arrived and it’d be time to do it again.

By August 1st, my body was screaming. I had huge spots on my legs, my veins were hurting and I still could not digest food beyond my basic chicken/sweet potato/avocado combination. My partner was scared for me and I was scared for me too. One morning before work, before my partner woke up, I drove myself to urgent care, trembling, mind racing. I almost turned around at the front desk because my heart was beating so fast. I saw the doctor, got my test results and realized: it was this job. The stress from this job was the reason for my ailments, my weight loss, my uptick in anxiety and I needed to figure something out. I could no longer sacrifice my body to pay the bills. It wasn’t sustainable. It wasn’t human. My therapist was right: I deserved better and I finally believed I could have it.

It was time to advocate for myself.

During a meeting with my boss I asked her if I could reduce my hours for the next six weeks to take care of myself. I knew this was a crazy ask but it was all I could do to try and keep my job and my health. I told her what was going on and how I just needed some time to tend to my body. She said no. She said it was our busiest season so no. I was angry but I accepted her answer. I was willing to continue.

Because bills.

But my birthday was coming up in a week and I had submitted for a week off about a month earlier. I asked her if that would be honored. She wrote me an email later that day and said I could only have my actual birthday off and that she could not honor any additional time off until after Labor Day — when she would be off getting married. She concluded the email with a long spiel about how disappointed she was in my asking for time off during what I know is a full schedule. Ultimately, it did not matter why I was asking, it was the fact that I asked.

I cried. I was shaking. I could not do this any longer. I felt out of control and in a cage all at once. I no longer felt human. I felt like limbs meant to get the work done. The mission was money and as an employee my job was to help them get it. My body and mind could not endure this workload and this terrible work environment for another 30 days. I was losing confidence. I was losing my zest. I was completely out of alignment and I was reminded every time I looked in the mirror.

I was repulsed by the size of my arms. I cried when I saw the size of my legs. I was frail. What was wrong with my eyes? I was scared to try new foods. I was scared to drive. The anxiety from this job had taken up so much space in my body and life that it made my world feel tiny.

These are the times I would have called my mom and she would have comforted me. She would have made me feel like we were in this together but since we don’t talk anymore, I felt like I was on my own.

Could I quit? Could I do this? Could I make a life out of my art? Could I find another job that was different from this? Does it make sense? Is it responsible? How did I get here?

I spent some time with these questions, called a few people I trusted, consulted with my partner and I was reminded of two things: 1) God’s got me and 2) There is nothing more important than my well being.

Within 2 days of getting my urgent care test results back and 3 days before my birthday, I put in my three week notice. My test results showed what I knew to be true: My body needed me. I needed me.

(For further proof of the type of boss I had, I must add that she rejected my three week notice and said my last day, would be the next day. But I thought it was our busy season? All of a sudden, I was no longer needed.)

Investigating

I walked into my 36th year, free of that full time job but with more faith than I’d ever had and that anxiety — significantly reduced.

While this new freedom felt good, I still had anxiety about my future and I had to recover from this experience. I had gaslit myself into staying at that job and I needed to investigate why. I needed to spend some time with why I allowed myself to stay longer than I should. Beyond the bills, there was a lack of faith and I needed to explore that. I needed to get curious about how I ended up at a job that didn’t reflect my values. Where I was a body and not a voice. I needed to rest.

While it’s been over a month now, I am still investigating, still nourishing, still healing, still working on my faith. I am making my art, writing, pursuing illustration gigs and my partner and I are in a loving place. My digestive system is still in recovery and driving is still hard for me.

Ultimately, I am working on my mind more than anything.

But this story is not over. There is another story that overlaps. Another job that contributes to the great anxiety I experienced this year. I write about a project I worked on in part two.

Ya’ll –

I completely over did it this year.

But I learned a lot.

---

About Meet Me In The Deep

My name is Diamonde Williamson and I am a Writer, Poet, Illustrator and Artist.

Meet Me In The Deep is an invitation into my world through art and words. Much of my art today deals with healing the inner child I abandoned to protect my mother. After going no contact with my mother in 2023, I was led back to writing and illustration as forms of healing and I am so thankful for it.