The Job I Resented—Until It Paid for My Freedom

There was a stretch of time when I genuinely resented my job. Not the casual, end-of-day kind of frustration, but the deep exhaustion that settles into your bones when you’ve worked more than 30 days straight without a real break. No pause. No reset. Just work bleeding into the next day, over and over again.

At its core, the job was draining because of how much was expected of me. My boss wanted everything under the sun—bigger ideas, better execution, and results that outperformed competitors at every turn. Ambition in itself isn’t the problem. The problem was that while the standards kept climbing, the support didn’t. Instead, responsibilities meant for three people were quietly dumped onto me alone, as if that were normal, or sustainable.

Then came last year’s so-called “promotion.” On paper, it looked like progress. In reality, it added a new layer of stress I hadn’t asked for. I was suddenly responsible for managing at least ten part-timers, many of whom behaved less like working adults and more like toddlers throwing tantrums. Instead of being mature, logical, or respectful of hierarchy and workflow, they did as they pleased. When mistakes happened—often made by other administrators—they lashed out at me. Accountability was optional; emotional outbursts were not.

That period tested my patience in ways I didn’t think possible. I was expected to lead, clean up messes I didn’t make, and still deliver results at a high level. Most days, I went home drained, wondering why I was putting myself through this.

But here’s the part that complicates the resentment.

All that hard work was paid—literally. Between my monthly salary, overtime, and bonuses, the compensation added up. Enough that when I finally took an overseas trip, money wasn’t a constant source of anxiety. For one full week, I didn’t worry about expenses. I didn’t calculate every meal or hesitate over experiences. The vacation felt light, effortless, and genuinely restful—something I hadn’t felt in a long time.

Somewhere during that trip, my resentment softened.

Coming back, I noticed a shift in how I felt about my job. Not blind loyalty, not denial of its flaws—but gratitude. There aren’t many people who work as hard as I do and can still comfortably afford an overseas trip without financial panic afterward. Factually speaking, my total compensation is still higher than what many others earn, even with similar workloads.

That doesn’t erase the long hours, the unrealistic expectations, or the stress of managing people who made leadership harder than it needed to be. But it reframed the experience. The job didn’t just take from me—it gave me something tangible in return: financial security, freedom, and the ability to step away, even briefly, from the grind.

I still acknowledge that the job sucked in many ways. I still believe the workload and management structure were deeply flawed. But I also recognize the privilege embedded in the outcome. Resentment gave way to a quieter, more grounded truth: I survived something hard, and it paid for a moment of peace.

And sometimes, that’s enough to keep going—at least for now.