My first career defined me hugely - it was some thing I started working towards in my teens, it required massive financial and time sacrifices to train, I moved countries for it, I burnt relationships for it. I worked evenings and weekends. I did a lot but it was worth it because I loved what I did. It wasn't a well paid career but it was a 'cool', high status and hard to get into career that people respected me for doing. And I loved it. I loved being WinnieTheCareer.
I didn't always have the same job, but I had a bunch of contracts in my field. Then I got sick. At first I was able to move jobs to move away from issue caused by my illness. Then I got worse. The problems were bigger.
I got sectioned. Spent some time in a psych ward. Came out. Tried to go back to work. Got sick again.
My consultant said she thought the job was a major trigger for the episodes and she thought it likely I'd never be able to work again. And I had to quit. It was devastating.
I felt like I'd wasted my life. I couldn't see a future. I was taking drugs that made me get fat, and stumble over my words and think slowly. I was dirt poor and relying on my DF for financial help so my house didn't get repossessed. I felt like I had died in some weird way - the cool, smart, competent interesting person I had been was gone and instead there was this useless leech who couldn't even leave the house. I know it sounds melodramatic but I was really in a bad way. And in some ways it was true. I never did get that person back. That person I used to be.
I was super lucky and was able to retrain with family help. I got married and had DD and I love my life now but it's entirely different to the one I thought I'd have and I think I did need to grieve for that for a while.
Sorry for the essay!
to all who have had an awful time on this thread.