The Six Jobs That Built Me

At eighteen, I stood on the edge of adulthood with no map, just the weight of responsibility pressing down. Fresh out of high school, I needed a job, not just for myself but to help out at home. The innocence of childhood had faded, and reality had arrived quickly. Growing up wasn’t a choice anymore. It was something that had to happen, whether I was ready or not.

My first job was in a hospital laboratory, and it was one of survival. I entered the working world with no polish, no script, and barely a clue. Every task, from answering phones to filing documents, felt monumental. I was introverted, shy, and constantly anxious. Talking to strangers and navigating office dynamics felt like walking barefoot through thorns.

But over time, I adapted. I learnt how to carry myself, how to speak up in meetings, and how to read between the lines of professional conversations. I also met strangers who became lifelong friends, and others who helped create moments of connection, misunderstandings, and heartbreak – all the messy things that come with figuring out who you are and what you want. My personal life was just as confusing as my job, filled with lessons in love, loss, and loyalty.

Those three years taught me more than any classroom could. This was a job that met me exactly where I was – a scared, unsure teenager trying to figure out how to grow up. It was my crash course in independence, resilience, and emotional endurance.

By twenty-two, I had moved to a job at a university much closer to home. The pay was better, and the hours offered more freedom. With this freedom came exploration. I was in my early twenties, immersed in a whirlwind of parties, friendships, and experiences that sometimes blurred into one another. I found myself drawn to people, to laughter, and to late nights that rolled into early mornings that felt like they would never end.

I entered my first relationship, one that offered healing, even if it was short-lived. I also learnt the harsh realities of betrayal and how quickly friendships could crumble over jealousy, mistrust, and poor communication. It was a season of life that was vibrant, confusing, and formative, and I was lucky to have one friend who stuck with me through thick and thin.

Amid the chaos, something unexpected stirred. I found myself pulled toward volunteerism. Working with seniors, children, and cultural groups gave me a kind of fulfilment my job didn’t. I rediscovered a part of myself I had buried since leaving high school – the part that found joy in service and giving back.

Eventually, I wanted more. The comfort of being close to home and a steady salary wasn’t enough anymore. A hunger for growth, education, and personal freedom began to build. I stayed in that role for over six years, and I knew I had outgrown it. Something within me was changing. I didn’t just want a job – I wanted a life that felt like mine. Through my volunteer network, I was introduced to someone who offered an opportunity that aligned with my skillset and it felt like fate had stepped in.

I left the university job and moved away from home for the first time. This new role was my entry into a more professional and structured environment. I finally felt like I belonged to the world I had always admired from the outside. There was a rhythm to this place, a kind of pace and professionalism that made me feel both intimidated and inspired.

A new relationship was on the horizon, and shortly after starting this job, I got married. I thought it would be a new, exciting chapter, but instead, I found myself stuck in a loop of work, home, housework, living with in-laws, and slowly losing myself.

I became withdrawn at home but found a lifeline in my cultural and volunteer circles. In those spaces, I thrived, forming meaningful connections, earning respect, and becoming someone people would turn to. I was invited to high-profile events and entrusted with leadership roles. It gave me a sense of purpose and identity that balanced the challenges of my home life. I wasn’t just surviving; I was building something bigger for myself. Those years taught me how to live with duality and to survive in a space that drained me while thriving in another that filled me up. It was a lesson in compromise, in grit, and in holding on to the parts of myself I didn’t want to lose.

Eventually, the toxicity at my job became unbearable. Colleagues revealed their true natures, and the lack of mutual respect made each day harder than the last. I searched for an escape and finally landed at a massive conglomerate. It felt like a breath of fresh air, and for three years, I gave that job my best. I sat in rooms I never thought I would enter, I planned projects I never thought I would have the opportunity to work on, and I met with individuals whose names I always read or heard about in the news.

I made friends along the way and navigated office politics like a pro now that I had the experience to do so. I was now closer to my husband’s office, and the highlight of my day would be our daily lunch runs. I was finally living a mature adult life, and then came the exciting news of my pregnancy. It was short-lived, and I suffered a heartbreaking miscarriage. In typical fashion, I started craving more, yet again – more money, more balance, and more meaning. COVID had also changed how I viewed my time and energy. I wanted to live, not just exist, and the extreme corporate world was no longer appealing to me.

When an offer came from a leading local manufacturer, I decided to take the leap. The environment was dynamic, the people were lively, and for a while, I felt re-energised.

Six months in, I got the news I had long waited for – I was pregnant. After years of longing and experiencing a loss that deeply affected me, I was finally going to become a mother. My priorities changed. I wasn’t interested in the events or the after-work socialising. My focus was on my family, on stability, and on preparing for this new chapter of motherhood.

As my pregnancy progressed, it became complicated, and I was fortunate to work from home for some time. The company was supportive, but even then, I never fully settled into the role. There was constant uncertainty with management, and my reporting lines kept changing, creating a sense of instability that added to my unease.

Then the unthinkable happened. My boss shattered the boundaries of professionalism and decency. Sexual harassment isn’t just a line in a policy manual; it is trauma. It wasn’t just a breach of policy – it was personal, violating, and deeply traumatic. My work environment became hostile and uncomfortable, and despite my initial reluctance, I sought intervention by those charged with the responsibility to act. What followed was a toxic investigation, one that tested my resilience and character. I stood my ground, amidst fears of becoming a headline, and ultimately, I came out on top. I was now responsible for removing a man from his high-level role in a well-established organisation for violating my right to a physically and psychologically safe working environment, not just for myself but for my colleagues.

People quietly supported me, recognising the injustice and my bravery, but something fundamental had shifted. The atmosphere was tainted, and the environment was heavy with unspoken tension. I couldn’t stay. I had a child now, new priorities, and a fierce determination to protect my mental health. Sitting with the weight of it all, unsure of my next move, a recruiter reached out, completely out of the blue. I was suddenly being offered a way out. It was as if the universe was reminding me that this chapter, too, could end, and I began to prepare for the next.

The timing couldn’t have been more perfect. I had another offer pending but I thought it couldn’t hurt to attend this interview. The moment I set foot in these halls, something felt different. I found warmth, flexibility, understanding, and people who felt like sunshine. An offer I couldn’t refuse came quickly and within a few weeks I was set to begin my new role.

I was only thirty minutes into my first day when my daughter became ill and I had to leave immediately. I expected judgement but what I received instead was compassion. The company adjusted my start date and told me to take as much time as I needed to take care of what mattered most. That moment told me everything I needed to know.

Nearly a year later, I feel like I’ve found a place where I can be both a dedicated professional and a present mother. I still give my time wholeheartedly to the causes I support, and my work in itself makes me feel like I am part of something bigger and that there is so much I can teach my daughter about being well-rounded and what it means to keep working hard for what you care about. I’m adept at managing the intricacies of my job with ease, and I’m proud of the professional reputation I’ve built, but now I’m also keenly aware that sometimes it’s not about what comes next. I am still chasing knowledge, collecting certifications and constantly adding new skills to my resume, but I’m also learning to embrace the balance.

Yes, there are days when I feel restless, when I question if I should be striving for more, aiming higher, or chasing a bigger title, but then I remind myself of how fortunate I am to have a job that gives me the space to be present with my daughter. These early years are fleeting, and I’m grateful to experience them without the relentless pressure to constantly prove myself. I remind myself that this balance is a privilege and a choice I’m consciously making, one that lets me be both a professional and a mother, with space to breathe and grow in both roles. I’m learning that sometimes, enough is precisely where you are.

Each job was more than a line on a resume. Each was a mirror of the person I was at the time. The first job held the hand of a scared teenager. The second opened the door to fun, heartbreak, and awakening. The third expanded my professional world. The fourth gave me structure but asked for my soul. The fifth broke me, then built me back up. The sixth is teaching me how to live.

Each chapter brought lessons, challenges, and moments of clarity.

My path isn’t traditional. I’ve delayed my studies, taken detours, and navigated uncertainty more times than I can count. I’ve walked away from comfort. I’ve stayed too long in some places and left too early from others. My career path hasn’t followed a straight line, but I’ve carried with me resilience and a determination that refuses to fade.

I keep going, I keep learning, and I keep showing up.

Today, I carry the weight of every lesson with grace. I’ve survived trauma, outgrown comfort, and embraced transformation. This life, though far from flawless, is mine, and I’m proud of how I’ve built it – job by job, chapter by chapter, one brave decision at a time.