CHAPTER 16. Corporate Detox
Hold My Hand: A Journey Back to Life
If you missed the previous chapters of Hold My Hand: A Journey Back to Life then you click here to find them all - Hold My Hand - The Book. Want to know more about me? Oops! I forgot to introduce myself… And if you’d like to learn more about necrotizing fasciitis aka flesh eating bacteria then read this post… NECK-re-tie-zing FASH-e-i-tis... Say what?!
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“For ten years I was a journalist, mostly on The Independent, when it existed in paper form. I definitely considered myself a journalist, so much so that when I left the newspaper in 2001, I didn’t know who I was without that title; the routine, the deadlines, the camaraderie, the bleak jokes, the overwhelmed liver. My whole self was tied up with my journalistic identity and, oddly untethered without it, I had to have therapy (this isn’t a joke) and reconsider myself.
Basically, I had to detach who I was gently from what I did.”
Jojo Moyes, Substack 22 Jul 2024
WORK
When I got sick the last thing on my mind was work. That was partly because I was already on medical leave as a result of my back surgery a few months before. Plus, it was Christmas, so everyone was off. But even without those two factors I wouldn’t have been thinking about was my job. I was too busy trying to stay alive.
Once I was more awake in hospital of course we recognized that we needed to let my employer know that I wasn’t going to be back at work, and returning to my old role, in early January as planned. But what should we say? Who should we contact?
I’d heard nothing, not a text, email, or call, from my own manager since I departed for my back surgery. Nothing. No flowers. No good wishes. Just silence. It’s an interesting comparison when you consider that Kim’s manager sent me flowers and kind wishes when I came home after that back surgery. Sent me flowers again when we returned home after Dad’s funeral. And sent me flowers again when I came out of hospital after the NF infection. My own boss was completely silent.
We’d messaged a couple of people to let them know I was in hospital, including [COLLEAGUE #1] who was covering my role while I was on leave. But everything was so confused. We had no idea how to explain what had happened.
Kim helped me write an email to my Human Resources (HR) contact, who I knew fairly well, while I was still in hospital. We kept it simple and stuck with the facts that we knew and understood at that time. I can only imagine the impact when they read that email.
From: Gatehouse, Jacqui <work email>
Sent: Monday, January 2, 2023 12:05 PM
To: [HR #1]
Cc: Jacqui Gatehouse <private email>
Subject: In hospital with sepsis.
Hi [HR #1] - hope you had a lovely Christmas and new year.
I wanted to let you know that I was admitted to hospital on Dec 23rd and spent five days in ICU on a ventilator. I have had a good go at dying twice in the past ten days but have been so lucky to have an amazing medical team. I have had three operations on the area of my left leg and so need more operations with one tomorrow and then skin grafts too. Best guess is I will be in hospital another two weeks and then the doctors expect two to three months rehab… …I have had 300+ blood tests and liters of i.v. penicillin so far.
[COLLEAGUE #1] and [EXEC #1] are aware but not sure who else as I know [EXEC #1] only found out a couple of days ago. Please can you advise [MY BOSS] and [HR #2]? I’m fine they know the info above.
So I won’t be back on 9th January and don’t know right now when I will. But I will update once I am out of hospital.
What have I done wrong to have to go through the past four months with the back surgery, my Dad dying and now this?!
I won’t check this email so pls reply to my private email that I have on cc.
Take care. JG
BUSY BUSY BUSY
I love working. Well, that’s what I’d always told myself before I got sick. I’d immersed myself in work to the detriment of everything else in my life. It was easy and absorbing to be ‘on’ all the time – checking email, taking calls out of hours, travelling like a maniac, and generally running myself into the ground.
If I was busy, busy, busy then I didn’t have to think of some of the less pleasant things that tended to slosh around on my head. Sound familiar? I know I wasn’t unusual.
I was working as Senior Vice President (SVP) of Commercial, leading a global sales team, in a company of 40,000 people when in September 2022 I departed on my medical leave to get my back fixed. I knew I’d likely be off work for three to four months while I recovered. Well, you already know how that worked out.
I’ve had what I’d call ‘corporate’ jobs since I was 15 years old when I started working Saturdays in a small pharmacy that was part of a nationwide chain. When I say ‘corporate’ I mean working in a company owned and run by other people. Companies I’ve worked for have ranged from as small as 120 people to many thousands of people spread around the world.
I’ve always worked within defined, structured, company frameworks. Most of my jobs in recent years have related to sales, account management and business development. Each one has had a clear job description – requiring me to do specific tasks to achieve particular (usually financially focused) goals.
I worked hard. Perhaps too hard. But I always wanted to achieve a little more. Make a bit more money. Show I was of value to the company so that I felt I had some job security. Over the years the roles I took on got bigger. The teams that I managed expanded. And of course, the sales targets had more and more zeros at the end until they went into the billions.
Every day was fully booked. Back-to-back online meetings. I was tied to my desk for hours on end. No gap to even go to the bathroom or empty the dishwasher. Let alone actually do any work. Real work had to be done in early mornings or late evenings when meetings were finally finished.
I was lucky that I worked from home when I wasn’t travelling, but frequently Kim had to deliver my dinner to my desk as I didn’t even have time to stop and eat. Was it a surprise that I had almost permanent indigestion?
Evenings, what was left of them, were spent crashed out on the sofa. Trying to calm my fried brain. Staring blankly at the TV. Still watching my phone for new emails from the US.
Weekends were protected like ‘my precious’. I was fearful of doing anything in case it meant I had less time to recover from the working week. I was so desperate to try and recharge my sapped batteries.
When things were extra busy then Saturday and Sunday became working days too. So by the time Monday morning rolled around again, I never actually felt refreshed, and I dragged myself out of bed to start yet another week of stress.
I was also travelling around the world. Often flying to the US at least once if not twice a month. Coming home and trying to deal with the jetlag before I had to leave again. My suitcase was never empty and rarely, if ever, went back in the cupboard. I could pack and leave in a matter of minutes.
Even the travel itself was stressful as for much of my career the companies I worked for wouldn’t pay for business class travel. So, I was flying across the Atlantic in a cramped economy class seat – trying to work, trying to rest, trying to ignore all those people stuffed in around me.
I was used to feeling exhausted all the time.
Travel declined with the COVID pandemic, which was a relief for about five minutes until the number of online meetings, sometimes lasting for hours on end, exploded.
The higher I went the less vacation I took. Even when I took vacation days they were never truly time off. I was always checking my phone. Taking calls. Work problems swirling in my head.
I wore my corporate persona like a suit of armor – afraid someone might see behind the façade. I saw stress and busy-ness as a of badge of honor. It had crept up on me over the years to become my norm. I must be doing the right things as I’m busy all the time – right?
I kept going, afraid to stop and anxious to not even think about it too much. I was driven to keep going. Driven to try and feel safe, secure, valued, included, appreciated, and even important.
My values shifted and my priorities became confused. I worked for my family’s benefit, so they were fine (in my mind) that I used more time on work and always prioritized that instead of spending time with them. I was a persistent workaholic who had lost all sense of reality. There was zero joy in my life.
Consciously or unconsciously, I can see now that much of my working life was motivated by fear. Fear of not being good enough. Fear of being judged. Fear of being fired. Fear of being found out as the imposter I believed I was. Fear of not earning enough or even having no income at all. Fear of losing the roof over my head. Fear of having to ask for help.
I wasn’t driven by ambition. Nor the desire for promotion. As I got increasingly senior roles and moved higher in the organization the bigger my salary became. Our lifestyle and expectations adjusted to that new cash with expensive holidays and nice things. It just meant that I had even more to lose. And the fear increased exponentially.
My identity became defined by my job. Without it I felt like I would be nothing. That I’d disappear. I wasn’t a wife. I wasn’t Jacqui. I wasn’t even a woman. I was SVP. Though I was still passionate about ‘making a sale’ I was now so distant from that, as I’d moved higher up the food chain, that I very rarely got to experience that excitement anymore.
But the cracks were starting to show. I was now reporting to the Chief Commercial Officer, one step down from the CEO. He was talking to all those that reported to him, starting to look for his successor as he would retire in a couple of years. I remember the utter consternation on his face when I told him point blank that I wasn’t interested in his role. I wasn’t interested in further promotion, not for anything.
Even before my planned medical leave I knew that the clock was ticking. I was rapidly running out of patience with corporate politics. Tired of dealing with people that I couldn’t respect. Sick of having to tow the line when I didn’t agree with whatever company policy was being implemented.
I’d had enough of travelling and being away from home. Missing out on time with my family and friends. And I hated the long working hours that I couldn’t control. There was never any time for me.
I was getting ill from the stress of trying to ignore all those things every single day.
UPHILL STRUGGLES
As I mentioned before I remember that a doctor came to see me just before I left the hospital. He explained what I was allowed to do and what I wasn’t allowed to do to minimize the risk of rupturing the stitches in my leg.
I asked him how long it would be before I could go back to work. “Oh maybe in about a week,” he said. I have no idea who this guy was, but that was the most unrealistic advice I’ve ever received. “And don’t plan any travel for a couple of weeks.”
Even in my discombobulated state I knew this was absolute garbage. I mean TOTAL garbage. It wasn’t as if I’d just happened to have a single surgery. His answers were so ridiculously out of whack and took no account of what I had been through physically, what I still had to go through, and of course how I was affected mentally.
I didn’t question him, nor did I push back. I just nodded and knew with certainty that he was utterly wrong. Whoever he was…
It’s not like the flu where you know you’ll be back at your desk in a week or two. It took over three months just for the wounds on my stomach and leg to heal. The infection had stressed my body so much that it had a hard time healing itself.
Not only was I not well enough to go back to work – my recovery was a full-time job. There were weekly or twice weekly visits to the clinics at the hospital to have my wounds checked and redressed. Plus, a multitude of other medical appointments to follow up on the aftereffects of the infection. Tests to ensure my heart was functioning properly. Scans to look for the source of the infection. Yet more scans to check the results of those scans and try to work out what was healing or not healing.
Attending all those hospital appointments, following up when there was action missing, and managing it all, took up all of my time and left no space to even consider working. Even if I had had the energy.
GOING BACK?
I had no idea when I’d be ready to return to work. How long is a piece of string would have been easier to answer. My employer threw in the towel, not long after I made it out of hospital, and because of ‘customer pressure’ they replaced me permanently in my previous role.
It wasn’t a big surprise when I’d already been out for four months. I didn’t blame them. They were running a business after all. I was still employed. And miracle of miracles, after all this time they were still paying my salary. But their decision left me drowning in a sea of unknowns.
They remained in touch. They’d repeatedly made all the right noises. “We want you back.” “You can start back part-time.” “We’ll find projects for you.” But what did that all mean? Where would I end up? I was at such a senior level by this stage in my career that their options would be limited. Yet I was naïve enough to trust them.
By the time my physical wounds had healed, three months on, I was feeling like I was ready to start easing myself back into work.
I wanted to go back to an environment that I understood. A corporate structure that I recognized. People that I knew and that knew me – a sense of community. I needed stability and predictability. I wanted to be distracted – to think about something other than having been sick and what had happened to me.
But it wasn’t going to happen. The operational role they finally (weeks later) offered didn’t work for me. It didn’t fit my skills. It most definitely wasn’t at the same level. It wasn’t even in sales. There was no opportunity for discussion. No other options. I felt like I was cast aside. I was disappointed and became even more disenchanted with the corporate world.
It was time for me to take back control. Time to choose to leave. There were still unknowns, but it was up to me to find the solutions.
It was a huge step and a big change considering I was still in the early stages of my recovery. Only once before in my career have I left a job without a new one already lined up. It felt like stepping off a cliff and free-falling into an uncertain world.
I was very much aware that I now saw the world through new eyes. I was a different person. My perceptions had changed, as had my willingness to compromise, to accept being a corporate soldier, to travel like a maniac, or keep working myself to death.
I had no patience for anything that didn’t fit with my own personal values anymore. And I mean zero. Those values had been turned on their head – money and status replaced by family and joy. I couldn’t just sit by and ignore people that I couldn’t respect – let alone report to someone at work like that. I saw no reason to even pay lip service to stupid ideas or idiotic corporate rubbish.
Even if my old role had still been there for me could I have gone back? I’m not sure. Maybe? But it’s a big maybe. I’d finally seen the light – not in the near-death experience kind of way! I’d tasted freedom from the corporate world. Seen the possibilities for a different life. I might have managed to survive a month or two, but it was time for change.
I ≠ A JOB TITLE
Did leaving my corporate job help with my recovery? I don’t know. In many ways I feel as if I poured gasoline on what was already a raging fire in my life. Creating significantly more stress and anxiety by making such a major change at a time when I was trying to recover from a life-threatening situation. But when it comes down to it, I think it was impossible to avoid. There was no way I could go backwards. I could only move forwards.
The hardest challenge was detaching myself from my old work identity. I had let myself be defined by being Manager of that, Director of this, and SVP of whatever, for decades. I no longer knew who I was without a title or where I would fit in. I wasn’t sure I held any value to anyone without a title. I was terrified of ‘just’ being Jacqui again.
Absurd as it sounds, I missed the stress. I missed being busy. I missed all the meetings. I missed being needed. I missed being asked for my opinion. I missed all that adrenaline. I missed my colleagues. I missed being part of something bigger. I missed being able to hide behind the business persona that I’d created that was tough as Kevlar.
I’d spent most of my career in sales roles of one kind or another. I was passionate about the thrill of the chase. I was super competitive. I loved the adrenalin spike when we won new business.
I missed it all.
Suddenly I didn’t have any of that anymore. I didn’t know where I was going. What I was doing. Or what the future of work looked like for me. I felt invisible. I was no longer the confident, intelligent, smart, professional that I’d been before.
I felt like my world had been compressed to the size of our house. My confidence had imploded. My belief in myself had disappeared into a black hole.
I saw myself as lazy as I wasn’t working. I felt like I had no value. I felt guilty that Kim was still slogging away at his job when I was just sitting around.
I had a hard time relaxing. Giving myself space. Taking time to recover. To be able to think. I was desperate to be busy again to get away from the thoughts in my own head.
But I knew that I didn’t want to return to the kind of job in a large company that required more hours than existed in a day, took huge amounts of political juggling, and required payment via a pound of my flesh.
I HAVE A DREAM
I had to reconnect with the real me and start to convince myself that ‘Jacqui’ was worth something. I wanted to chart my own destiny. Have more control of my time. I craved balance in my life. I wanted to work for myself and started my own business.
I allowed myself to start dreaming again. I realized that I hadn’t let myself do that in a lot of years – too long. I had the chance not only to dream, but to reinvent myself. To find a new purpose. A new direction.
And I wrote this…
I have a dream whose seed was planted when I was a little girl. Scribbling pages of nonsense before I could even write.
A dream that led me to write childhood stories in adoration of ‘The Famous Five’.
A dream I thought was out of reach – too big a mountain to climb.
A dream hidden from the light of day for many years – lost for long lengths of time in the rush and swirl of everyday life.
A dream that at times seemed frivolous and pure vanity.
A dream pushed to the back of my overcrowded mind when I lost myself in the stressful corporate world.
A dream I thought I didn’t have the skills to achieve.
A dream occasionally revisited. Toyed with for a time. And set aside again.
A dream that never died.
A dream that has finally seen the light of day.
A dream that is now burning so bright – exuding energy, joy and zest for life.
A dream that is driving me forwards to a new future.
A dream that is blossoming into life.
A dream to be heard.
A dream to be remembered.
A dream to make people feel something.
A dream to write a book.
A dream that is now a reality.
If this post made you feel something then I’d love it if you would click on the heart and add a comment about what resonated for you – it means a lot to me to hear from each of you.
If you would also be kind enough to share it that will help more people find Hold My Hand and learn more about these awful infections. Maybe one day that knowledge will save a life.
Thank you!
If you missed any previous chapters from the book then you can find them easily on my website – click HERE and it will take you directly to the webpage dedicated to the book where you can read or listen to any previous chapters that you might have missed.
Every THURSDAY I’ll continue to share my ‘book in parts’ - Hold My Hand: A Journey Back to Life - chapter by chapter. I’m so excited to finally share it with all of you.
Image caption: uncomfortable ‘work’ shoes that gave me blisters and made my feet hurt are very much a thing of the past. ‘Heels’ no longer live in my closet. Now it’s bare feet, flip flops, Birkenstocks, or trainers (aka sneakers), preferably in the brightest colors I can find. If people want to work with me then they have to accept that I come as I am.
Wow Jacqui I thought my job was stressful! That corporate world sounds tough. And your manager !!! Eekkk ! But when it’s taken away through illness it’s out of your control , so it makes it worse. But you made your choice in the end and sounds like no going back. Phew !
Dear Jacqui, listening to your beautiful voice and feeling your pain again, is sad and have loads of regrets. Wish I could have done more for you. Your book is a lesson for all of us in the corporate set up. Thank you for sharing your story and lessons.