Welcome back, everyone! If you’ve made it this far, I want to take a moment to thank you for joining me again. It means a lot that you’re here to read more about my journey. Today, I want to share how working from home, something I once thought would be a dream, ended up taking a serious toll on my mental health.
Three years ago, I started working for a major academic medical center. I was excited — it’s a well-known institution with a reputation for great benefits. The hiring process took about three months, which only added to my nerves as I waited to hear back. When I finally got the email that I’d been chosen to work in the cardiology department, I was thrilled. They required me to complete a four-week training program for their specialized systems, but since it was paid, I didn’t mind. The first week of training was in person, which was nerve-wracking because driving into the city is always stressful for me, especially with the added pressure of expensive parking. Still, I was ready to conquer that first week and absorb as much as I could.
Once that in-person week was over, I was finally able to work from home. I felt like I’d hit the jackpot — no more stressful commutes or parking headaches. But, as I mentioned in a previous post, I had just started my antidepressant journey around this time. I struggled with insomnia, which made staying alert through long training sessions a real challenge. I kept hoping that each day would get easier as my body adjusted, but it didn’t always feel that way.
My job was to take calls and schedule patients all day long. On average, I handled about 65 calls per day, but that number often crept higher because my department was constantly understaffed. Fun fact: cardiovascular diseases are the leading cause of death worldwide, and for the organization I worked for, this translated into a huge volume of patients needing care. My responsibilities included scheduling everything from routine doctor visits to EKGs and various types of echocardiograms. It was a lot to manage, and when you add the pressure of constant patient interaction, it becomes exhausting. If I ever had a question, I had to rely on a Teams chat for support, which often meant waiting for a response or sometimes not getting one at all. It was frustrating, to say the least.
After a few months, the cracks really started to show. I made some mistakes, which led my supervisors to require me to come back into the office for “retraining.” The logic was that being physically present would help me avoid errors, and to some extent, it did. I could just turn around and ask a question instead of waiting for someone to respond online. But this came at a cost — not just financially, with $15 daily parking fees, but also mentally.
To complicate things further, I have IBS-D, a gastrointestinal disorder that I had fully disclosed to my employer. Despite this, my bathroom breaks were closely monitored. I had to put myself into a specific “aux” mode to stop calls from coming in, which meant every minute I spent in the restroom or on a break that was needed for my mental health was tracked. Even though my condition was documented and covered under FMLA, the pressure to minimize these breaks added a whole new layer of stress.
I want to take a moment to talk about the emotional toll of this work. Most of my calls came from older adults, many of whom also had cancer or other severe health conditions. These patients often used the call as an outlet for their fears and frustrations, and while I tried my best to listen and offer empathy, the emotional weight of those conversations began to stack up.
I remember one call in particular that still lingers in my mind. An elderly woman broke down as she explained how hard it was for her to find reliable transportation to and from the hospital for her appointments. She was clearly overwhelmed, and as her voice cracked with emotion, I found myself paralyzed, unsure of what to say. I just… froze. After that call, I was pulled into a meeting with my supervisor and was actually reprimanded for not showing enough empathy. From their perspective, I had failed to connect, but in that moment, I felt like I simply couldn’t breathe — like I was completely disconnected from myself.
Eventually, I did end up leaving that job. But for a long time, I felt like I just had to endure it. I had bills to pay, responsibilities I wasn’t truly ready for, and this pressure to prove to myself and others that I could handle it. It felt like I had no choice but to keep pushing, even when I felt completely drained. I convinced myself that struggling in silence was just part of being an adult, even though deep down, I knew something had to change.
Acting empathetic on demand is incredibly draining, especially when your own mental health is already fragile. I realized that I was pouring from an empty cup, and something had to give.
If you’ve ever felt like you’re just going through the motions, barely hanging on, just know you’re not alone. It’s okay to struggle, and it’s okay to step back when you need to. Take care of yourselves, and thanks for letting me share this part of my story.