The cost of caring was too high (nobody warned me it would be this bad)
Something many of you probably don’t know about me is that I work in the mental health field. Or rather, I did. I’m leaving the field. It’s just a matter of time.
I started this career path back in 2018 with a Social Service Worker diploma, followed by an undergraduate degree in political science, followed by a second degree in social work. After that, an MSW (Master of Social Work).
Throughout this journey, I’ve held many roles: rehabilitation support worker, mental health assistant, addictions care coordinator at a methadone clinic, and a community support worker at a national mental health organization, helping people experiencing chronic homelessness secure housing and reduce harm related to substance use, among many other things.
I got into social work for simple reasons. I wanted to help people. I cared deeply about people who were struggling in the same ways I once struggled: homelessness, addiction, mental health, and coping with sexuality in an increasingly homophobic world. The idea that caring for others could be my profession felt meaningful, even beautiful. I could literally make a living by caring about people who were hurting. What I didn’t realize then was how high the cost of caring could be.
In this field, we’re constantly educated about self-care and burnout. What you don’t fully understand until you’re in it is just how extreme that burnout can become. To this day, I’m not entirely sure where mine comes from. Maybe it’s the cumulative effect of juggling multiple jobs at once while being a full-time student. Maybe it’s the daily exposure to substance-related trauma, especially while being in recovery myself. Maybe it’s all of the above.
What I do know is that the feelings I’ve had for the past year and a half are hard to put into words. I feel like a shell of myself. Like the fun, charismatic, lovable, optimistic George died somewhere along the way, and I’m just what’s left behind. A body moving through the motions. A zombie.
It doesn’t matter how much sleep I get. It doesn’t matter how much “self-care” I practice, how much fresh air I get, how much I exercise, or how healthy I eat. George is dead.
R.I.P. George. 💀⚰️🥀
Maybe I can still resuscitate him. Maybe he’s still in there somewhere. Maybe, just maybe, this career path has been chipping away at me slowly over time, like water wearing down stone.
One thing I know for sure is this: I can’t keep living like this. I can’t keep sacrificing myself to build a career that is costing me my sense of self.
There’s also the reality of being a social worker under a professional regulatory body. The restrictions are real. All it would take is for an employer to find my social media presence, and I could be terminated. I could lose my license.
Sometimes I think my social media is my way of rebelling against the very thing that’s killing me. A kind of self-sabotage in service of survival. A way of trying to get myself back. Because I know this much: I don’t want to continue working in mental health.
I’m a creative. I need freedom. Freedom to express myself in the ways that feel true to me, without fear.
That’s why I decided to document what I’m calling my 2026 “social media experiment.” This is me finally leaning into my creative self. This is me giving a middle finger to the expectations and parameters that kept me trapped in a life that was slowly killing me.
Anyone can build a career through social media now, and it’s becoming less and less “alternative.” Social media is the new Hollywood. It’s the new brick-and-mortar. It can be whatever you need it to be. Anyone can start a business and make money online, and I’m going to share my journey every step of the way.
And I’m really glad you’re here to walk alongside me as I go down this path. Let’s see where this takes me over the next 12 months. So if you’re reading this, please subscribe below (or upgrade your subscription). Please also check out my other links to support. Godspeed.
