Today I asked work to make me redundant. Yes, you read that correctly. I actually volunteered to lose my job… despite the fact that I absolutely cannot afford to lose my job.
Have I lost the plot? Yup.
But when your workplace becomes so toxic and stressful that you genuinely find yourself thinking, “You know what? I’d rather clean bins,” you know you’ve reached an interesting point in your career.
And I mean it. Give me a hi-vis jacket, a pair of marigolds and a office bin. At least the bin won’t send me a passive-aggressive Teams message.
The irony is that I don’t actually want to stop working. I like having a purpose, earning my own money and being productive. It’s the feeling at work that’s become unbearable.
I’m 60, I’ve got bills to pay and a bank account where my salary disappears two days after getting it.So asking for redundancy isn’t exactly the financially sensible option.
But sometimes your mental peace starts shouting louder than your bank balance. Mine is as I’m on the verge of a cataclysmic breakdown.
I’ve asked about redundancy, knowing full well I can’t afford it, because something has to change.
Maybe nothing will come of it. Maybe I’ll regret asking. Maybe tomorrow I’ll think “What the hell was I thinking?”
But right now, all I know is if cleaning bins starts sounding like a career upgrade, something at work has seriously gone wrong.
