Yes, folks. I am, as my erstwhile team would say, dead. Dead to them, anyway – off to do words elsewhere. I’m leaving ingenie next week.
It’s been four years of my life and I barely recognise the silly child that sweated and gabbled through her interview in a very imposing Victorian courtroom.
I signed up to be a content writer and really just wrote every single word that someone near me needed. Password reset emails, speeches, texts, apps, ads, BOOKS. Even a eulogy, once.
You can’t have missed me being way too involved in my job. ingenie, young drivers, road safety – it’s been an obsession. I love car insurance and I know I’m in the minority. You just try matching for that on Tinder.*
It’s been difficult adjusting but I’ve had three months and I now believe both that I’m going and that I’m not leaving. At the same time. I accept that I am Going to Another Place but I haven’t grasped that I’m LEAVING ingenie.
You see, ingenie has been a family to me. I struggled through my worst episode of mental health shenanigans over the first two years of my time at ingenie; I was doing too much freelance work, my social anxiety was out of control and dermatilliomania had entered my life. The people around me showed me how normal relationships work and let me be brusque and outspoken and volatile and desperately attached to the horses in the field next door, who were my go-to safe place for panic attacks.
I’m now a person who can give directions, debate feedback without needing therapy, present to a roomful of people, ask for what I want and speak up when things don’t feel right. I’m known for being opinionated and hard-working, knowledgeable and conscientious. Bit of a brat but pretty OK.
I don’t think I would have turned out like this if I hadn’t filled out that one single application after two glasses of wine. ingenie was only my second grownup job – and it was my home.
Goodbye, friend. Striking out alone is bloody terrifying but I’m capable, now.
* Dis is joke. I happily married** with cat children.
** Well, not MARRIED. You know, when he gets round to it. Maybe. I’m not, like, desperate. Don’t even believe in it, to be honest with you.