True You

Brooke rushed into my office and announced she was quitting her job. “I just can’t take it anymore! I’m so unhappy. I hate my boss. I hate this job. I hate my life. I just give up,” she reported to me as she started to rummage through her bag until she found her Chap Stick, “I mean it feels like nothing I do is ever good enough for her.” “Her” is Brooke’s boss, a highly intelligent driven woman whom Brooke admired during the job interview but once Brooke landed the role, she quickly learned her boss wasn’t mentor material. Brooke’s boss worked non-stop and expected the same from Brooke. For a while Brooke was trying to keep up with her boss but now, she’s beyond burned out, almost crispy. Her burnout has now turned into anger and resentment towards not only her boss, but her entire company. Brooke grabbed a few tissues from one of the two always present boxes in my office, “I just want to be happy!” Brooke and I had only been working together for a couple of months but in many ways, I had been working with a “version” of Brooke for years. She was from an upper middle-class family back east and had gone to an excellent school also on the east coast. She was smart, funny, ambitious and had always done well in school. She was the kind of person whom I would have hated outwardly, but inwardly envied in high school. She played lacrosse. That drive and ambition followed her to college where she continued to excel at school. She had several summer internships, and she was very upfront and honest about wanting to maintain the lifestyle she was given as a child. She thought going into finance would be the smart choice. Brooke knew she would always make a lot of money. She would have job security, and she would be able to go on the same kind of vacations with her own family that she experienced as a child. “Let’s imagine you had a different boss,” I said, “How would you feel then.” Brooke sighed, “That would be awesome!” “OK so let’s say the bad boss is gone. Now I want you to picture yourself at work, how do you feel?” “I feel good. She’s gone and I can focus on my work and what I’m doing.” Brooke stopped and started to cry again. There was a long pause and then she said, “I don’t know why I’m crying.” So, what was in Brooke’s way? What was causing this smart, conventionally successful young woman to feel like a total failure all day every day?