By: Sam Lorenzo

I remember the day I landed my first job. I had just turned 18 and was a freshman in college. I was ecstatic at the fact that I was going to have money to hang out with friends and pay sorority expenses. Over the next decade (yikes, I’m aging myself), I worked in several roles at various companies ranging from non-profits to education to public relations to music and entertainment. While I am grateful for all the opportunities and experiences I have received throughout the years, most of my time as part of the labor force was spent maintaining an unhealthy work-life balance.

I have always been a hard worker and determined to excel in all my endeavors. It’s what I had to do as a child of two Filipino immigrants. My parents had the humblest of beginnings being raised in some of the poorest parts of The Philippines. Whenever we talk about their upbringings, they never fail to mention that they overcame their hardships through education, working hard, and sheer luck. As my brother and I were growing up, they constantly engrained values like diligence and perseverance into our heads and I always felt the need to make them proud.

While I am mostly appreciative of their lessons because it trained me to always chase my dreams, think critically, and not procrastinate, it also made me become a perfectionist and hypercritical of myself. These consequences were evident throughout my many years in school and maybe even more so as an employee. This concept of a hustler mentality made me susceptible to being verbally abused and extremely overworked. My constant need for validation left me skipping doctors’ appointments when I got ill, lessening my time with friends and family, and neglecting to take vacations (or really any days off). I let the hustle consume my whole life to the point where it became a normalized process. When I finally took a pause from working to pursue my Ph.D., I was suddenly made aware of the immense amount of trauma I had allowed into my life for so long. Most of the time, I don’t actively think about it, but there will occasionally be situations that trigger these distressing memories.

Now, let’s fast-forward to Media in Ghana program. As I mentioned in my last blog post, I am working as the Communications Intern at the Alliance for Reproductive Health Rights (ARHR) in East Legon. This opportunity is the first time I will be working in an office setting since I started graduate school. I am extremely excited for this opportunity to cultivate a communications plan for the company, especially since the business’ main objectives are to educate others and offer healthcare resources to communities across Ghana.

I honestly enjoy interacting with everyone in the office and have quickly started to form friendships with my coworkers, yet I still find myself experiencing residual trauma associated with my past work experiences.

One example occurred earlier this week. I arrived at the ARHR office at 8:30am on Tuesday and found that the front gate was locked. It took about 15 minutes until someone came to open it, but that person did not have the key to unlock the actual building. I sat on the front steps for another 20 minutes until one of my supervisors showed up. She also did not have a key to the building and explained that the building manager was running late. She then sat on the steps next to me, unbothered. I was not upset either, but I suddenly had flashbacks to former coworkers telling people off for making mistakes or for situations that were out of their control.

This was different. Compassion and understanding were effortless endeavors rather than things that can be tossed aside in the heat of the moment.

Later this week, I had to come to terms with the fact that I am asthmatic (again). I had asthma throughout my childhood and adolescence, but it seemingly disappeared after high school (or so I thought). I think being in a different environment somehow woke it back up from its dormant state because it progressively has been harder for me to breathe here, and COVID-19 had already been ruled out by this point. One coworker took notice of my labored breathing and offered to guide me to the nearest pharmacy. I immediately refused like it was some sort of reflex.

I was so used to being told to work while I was sick over the years, so hearing anything different seems unfathomable to me. The next day, I came into the office still struggling to breathe. The same coworker asked if I wanted to see a doctor or go to the pharmacy, and I declined once more. About an hour later, I was folded over in my chair having an asthma attack. I could not conceal the coughing and wheezing any longer and was advised to go home and take care of myself.

I was overcome by guilt because I felt like I was letting everyone down by cutting my workday short, but after thinking it over, I realized that my coworkers may have just been genuinely worried about me and my well-being (what a concept).

DISCLAIMER: This blog is in no way declaring that all places of employment in America are toxic, however, it is comforting to know (at least in my experience) that humanity is still a thing in the workplace and that some employers still attempt to put their people first. I truly feel like I’m in good hands at ARHRand I cannot wait to travel with my coworkers next week to work on a special social media project.