2019 has been a year of disruption and chaos. In order to maintain my sanity in dealing with the more pressing issues, I had to walk away from something I loved but that was becoming more stressful and time-consuming and that I no longer found joy in doing.

But I’m still in group chats with the people I associated with, and today I see them buzzing about the “end of the year” reports they’re working on, something that I used to be excited and stressed about for the past five years. But this year, I am no longer a part of it.

I can smile and share encouraging words, but I can not join in the group moaning about deadlines and how to decide on what makes the cut.

I am irrelevant.

It’s by my own choice — I suppose I could have found a way to keep going, but the stress and exhaustion would have led to a burn-out. Better to step aside before I reach that point.

Still.

I am irrelevant.

My opinion is no longer needed or wanted. I have no clout. I have no importance.

I have nothing to say.

I don’t know if I’ll go back to this industry. Every time I consider it, the exhaustion comes back and I remember the late nights of trying to meet deadlines and I think, “No, maybe this is not for me anymore.”

But it was such a huge part of my identity for the past five years, that to give it up — even with a good reason — feels like a failure on some part.

Who am I now? Just some boring person who works in the office and falls asleep to the Food Channel?

Yes. Maybe that’s who I need to be right now.

To be stable. To be boring. To allow myself a chance to rest and breathe and sort out the uncertain future ahead.

Still, it hurts to be irrelevant.