The best and worst of times

What’s been your favourite age, so far? I used to think I had life sussed at 24. A big fish in a little pond, I was impatient to make the leap from community to metropolitan reporter. This quote from my new manager in an Auckland newsroom stood out, ‘‘You started with a hiss and a roar, but now you’re mediocre.’’

It was like my darkest doubts had been given a voice which was suggesting I was not ready for the big pond.

I had saved up my best story ideas for the job transition and they paid off. I hit the front page on my first week and several after that.

As those ideas tapered off and others struggled to replace them, I became disheartened as I opened the paper some weeks to find my stories missing in action. My week’s work thrown in the virtual trash can, so to speak.

‘‘Sink or swim,’’ was my manager’s response. ‘‘Not everyone stays in this job, there’s no shame in leaving.’’

I hadn’t even been there a year.

I didn’t want the job to defeat me. I asked for any scrap of advice I could get. I had written well until this point. What was going on?

There was a boldness, a stubborn self-belief and tenacity to dig out the truth despite the costs that my colleagues seemed to possess but which I struggled to tap into.

I remember crying as I wrote stories about people who had done bad things, worried my words would ruin their reputation further. Things that seasoned journalists don’t fret about. But I was sensitive to it. I got burned out.

Some personalities struggled in the newsroom. One female colleague admitted she struggled to remember what it felt like to be happy. I could relate.

Another colleague, also female, I found in tears at the news she was being taken off a round she loved to cover issues she cared little about. After her resignation, I found myself facing a similar fate.

Wanting to know where I stood in my position, to make sure I wasn’t being ushered out the door at any minute, I asked my manager how I was doing.

His response was to name drop colleagues and list their flaws to reassure me I was alright. Just alright? Yeah, mediocre.

‘‘You’re hit and miss,’’ he summated.

Some stories would elicit personal congrats from each editor. I was buoyed by this and worked towards mostly hit, but it felt like a constant guessing game to produce work the editors’ and readers would appreciate in an industry grappling with constant change.

In a 24/7 industry, I struggled to switch off, which you need to be able to do to keep fresh.

I would go on holidays with my husband and my mind would continue to whir with story ideas or research to-do lists.

I joined an amateur theatre company and relished in losing myself in a character night after night.

I found comfort in socialising with people who had more straight-forward day jobs like accounting.

Mine was a job of high-highs and low-lows. Those two years for me were the best of times and the worst of times. I loved and hated it. I found news journalism to be both exhilarating and depressing.

The worst was when others would ask what you did for a job and then respond with how they also could write. Or that they didn’t bother to read the paper. Or they didn’t trust journalists. It made me wonder why we were striving so hard to tell important stories that seemed to be going unread.

When a role with the paper’s lifestyle section came up, I snatched it, despite it being less pay.

My new managers demanded quality but were reasonable in their expectations. It no longer felt like I needed to strive. I was doing what I was meant to.

Lifestyle features came naturally. Personality profiles, consumer trends, cultural issues, the stuff you talk about with your mates. Issues which shape and portray society in a subtler way. No longer was I the square peg in a round hole, as my previous manager had labelled me.

I was in the role for just a year when I went on maternity leave, an industry award under my belt.

Of all the jobs I wanted to leave, this wasn’t it. But perhaps it’s best to depart on good terms.

In those early weeks with my beautiful babe, I mused. Parenthood had come so easily, whereas so much in my career had to be fought for. Was motherhood too good to be true?

It wasn’t long before I discovered being a parent was hard, but in a different way.

I learned there are things in life worth every inch of the fight, and others you just need to go through, hoping there’s gold at the end.

It’s usually worth the wait.

I loved and hated it. I found news journalism to be both exhilarating and depressing.