I wish the Barenaked Ladies had a song called Two Weeks.
On Friday, June 10th, 2022, I put in my two weeks’ notice. I am leaving my unionized, tenure-track position after about 3 years. It’s a decision I’m not making lightly; I’ve thought about it for over 6 months and started getting the ball rolling at the end of January. If you’ve been following me on Twitter or know me otherwise, you’ve heard about my experiences.
I had a nervous breakdown or something close to one in January, largely due to workplace circumstances. I took almost the entire month off. When I got back, another thing happened that was the final straw. Coincidentally, almost the same day, I got invited to apply for a position elsewhere. And that, as they say, was that. I started job hunting, when I thought I wouldn’t need to do so for at least another 7 years if not more. I got invited to interview with the place that eventually hired me (not the position I was invited to apply for), in February, first interview in March, meeting with the college dean and campus visit in early April, meeting with the college president in early May, and I got a job offer May 19th.
The whole time, I kept thinking, “Things are getting better. My meds are good. I’m doing better,” but I would be swiftly reminded that no, my “better” was never good enough, never good enough quickly enough. I was told several things that, had my contract not been renewed, I could probably sue for; although, I reported them, and nothing came of that.