I’ve read that falling in love happens slowly, then all at once. I think that’s what happens when you fall out of love as well. Or, at least, that’s how I fell out of love with being a journalist. I’m making the distinction here that I’m not out of love with journalism. No. That love is constant, rife with frustrations, troublesome and sometimes painful to experience, but ever-present.
Cut me.
I bleed ink.
My career thus far saw me spend a decade in newsrooms. It was thrilling and exciting and I learned new things every day and for someone like me, that was heaven-sent. After ten years, however, I found myself reading about career transitions and wondering about another life. I wanted something that newsrooms could not provide for me. I’d reached a point in my career and life, where I couldn’t fit into the space I was being asked to occupy. During my first pandemic-prompted existential crisis, I began to understand that I needed new experiences. I needed to experience a new workplace culture, understand different corporate structures, lean into the type of work that had immediate results and that changes lives and inspires people.
If you had asked me who I was before journalism, I have no idea what I would tell you, but I promise you that that person no longer exists. I’ve been described as intelligent. There is evidence to support that I am resilient, that I can be fierce in my beliefs and that my thinking leans toward the analytical. In newsrooms, I learned that I am patient, that my dry humour was funny – to some people and that I am a good listener. I learned that as independent as my life had forced me to be, I needed others to get anything done that was worth doing. In newsrooms, I experienced the concept of the mass mind, long before I’d read Napoleon Hill. I spoke every day with people much smarter than me and learned responsibility and respect for the written word to add to my love for it.
At the Guardian, Robert Alonzo’s faith in me to always get more than the obvious story gave me confidence in my work ethic. That confidence tip-toed toward arrogance a few times but fortunately, I had Marsha Arvelay, Marvin Smith and Bernadette Millien to keep me grounded. Peter Ray Blood made me take seriously my appreciation of culture and allowed me space for my first column in the Guardian’s Feature pages. When I thought I knew the importance of covering all the angles, Debra Wanser showed me that there was always another consideration to make, as frustrating as it was at the time. My passion for media was further fuelled during my time as Vice President of the MATT executive with Dr Sheila Rampersad, Francesca Hawkins, Jabari Fraser, Anthony Gittens and Kevon Felmine. I learned from my sources and contacts as well, though they will remain unnamed. In my lifetime of media consumption, I had never interacted with a woman editor-in-chief until I met Judy Raymond, and almost immediately I knew I wanted her job. The Newsday had Therese Mills and the Express had Omatie Lyder but I had Judy and I learned.
I learned a lot, but there was a side to being a journalist that drained me. The constant second-hand trauma takes a toll, especially when you have your own trauma to deal with.
In April of 2020, people started dying from covid19. It wasn’t the two-digit daily count, shared clinically to an immune society of today. It was a slow drip of mothers, grandmothers, fathers, grandfathers. Death by cruise because if you had asked a random stranger in Anytown Trinidad at the time, “who tell them go on a cruise ship with this thing happening?” At the time, I was associate editor-digital content at the Newsday, and for those first weeks, I was almost solely responsible for getting those stories online, reading about death, doing SEO edits around loss.
Publish. Share. Moderate vile comments.
Family reacts, heartbroken. SEO edit. Publish, Share, Moderate vile comments.
I wanted it to stop. By the time we got to mask mandates and essential workers, I realised the tolerance of tragedy that comes to crime reporters based on repeated exposure to pain, wasn’t coming to me. In May, with more deaths, the constant feeling of uncertainty and the sense of callousness directed towards the media, I was burnt. It became too much and one day, I found myself crying, shaking uncontrollably as I let all of the heaviness of the past months soak into my shirt. I knew then, that what I needed was space. Journalism was the focal point of my life and I needed more.
As a first step, I re-enrolled in school, having put it on pause due to a medical issue years earlier. Next, I started setting boundaries and creating the work-life balance that journalism resents. Because people in journalism will tell you journalists don’t have a life like it’s a hummingbird medal. I didn’t want that badge of honour anymore. Then I prayed about what I wanted my life to be like and followed that up with action. So when a friend sent me the link for a job and told me to apply, I was ready. Part of me thought it was crazy to make a big change during a pandemic, while my country was in a state of emergency, while the world was morphing into its unknown future. Another part of me questioned my own competency. I was a good journalist, leading in digital journalism and changing the newsroom culture to embrace new media and encouraging and supporting my colleague on the company’s digital-first thrust, but could I be good at something else. Could I transfer those journalistic skills, my professional network, my social media management capabilities, my passion to a role where I both found value and felt valued?
There is this quote from Beyonce where she says “I don’t like to gamble, but if there’s one thing I’m willing to bet on, it’s myself.” That’s something that resonates with me. I really will bet on myself every time. That’s based on my experience of meeting and surpassing challenges, of having self-doubt and impostor syndrome but proving to myself that I can develop and learn and be better than expected, every single time. So, while I was nervous and worried and unsure, I bet on myself again and applied for the job that I wanted and after my first ever virtual panel interview (2021 things) I got a job offer. Some people tried to convince me not to accept it, others had the opposite view. In the end, I made the right decision. I bet on myself and I’ll do it again and again.
I’m glad I did. I’ve grown as a professional in the past six months in ways I hadn’t anticipated. I’ve been challenged repeatedly and I’ve been given space to work in an environment that is collaborative and values-focused. There are parts of my job that intersect with journalism in meaningful ways and I am grateful for that. There are parts of my job that allows me to work on human rights priorities and I’m grateful for that too. I chose, in a time of uncertainty, to be certain about me and I have to say, I am not disappointed.
Island City Life 
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