The Lie “Just Be Grateful You Have a Job”
They say you should be grateful just to have a job. Especially during a crisis. Especially when others are struggling. But at what point does that gratitude become a muzzle? A leash? A prison disguised as professionalism?
The Job That Almost Broke Me
During the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, I was working two jobs—sixty hours a week—as an essential worker in Los Angeles. The world had shut down, unemployment was skyrocketing, and I told myself I was lucky. I was lucky. But that “luck” came wrapped in silent suffering.
One of my jobs was at a high-volume spay/neuter clinic. We’d operate on over 100 cats a day—many of them strays, most never touched by humans before. It was intense, grueling work. I believed in the mission, and I poured my heart into it.
But the cruelty wasn’t just silent—it was strategic.
They called me a “white witch” because I talked to the cats under anesthesia. They said I was crazy for talking to myself—even though no one else would speak to me. I wasn’t muttering nonsense—I was thinking out loud, staying focused in a chaotic, understaffed clinic.
I was discredited in front of doctors. Undermined in subtle ways. One day, someone gave me diluted or expired pre-op anesthesia. I couldn’t sedate the cats properly, and I was humiliated. When I confronted the owner, I was told, “Why would anyone do that?” Gaslighting at its finest. But the truth was, I wasn’t imagining it. And the ones most at risk were the animals.
And still… I loved the work.
I talked to the animals because I saw them. Especially the ferals—the ones who had never been touched before and never would be again. Some of my favorites were the massive tomcats, battle-worn from street fights. They’d wake up from surgery wide-eyed and tender, craving affection they’d never known. How could I not speak to them?
They weren’t just animals. They had soul. They had purpose. And so did I. That’s why it all hurt so much. Because I stayed for the cause, not the cruelty.
The Breaking Point
I could’ve reported them. I could’ve turned them in. But doing so would’ve shut the whole program down. Their service—however broken the internal dynamics—was one-of-a-kind. No one else was doing what they were doing at that scale. California’s stray cat population was exploding. These procedures saved lives.
If I reported them, they’d lose their grants, their funding, and their reach. So I stayed quiet. I became the emotional punching bag to preserve the greater good.
But eventually, I realized: I was sacrificing myself to protect people who didn’t care if I made it through the day. I had to get out.
So I walked away.
Not out of weakness—but out of self-preservation. Because my sanity, my peace, my life had to matter, too.
I lost a lot—my health, my marriage, my stability. But maybe that loss made space for something else: truth. The truth that being grateful for a job should never mean tolerating mistreatment.
You can love the animals, the mission, the people you serve—and still choose yourself.
You are not ungrateful for demanding respect.
You are not dramatic for walking away.
You are not selfish for choosing peace.
You are allowed to matter. Especially at work.
check out my Audiodramaseries on YouTube They Tried To Bury Me
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