I Hide What I Do. I Hate That I Do.

Let's talk about who actually does the work.

Support work is immigrant work. In most parts of the Western World.

Locals run the spreadsheets, manage rosters, sit in the offices. The immigrants show up at someone's door at 7 am and do the work nobody wants to talk about at dinner parties.

Sweeping generalisation, I know. There are plenty of Aussies doing amazing work. Make no mistake about it.

But you know what I mean...

Politicians crack jokes about it. They're here to do all the work our people don't want to do. Ha!

"Who's going to feed you and bathe you and wipe your bum when you're 90?"

Now flip it. Because here's the part nobody talks about.

A lot of those immigrants... They don't want to be doing it either. Not because the work is hard (well, it is hard work!!!). Because where they come from - the subcontinent, Southeast Asia, West Africa - Support Work has a name...

Servant.

Domestic.

It's the bottom rung.

White collar work is what gets you respect at the family dinner table. White collar is what mum brags about. (Mine didn't even say anything when I was "known" marketer back in Sri Lanka! That's a story for another day...)

Doctor. Engineer. Lawyer. CFO. IT expert. Project Manager. Architect.

I'm one of those immigrants. And I carry that poison in my blood whether I like it or not.

Although I've never judged anyone, right now, I'd go out of the way NOT to be judged.

But there it is... this ugly little voice that says hide it. Keep up the freelance marketer story. That's something you can say out loud.

The support work?

Tuck it away. Hide it. Like a bastard child.

Drinks with my mates...

They talk about investments, career moves, the job market. I've nothing to add. And it eats at me... this corrosive feeling. That I'm somehow less.

And my wife...

Women, while kicking a* in the corporate world - I know, my mates' wives do - take pride in their husbands' work. Does she feel like s*it when conversations about partners come up?

What does she even say? That's the part that keeps me up at night. The guilt behind my smile.

So where to now?

I won't lie and say I've made peace with it. The voice is still there.

But here's what's also true...

I didn't bend. Never played office politics. Didn't smile at the right people and stab the right backs. Always spoke my mind, zero f*cks given! Even with my freelance marketing clients, they always knew I was a straight shooter. Today, I go to sleep knowing someone's day was genuinely better because I showed up. Not better in a KPI kind of way. Better in a human being kind of way. And I love being of service. Period.

And that matters.

And the people who may judge me for this job?

When the time comes - and it comes for everyone - they'll want someone like me at their side. Someone who gave a damn.

...

This internal dialogue doesn't resolve anything. But writing it sure is something. If it resonates, let us know.