Two weeks ago, I arrived in New Zealand, full of excitement for what seemed like my dream job. I gave up a lot to get here as quickly as possible. In my mind, this job was a “once-in-a-lifetime opportunity,” and I even decided to skip being home for the holidays.

On my first day, I was flabbergasted by how detailed everything was done. Not even five minutes into my first trek, I started questioning whether I was good enough for the job. But I managed to shift my perspective: Cecile, this is a learning opportunity.

That optimism didn’t last long. I quickly realized that interacting with customers didn’t feel natural here. The rides felt scripted—like an act—where we repeated the same information over the same routes. On top of that, we used walkie-talkies to communicate during the tours, which I found frustrating. It felt like micro-managing, especially when I was mid-conversation with a customer and got interrupted with comments or updates over the radio.

After my first day, I came home completely overwhelmed—on another level entirely.

The next day, I was taught how to take halters off. Everything here had to be done so specifically that they explained every little task from scratch, which felt exhausting. By the end of the day, I was with my co-worker, who had started the same day as me, washing the horses’ boots at the creek. Not even five seconds into the task, we both shared our concerns about whether this job was for us. That moment was a relief—because I wasn’t alone in feeling this way.

We both had experiences from other stables and knew this constant micro-management wasn’t normal. That evening, we drove to the city together and spent hours venting about the workplace. We also played a fun little guessing game: figuring out which of our co-workers were queer—because, honestly, in my opinion, there were some really attractive girls around!

But as time went on, work became draining. I felt like I was giving everything I had, still striving for recognition that rarely came. On the rare occasion I got a compliment, it felt like a drop of validation in an ocean of criticism. It highlighted how much I had come to rely on external feedback to feel good about myself. For someone who knows they’re skilled at guiding tours, this was a wake-up call—my self-esteem was taking a serious hit.

The self-doubt crept in quickly. I started overthinking every little detail and worrying about making mistakes. The thought of eventually getting more responsibility made me anxious. It was exhausting. And this was just my first week! I was supposed to be in my honeymoon phase right now.

On Friday of that week, I was kneeling beside a horse, putting his boots on, when he suddenly started pulling against his halter and jumped to the side. The pressure of all my bottled-up feelings, combined with that moment, triggered a massive mental breakdown at work. My co-workers apologized repeatedly for not warning me about the horse’s behavior, but it was clear to me: this wasn’t just about the horse. It was about the environment. Cecile, you are in the wrong place.

That Sunday, I called my aunt and uncle—again—for advice. My uncle told me to quit, saying it seemed like I’d already made up my mind. My aunt encouraged me to push through for two more days since I’d have time off after that. I went in, but the dread was still there.

When I arrived at work, the manager asked to have a chat with me. I was relieved—it felt like a chance to be honest. I told her, “If this is the discipline you expect from me, I’m not sure I’m the right person for this job.” To my surprise, my honesty was appreciated, and things seemed to improve for a while. The team treated me more calmly and kindly, which felt good, but deep down, I knew something still wasn’t right.

It’s sad, though. The two times I met up with co-workers outside of work, I realized they were all separate individuals with beautiful personalities. We had this gathering for a co-worker’s goodbye party, and a few of them were tangled together on the couch. It gave me such “theater kid” vibes—unique, creative souls. It’s the kind of group I wish I could have connected with, but the whole situation made me shrink back lately. These people haven’t even seen a glimpse of the crazy, shameless person I really am.

On my days off, I drove to Lake Tekapo to meet L, a girl from Belgium I’d connected with through our manager in Iceland. The manager knew I wanted to buy a car and introduced me to L, who was selling hers before leaving. We chatted on WhatsApp and followed each other on Instagram, but now that we were both in New Zealand, it was time to meet in person!

I picked her up, and not even two minutes into our conversation, I broke down crying, saying, “I don’t know how to tell when I’ve tried hard enough at this job.” I was so conflicted. I thought this was my dream job, but it clearly wasn’t.

We talked, watched movies, ate pasta, and hung out with her lovely housemates. The next day, during a hike, it became clear to me: quitting this job won’t take away my adventures. There are so many opportunities in this country, and I don’t have to make myself miserable to stay.

After the hike, I wrote a message informing my manager that I’d formally give my notice the next day. As I opened WhatsApp to send it, I saw a text from my co-worker who had started the same day as me—she had just handed in her notice. The company was about to lose two employees on the same day.

I hesitated before sending the message, but during our horse ride, L gave me the push I needed: “Cecile, you’re sure about this—you’re just postponing.” She was right. So, I sent it.

L, if you’re reading this, thank you for being so patient with me during these days. I know I talked and overthought everything way too much, which isn’t how I imagined our first meeting. But I still enjoyed it so much!

The next morning, I woke up exhausted from my trip, only to get a message saying I didn’t need to come to work that day. Relief washed over me.

Later, I went in to formally give my notice. The manager and owner met with me, and I explained my feelings: the overly structured environment just wasn’t for me. The owner defended their methods, explaining the structure was necessary to keep the horses well-behaved and in great condition. I respected that. I also have to say I truly admire how the horses are cared for, but it didn’t change my feelings.

The owner then gave me a lecture about how I should have pushed through and adjusted to the discomfort. She even explained how emotions only last 90 seconds in the body (which didn’t exactly help in the moment).

That’s when I applied the Let Them Theory by Mel Robbins. Instead of wasting my energy defending myself or arguing, I thought: Cecile, these people barely know you. Their opinions don’t define you. You know the difference between pushing through and being in the wrong place.

Still, one thing bothered me: they tried guilt-tripping me. They mentioned how they’d turned down other applicants for me and how inconvenient it was to lose someone so close to Christmas. Through tears, I said, “I understand your frustration, but imagine my perspective: I left everything behind to come here because I believed this was my dream job. Now I’m here, and I’m not spending Christmas with my family.”

They told me I didn’t need to come in for the rest of the week, which I was more than okay with.

By now, I’d already realized anyway that the girls I was interested in had either left or were already taken. So, I saw this as a chance to explore new waters and see what else might be out there.

But for real, looking back. I know leaving so soon might seem impulsive, but staying any longer felt wrong. I didn’t want to keep wasting my time—or theirs—when I already knew this wasn’t the right fit. Most importantly, I wanted to have peace of mind going into the holidays. I didn’t want to spend Christmas dreading the next workday, especially when horses—my passion—had never felt like such a burden before.

Now, I feel calm and at peace with my choice. This year, I’ve left several jobs, and at first, it felt like failure. But now I see it differently. Jobs, like dating, are about finding the right fit. You give it a try, and if it doesn’t work, you move on. Of course, you owe an effort to your employer, but your happiness matters just as much.

I’m proud of myself for choosing to leave and prioritizing my well-being. I’ve learned that finding the right fit takes trial and error, and that’s okay. Every step brings me closer to something that truly aligns with who I am.