The prospect of going back to work in IT has crossed my mind lately, and I’ll admit I’m torn.
I’ve spent more than three decades working in IT. I’ve tried several times over those years to leave it behind, only to eventually find myself pulled back in. And each time, I managed to push myself harder, work longer, and take on more until eventually I reached the unexpected place: burnout. So when the thought of returning crosses my mind now, I can’t help wondering whether I’m considering an opportunity or simply stepping back onto a road I’ve already travelled.
The temptation is easy to understand. I’m good at IT. I know how to do the work. I have decades of experience, and compared with starting something completely new, it would be relatively easy money. There is something comforting about being paid well to do something you already know how to do. After years of rebuilding my life, travelling, creating, performing, writing, and rediscovering parts of myself I had neglected, the idea of going back to something familiar has a certain attraction.
But then I talk to the people in my inner circle.
Their advice is interesting. Nobody seems particularly concerned about whether I can do the job. They know I can. Their concern is whether Derick will take over again.
“Can you keep Derick at bay?“
That question has stayed with me.
Because they aren’t talking about another person. They’re talking about the version of me who becomes completely absorbed in whatever he is doing. The version who sees a problem and can’t leave it alone. The version who works late because something needs to be finished. The version who takes pride in being able to handle more than everyone else. The version who slowly lets work become more important than everything else until one day he looks up and realizes he has disappeared inside it.
That’s the Derick I have been trying to understand.
And perhaps that’s why returning to IT feels so complicated. It’s not the work itself that scares me. I know I can do the work. What I’m afraid of is what the work might awaken in me.
For years, I thought burnout happened because IT was too demanding. Now I’m not so sure. Maybe the environment played a part, but I also have to acknowledge my own relationship with work. I didn’t simply work hard. I became the person who couldn’t stop working hard. I attached responsibility to identity. I confused being needed with being valuable. I kept pushing because pushing was something I knew how to do.
Then burnout forced me to stop.
What followed changed me in ways I never expected. I travelled. I stepped away from IT. I rediscovered creativity. I found bubbles. I became the Bubble Maestro. I wrote a Fringe show and stood on a stage telling my own story. I began writing about life, relationships, aging, family, uncertainty, gratitude, and all the strange little moments that make up being human.
I found a life outside of work.
And I don’t want to lose that.
Which brings me to the uncomfortable question: “Have I actually healed from burnout?“
I honestly don’t know.
I know I’m different. I know I see work differently. I know I understand the warning signs better than I did before. But perhaps healing isn’t something you can declare finished simply because you’ve had a couple of better years.
Maybe healing is tested when the old temptation returns.
That’s what makes this moment so interesting to me. IT isn’t calling me back because I need to prove something. It’s calling me because I’m good at it. Because I could make good money doing it. Because part of me enjoys solving technical problems. And because, after three decades in the field, walking back into that world would be familiar.
But familiarity isn’t necessarily wisdom.
The question isn’t whether I can go back.
The question is whether I can go back without going backward.
Could I work in IT without allowing it to consume my identity? Could I set boundaries and actually keep them? Could I work eight hours and stop? Could I walk away from an unfinished problem? Could I say no when more work is offered? Could I continue writing, travelling, performing, helping my family, and simply living while IT remains one part of my life rather than becoming my entire life?
And perhaps most importantly, could I recognize Derick when he starts knocking on the door?
Because I’m beginning to understand that you don’t necessarily defeat the parts of yourself that caused problems.
You learn to manage them.
The drive that once pushed me toward burnout is also part of what made me successful. My persistence isn’t inherently bad. My desire to solve problems isn’t bad. My work ethic isn’t bad.
Working hard was never the enemy.
Losing myself in the work was.
So perhaps this isn’t about choosing between IT and the life I’ve discovered since leaving it. Maybe it’s about seeing whether the two can coexist without one consuming the other.
I don’t know what I’m going to decide.
And for once, I’m okay with not having the answer immediately.
Maybe the fact that I’m even asking these questions means something has changed.
The old me would probably have accepted the opportunity, jumped in, and figured out the consequences later.
The person I am now wants to understand the consequences before taking the leap.
Maybe that’s growth.
Maybe that’s healing.
Or maybe this is simply another test.
Can I return to the place where I lost myself…
and still remember who I became after I left?