From May to August, I worked as an assistant in charge of managing an international trade website for four months. In the end, I decided to quit.
Looking back now, I don’t want to simply say, “I didn’t stick with it.” To be more precise, I struggled through four months in a system that wasn’t a good fit, lacked clarity, and offered no support—until, in the end, my body and emotions forced me to hit the pause button.
Even before I started the job, I had a feeling something wasn’t right. At the Monday morning meeting on my first day, I was already feeling immense pressure. My boss went on and on about how “young people need to work hard and learn about the product first,” and even the self-introduction had me on edge. By the end of my first month, I was already feeling anxious and depressed. But I’ve always been the type to bottle up my emotions, and I’m not the kind of person who walks away immediately when I find myself in an unsuitable environment.
On the surface, this job is listed as a “Website Operations Assistant,” but in reality, the responsibilities include: managing two standalone websites, two B2B platforms I’ve never used before, editing YouTube videos, handling customer service inquiries on the website, logging inquiries from international clients into the system, assigning clients to sales representatives, summarizing sales representatives’ follow-up progress weekly, and compiling data from the sales department’s system every two weeks. Due to star-rating requirements on the B2B platforms, I also have to respond to messages in real time on weekends. When I asked my boss about priorities, he said everything was equally important.
What really wore me down wasn’t just the heavy workload, but the chaos, lack of authority, lack of support, lack of handoffs, and emotional management.
We don’t have control over the independent website service provider or the domain name, so whenever we need to request changes, it might take three or four days to get a response—and sometimes we can’t even confirm if the changes are possible. Content on these two independent websites has been haphazardly updated for seven or eight years; there are tons of duplicate product pages, no product specifications, and images scattered across various shared folders. The multilingual feature isn’t working, and we’re stuck between a rock and a hard place about whether to delete it or not. The category layout is a mess; the service provider keeps flip-flopping—one moment saying changes aren’t possible, the next saying they are—and I got yelled at all afternoon because of it. I’ve drafted six or seven proposals for the future direction, but management doesn’t want to get involved, the boss isn’t satisfied, and they can’t come up with any new ideas.
I’m working on two B2B platforms—something I’ve never done before. My manager and boss don’t know how to handle it either, and the former colleague who knew how to do it has left the company, so there’s no one to hand it over to. I’ve had no choice but to teach myself on weekends and in my free time online. I’ve researched a ton of keywords, product specifications, and rating systems, but traffic still isn’t picking up. I’m feeling really hopeless.
Editing YouTube videos is also time-consuming. The only footage I have is random video shot at the factory, and I have to optimize it with AI. There’s no sound track, so I have to wear headphones and handle the music myself—it takes me most of the day to edit just one video.
Coordinating work has become even more difficult. My supervisor is emotional; whenever I encounter a task I’ve never done before and ask her for guidance, she gets impatient, yells at me, criticizes me, and tells me to figure it out on my own. When I took over registering customer data for inquiries—a task I wasn’t familiar with, making mistakes easy—I was yelled at loudly and even sarcastically told, “You’re such a talent.” My manager reviewed my proposal and said it was acceptable, but when the boss saw it, he found all sorts of things to complain about. When I asked a colleague to get product specifications and materials from the boss, they couldn’t provide them and told me to look at competitors’ offerings instead. The boss requires a summary of sales representatives’ inquiry feedback every Friday, but the sales team never provides it proactively. I’ve had to constantly chase them up—even resorting to harsh words—which has made everyone dislike me, and they refuse to cooperate. Every two weeks, I had to export reports and go to the finance office to ask the finance manager for help, but they were often unavailable. To reimburse 100 yuan for a server domain name, I first had to meet with the boss to explain why the money was spent—a process that took four or five days.
The corporate culture is wearing me down, too. On Monday mornings, we have a company-wide meeting where the boss lectures us on grand principles, we take turns giving reports, and each person takes a turn every week to create a PowerPoint presentation sharing their insights—it runs from 8:00 a.m. to 12:00 p.m., a full four hours. On Friday afternoons, there’s a two-hour *Tao Te Ching* study session where we’re divided into groups, a leader is selected by lottery, and we discuss the text. If I can’t articulate my insights, I’ll be evaluated again next time. I have to clock in four times a day, and I often forget. Plus, my salary is withheld for one month during the pay cycle.
Putting all these details together, I finally realized: this isn’t a matter of “not trying hard enough.” It’s a system characterized by unclear roles and responsibilities, insufficient resources, ambiguous priorities, emotional management, and a culture that relies on formalism and exploitation to function. It piles multiple job roles onto a single assistant without granting the necessary authority, providing training, ensuring a proper handover, or offering any support. Any normal person who were to work in this environment would eventually burn out.
The mistakes I made weren't due to a lack of ability.
My mistake was that I was too tolerant, too eager to do things right, and left too late.
I take systemic problems personally, thinking that as long as I try a little harder, learn a little more, and hang in there a little longer, I’ll be able to solve them.
I suppressed my emotions, thinking that suppression was a sign of maturity, but they didn't go away—instead, they turned into anxiety and somatization.
I didn't let my “discomfort” escalate into a decision about whether or not to leave during the first month.
I took my superiors’ moods, my boss’s dissatisfaction, and the indifference from other departments as my own responsibility.
I even regarded “perseverance” as the only true virtue, yet I forgot that sometimes letting go is a way to cut your losses, a strategy, and a means of protecting yourself.
But I did get some things right.
I finally left.
I admit that I can't hold on anymore, rather than keep wearing myself down until things get even worse.
I spent an entire month getting back on track. Although I was afraid to face those chaotic four months and didn’t write many essays, I’m now ready to get organized and start fresh.
I get it: Don't force yourself to adapt to a job that makes you miserable.
This is an important point. It’s not that I’m weak; it’s a boundary I’ve worked four months to establish.
If I had to sum up these past four months, I would say:
It wasn't “four wrong months,” but rather “four months of high costs and a wealth of information.”
It helped me see what really matters in a job: clear responsibilities, well-defined priorities, available resources, proper handoffs, emotionally stable supervisors, coordinated decision-making, and processes that respect people.
It also helped me see my own patterns: I tend to equate my work performance with my self-worth; I’m easily afraid of not doing well; and I tend to put up with discomfort first, rather than assessing the situation first.
Next time, I’ll trust my instincts sooner. Something felt off even before I started; the morning meeting on my first day was suffocating; my predecessor left without handing anything over; my boss said, “Everything is important”; I had to respond in real time on weekends; my first month’s salary was withheld; and my manager used humiliation to push me to work harder—these aren’t challenges; they’re red flags.
What I want is to be a free and happy person.
Freedom and happiness aren’t about finding the perfect job, but about knowing which pressures I shouldn’t have to bear, which environments aren’t worth adapting to, and which departures aren’t acts of running away, but choices.
I don't owe that job my perseverance.
I owe it to myself to have left sooner and to have believed sooner.
It's already the end of September.
I haven't quite figured out what kind of job I want yet, but I've realized one thing:
Don't force yourself to adapt to a job that makes you feel uncomfortable.
Wish me luck.
I also hope that the next time I have to make a choice, I’ll take my own side sooner.