Six years in to my humanitarian career, I’m still struck by Sunday night anxiety and sleepless nights about my ability to do my job. Is this normal?
Six years ago, a loosely structured internship quickly turned into a programme management job for a faith-based NGO. On my first day flying solo I received a copy of a child-protection grant, the signatures at the end slightly smudged. Apparently, the grant manager had been in a hurry to send it.
Reading through the contract was like trying to decipher the operational instructions for my new camera. I had never seen a grant before and didn’t know anything about the importance of indicators or budgets. Like I’d always done in my own life, I aimed to save money, not realising that my goal was to spend it.
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Even something as mundane as the Monday morning all-staff update stresses me out
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