![]() My friends from journalism school understood, but they were also so busy and in many cases miserable that it just made the misery worse. My friends who were not in the business didn’t understand because they were working jobs with good pay and normal hours in cities close to their families. My parents didn’t understand they said I was over-reacting. When you move to a city you know nothing about to work in a business that is very critical, it’s tough. ![]() I didn’t think I was going to make it two years in this job. Viewers sent in emails about my voice being too high pitched, and my makeup looking terrible. The one photographer we had didn’t even use a tripod. The main anchors would talk about me behind my back. My general manager questioned everything I did. Every day I would try my best, but it never seemed to be enough. The news set looked like something you’d find in a middle school and we had nicer audio boards at my college. The station I was at was dead last in the ratings and everyone at the station seemed fine with it. I was a one-man-band, which meant I shot, wrote, and edited everything by myself. I was the ONLY full-time reporter at my station. My $18,000 a year salary meant I sometimes had to choose between paying my rent and buying groceries. I was two months into a two year contract, and I was miserable. It was everything I ever wanted, at least, that’s what I thought. I had just landed my first job as a reporter at a local TV station in market 150+. I was crying because things weren’t going how they were supposed to. I could hear everything the girl who lived in the apartment above me was doing. ![]() I had one love seat, a big old television, a bed, and a dresser. I was crying while sitting on the hardwood floor of my old, cold apartment.
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