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It started like any normal Tuesday. Tea. Windows 95. An email inbox that looked suspiciously like it had been breeding overnight. And then — they came out of the lift. “Stop what you’re doing.” “Pack your things. Leave now.” At first, we all thought it was a drill. Or a prank. (Sydney offices do love a bit of theatre.) But no, it was the real deal. Every employee — over 1,000 of us — booted out of 13 Castlereagh Street with all the ceremony of a broken office printer. We gathered at Martin Place like confused extras in a dystopian film, where someone in a blazer climbed some stairs and delivered the corporate equivalent of “It’s not you, it’s me” — One.Tel had folded. Go home. No mention of final pay. No idea about our leave. Just… cheers for coming, don’t let the lift doors hit you on the way out. It was messy. It was painful. It was bewildering. And last week? That whole mess of emotion came back — but in a very different setting. Because this time, it’s not about a job. It’s about David’s mum. We’ve been DIY-ing the in-home aged care process for 2 years like amateur sleuths — sniffing out funding codes and figuring out who actually has the authority to say “yes” to anything. And then last week, sitting in a small room with a woman who radiated empathy like a human heat pack, we heard the words: “It’s time for residential care.” Cue the tears. Cue the rage at a system that seems designed to wear you down. One step forward, two phone calls to nowhere. Ask for help and you get a waitlist. Ask the wrong question, and it costs you six weeks of waiting. Don’t know what to ask? That’s on you apparently. And that’s when it hit me: this is exactly why I do what I do. People come to me after months of job searching — tired, demoralised, confused. They’ve sent 97 resumes into the void. They’ve interviewed for jobs they were perfect for and heard nothing. They’ve Googled “what to do in an interview” so many times the algorithm thinks they’re launching a hiring agency. They’re exhausted. And most of all — they don’t know what they don’t know. Just like us, this week, navigating the aged care maze with a mix of hope, grief and rage. So no, I can’t make the aged care system easier. But in the job search jungle? I’ve got you. I’m your person. The one who knows what to say. What to write. Where to click. And when you’re tired of doing it all alone, I’m here: 👉 https://meritude.com.au/membership Because you shouldn’t have to DIY everything. To be continued… ~Lisa Your Q&ATo TikTok or Not? Hi Lisa, CV question: I’m a former teacher and I’m applying for a job at a university to supervise student teachers. I have my own TikTok account where I post videos for parents and educators. Is this something I would list on my CV???? My gut says “no.” Your thoughts? Marcia Hi Marcia, If your TikTok account is just you lip-syncing to Bluey soundbites or rating school lunches with your dog in the background—then yes, keep that gem to yourself. No need to lead with that when applying to a university. BUT… and I assume this is what you’re actually doing … if it’s thoughtful content aimed at educators and parents, and you’ve built an engaged following, that’s actually pretty relevant. Universities are hungry for staff who understand how to communicate beyond a classroom. Especially when it comes to working with students. So here’s my two cents: Don’t slap it under “Work History” or “Professional Experience” unless it’s a formal business. Instead, include it under a section like “Professional Contributions” or “Education Outreach.” Write a one-liner: “Creator of educational TikTok content for parents and educators (1,500+ followers), focused on positive behaviour strategies and classroom engagement.” That way, you’re not flexing for clout. You’re showing that you get digital engagement, and that’s a win in any educator’s book. Unless of course your last post was titled “Teachers I’d fire immediately – a ranking.” In which case… maybe leave it off. Thanks for Reading ~Lisa |
