When I first decided I wanted to be a journalist, I felt like it was a highly respected profession that carried weight. Not just in a professional sense, but in a deeply personal one. For me, it meant something to be a watchdog, a gatekeeper. I wanted to chase the truth, question authority, and serve the public.
But for a growing number of ex-reporters like me, the former title now feels more like a ghost—a past identity left behind in the name of survival.
Welcome to the era of the ex-journalist.
The deeper I got into the job, the further I felt from the purpose that brought me into it. It became painfully clear that the intention I started with, the belief that journalism could make things better, would never be fulfilled if I stayed in the industry.
Over the last decade, my dream of building a career in traditional journalism has morphed from a calling into a cautionary tale. It’s not just the vanishing local newsrooms or the industry’s digital death spiral perpetrated by the rise of a social-first world, but the sheer emotional and financial cost of staying in it.
Amy Koczera: Strategic Writer & Storyteller 