My chosen career was media. There was a time, before digital gave print an atomic wedgie, that senior media executives were paid like bankers to bring stories about Jennifer Aniston's hair to the grateful masses.

I put a lot of work into it. I drank with the right people, I was strategic and political, I dug up tasty opportunities like a truffle pig and, eventually, became a big swinging dork.

Yelling and throwing

The first shock about moving into the corner office is you no longer get to sit out on the floor with your mates, gossip and have fun. The only time people want to talk to you is to tell you something's wrong, and ask how you'll fix it. I have a clear memory of the end of my first week in an executive role, thinking if one more person came into my office with a problem, I'd throw a phone at them.

Throwing stuff and yelling, as it turns out, is not only acceptable behaviour, but one of the very few relief valves available in executive world.

The next thing to learn is that you'll spend around 70 per cent of your time trying to hold on to your job. You won't have time to be an inspiring, creative leader because you'll be too busy fighting off everyone else who, just like you, wants the corner office.

You'll be horrified at the level of gossip. You become deeply aware of the agendas, feuds, rivalries and power plays going on all around you. A fellow exec slides into your office, whispers that that bastard down the hall thinks your division should be under his division and is saying so, quietly, to the right people. So you walk down the hall, right past his EA and into his office. You ask him to stop. "Maaaate? What? Me? Never .... anyway, what would you do about it?" he smirks.

Card sharks


His face drops when you strongly suggest that if his activity has any negative effect on your position in the company, the chat will be in the carpark, not the boardroom. He knows you mean it.

Other execs, hearing this gossip, relay that everyone thought that was an awesome move. Years later, you find yourself referred to in a book by a media commentator as "pugilistic".

Sure, you get to go to lunch with clients, stay out all afternoon and all night, smashing the corporate card. It's fun at the time but, with all the eating and drinking and pressure and lack of time, you find your expensive suits need to be a size bigger every few months.

Home horrors

At home, when you're there, things aren't much better. Your wife or partner and children don't really look forward to you turning up. You're so wound up and aggressive and exhausted that all you want to do is flop onto the couch, turn on the telly with a vat of pinot and have a moment where people don't … want things. This makes discussions about school and bills and friends and holidays a bit difficult.

You find yourself talking to other execs about being a "walking wallet" and wondering what the hell your wives are doing all day. Usually, they're not working because your salary is more than enough and you have no time to do anything at all related to the running of the house, so that's her job. From your perspective, that doesn't seem fair. You'd rather get a facial than present a budget to a board of bored wolves.

Be careful what you wish for

So, here you are. You've got what you wished for. You're fat, hungover, exhausted, isolated, lonely and angry … but you can't stop. The mortgage and the private school and the holiday house somehow suck up almost every cent of your obscene income. You are underwhelmed to discover the new cupboard in your bedroom cost $5000.


The money and the car and the corporate card aren't doing it for you at all. Lottery winners report their happiness returns to normal levels, or worse, in about three months. You fully understand this.

That's a snapshot of my experience and that of a few close mates. And, according to Dr Ben Teoh, clinical director at Sydney's South Pacific Private mental health and addiction facility, it's unfortunately the experience of a lot of other men too.

"Data and clinical experience shows us that it's 40-45 year old men who are at the highest risk of depression and suicide," he says. "There's also a higher incidence of substance and alcohol abuse."

"It's part of the personality of driven people that they see reaching out for help as a weakness in character. So they keep struggling on and on alone, until, in many cases, it's too late.

"Many people feel they can't get out of the situation they're in simply because of the stigma and, in some cases, because they and their families feel reliant on a level of remuneration."

The big question

So what's the answer? It actually incredibly simple but it clearly hasn't sunk in yet. It's education.

Men need to understand living with depression isn't a weakness, it's a treatable illness.


That's it. You're not a wimp or a loser if you reach out for help. In fact, it takes the same type of backbone you've been using at work. You're a tough guy in the office, so be a tough guy, suck it up and admit you can't do it all yourself. You might just save your own life.

These days, I earn, literally, about one tenth what I used to. I wear a T-shirt to work. My desk is the same as everyone else's. I no longer yell and throw things. I'm 20 kilograms lighter. There's no-one after my carpark because I don't have one.

I'm the happiest I've ever been.

With more than 25 years in Australian media, Phil Barker has edited NW and Woman's Day magazines, and published such titles as Vogue, GQ, Delicious, InsideOut and Donna Hay. He is owner of a creative events and activations agency and is a regular commentator on the life and style of Australian men.

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This story first appeared at Executive Style.