If your employer ignores you most of the time, then they turn their attention towards you, never in a way that helps. They expect you to mend years of neglect. They want you to perform miracles without context and then ask why you haven’t fixed it already. You explain — again — that you’ve asked for help, for guidance, for support, but were ignored because everyone else was “too busy.” That’s when you realise: they don’t want a technical author; they want a miracle worker. Demanding scenarios test the technical author’s resilience.
I’ve lived through that more times than I care to count. I’ve served under managers who were bullies. They took credit for my work and left me to take the blame when their own ideas fell apart. I’ve been sacked twice because I became the scapegoat for a junior manager eager to broaden his horizons without knowing how to do it the right way. Somehow, I managed to survive, demonstrating technical author resilience under pressure.
After the shock of those experiences, I tried to leave the profession altogether. But escape was impossible. Technical communication isn’t just a job you walk away from — it becomes part of how you think, how you analyse, how you explain. Still, the idea lingered: perhaps I could find a new path, somewhere I didn’t have to fight to be heard.
Being ignored forced me to grow and build my knowledge in
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- document control,
- SharePoint,
- metadata,
- ISO standards, and
- information management strategy.
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Every new skill became a means of self-preservation and a step towards independence. My strength wasn’t just writing documents, but creating clarity in confusion. I turned chaos into structure. This growth marked a new level of resilience for me as a technical author.
Over the years, I’ve met many technical authors who perform communication miracles. Often introverted by nature, they bridge the gaps between.
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- development,
- product management,
- marketing, and
- compliance.
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They mediate conflicts, resolve ambiguities, and keep projects moving. They balance diplomacy and precision. Yet despite this, recognition remains elusive. Juggling all those pressures while being expected never to drop a ball is the unique burden of our profession. It truly tests our resilience.
When I look back, I can see how much those early challenges shaped me. The failures, the bullying, the long stretches of being overlooked — they all built resilience and empathy. They taught me how to read a room, how to listen, and how to pick my battles.
In later years, even as contracting became my refuge, the dream of escape began to fade.
Where would I go?
Who else would understand this strange blend of discipline, communication, and problem-solving?
This is where the resilience of a technical author comes in.
On more than one occasion, a recruitment agency shared something with me that has stuck in my mind:
“You’d make a great recruiter — you’re easy to talk to, confident, and you make even the most complex role sound exciting.”
Perhaps they were correct. During this time, I truly mastered translation—not just between systems and users, but also between individuals and possibilities.
My article appears after reading Dr Harald Schenda’s linked article. It resonated with me, and here is my response with his acknowledgement.
https://www.linkedin.com/posts/harald-schenda_technicalwriting-technicalcommunication-technischekommunikation-activity-7389332802388848640-01t8?utm_source=share&utm_medium=member_desktop&rcm=ACoAAADzAZwBkR4cshHQHZzdgski5orzlKnCer0