Why the hell did I start this?

And who the hell am I?

So here we are.

Let’s get this out of the way: I don’t have a plan.
This newsletter is not monetized, branded, sponsored, or backed by anyone with a polished website.
And it won’t be.

It’s just me.
A Dispatcher. A little fried. A little furious. Quietly climbing her Mt Stupid. Still doing the job. Still hearing the words “next shift” like a curse and a prayer at the same time.
Still loving it—despite it all.

And apparently… I decided to announce this thing on LinkedIn without telling my manager.
No plan. No strategy. No blessing. Just vibes. Proper rawdogging.

Which—unsurprisingly—made my nervous system go haywire.
Immediate second thoughts. Sweaty palms. Heart racing.

Oh fuck. Should I have waited? Should I have warned someone? What if they see it? What if they hate it? Will this screw me over professionally?

Let’s be real—this is not a big deal.
It’s a small personal newsletter. A passion project. A vent outlet.
But my body? My nervous system reacted like I just handed in my resignation and livestreamed it from the company Slack.

That’s how fried we are.
One click. One post. One vulnerable moment, and suddenly your entire system goes red alert.

But here’s the thing—this isn’t some takedown or expose. I’m not here to burn bridges.
I love this job. I just want to survive it.

I want there to be space to talk about what it really costs to hold it all together shift after shift without falling apart.
And if that makes someone uncomfortable… maybe it’s because they’ve felt it too.

---

Before I was a Dispatcher, I was grinding.

My name is Karo, I’m from Poland, I’m 30 years old, and three years ago I left my little life in Warsaw—friends, family, comfort—all of it behind to chase a dream. I’ve always wanted to work in aviation.

And let me tell you—getting here? Was not a glossy LinkedIn “so honored to announce” kind of story.
It was a grind.

Me + the “Wall of Shame.” Taken at 2AM during one of those brutal study nights. My fridge was my vision board—covered in post-its, formulas, and a “gentle” reminder to keep going. Spoiler: it worked. (Eventually.)

I didn’t have the kind of money that lets you “just focus on training.”

I had to work. Pay rent. Buy food. Fight for time.
With work shifts I barely stayed awake through.
My life was planned down to the minute:

Work. Eat. Classes. Study. Sleep. Repeat.
Work. Eat. Classes. I feel sick. Study. Fuck no, I got no time. Sleep. Repeat.
Work. I can’t do this anymore. Eat. Push. For fuck’s sake, push. Just a little more. Study. Sleep. Repeat.

You get the idea.

And you know what? It was worth it.

I still love this work. I still get that rush when things line up, when chaos bows to structure, when a delay gets resolved and a crew breathes easier because I was there.

But that love?
It’s getting buried—under pressure, under weight, under the expectation that we’ll carry it all with a straight face. Dispatchers are the beating heart of operations. But who’s checking in on us to make sure the heart is healthy?

That’s why I started this newsletter.

We don’t get a space. We don’t get a cool callsign. We don’t get a support program.
We get next shift.

So this is for us.
For the ones who quietly hold the world together and then, when the shift ends, go home and try to do the same for themselves.

It won’t be perfect. I don’t know how long I’ll do it. But while it’s here, it’ll be real.

Thanks for being here. I see you.

Please take a moment to introduce yourself. Tell me who you are, why you’re here, and what’s bothering you the most right now. I’d love to hear from you.

Until next time,
— Karo

🛠️ Coming Next Week:

I once believed exhaustion was a badge of honor.
That belief almost broke me.

A raw post about burnout, blurred lines, and learning to rest before your body forces you to.