The Quiet Work: An Engineer’s Reflection on Influence, Credit and Culture (3)

Jun 19

Part Three: Our Health Matters

Content warning – this article contains content about suicide.

Thank you to everyone who has read parts one and two. I know many people in the music industry resonated with the confusing world of social media and how we, as audio engineers, need to market ourselves to meet the changing world.

Part two was more specific. It looked at a platform that has come on the market in the last few years, including a free tier for credit compilations and a paid tier that includes analytics and comparative charts. I was curious to weigh up the pros and cons of the platform and personally concluded that the money was not worth spending. I don't believe I would generate more work or income by paying for the service. I was also conscious of my previous mental health issues and whether the comparative charts were something I needed in my life. Which brings me to the final part.

This last part is a bit shorter and focuses on the mental health crisis in the music industry, tall poppy syndrome, and finding community. This is not a new topic. It’s widely reported on, yet I don’t think it has necessarily improved. Because I reside in Australia, I’ll focus on the information and resources relevant to this country.

Our Mental Health

In 2023, the Music Producer and Engineers Guild (MPEG) surveyed its members. The results weren’t overly surprising (given COVID-19 and the implosion of our industry for a couple of years), but they still shocked me at the time. It doesn’t seem like there’s been another survey yet, so I’m looking at these results.

MPEG found that 47.1% of respondents rated their mental health as mostly good to excellent, and 51% rated their mental health as average to poor.

Further to this, the 2024 Support Act survey found that 57% of people working in the music industry had experienced suicidal thoughts, and 53.3% reported high or very high levels of psychological stress.

If you had asked me a couple of years ago, I would have been in the poor category. I battled on and off with depression and anxiety, suicidal ideation, and self-harm. My mental health was bad, and the issues stemmed from the industry itself. Working a career with low pay, long hours, and limited opportunities for job security did not support a healthy work environment.

As engineers, we often sit all day in rooms with no windows, eating takeaway and drinking too much coffee. On top of the mental strain, I ended up with a full-on vitamin D deficiency after a few years of this lifestyle.

It goes beyond studio walls too — if you work in live sound, you’re working nights, sleeping during the day, and subjected to loud sound for extended periods, which can cause long-term health issues. Or you pick up a second job to help pay the bills. I know many engineers who have had to do this. Suddenly you’re working more than 38 hours a week, for less than what a full-time worker earns at McDonald’s.

At the 2025 MPEG Awards, many engineers thanked their families for being patient while they worked long hours. Nights and weekends are spent in the studio because we’re passionate, and we love it. But it takes a toll on our health, and sometimes, on our relationships.

When I was a junior engineer, the hours were long and the pay was incredibly low. In order to pursue our creative endeavours, we often work incredibly hard while living on poverty-level wages. We hope that one day the work gets traction and begins to earn a sustainable income.

It takes a long time to prove your worth and finally say no to the $200 mixing job haggled down by a random artist DM-ing you on Instagram. The pressure to fill your portfolio overwhelms the self-respect needed to charge a living wage.

Furthering this, as a female in my early 20s facing constant discrimination, it was difficult to justify charging a fair rate when my imposter syndrome was so high. I know I’m not alone in this.

The work hours are long, it can be isolating, and it creates unhealthy habits. We also know that many workplaces in the music industry are unhealthy and promote toxic environments. The Me Too movement in music brought some of this to light, and with Instagram accounts like Beneath the Glass Ceiling, the horrors were published. It may have died down in the news, but not in reality.

I know I stayed too long in a bad work environment, to the detriment of my own health. I also know a lot of women who have left the industry because it was unsafe and unhealthy. They chose to leave their passion to be well.

I was fearful that leaving would ruin my career progression. It got to a point where I couldn’t ignore the signs. I had to prioritise health over the idea of momentum.

I’ve now set up boundaries in my own freelance business to protect my health. Mastering, while it’s my passion, allows me to work 9–5 and earn a decent hourly wage. I only take on mixing or recording projects if they’re bespoke and I truly believe in them. I choose the hours and the rate.

I monitor how loud I’m listening to music in the studio. I take time to get sunshine. I prioritise movement over a sedentary life. I only learned all of this after a myriad of health issues, and I hope you’re all prioritising your health too.

Tall Poppies

Combatting the mental health crisis also involves dismantling tall poppy syndrome, a term linked to Australia and New Zealand. We dislike seeing our peers thrive, so we seek to cut them down so they can’t rise above the rest.

It is so unbelievably common here. I’ve watched, read, and listened as people dragged others down, dissed their work or their sound, and refused to celebrate other people’s wins. We, as a collective, criticise more than we compliment. It’s a shame, and no one can say they haven’t done it. Culturally, we are taught to.

There’s an ingrained discomfort here with anyone who tries to step into visibility or lean into their success. We might frame it as humility or modesty, but a lot of the time it’s just fear. We worry about being seen as arrogant. We don’t want to be seen as proud of our own success.

A few engineer and artist friends of mine moved to the UK or USA and told me how welcoming and kind people were. There was a strong desire to connect and support each other’s careers. Opportunities came because everyone was supportive, boosted one another, and promoted each other’s work. The community sounded strong, and my friends were thriving. I was a little jealous that I hadn’t left Australia myself after that.

Perhaps their experience is isolated and not reflective of everyone who leaves, but I also see artists posting about how tough it is to market themselves and promote their work here because there is so much criticism.

This experience isn’t limited to emerging artists. Even some of the biggest names in Australian music have spoken publicly about feeling this pressure — the shame around success and the judgement that comes when their work takes off. It doesn’t matter what level you’re at. Tall poppy culture still finds a way in.

In the engineering world, we need to boost one another up. Be proud of those who win the awards. If a recording sounds good, let them know. If they reach a million streams and share it, celebrate it. When one of us succeeds, we all succeed. There’s no greater way to create change and address the issues we face than to do it as a collective.

Community

The mental health statistics make sense. I’ve experienced it. Many of my peers have too. From my experience, the only way to get through this is together — by creating pockets of community and leaning into friendships.

Without a traditional work environment filled with people and shared experiences, we have to create connection ourselves, outside of our isolated studios. I know that can be hard when we’re all so introverted.

But small things matter. A group chat. A check-in. A shared playlist. A message that says, “Hey, I loved that record you worked on.” Community doesn’t have to be loud or large. Sometimes it’s just two people who understand each other. Sometimes it’s just someone who knows what it’s like to go through a quiet week and wonder if anyone will reach out.

We don’t need more competition. We spend a lot of time looking at social media, where everyone posts the ‘best’ of their lives. It looks like everyone has their community. Take a step back and recognise that we’re often looking at 0.1% of someone’s life.

The statistics show most of us are struggling. And part of dismantling tall poppy syndrome is recognising the value of vulnerability — checking in on one another and being honest about where we’re really at.

Having a mentor, or a check-in buddy in this industry, is so important. It saved me on many occasions. Having people who understand the realities of the job makes you feel heard. It makes a difference.

If any of this resonates with you, know that you’re not alone. I know it can feel that way sometimes — especially when your whole work life happens in a room by yourself. It’s hard running a freelance business. It’s hard making music. It’s hard maintaining your health. We’re all going through it. We just need to lean on each other a little more.

Here are some Australian support services if you need them:

Support Act Wellbeing Helpline - 1800 959 500
Lifeline - 13 11 14
Beyond Blue - 1300 22 4636

When I started this series, I wasn't sure how it would be received. I didn't know if anyone would read it. I just wanted to share how I was feeling over the past couple of months, if not years.

Part one looked at the rise of the influencer-engineer and how we're being pulled into new ways of presenting ourselves that don't always align with who we are. Part two explored how platforms are monetising our insecurities, and how crediting - once a quiet affirmation of contribution - has become part of a numbers game. And now, in part three, I've written about something that's been a shadow across all of it - the weight of it all. The pressure, the pain, and the path forward.

I called this series The Quiet Work because that's what so much of this is. The work we do that goes unseen. The effort to stay creative, to stay connected, to stay in the game. It's not always loud. It's not always public. It doesn't always make it onto a tile or into a press release. But it matters.

If you've read all three parts, thank you. I hope something in here gave you a bit of clarity, or relief, or recognition. I hope it reminded you that even when you feel invisible, your work still has value. You still have value.

The quiet work still matters. It always has.

- Tahlia-Rose

The Quiet Work: An Engineer’s Reflection on Influence, Credit and Culture (3)

Part Three: Our Health Matters

The Quiet Work: An Engineer’s Reflection on Influence, Credit and Culture (2)