Limbo

Okay, I officially feel like I'm in limbo, some sort of static state of being in which I have no power to affect change in my life. I have been, in nigglingly tiny increments, laying the groundwork for becoming a certified teacher. I've gone through the 97 requisite steps, and believe I will be approved on February 26th at the meeting of the State Board of Education. This is fantastic, but it really does not change my lot in life until this fall, at least six months away. And, yes, six months isn't a long time, it's just that there are so many deceptively short increments of time that must be gotten through that ultimately add up to much of one's life.

Working as a substitute teacher has left me almost penniless. Yes, it was a good choice, as far as determining my ability to work in the public school environment, as well as for making contacts, letting people in the schools get to know me. It will ultimately probably help me get a teaching job. But the income loss has been daunting. Each week I ration our cash, making sure Keith and Sarah have what they need for the week, and buying those groceries carefully selected to represent the bare minimum to sustain us during the week. Then I pray nothing unexpected comes up, as it will throw my budget, and my mental well-being, into a state of disarray.

But unexpected things have come up almost daily: Sarah wrecked her car twice in a thirty-day period, ultimately ruining the car and putting her back as passenger, and, therefore, me as chauffeur, in my car. The insurance company mis-posted my payment, paying the entirety of her six-month policy and putting nothing toward the policy that covers our house and other vehicles, so I then had to scramble to come up with $600. more in the same month as the $400. payment already made. The gas royalty that I inherited has dwindled to almost nothing as natural gas prices have plummeted, doubly depleting my income. I need bras, I need a massage (in the most dire manner), Sarah needs shoes and face wash (continually), and Keith asks for nothing.

I want to stop paying for my YMCA membership, as neither Keith nor Sarah used it for most of the last year; I was using it, until things got bad at DHS, and then my chaotic schedule as well as my ailing mental health has prohibited me from using it regularly. I want to cancel the membership, but it feels as though it is my last chance at improving my health; I want to cancel it, but now Sarah has begun to use it with her father; I want to go back to yoga, even though it will not afford me the cardiovascular workout I need, because it will stretch my tight muscles and afford me stress relief I desperately need. It is cheaper, and if I could force myself to bike to the class, it would give me one really good workout a week. One. Insufficient. Which means I need to bike at least twice more during the week, but biking out of doors is much different than riding a recumbent bike at the Y...will I be able to do it, and when the weather becomes unpleasant, will I be able to force myself to do it?

So, I need to go the Y right now and work out, because I have no job today, but I don't see any point in trying to develop a workout schedule when the likelihood of my being able to go at this time of day on a regular basis is nil. I feel stuck. There are so many financial issues I need to address, but cannot, simply because there is no money to address them. Aaiiiee!!!

my box of stuff

one of my friends from work was kind enough to bring my box of personal stuff to me yesterday evening. she said my boss groused about the amount of stuff, "if i'd known how much she had, i might not have been so quick to offer to box it up."

it was mostly pictures and snacks, along with office supplies i had personally brought to work (the state does not furnish brightly colored post-it notes or decent staplers), but there were also some certificates of appreciation, you know, the "you did a good thing!" kind-of certificates. somebody had recognized me for having a positive attitude (that had to be several months old), and my daughter had written me a letter in rainbow hues telling me what a good mom she thinks i am and how sorry she is work is so hard.

there were prayers, asking god for the ability to endure the suffering i was going through and help make it meaningful:
"God, give us grace to accept with serenity the things that cannot be changed, Courage
to change the things which should be changed,and the Wisdom to distinguish the one from
the other. Living one day at a time, Enjoying one moment at a time, Accepting hardship as a
pathway to peace, Taking, as Jesus did, This sinful world as it is, Not as I would have it,
Trusting that You will make all things right, If I surrender to Your will, So that I may be
reasonably happy in this life, And supremely happy with You forever in the next."

Reinhold Neibuhr's original language is so much more graceful than the modernized version, and before this job i had been unaware of the rest of the prayer, i'd just know the first bit everyone knows. the difficulty with this prayer for me at this point is that i was unable to withstand the suffering, the hardship. i couldn't bear the pain any longer, not to be overly-dramatic.

it was like trying to hold my hand in a flame, the burning finally drove my mind to the point where i could not bear it any longer. insofar as i was unable to remain at the job, the suffering did ultimately become a pathway to peace, though, because i left, i ran away from the hardship, not able to bear the burden any longer.

but the burning analogy isn't sufficient to describe the type and level of suffering i felt. it was more like having a wound that was always with me. sometimes the pain would subside (on the weekend), but then the pain would flare up again upon returning to work, each monday a little more intensely, like the wound was tearing just a little more each week. i dreamt about the horrors awaiting me at work, the inability to complete the work, the constant increase in volume of the work, and the abstractly horrible nature of the work, namely that it's focus wasn't really to help people, as i'd been led to believe, but, instead, to process paperwork.

now, for someone who has experienced true horror, like that of war or murder or intense abuse, this sounds trite. unfortunately, my past experience is exactly what set me up for a fall. both my supervisor and my doctor described what i was experiencing as ptsd. i'm embarrassed to mention that, as i've been in no war, no people-dying, bombs exploding war, anyway, and i've not seen anyone murdered, at least not first-hand. but i did a little research into ptsd and found, amongst the things that did not apply, one little snippet that offered insight into why i was in this place. i found the following quote in wikipedia:

"Predictor models have consistently found that childhood trauma, chronic adversity, and
familial stressors increase risk for PTSD as well as risk for biological markers of risk for
PTSD after a traumatic event in adulthood [24][25][26][27]. This effect of childhood
trauma, which is not well understood, may be a marker for both traumatic experiences and
attachment problems [28][29]. Proximity to, duration of, and severity of the trauma also
make an impact; and interpersonal traumas cause more problems than impersonal ones."

in other places i've explored the childhood traumas, the chronic adversity, and the familial stressors in greater detail, i'd rather not revisit them at this point, but this dry little paragraph offered me some insight into why this job caused me such tremendous pain, such that i could not bear to return.

it wasn't the clients...i've dealt with marginalized people for over twenty years, that was the best part of the job. it was the pressure to do something essentially undoable. it would be different in a different office, one that wasn't internally combusting, but i'm not sure i could bring myself to be in that spot again, just in case things got worse...

gotta go, hear stomachs rumbling in the bedrooms...in the space of time where i am unemployed, i am chief cook and bottle washer, as is appropriate. there is so much ease in the simple tasks, each one doable and satisfying in completion. hmmmm...my stomach is rumbling, too...

Buying In

i feel like i'm in the twilight zone. i'm not sure who i am or what i'm supposed to be doing, thinking, feeling...our work defines us so thoroughly that without the job i bought into lock, stock, and barrel i feel worthless.

i intend to take the time now, before i start another job, to clean my house, organize my closet, trim my trees...i had gotten so wrapped up in the job that everything else took a subordinate position in my life.

to have so thoroughly invested myself in a job i ultimately failed at is hard to deal with. i want to "do" something, but i know that doing is not what would be best right now. the best thing i can do is to try to process and understand what part of me made the job undoable (i know the part of the job that made it undoable, but i also have some responsibility in the demise of this path).

think i'll go out to the lake and walk around for awhile...

department of human sacrifice

just quit my job as a social worker...didn't realize i didn't get to do social work as a social worker...became a cog in the machine, completely devoid of personhood, devalued in every way, absolutely replaceable...

always assumed that the workers who failed merely didn't have superior organizational skills...never realized that the performance expected was absolutely unattainable...mentally, how do you deal with knowing you can never do the job you are expected to do, further, charged with doing? i couldn't reconcile the impossibility of striving to do something essentially undoable...melted down...