In the past, I’ve written a lot about being a work in progress. In case it’s not apparent, it’s still all too true. I sometimes feel like I’m coming from behind; I don’t think I grew as much emotionally in high school or even college as many people I knew. Back then I had no idea who I was, and the little I could figure out made me both uncomfortable and unhappy. I had a long way to grow to get past all of that, and I think it’s taken me longer than average.
So here I am at 45. I’m a wife and a mom. I love my family and I love to write. I’m very opinionated and am still intensely, sometimes desperately insecure. I often rub people the wrong way, without trying and frequently without any notion of what I’ve done wrong. The friends with whom I’ve somehow managed to avoid this trap mean the world to me. I’m still trying to figure out who I am and how to live without apologizing for whoever that is. I do think I’ve made progress, overall. My sense of self is still developing, yes, but it’s also strengthening. But then there’s the job stuff….
I need to find a job. I’m working part-time at the moment but it won’t be enough money for the long haul. I never had a career, per se. I had jobs I was good at but I never had any passion for them, so the decision to stay home with my kids was an easy one. But now here I am, a stay-at-home mom who has basically been home – and happy to be here – for 11 years. I’ve been told if I go back to my old job I’ll be starting practically from scratch, something that holds no appeal financially or emotionally. But where to go otherwise? I have no clue, and it’s a terrifying concept. I had a period where I sent out countless resumes, often to no response. I went on several interviews, but nothing came of any of them. It used to be back in the day that I’d get offered nearly every job I interviewed for. I took it for granted. The overall lack of interest and/or response during my last round of attempts was uncomfortable and intimidating. It’s left me feeling not-at-all confident, and that’s not a good starting place. It left me curled up in an emotional ball, unwilling to continue to try. I’ve been licking my wounds for awhile now, but I’m running out of both time and excuses.
I am lucky in that I’ve found a husband and partner who accepts me as I am, in whatever form that takes on a given day. He loves me no matter what, and that’s not just lip service. I am grateful, and I adore him. Unfortunately he’s going through a similar struggle, job-wise. It’s a difficult thing for one half of a couple to be going through, but both? We can commiserate but I think it’s hard for either of us to offer fresh perspective or inspiration of any kind. Tough stuff, this.
Anyway, I’m here, writing about it. Me, in all my iterations, like them or not. I’m learning to, thankfully. It feels like the right place to start.