I woke up crying this morning because I felt like a worthless piece of crap. I could hear cars outside being started and driving off while I was still in bed. I didn’t get out of it until after 11.
6 weeks ago I did what some have called a “brave” thing. Or stupid.
I quit my job with no other options lined up.
I was in a well-paid dead-end rut that I resolved was only good for providing me funds to do the things I wanted. For some people, that was enough, but for me it was an excuse to stay somewhere miserable. I was told it takes strength to leave something that gives security into what would essentially be a struggle and as I sit here typing, I’m having trouble finding and maintaining that strength.
I have this fear that even if I found a job to stem the money I’m bleeding to maintain my credit and peace of mind that it could easily become another place I’d feel stuck in. Am I just being a brat who is impossible to please? What makes me think I have the luxury to just quit my job when there are people out there who are so desperate for work?
There were valid reasons for leaving that position. There was absolutely no growth within the company. The work was monotonous. Vacation days were a struggle to work out as they weren’t earned based on how many hours I worked. I had to wheel and deal just to get the two weeks to attend my sister’s wedding in South Africa. My boss had no idea what I did for that company to the point of letting me know my position wasn’t important. And yet somehow, she was shocked when I chose to leave.
Although I wasn’t afraid of leaving with no safety net, I was arrested by the fear of disappointing my mother with the decision which is why I avoided telling her for three weeks. When I first brought up the idea of quitting months ago, she said that was okay, just as long as I had something lined up. She knew the idea of me moving back home wasn’t an option and I worried she thought I’d become too reliant on my boyfriend for help. My sister has already referred to me as a housewife which really stung. I’d rather start selling everything I own than ask him for a penny even though he’s told me I could ask him for anything. My stubbornness and pride won’t let it come down to that. Not until every option has been exercised.
I wish it were easy to go back to having that fearlessness that I had, but it just isn’t. It comes and goes in waves and with that, my productivity. I honestly could have just set myself up to get glued to my depression again and then what? Thankfully, putting things down into words is helping. I so want this writing thing to do well, I want it to be what I do for the rest of my life so I could be one of those lucky people who love what they do. Is that selfish?
(How do you keep yourself motivated when your mind is in self-sabotage mode?)