On Monday last week I went into work. By Tuesday I was unemployed again. On Friday I told my agency I was taking a month off. And in all honesty I’m just a bit broken. I’m wondering whether any of it is worthwhile- the writing, the fighting for a career that will likely never be. If I’m too old for all of it and I should just retreat to whatever life can give me.
It’s all a bit dramatic written down. But it’s an exhausting state of affairs, and one that’s worn me down.
Last weekend I thought I’d hit rock bottom. In a very real, very dangerous way. I was walking the dog up the road and feeling like there was nothing left to fight with. I had nothing to give my creative work, couldn’t face picking them up again where they’d gone wrong. Had failed once again as an academic (see here) and there seemed no way out of feeling like an utter failure in life. But of course, just when you think it can’t get worse it does. And having had to give up a ‘real career’ opportunity the week before, the universe saw fit to have a joke and get rid of my temp job as well. Added to that feeling like all the creative work I’d been pouring myself into was dead in the water, that I couldn’t write the book and that pretty much everything was a dead end….And you know what I’ve got no fight left in me for it.
The last job was hard. I wrote a little about it here. In that we were dealing with 100s of people a day, often very demanding people, in heavy customer service environment. Added to that a level of admin that was a job in itself. Added to that a management that was unsupportive of the employees, added to that I never knew my hours until the Thursday before, and these could range from 7am to 9pm, with no pattern. Added to that even after 8 months I was ‘just a temp’ and had no rights, and no security. It was exhausting. I couldn’t plan a life, I lived in almost daily fear that I’d cock something up and be got rid of on the spot. I lived in constant fear my colleagues were reporting on me (after several of them did) in an attempt to get me fired.
On top of this I’ve been working on several ‘real career’ projects. The book, two plays, a musical, my usual reviewing duties. I’ve stretched myself too thin and too quickly, but as with everyone I’m scared of missing opportunities. Oh, and on top of that, applying for jobs. I don’t want to complain about any of this. I don’t feel like I have the right to- pursuing the creative work is a choice, often an indulgence it feels like.
And so I hear myself saying I shouldn’t. I should give it all up. Because what’s the point? Would it really make any difference to write the book, to have the play produced? Or would I be back where I was in a year’s time again.
And it wears you down. It’s not one thing but years and years of little things. Because it’s not just this year. Though this year has given me one hell of a beating. But it’s the year before, and before that. It’s the one-year contracts cut short, the endless looking for a job before you’ve settled into this one. The lack of anything out there. The over qualified and under qualified somehow at once. It’s feeling old as balls as you lose out to people 10 years younger.
Logical me knows it’s not my fault. That maternity covers and fixed term contracts end. That economies and governments go to hell and people like me are at the sharp end of it. It’s not personal, it’s business. But it’s personal to me. It’s personal to a lot of people.
And it wears you down.
What people don’t tell you about unemployment, about being stuck as a semi permeant temp, is how lonely it feels. On one hand because you’re held to ransom financially, you start saying no to things because you can’t afford them. You start to not look for reasons to go out because you know you can’t afford them. I’m lucky, I have understanding (and broke-ass, or previously broke- ass) friends, who are happy to meet at their houses for coffee or go somewhere cheap. I’m lucky my theatre reviewing work gets me out of the house, I’m lucky I have a choir to go to every week. But the self-restriction, the limitation feels lonely.
It also feels lonely in the broader sense, that sense of being left behind. Partly this is a PhD symptom; I’m about five-ten years (depending on how you look at it) behind my peers in career. Having put so much into that, and the ‘time out’ doing the thing cost, I’m so behind where I would be had I been plodding on in a career as others did, straight from University. There’s also that ‘hitting pause’ the PhD causes us in life. I’m behind on things like saving for a house, having a decent car, places I’ve travelled. Because job insecurity and everything that goes with it put pause on that. The elephant in the room here is also relationships. Some people manage it, but I haven’t. I feel like I missed a chunk of ‘dating years’ there and now there’s a big old expanse of nothing. Settling down has never been a major driver in my life, but now it suddenly feels like that option was taken away from me somewhere along the way and I don’t know where or how. Also, that let’s face it, I’m 34 and temping again isn’t exactly an enticing prospect is it? And it all adds up to feeling like a massive failure.
And I see the judgement. ‘she’s STILL looking for a job, what’s wrong with her’ ‘her temp job let her go there must be something wrong?’ ‘she’s got a PhD why can’t she get a job?’ these come from various states of ignorance, or outright nastiness. The thing being those who haven’t found themselves her can’t know. And you know what a part of me wishes they did know. So, they could know the stress- the waking up at night worrying and paralysed with fear. The feeling you’ve let everyone down. That there’s something really really wrong with you. The knowing everyone thinks that about you, and more probably. And the feeling somewhere life left you behind.
The only thing to do in situations like this is to pick yourself up again and keep fighting. I’ve done it more times than I can count. And I can and will. But there’s only so many times you can do that before something gives. I will pick myself up again. But not just yet. Right this moment I know if I throw myself to the mercies of temping right away, I will break. It’s about knowing yourself and knowing where your line is, and I’ve reached mine. I need to retreat however briefly. So, I’ve given myself a month off from it. It’ll be a struggle financially, but I know I was on the verge of really breaking, and I need time to regroup.
It’s a scary thing to admit, and I struggle to do it, but my mental health has taken a hell of a beating. I’m suffering from really bad anxiety- to the point the thought of being sent to another temp job on Monday almost gave me a panic attack. And I guess it shouldn’t surprise me that all this has made me fairly depressed. It’s all, hopefully, circumstantial. But I have the added joy of a chronic illness set off by stress. All of which has forced me to admit I need to take some time. And it’s an incredibly hard thing to admit, and to put out there. But it’s also important to say.
I won’t be taking a break from the creative work, or the book. In fact I need to pour myself into the things that matter for a few weeks. I need to remind myself what I’m fighting for. I can’t go after the things I really want, I can’t even write an application for jobs I really want right now, because I feel so beaten. I can write my play, and my book. I might need to blog a bit more, to give myself some space for this stuff, and so I appreciate those who read it.
I might need a little space, I might drop off the planet a bit. Equally I’d really appreciate anyone who wants to reach out for a real (or virtual) coffee and a chat. This week only stopped being something really horrendous because a couple of people did that.
A part of me hates myself for writing this. And for doing this. I feel self-indulgent and bratty. I feel like I’m not entitled to feel this way or take this time. That I should have been better, I should be better and just get on with it. But I also know that I reached a point I couldn’t carry on without something breaking. And I know I’m not the only one who feels that way. So I’m putting it out there, so others might feel better about speaking out on whatever has taken its toll.
No comments:
Post a Comment