Ay, m’ijos. Where do I start?
Yesterday was rough. Not only did I start my ninth cycle, but it was also a Tuesday, which meant that my heavily pregnant co-editor was in the office. And she was chit-chatting about a project I’ll need to take over from her when she’s gone. After she left my office, no lie—I closed the door and started to cry. When I got home, I headed straight for the bedroom and laid down to cry some more. My co-editor is a reminder of all that I thought I would have that I don’t, and it’s rough. Boy, is it fucking rough.
And as I started to work on my own projects, I realized how much I dislike my projects. I have never worked on anything so boring or meaningless. Meeting proceedings? Editing a document I wrote two months ago that I had to lift, per force, from some already-written federal regs? And being told that my chance for creativity was the intro? Oh, fun! So exciting and creative. When I was hired, they made it sound like I’d be forever putting together dynamic content about social justice issues. Please. This is all just the logistics side of things. There’s nothing remotely “impactful” about this crap.
I hate that so-called word.
In my two other jobs in D.C., I helped people after tragedy touched their lives. I put together pieces that gave hope and let people know where to turn for help. I traveled the world and helped universities win grants and awards that improved their students’ curricula. I thought I’d be doing something similar here. Instead, I feel like I’m just tasked with making my bosses look good because that’s all they care about. If they have one empathetic bone in their bodies, I’ll eat my copy of the Riverside Shakespeare.
The other thing getting me down were my interviews on Monday. The one that I hoped would go well went okay, but not great. I didn’t feel any great click—but then again, I tell myself, I certainly thought I clicked with this place. I just don’t know that I impressed anyone. I would be surprised if they called me back. As for the second interview, it went well and I can tell they’re interested in me, but I’m going to stop the process now. It’s not a place I want to work for since their stances on a few things are too radical for me and that I don’t feel I could write about with sincerity. The search continues.
I tried very hard not to let myself feel hopeless. I allowed myself space to be sad. Last week, I had a lot of hope. I was trying to keep sane about the kid thing, but I thought I had the real chance to make a change when it comes to my career. That finding the right fit might take more time is making me feel a little desperate—I’ve been at this for three months, my co-editor is two months away from maternity leave, and every time she brings it up I feel like my throat is about to close. It’s not that I can’t do the work. It’s that I don’t want to. And that I know that being here and having to get the work done may leave me in a far worse place mentally and physically.
I don’t know what I’m so afraid of, though. I could walk away. They don’t own me. I have power in this—if I decide to jet based on how they handle her maternity leave, they’re SOL. I don’t know that they realize that, but I do. I wish that could give me some measure of comfort. At times it does, at times it doesn’t. Right now, it doesn’t.
When I got this job, I thought I was on a path to ramping up my career and toward parenthood. I think if my career were more engaging and this company wasn’t in a downward spiral, I’d be able to deal with this TTC business with a little more calm. But because I have two strikes against me, and both were things I very much wanted, I feel somewhat lost. I feel that the only thing coming to me is a) more failure on the TTC front and b) more anxiety on the job front. I know that’s a bad way to think, but I’m in that loop at this moment.
I know I’ll get out of it soon. I know I need to approach these roadblocks with more measure. Figuring out how to find that measure is something I’m working on.
And writing it out here, I think, helps me in a teeny, tiny way.