I’m Supposed To Be Happy, Right?
Grown-up life changes, all at once
Hi Medium, long time no write.
Things seemed okay for a while. My job remained chill. So chill that I could count on one hand how many hours I worked per week while getting paid for forty hours. I settled into a routine with the kids. Things were going great with Jeremy.
If you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans.
First off, I quit my job of over a decade. I former coworker reached out and given that there wasn’t any competition and the salary is 50% more than my existing one, I didn’t have a choice. As a single mom with a mortgage, money trumped comfort. If I were still married, I’d have stayed at my ultra-cushy job.
Half my life was spent at that job. I didn’t think I’d get emotional; I was a serial job hopper in my late twenties. But I stood at the same spot where I got the call eleven years ago that my son had a chromosome disorder. My marriage crumbled for the duration of my employment. This job supported my role as a faux single, working mother with an absent husband; juggling an infant and an autistic child was exhausting.
The beauty of being at a company where you’re marginalized is that no one pays attention to you when you spend your days arguing with insurance or figuring out how to get your son to his daily therapies when you have to physically be elsewhere.
This job also supported my life through the divorce. Working from home combined with a cushy job made the divorce bearable. I had time to pack, cry, paint, deal with contractors, and build my life all while getting paid.
It would have been foolish to turn down the money. It will stop me from living almost paycheck to paycheck.
Today was my first day and I’m already overwhelmed. I have to like, learn stuff. Imposter Syndrome runs rampant. I have meetings upon meetings (wait, I need to shower and change out of my pajamas every day?). My work area is microscopic. This little nook is the only place in my entire house where I can place a monitor and office supplies. It’s almost the size of a child’s school desk.
Did I make a mistake taking this job?
The new job stress was exacerbated by anxiety over Jeremy. Things were going great. Like, mind-blowingly good. Then almost overnight, it seems something changed. I can’t pinpoint it because he still sends me pictures from his son’s football game and messages me. I don’t know if his “I’m swamped with a project at work” is a euphemism for “I found someone else”. We had plans to hang out on my last day of work and he conveniently forgot (with a work event, which is the only thing I believe in all this). His non-apology was garbage.
My emotional walls shot up.
Why am I not confronting him? I can’t ask something like this via text but it won’t be a while until our child-free days line up. And he’s theoretically not my boyfriend, I don’t have claim over him. At this point, I can’t handle the anxiety. Either we’re something serious (which won’t make me panic if he’s busier than normal occasionally) or this is all for fun and I can reset expectations. And bail, because I couldn’t bear the thought of sharing him.
I’m miserable with my body because I’ve barely worked out in over a month and the eating disorder gremlin lurking below the surface is aching to jump out. So far he’s managed to tell me I look like garbage, which has affected my self-esteem but not enough to make me act. Yet.
The icing on today’s anxiety-flavored cake was a post on social media from my friend Nikki who is dying of cancer. I’ve been friends with her for almost twenty years and she’s someone I consider family. She gave her final “I’m dying, peace out everyone” message. I text her regularly but to see it formally posted in a public forum that she is at the end of the fight made it all too real for me.
It’s been a year since my divorce. I feel overwhelmed as I sit here in a puddle of tears pouring down my makeup-for-Zoom-laden face. I thought I’d be more grown up by now. I thought I’d handle the emotional hurdles like a pro. I thought I’d stop feeling this unbearable loneliness when the house is empty.
I’m a grownup who feels lost. On paper, it looks like I’ve got things figured out. It’s all smoke and mirrors. It’s like the depression inside of me said, “awww hell nah, you thought were you happy? Let’s course-correct where you belong.”
The only thing worse than living with constant depression is when you crawl out of a depressive state, see the light, and then get dragged back in. It’s like having a glimmer of hope get thrown away is worse than never having hope at all.