Breathe in.
"It'll get better."
Breathe out.
"You'll get used to it."
Breathe in.
"Not everyone likes their job."
Breathe out.
"It's temporary."
Breathe in.
"It's temporary."
"It's temporary."
The supportive comments from my friends and family buzz around my head as I try to keep myself calm and not cry for the umpteenth time.
"It's temporary." I keep letting that thought land on my brain more than the others because I want to believe it so much. Also, because I can't help but acknowledge the irony; I had a "temporary" job that lasted so long and I hoped would never end. Here I am with a salaried position that I couldn't wait to escape. I've had jobs in the past that were difficult and my mental health and relationships suffered because of it. As I kept taking deep breaths, I realized I couldn't go through it again. A job is one thing; it's got its good and bad moments. But a bad job has no silver lining other than the fact that it's a stepping stone, and sometimes it's too small of one to merit hanging onto.
I realize I am probably violating all of monster.com and CareerBuilder.com's sound career advice by lamenting publicly about my job, but this blog is about nothing if not my honest life. And if something is preoccupying my spirit so much, dragging me down into depths of worry and sadness, I can't help but vent about it. So, prospective employers out there who happen to stumble upon this blog while researching me for a position in your company, I beg your pardon and hope you will read this and not think of me as a weepy woman or immature woman, but just as an honest woman...
***
Thus was my life for approximately 9 weekdays, the entire extent of my career as a marketing writer. What began so suddenly ended the same. Last Thursday, a few minutes after 5 p.m., my boss called me into his office and had me sit down. I wondered if this was going to be the moment I had been expecting. Lisa**, my only other co-worker in that office, had informed me that before she started working, there had been another girl who only lasted two weeks before she was "let go". I had gulped nervously at that when she first told me. But now, as I was seated in his overly comfortable chair, I was half-expecting it. And also half-hopeful.
"How do you think it's going?" Bill** asked, settling in his own big office chair, ostensibly calm and familiar.
I had gone over this conversation for days, imagining what I'd say and what he'd say. On optimistic days, I imagined I'd say I wasn't sure if I was a right fit and he'd say, "Really? You're the best person for this job! You're doing wonderfully!" and I'd get talked into staying a little while longer. On practical days, I'd imagine I'd say I wasn't a right fit and he'd agree, sending me on my way.
That Thursday turned out to be a practical day.
I felt myself splitting in two; the professional in me knew the right thing to say was that I was enjoying myself and learning a lot- essentially begging for my life. But the other side of me, the part closer to my heart, came rushing forward.
"I've been thinking that maybe this might not be the best fit for me. I've been learning a lot but I don't really think my heart's into the work enough and I don't know if it ever will be. I think maybe this was a mistake..." the words blurted out of me before I could even mind-check them for sense and clarity. I was basically putting my own head beneath the ax but I didn't care at that moment. I needed to be free.
Surprisingly, he seemed relieved. He said he noticed I was feeling this way and assured me that this was not an easy job. He went on to say that it wasn't a reflection on me as a worker or even necessarily as a writer, but that he was in search of something very specific and that he hadn't found it yet in anyone.
"Maybe I should be looking at bigger pools of professionals, like in New York or Chicago," he smiled. I smiled back, though I didn't really know why. He was dancing around with the ax, scraping my neck with it, while I winced and waited for the weight of it to finally crash down. At last he said he would pay me for the past two weeks and would give me a good recommendation if I needed it. I thanked him for that and was about ready to go when he stopped me.
"Just out of curiosity, and because I think I always have something to learn as well, was there anything I could've improved upon?"
I thought about it for a second, again wondering what the ethical thing to say was. I wanted to be honest and tell him all the little things I noticed that I wished were different, such as more hands-on training or less customer service responsibilities, but they would've come off as petty and probably childish.
Instead, I said that he has the tendency to be a bit direct, but softened, saying it is understandable considering he's a businessman and the boss. He sat back at that, seemingly offended.
"Well, I think I've improved on that. I tried to help you. I sat with you that one day to coach you. And I gave you over a week to impress me; I used to give people only a few days before I would let them go," he said honestly. I was stunned, unsure how to respond to that.
Luckily, he interrupted the awkward silence by saying I could go. We shook hands and with that, I quickly packed up my box of tissues, my calendar, my notebook, and grabbed my bag. Lisa had already gone for the day otherwise I would've said goodbye and good luck with her new job search, which I had inspired her to pursue after a few frank conversations about her own issues with the job.
I walked to my car, threw everything inside, got in the driver's seat and screamed. And smiled. I took a deep breath in and blew it out slowly. I was free and the exhilaration of being free from a bad job is intense. But soon, just as the deep well of worry had been drained, another emotion began to fill it up once again: fear. I was suddenly falling without a net. I didn't know what I was going to do next. I still don't in fact. As I write this, the day after Thanksgiving, I still have this heavy fear pressing down on me. But I have much to still be thankful for. I am thankful for my wonderful friends, my loving family, and my spectacularly supportive husband. I am grateful for the health of my loved ones, my sweet dog and my lovely home. And I am thankful for this new found freedom, the possibilities that lay ahead, and the ability to breathe once again.
**Names have been changed.
