Break My Soul

I'm gonna find new drive, damn, they work me so damn hard

Am I the problem?  I would conclude that 90% of the time, that answer would be a resounding, hell yes.   In the case of my abrupt resignation from my not-to-be-named former employer, I am taking no credit.  This was 2+ years in the making and I will testify on the imaginary stand that I was innocent every time.  I went above and beyond, worked the job of at least 2.5 people at any given time (with no additional pay) and said “yes” every time I should have said “no..actually, make that a fuck no”.  Okay, so maybe that part is on me.  I live on the wrong side of assertive. But honestly, they should’ve known better than to keep asking.

I will admit to being a pushover, a “yes man”.. a doormat with a W-2, if you will.  I worked in a restaurant, I am well versed in subservience.  I said yes more than no, let my job responsibilities pile up and allowed myself to become misery personified.  It’s not like I stayed quiet either; I spoke up more than once. And then I fooled around and got cancer. That medical leave? Not exactly a vacation. But I came back. And my reward for not dying? More work. A full time job on top of a full time job. You can probably see where my resentment started—or, rather, continued.

But this wasn’t just about a job. It was about cancer and mortality and the creeping realization that I might not have a lot of time left. If remission came, would it last? And if it didn’t—how long would I have? And with that hanging over my head, why the hell was I still showing up to a job I fantasized about quitting every single day?

On a particularly rough day of answering dumb questions, I could feel the pressure building as it often did. You know that feeling in your chest, an internal wisdom that’s hard to decipher? It could be a heart attack, it could be a gut feeling..  I stared at my keyboard and begged for some kind of sign to just quit.  Five to ten seconds later, the loudest doorbell you’ve ever heard chimed and after jumping a foot off my chair in terror, I said screw it—I’m done. Coincidence? Maybe. But in hell—or when you’re desperate to get out of it—there are no coincidences.

Now, I know this all sounds dramatic. Jobs can be bad. You tough it out or find another one. You certainly don’t just quit without security, especially when you have medical bills and a shitload of debt and rent to pay, etc.  But I needed to breathe. I needed time to feel everything I had been avoiding. I’ve downplayed a lot, and I still haven’t processed most of it.  And once again, I don’t know what the future holds, and I want a little calm and peace.  I’ll get another job when the time is right, if women are still allowed to hold jobs when I go back into the workforce (ope, political joke).  

To any managers out there, a few words of advice: listen to your employees and support them, be willing to go into the trenches with them, don’t watch the ship sink from your perch.  Communicate, for shit’s sake, and be willing to be wrong.  Don’t make your bad day, their bad day.  Most importantly, acquire a fundamental understanding that your employees are there for money, not amusement (yours or theirs), and reward their hard work accordingly.  Compensate them, thank them, and don’t mistake endurance for happiness. I was a manager, I understand it is not an easy job. Just because you have someone breathing down your neck doesn't mean you can pass that stress on to your employees. You helped hire these people because you believed they were competent. So trust them to do their jobs.

You’re meant to be their support system—not their overlord.

To my former work pals, who were never the problem, thank you for being the one part of the job that worked (I mean that literally and figuratively).  There’s nothing better than shared misery, and boy, did we commiserate. We even had fun doing it… mostly.  While I don’t envy you now, I might in a few months when you still have a paycheck and I’ve moved into my car.  

For now, I’m working hard to work for myself. I don’t know if this gig will ever pay, but it’s something. I get to be the master of my destiny, and that’s worth a lot. I’ll do whatever it takes not to go back to that life. That’s my motivation.

The future is unknown, but so far? No regrets. Check back in a few weeks. I’ll post my Venmo—just in case.