Waiting for my real life to begin
I feel like things began to fall apart for me after university. I was teetering on the precipitous of uncertainty before that, but I was able to pretend I had my act together.
On July 5th, 2016, I walked off the stage of my alma mater with a degree in biology, a sizable amount of student loan debt, and absolutely no idea what I was going to do with my life. I had taken a science degree to become a doctor, only to find out two years into pre-med that I absolutely hated studying medicine. I stuck with biology instead of changing majors because I already had two years under my belt and only enough money for two more years of schooling. I decided that teaching was more my style, and started looking into what I would need to apply for the Teacher's Ed. program. Everything was solid, except for my volunteer hours. While I had a plethora of experience working with children, the counsellor advised me that if I wanted to go into the high school stream, I'd have to volunteer in a high school classroom. That's where things started to unravel, in a slow, meandering way. I worked two jobs, was going to school full time, and volunteered at my church every week. I didn't have time to volunteer.
At least, that's what I told myself. I still tried though, fighting to organize time for me to join a science classroom at a school where I had no connections. Because, of course, you can't volunteer with a teacher you know, or who taught you, they're biased. Nobody would take me during the fall semester, and suggested I try again in the winter. And it just didn't happen.
After graduation, I rewarded myself with a year off. I had worked hard since kindergarten, took summer courses all through my university career, and still needed an extra year to finish. I earned a vacation.
That year turned into two, and I dedicated more time to my dead-end food service job. Even got a promotion to shift supervisor, and spent the better part of my first year fighting as hard as I could to make my toxic workplace fun for the staff. I quit when I realized that it didn't matter how hard I fought, nobody higher up was going to do anything to change the atmosphere and I was exhausted.
So for the first time since I had gotten a job, I was unemployed. I revelled in the freedom, but the bills didn't stop coming and I had to work. My mother, a social worker in the special needs field, hooked me up with a position at a group home for teens with special needs.
The first home I worked at was wonderful. The staff were experienced, the youth was wonderful to work with, and I blossomed in that position. I really enjoyed myself, enough so that I wondered if a career in this field was my calling.
Then I got pulled from the youth I was working with to work with a different youth. She was sweet, but much more dependent on her caregiver, and didn't sleep worth a damn at night. I went from having a second worker for support to being completely on my own. I didn't feel ready. I didn't feel heard from my superiors. I felt completely and totally alone. I was exhausted all of the time. I would sit in my room at night, monitoring my youth on the baby monitor, and cry. That was the summer of my first nervous breakdown.
I worked with two more youths before I had to leave. The first was short-lived, our team leader changed and she listened to me when I told her I couldn't work with this youth. The second youth I worked with was a sweet boy with aggression issues. I was put in as a secondary worker to give me a break, a chance to catch my breath and re-charge. This particular youth didn't handle change well, and when his primary worker was yanked one day and I had to take the reigns with someone who hadn't worked with him, it ended disastrously. I spent a lot of that time being attacked by the youth. It wasn't his fault, and I don't blame him. He is a sweet, sweet boy who did the best he could and communicated in the only way he knew how. But it broke me, and I had my second nervous breakdown, not four months later. I remember calling my mum in tears because I couldn't cope, and having to call my team leader to come in and take my place for the rest of my shift.
I took time off work, and returned to the exact same scenario that caused me so much stress in the first place. I quit the next week. Part of me wonders if I made the right choice. Part of me knows I did. The rest of me felt like a complete failure. There was only one youth I could work with, and he was the "easiest" in terms of behaviours. I consistently failed with every other youth I was paired with. Clearly, this wasn't the field for me, and that made me upset. I thought I had really latched onto something.
I tried to return to the same type of job after a month of being unemployed again, only for it to end disastrously because I really wasn't ready. Because I tried to prove to myself that I wasn't the problem.
I spent the next six months working at a call centre, and felt the soul leave my body one call at a time. I quit two months before I moved because I was angry about how we were being trained and nobody cared. I just couldn't do it anymore.
My work history post graduation worries me. It feels like I just can't cope the same way, that I can't just put up and shut up. I feel like I'm fighting a losing battle with the demon. I'm worried that it's going to follow me here. Not the demon, of course, he'll be along for the ride forever. My inability to function. The terror that stops me dead in my tracks over what I want to do for the rest of my life. The fear that I'm almost 25 and am no closer to getting my life on track than I was two years ago.
I moved because I was tired of waiting for my real life to begin. I'm terrified that it never will.
On July 5th, 2016, I walked off the stage of my alma mater with a degree in biology, a sizable amount of student loan debt, and absolutely no idea what I was going to do with my life. I had taken a science degree to become a doctor, only to find out two years into pre-med that I absolutely hated studying medicine. I stuck with biology instead of changing majors because I already had two years under my belt and only enough money for two more years of schooling. I decided that teaching was more my style, and started looking into what I would need to apply for the Teacher's Ed. program. Everything was solid, except for my volunteer hours. While I had a plethora of experience working with children, the counsellor advised me that if I wanted to go into the high school stream, I'd have to volunteer in a high school classroom. That's where things started to unravel, in a slow, meandering way. I worked two jobs, was going to school full time, and volunteered at my church every week. I didn't have time to volunteer.
At least, that's what I told myself. I still tried though, fighting to organize time for me to join a science classroom at a school where I had no connections. Because, of course, you can't volunteer with a teacher you know, or who taught you, they're biased. Nobody would take me during the fall semester, and suggested I try again in the winter. And it just didn't happen.
After graduation, I rewarded myself with a year off. I had worked hard since kindergarten, took summer courses all through my university career, and still needed an extra year to finish. I earned a vacation.
That year turned into two, and I dedicated more time to my dead-end food service job. Even got a promotion to shift supervisor, and spent the better part of my first year fighting as hard as I could to make my toxic workplace fun for the staff. I quit when I realized that it didn't matter how hard I fought, nobody higher up was going to do anything to change the atmosphere and I was exhausted.
So for the first time since I had gotten a job, I was unemployed. I revelled in the freedom, but the bills didn't stop coming and I had to work. My mother, a social worker in the special needs field, hooked me up with a position at a group home for teens with special needs.
The first home I worked at was wonderful. The staff were experienced, the youth was wonderful to work with, and I blossomed in that position. I really enjoyed myself, enough so that I wondered if a career in this field was my calling.
Then I got pulled from the youth I was working with to work with a different youth. She was sweet, but much more dependent on her caregiver, and didn't sleep worth a damn at night. I went from having a second worker for support to being completely on my own. I didn't feel ready. I didn't feel heard from my superiors. I felt completely and totally alone. I was exhausted all of the time. I would sit in my room at night, monitoring my youth on the baby monitor, and cry. That was the summer of my first nervous breakdown.
I worked with two more youths before I had to leave. The first was short-lived, our team leader changed and she listened to me when I told her I couldn't work with this youth. The second youth I worked with was a sweet boy with aggression issues. I was put in as a secondary worker to give me a break, a chance to catch my breath and re-charge. This particular youth didn't handle change well, and when his primary worker was yanked one day and I had to take the reigns with someone who hadn't worked with him, it ended disastrously. I spent a lot of that time being attacked by the youth. It wasn't his fault, and I don't blame him. He is a sweet, sweet boy who did the best he could and communicated in the only way he knew how. But it broke me, and I had my second nervous breakdown, not four months later. I remember calling my mum in tears because I couldn't cope, and having to call my team leader to come in and take my place for the rest of my shift.
I took time off work, and returned to the exact same scenario that caused me so much stress in the first place. I quit the next week. Part of me wonders if I made the right choice. Part of me knows I did. The rest of me felt like a complete failure. There was only one youth I could work with, and he was the "easiest" in terms of behaviours. I consistently failed with every other youth I was paired with. Clearly, this wasn't the field for me, and that made me upset. I thought I had really latched onto something.
I tried to return to the same type of job after a month of being unemployed again, only for it to end disastrously because I really wasn't ready. Because I tried to prove to myself that I wasn't the problem.
I spent the next six months working at a call centre, and felt the soul leave my body one call at a time. I quit two months before I moved because I was angry about how we were being trained and nobody cared. I just couldn't do it anymore.
My work history post graduation worries me. It feels like I just can't cope the same way, that I can't just put up and shut up. I feel like I'm fighting a losing battle with the demon. I'm worried that it's going to follow me here. Not the demon, of course, he'll be along for the ride forever. My inability to function. The terror that stops me dead in my tracks over what I want to do for the rest of my life. The fear that I'm almost 25 and am no closer to getting my life on track than I was two years ago.
I moved because I was tired of waiting for my real life to begin. I'm terrified that it never will.
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