I quit my job. Yep.
You read that correctly. Quit. My. Job.
It was terrifying. And liberating. After twelve years with the same
non-profit agency, I handed in my resignation. After months of drinking too
much, eating too much, smoking too much and crying too much over my job I
burned out. I almost went down in flames
screaming at people, laughing maniacally and throwing stuff but instead, I
pulled it together, had a heart to heart with my wife of 16 years and finally
meant it when I said I would work digging ditches to provide for my family if I
could just get the f#*k out of this job.
The truth of the
matter is that some would say I stayed about 11 years too long. Another truth is that I learned a hell of a
lot about myself, politics, HIV, and people in the rural south. Some of what I learned enlightened me. Some of it pissed me off royally and some
just wore me down. Just when I thought I
had a handle on what I was doing, the grant changed, the laws changed, or the
statistics changed. I learned how to
think on my feet and how to actually be a self starter rather than just call
myself one.
Every six months for the first 5 years in that job, I tried
to hand in my resignation while crying like a blubbering idiot. My boss gently refused my resignations,
handed me a tissue and sent me back out.
I finally quit trying to quit and just threatened to quit about once a
year. Knowing my M.O., my boss just
listened, nodded and changed the subject to something I was passionate about
instead of the thing that had angered me or frustrated me. In this job I have been an HIV educator, an
HIV and housing advocate on both state and federal levels, a housing
specialist, a property manager, a housing case manager, a gofer, a house
cleaner, a trash hauler, a transporter, a party planner, a fund raiser and a
conference presenter. Every day held
different job responsibilities and I learned that I am not “above” doing any of
those things. I was simultaneously
humbled and empowered by this job on a regular basis. Also, angered. Did I mention angered?
This job affected me
more than I could even describe in a short essay. I saw things in the job that were jaw
dropping hilarious, heartrendingly sad, and culturally mortifying. Sometimes I experienced all three emotions in
the same day. I met amazing people. I met terrible people. I witnessed goats eating abandoned houses. I wrangled cows back into pastures and hocked
HIV education at flea markets next to a guy selling used socks. I cleaned out
maggot filled refrigerators more than once and I shudder every time I see a
pest control advertisement because of run-ins with German cockroaches and
bedbugs. I joined coalitions, commissions, boards, fellowships and teams. I took notes for all of them so no one would
ask me to actually lead the damn things.
I once picked up a young homeless gay male prostitute by a bridge after
he earned some “spending money” for the drug rehabilitation program to which I
was taking him. I got chased by a drug dealer/pimp after giving some women
condoms. I helped house a murderer who
had very recently been released from prison.
I taught junior high kids about STDs. These stories go on and on. There are too many to remember but depending
on my mood, I can either traumatize a dinner party or make them laugh until
they cry with these stories.
The one life lesson I learned the most about was
judgment. I learned to trust my own
judgment, admit when I had judged incorrectly, and how to work through my own
preconceived judgments about behavior, poverty, disease transmission and love.
I learned that it is easier to judge others than judge your own motivations and
behaviors. I learned that being
judgmental of others is a very common escape mechanism for actually facing
issues and helping to find solutions. I
learned and learned and learned.
And then I quit. I
had learned enough in that job. I felt
that I was losing my ability to be me. I felt that I was losing my passion for
helping other people. I was getting lost
in the politics, the policies and the ineffectual ways in which our society
tries to “fix” things. It seemed that no matter how much I learned, the same
patterns continued and the same mistakes were made over and over again. I was
mad, hung over and jittery from nicotine use.
My pants were tight and I had taken to hiding in my office. Instead of baking bread for colleagues on
their birthdays, I found myself wanting to spank some of them after a stern
talking to. I found myself getting less
able to control my disdain for stupid policies, and if I heard some bullshit
about teamwork making the dream work one more time, I might take someone out of
the game. I had been putting out resumes
and job applications for a while but had nothing lined up. Finally, I just handed in my resignation and
hoped for the best. Starbucks, here I came.
If I was lucky.
I did this because I was also losing my parenting skills, my
ability to be a friend, my capacity to love my partner. I was beyond angry at what began to feel like
being stuck in a job for the benefits. Stupid health insurance. Stupid
retirement. Stupid mortgage. Stupid car payments. I was finding myself hating my inner
peacemaker and ridiculing her for her refusal to brawl when others started to
throw down. I questioned myself constantly. I felt more and more like I was pretending my
way through my life instead of actually living it authentically. Like my life
had become a terrible O Network example of how NOT to live your life. So…I
quit.
People in my field were a bit stunned. We had been in the trenches for so long
together that we were considered the veterans to some extent. We had all bitched to each other over
martinis about work, public policy, healthcare reform, and housing deficits
until we were all drunk and in need of Gatorade. We just kept going back for more. When one of my favorite colleagues and
friends was fired for ridiculous reasons, it resonated strongly with me. I began to fear that the same fate was lined
up for me. As she and I talked about her
grief, her loss of financial security, and her continued passion for her
calling to help house those in need, I began to covertly think about my
options. I just did not see that I had
any. My angst started to become even
more self destructive. I spent inordinate amounts of time mad at people and mad
at a broken system. I also grieved. Eventually this all culminated in a twelve
hour sob fest on a close friend’s bed surrounded by people who loved me,
followed by a month of frantic job searching, followed by a letter of resignation
and senses of both relief and terrible fear.
This experience has been powerful. I’m still processing
it. Just the other day, I hit speed dial
for my previous boss to tell her I would be working late since my meeting had
gone over time and I was driving home through a monsoon. I had just hit SEND
when I realized that she would not really give a shit since I was no longer
attending that particular meeting as a representative for her agency. I
frantically hit END on my cell phone and laughed like crazy as I peered through
my flooded windshield. Every day it gets
a little easier to believe that someone else is willing to pay me for my
services. My identity has been so enmeshed
with HIV care in the South and homelessness for so long that I have to relearn
who I am outside of those parameters.
While this is taking self reflection and time, finding me is turning out
to be a lot easier than losing myself.
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