Terminated: A Story of Shame & Amelioration

Writing for me has always been the process by which I examine my life, scrutinize my choices to see if I could have done something differently or better or if my actions were doomed from the start. Though admittedly it is also sometimes the process in which I disguise my highly self-critical nature in beautiful prose, I do try to use writing as a means of healthy self-examination. After all, what are stories but tools to help us better understand ourselves and the world around us? Isn't that the point of writing at all?

Here's the condensed version of my current conundrum: I got fired. 

Me with much less enthusiasm

On Thursday, September 9th, I went into the office as I always do, bright eyed and ready for the day. I loved my job. In fact, I even told the barista at Dutch Bros that very thing before heading into work. There's a coffee shop around the corner from my house that looks like temptation and tastes like sweet caffeinated relief, a requirement for literally any day of my breathing existence. I subsist on coffee. Without it, I woud not be able to do the walking, talking, or person-ing thing. As I pulled up to the window, the cashier, a young twenty-something not yet world weary from life outside of the academic setting, asked me what I loved about my job and I replied everything. I loved my coworkers, the work, the environment. This was the company that I wanted to grow in long-term; it had all of the benefits I wanted - good pay, room for growth, great company culture. 

Alanis Morrisette ain't got nothing on this kind of irony. 

Though I have been fired from jobs before, this one hurt a bit more. I'd been getting some negative feedback from my boss and after actively working on improving in those areas, taking the feedback to heart, asking for help to identify ways I can be an asset to my team, I genuinely thought things were going well. Even my boss made a point to express that she recognized how hard I'd been working to improve. It seems that in these circumstances, my best just wasn't good enough. I am not good enough. 

Initially, I dove straight into a mad panic about how I would pay my bills, what I would do about health insurance and my chemo meds (which if you're wondering are a whopping $42K a month!), how long I might be out of work now that I have the stain of termination on my resume. Then, once the panic settled into a faint whisper in the back of my mind every day from the time I wake up to the time I go to bed, what followed was a quiet rage, the indignation of unfair termination. How dare they let me go after all the hard work I put in! This was ludicrous! And finally, once the rage dwindled down into a more quiet daily grumble, I found myself in a vicious cycle of self-loathing, the voice in my head my own worst enemy heckling me from the sidelines and reminding me that no matter what I do, where I go, or to what efforts I make in a vain attempt at self-improvement, I will always be a stinking pile of human garbage. Useless, unworthy, and destined for a life below mediocrity. 

The cycle thus continues. 

Though I realistically know that none of those things are true, it doesn't make me feel any better in the moment. 

What really makes this situation feel worse than it really is is knowing that I've been actively trying to work on myself this year. Back in April, I started attending therapy in an effort identify and overcome some of my social triggers as it specifically relates to food. As I'm sure a lot of people did, I gained a lot of weight in covid because let's be honest here: the pandemic was really. fucking. hard. I remember in March of last year sitting in my car having a meltdown because I couldn't bring myself to actually go into the grocery store, a social setting that now represented a possible death threat for someone like me - immunocompromised and at a high risk. Then, on top of the general bullshit of the public acting like entitled assholes (tell me again, Karen, how wearing a mask to protect others infringes on your civil liberties?), Tom and I were faced with the imminent possibility that I would have to undergo a bone marrow transplant because - surprise - I'd stopped responding to chemo! Just one stupid thing after another. So, between managing the pandemic, living in a near constant state of anxiety wondering if my one trip outside of the house for something as simple as an errand could be the thing that kills me, and seldom leaving the house trading my previous level of activity for a sedentary existence, I'd gained back all of the weight I'd previously lost in 2019. 

So, I did something about it. I started attending therapy, working out more regularly, being more mindful of my caloric intake. For the first time since pre-covid, I was making intentional strides in my health and mental wellbeing. Noticeable, tangible progress. I lost ten pounds and was starting to feel closer to the person that I wanted. It is possible I've said this before but I am really of the opinion that everyone should pursue therapy at some point if for no other reason than to equip yourself with the tools to better handle lifes stressors and develop healthy coping mechanisms. 

Kind of hard not to feel like all of the work I've done to try and improve myself was wasted. 

Therapy - cancelled

Weight Loss Program - cancelled

Self-esteem - hella cancelled for the rest of ever

Where do I even go from here? I've been applying for jobs furiously in the meantime because who knows how long I might be out of work or if my unemployment benefit claim will even be approved. Even if I do manage to find gainful employment soon, will it be in an industry that I want to stay in? Am I desparate enough to take whatever I can find even if it might make me miserable? 

As is usually the case on these blogs, I just don't know. I don't have the answers. 

What I do know is that even though I'm kind of hurting right meow, therapy has made me resilient. I'm not the first person in the world to be fired and certainly will not be the last. And though it's difficult not to view this situation as a reflection of the absolute failure that is my life, I've always come out the other side. Right? RIGHT?

Here's a rundown of my plan (because I'm a classic type 'A' personality and if I don't plan every single aspect of my entire life, it will surely devolve into chaos and anarchy):

• Find a new job
• Get revenge by being hella successful 
• Hop back on the self-improvement train with a renewed energy and dedication
• Kick ass at all of the things

It may be a tiny list, perhaps even an unrealistic one, but it's mine and it's what I have to work with. 

Until next time.