I am 41 years old, and am starting to know who I am. I think a lot of people don’t need to think about this to find strength for their lives, because life is busy and full of the daily tasks of surviving day-to-day. But I lost three jobs in three years, jobs which I had unknowingly taken pride in and defined my worth by. I thought I was somebody, and I am, but not for the reasons I previously thought.
Losing my job over and over again pried loose the death-grip I had on my identity one stubborn finger at a time. I believed my job was a way to prove to everyone that I was noble, doing difficult things for society and helping people whom the world had turned its back on. I took a lot of pride in this, and it is a little embarrassing to see these words on a page. But while I was making art all along the way – both with music and paint – I was not doing what I needed to do to live my life in a sustainable way. I was willing to sap all my energy into causes, and ignore the people around me – and my own health.
Losing my job made me face things I was unable, or unwilling to face. Here are a few of them that come to mind here:
– I cannot do everything I set my mind to. That doesn’t mean that I shouldn’t try to do things, or give up easily. It does mean that I need to be wise about what is good for me to do in the sense of being well equipped to do them. In my case, it means being 100% committed to doing work that does not routinely put myself in physical danger, or in jobs where dealing with threatening situations is part of the work. With a resume that makes me look well-suited for this kind of work, this is a hard thing to do.
– My wife loves me. I really struggle with the idea that my wife can love me when I feel like less. I don’t want to define what “less” is, because it is a shifting thing in my mind. It is pretty easy for me to beat up on myself for being less of this thing or that, comparing my present self with who I idealize my past self to be. But a couple of weeks ago, on vacation, we were having tea-time in this little Singaporean eatery in Hong Kong and talking. I really heard her tell me that she loved me even though I was – in this case – working and earning less. It is two weeks later, and I still can remember her saying this – and that I wanted to cry pretty badly afterwards. Maybe she said this before, but this time, I heard it. I can remember it. I feel fortunate, because I couldn’t accept this before … and now I can.
I need to be around nurturing and supportive people. I am really lucky to have found several part time jobs to string together to make money last year and this coming year. Two of them are working for incredibly encouraging supervisors. I’ve never had a boss or supervisor who wanted to invest in me, and the feeling is often emotionally overwhelming to the point of tears. Oh, that’s another thing – tears. Tears for me are the sign that my heart is still working. When I was in my other jobs, I stopped feeling things that deeply. I developed depression and anxiety, and still need to be diligent about taking my medications, though I no longer need weekly therapy.
I also have a family of friends who care about me, who listen to me, and who know my shadow-side. It is humbling to know that they still choose to be part of my life.
Art is the fruit of my newly pruned life. For a while, while my depression was strong, I stopped making art. Painting is the time where I feel closest to God, in the silence of my studio. I just couldn’t stand being in that quiet place with all the rage and panic I felt swirling in my stomach. The thing is, in the past couple of months, I’ve wanted to paint again, and I’m just happy each day that I feel that urge again. For now, I’m just going to take it as it comes, and try not to force myself to create.
Because I was drowning, and now, for the first time in a long time, I’ve surfaced above the water, and know that I can keep my head up while I paddle towards shore.
This piece was created shortly after I began working as a social worker at Pine Rest Christian Mental Health Services. Working on an inpatient unit, I was in a place where I witnessed the harsh reality of the intense ways that mental illness ravaged the minds of those people whose illness is the strongest. I was struck by this, and it made an impression on me.