What's a woman without her 9 to 5? A question I ask myself often these days. Who am I without an office to go to? Without an immediate task at hand? Without a purpose? Without a routine, that soothing and comforting rhythm behind everything I do, that sets boundaries, clear and welcome, that tempers the existence, balances it?
Well, I've learned that I am not much without it. Or, rather, I can't seem to grasp what's beyond it. I feel anxious, lost, highly strung, and about to crack. My armor is pierced. I no longer define myself through what I do as I am currently unemployed. God, how awful! I hate the sound of it. I have not come to terms with it. I can't stop mulling it over and over, wondering if it's entirely my fault that I've found myself in this situation again after almost five years - five years of hard, honest work, and why me? Shaking off the victim mentality does not come easy for me. Also, always finding fault with myself, blaming myself, I excel at that. I'm thinking of adding the skill to my professional resume.
I can fully grasp how people lose it after, e.g. 40 years in the workforce, and then they retire and boom - lost, bobbing on the rough seas of life, left to your own devices to find meaning and purpose, again. To remember who you are/were, before - everything. To reclaim your own self. Whoever that stranger may be.
Why is it so hard to let go? Why are we programmed to cling tightly to the reins of control, however big an illusion it may be? Deep down, I know I could use this free time I am suddenly in possession of much better. I can use it to do all those things I like - walk, read, learn new things, be with myself, breathe, just think nothing, do nothing. But, and there is always a but, I cannot. Because the only thing I am acutely aware of is not how blessed I am to be living the life I do with a happy and healthy family, but how wretched I am to not have a job. I let that one thing that makes the equation of who I am ruin everything else and govern my perception of reality.
I wish I could undo it. I wish I can do better at not doing anything.
When I do give myself some breathing space, though, and let the real me through, this is what comes out - art, or as close to is as I'll ever be:
Well, I've learned that I am not much without it. Or, rather, I can't seem to grasp what's beyond it. I feel anxious, lost, highly strung, and about to crack. My armor is pierced. I no longer define myself through what I do as I am currently unemployed. God, how awful! I hate the sound of it. I have not come to terms with it. I can't stop mulling it over and over, wondering if it's entirely my fault that I've found myself in this situation again after almost five years - five years of hard, honest work, and why me? Shaking off the victim mentality does not come easy for me. Also, always finding fault with myself, blaming myself, I excel at that. I'm thinking of adding the skill to my professional resume.
I can fully grasp how people lose it after, e.g. 40 years in the workforce, and then they retire and boom - lost, bobbing on the rough seas of life, left to your own devices to find meaning and purpose, again. To remember who you are/were, before - everything. To reclaim your own self. Whoever that stranger may be.
Why is it so hard to let go? Why are we programmed to cling tightly to the reins of control, however big an illusion it may be? Deep down, I know I could use this free time I am suddenly in possession of much better. I can use it to do all those things I like - walk, read, learn new things, be with myself, breathe, just think nothing, do nothing. But, and there is always a but, I cannot. Because the only thing I am acutely aware of is not how blessed I am to be living the life I do with a happy and healthy family, but how wretched I am to not have a job. I let that one thing that makes the equation of who I am ruin everything else and govern my perception of reality.
I wish I could undo it. I wish I can do better at not doing anything.
When I do give myself some breathing space, though, and let the real me through, this is what comes out - art, or as close to is as I'll ever be:
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