So I quit my job.
I mean, I quit A job. I always have more than just one, technically. But it was the Big Job, the Main Job, the one I was traveling all the time for and spending most of my waking hours on and most of my sleeping hours quietly having panic attacks over.
At some point it dawned on me: The worst thing in the world would not be losing this job. The worst thing in the world would be continuing to do this job.
And it wasn't really the job's fault. I was not cut out for it, for what it ended up being (which to be fair, was different than what I thought it would be when I accepted it), for the demands of a small start-up that did not operate on a 9-5, Monday through Friday schedule and needed me online and working nights and weekends and lots (and LOTS) of travel. And other issues were entirely of my own making: I never said no, I would never admit I was in over my head, and I destroyed my own carefully cultivated work-from-home-and-life balance my own damn self. I felt guilty about leaving meetings to go pick up my kids, even though I'm pretty sure nobody else cared that I had to leave meetings to go pick up my kids. I was always in a bad mood, I was always behind, and then a child would walk into my office asking for a snack and I'd immediately be like GET OUUUUUUUTTTTTTTTT WHHHHYYYY DO YOU NEEEEEEDDDD THINGGGGSSSSS ALLLLLL THE TIMMMMME.
"Mom, are you still angry at me?" Ike asked me one afternoon, in front of his teacher, when I picked him up from school.
Ooofff. Not a sign of a successful morning routine, right there.
I tried making it work anyway, thought about maybe cutting back my hours, moving to a different position within the company at a lower hourly rate, sticking with things as-is until I could line something else up, all the typical freelance/consultant stuff.
Then one morning Jason watched me repeatedly try and fail to type in my laptop password because my hands were shaking so violently from anxiety. He said, "This job is not good for you and I don't think you should continue doing it."
(That's around the time I became convinced we had bedbugs because I'd wake up covered in a stress rash. I was also starting to lose weight that I was 100% not trying to lose.)
So eventually, I just resigned. It was a bummer and a huge relief. I feel much, much better now, even though usually the sudden loss of a chunk of income like that would freak me the hell out.
I considered taking a full-time office position at first, then decided to stay independent. The ebb and flow of contract work can be crazy-making in and of itself, but the freedom and flexibility I have just works so well for our family, with all the different school schedules and snow/sick days and weeks like this one, where all three children had dentist appointments on three different days.
I lined up some small copywriting projects and should hear back on a bigger one soon. Networking my ass off. And of course less corporate work means more time for fun work like blogging and lots of extra Advice Smackdowns. And I'm getting so much laundry done!!
(BUT ALSO HEY YOU NEED ANYTHING WRITTEN/EDITED/MARKETED/STRATEGERIZED I CAN DO ALL THAT SHIT FOR YOU EMAIL ME BITCHES.)
(Additionally it'd be great if someone would buy the stupid tire already.)
So that's what's been going on. See? I told you it wasn't anything high drama like a pregnancy or divorce or finally figuring out Pinterest. Just boring job stuffs.
But I feel good. Better. Saner and healthier and a lot less rashy. How are you? Any fun plans for the weekend? Have you watched that new Star Wars trailer yet? Did you scream and cry and involuntarily throw your phone across the room when you got to the end because you just had all of the feelings all at once? And then did you watch it over and over again before ordering your husband to go get the kids from school early because watching this trailer is obviously a million times more important?
Nah, me neither.