Fired!
Yep—that's what I've been—
And yet I haven't even had time to write about my "fabulous" new job! I guess that's a non-issue now, except to say it was a great place to work and that I did truly love it there.
Isn't that ironic, don't you think.
What a wild ride it was. I acknowledged that the job was an answer to hundreds of prayers. Who prayed for this?
Five weeks at a great university in a prestigious program of the College of Extension Services, and I guess I couldn't cut it.
I was originally told that it would take six months to fully learn the position. Evidently the directors didn't estimate that very accurately, because after I started my fifth week they decided I wasn't learning quickly enough, nor was I doing accurate enough work to stay any longer.
I understood the decision. I truly did. I had been making too many mistakes. My mind refused to fully remember the details needed to perform the job well. I was very confused about a lot of parts of the job, and I do "credit" that to the way I was trained.
The first week, my director was out of the office for a conference for three days. My second week she was out another two days. During those first five days of two weeks with my director, information was virtually thrown at me in disorganized fragments that I was supposed to clearly understand and perform with perfection by the third week.
The third week, my director was there all week, and made a point of trying to train me. The training, in my opinion, seemed random: We'd start on one subject, jump to another in the middle of that, then finish with a third subject—all so exceedingly similar—and leaving me completely confused rather than trained. I felt that I had been "trained" by someone with OCD.
My director told me I ought to be eagerly taking notes. I DID take notes. The time to review the notes, rewrite them into some semblance of organization never came. She bragged that she is a great teacher. That statement reminded me of another director's words that he wasn't a micro manager. Whenever I've heard similar statements, something tells me that the speaker is exactly what s/he says s/he is not. It's sort of a "Me thinks the lady doth protest too much" sentiment. So, I worked blind and hobbled. It seemed that I did everything wrong. It seemed that way to my director and her director, too, evidently.
So, I'm no longer a working woman. I'm back at home. I've been avoiding this post like the plague. I've disappointed myself so deeply that I'm not sure how to take steps to recover. No matter what my friends and family might say to me about it not being my fault, I think it was my fault. I am a teacher, for goodness sake. I ought to know how to listen and learn from any kind of training. I ought to know how to organize myself and take the right notes.
With my ousting from that job, there goes my little bit of my own income. There goes my ability to bring some financial help into our home. The hopes we had of having some great insurance benefits, all the way through post-retirement flew away.
I have a little bit of a defense: The directors did not give me another chance, I was let go without any kind of written warning. I didn't even get to have a couple of weeks in which I could stay employed, but try to find another position within the university. The letter was already written, my computer id's already in process of being deleted and blocked. I didn't have a chance in hell of negotiating anything. It was a "we win – you lose" situation entirely.
This has all made me more than just emotionally ill. I constantly have stomach discomfort. Every time I think about applying for another position, this director comes to mind, giving me the perception that any other manager/supervisor/director asking her about me would never hire me in a million years.
Plus, the error of my ways has not stopped with the job. When I returned to staying at home during the day, ever mistake glared at me, announcing to the world that I am incapable of anything besides playing Spider Solitaire on the pc. If I hadn't noticed an error of mine, it was pointed out to me by my husband, or my children, who thought I was really very funny.
Nothing I do at home is correct, either, it seems. It's a wonder I have survived this long, in fact. I have seen that my children and husband would get along much better without me. I have had many, many thoughts of running away.
I don't want to post my time periods of depression. I was goaded into writing because a couple of family members were getting concerned about my blog not being updated.
There are SO MANY things for which I am truly grateful. I get a second chance to be a good mom, to provide a nicer more peaceful home to my family. We don't have to get up at 0Dark:30 anymore to get Sarah to her early morning music lessons, then Emily and Sarah to the babysitters. I don't have to be somewhere working until 7:00 or 10:00 pm and then get home after the girls have gone to bed and are sleeping. It seemed that I only saw them when they slept or were just barely waking. I may feel as if I've lost another limb, but I have all four of them (plus my head), and I'm fairly healthy. We haven't lost our home, Scott's employer has provided insurance that we've now applied to get and that will kick in soon. Our bills are getting paid, the lights, head and water still work. There are many more—my friends, my family, both immediate and extended, are so very good to me. I am fortunate to have family I love and appreciate even if I don't get to see them as often (or even half as often) as I would like.
On the other hand, I am terribly depressed. My friends assure me that it's just the way of corporate society these days—since I've been away from it so long I probably didn't realize how cutthroat business can be now. I feel deflated. I feel rejected, unacceptable, unworthy, unvalued, dumb, stupid, fat and ugly. I feel old; tired. Unable to continue. Continue what? I don't exactly know. The alternative to this life is death, and I don't lean toward that. I don't have the heavenly beliefs that many I know do. If I did, I might try to speed the process of getting there so I can watch my children and family from afar—knowing they are safe, well cared for, and happy.
I miss my mom and dad. They knew all the answers--I don't know how, but they did. My mom always said, "I don't have the magic words for you" but she did. All her advice, wisdom and example answered me--helped me understand much about things I didn't understand. My dad always knew what to say--even in his dying weeks. He must have known something about my unhappiness at home, since without prompt, he said, "Give Scott some time. He'll come around."
Then a few days ago my oldest daughter came to me crying, saying she missed "Nonnie and Poppy." It made my heart glad and sad simultaneously.
So yes, it's been a ride. Yes, I'm down about a few things. Yes, I know how truly blessed I am, to have healthy bright beautiful children and this "charmed" life. I deeply appreciate from the bottom of my black heart all the comfort and good thoughts I've received. The hugs and kisses I get from my daughters mean the world to infinity to me.
I don't need to hear the "you should…" comments. I've got them all memorized. Right now, and for an indefinite amount of time, I'm cocooning in my home and trying to make sense of my very own personal form of dementia.
I do love you. Thank you for all of your concern.
