Day 76 of 100 intentional, reflective steps
Since the proverbial rug was pulled out from under me, that day when my life became less about producing and more about clawing my way to the surface for air, I have felt useless. I never really thought I put that much weight in my job or took that much identity from it. I didn’t think I wore it as a badge or calling card. Until it was gone. Then I felt useless. A year and a half later I still feel a little like a societal deadweight.
Sometimes reality and my perception are out of sync with one another. I write for two magazines and I write this blog which has been viewed thousands of times. The responses to my work are warm, encouraging and reinforcing of my love of the written word and maybe (she says trepidatiously) affirming of my talent. I am working my way through an 8 week Masters history course and killing it. And yet. I feel like a non contributor. A hangnail.
Where is the line between valuing ones self accurately, celebrating the gifts and potential each person brings to the table? Where is the line between celebrating value and over valuing what one does?
I loved my job. Would still be doing it, to my detriment, if life hadn’t intervened. I feel lost without the interactions, relationships and community that my work provided me. I will speculate that anybody who had the same job for 20 years would feel the same. Or would they? Maybe there ARE people out there who aren’t what they do. I’m just not one of them however I am learning to be.
Now, I am Jill who writes. I am also Jill who quilts, is a mommy, loves her doggie, wife, and art enthusiast. I am a composite of the things I love and the things I dream. I’m Jill with C-PTSD, depression, anxiety, weight obsession and a dissociative disorder. But here’s the thing. Not one of those things is the definition of me, my soul or my worth. I say this with more conviction than I feel but with more hope than I had