I need a pandemic recovery year.
Weird face on my last day.
I need a year. Those words eked out today. Just barely audible and followed by tears. We had been talking about money in the car- the only place I can’t escape the conversation like a child does with a talk about them “taking more responsibility” for putting on their shoes. Or like the time time that Mom gave me a “sex” talk (it was mostly fairy dust, marriage and shame) while I was trapped in the light brown minivan.
Yesterday was the first day after the last day of my job. A job that I struggled to keep for the past 16 months during the pandemic. A job that I stressed over, lost hair over and yelled at kids to be quiet during. For 16 months we had varying degrees of childcare but never the stability of knowing for sure that my kids were safe and I could just work. Someday it will maybe be funny that I had a (then) 3 and 7 year old home with me while I attempted to be a social worker talking about domestic violence. Or maybe we will shake our heads and say “I don’t know how we did it”. I’m not alone- check out this NPR article about people leaving their jobs too.
Sitting in the park on my last day. Bonsai tree given to me by my boss. Feet in the fountain at Sister Cities.
So on Friday I left this job. I packed up cardboard boxes, sanitized the desk, looked out my City Hall window one last time and turned off the lights. I felt sad leaving. I felt relief too, but mostly sad. It felt like a missed opportunity somehow. I knew that I had cobbled together work for the past year and a half and I was proud of the work that I did. But part of me knows it was also a missed opportunity for my employer to see the creative awesomeness I can bring when I do have child care. I once saw a video where this person crumbled a whole cake into a bowl. Then she mixed the cake with frosting to make some sort of frosting/cake paste. Then she molded this paste into the shape of a train. Yes, yes, this was on YouTube. When she finished with the cake/train/mold thing she said “See? Perfect!”. And I thought… is it? You made play-dough, girl.
That’s how I feel about the past 16 months. That so many things had straight up crumbled our cake of a life. The systems we had in place to keep us working just fell apart. No school or the after care programs that we relied on to allow us to work past 2:30. Okay, we will just take turns and do work at night. Then no daycare at all. Okay, we will switch off days and work at night and while the kids watch TV. Now everyone’s quarantined at home due to exposure but you still have to work. OKAY. Now your son can go to school two days a week but if he goes to school two days a week then you lose daycare for the other three days a week. Oh, and then he smushed his finger under a skateboard wheel. OKKKKKKAAAAAAYYYYY.
That smushed finger healed on this kid.
At work we talk about trauma a lot. We talk about the feeling of things being completely out of your control and what that does to your view of the future. In order for all of us heal from what this time has been like, we need to talk about how we are really doing. I need to get comfortable saying that I want to spend more time with my son before he goes to Kindergarten and not having a million sentences afterward qualifying me of being worthy of this time. I need to get comfortable saying that our family needs some time to have more fun and rush less and just let that be. Because what I want is to know that we are all worthy of asking for and getting what we need in our own families. When people asked me why I left my job I struggled to give an answer. I started to explain too much: “Well, you know, it’s been really hard. And we have two little kids. And my husband is a medical provider and works long hours. And my mom is sick and I want to visit her more and and and”.
And this kid.
And what I need is a year. I wish I could give you all a year too. And we could all do the things that during COVID we said we would do. We would dance more and go out and visit family and travel. And we would cuddle up and heal, not because it was the only thing to do and we are stuck at home but because all of us are worthy of this time to come back to ourselves.
More soon. Year starts now.
Miami. Where my husband sang Will Smith’s song daily.