Tag: feelings

This job thing

Sigh, I don’t understand how anyone enjoys job searching but I imagine that someone does…I’m not that person.

It doesn’t help that I have training as a researcher – trust me that training helps and hurts my job searching!

For instance, I find a wonderful job, according to the ad it’s my dream job. So I do what any wise job hunter would do…I look up the company and read more about the position.

This is good, however…instead of the quick skimming search that most people would do; I end up looking at things that are slightly connected to the actual job and/or the organization until eventually I fail to remember the job

Remember at one point this job was my dream job??? Next thing I know the application deadline has passed and my dream job is no longer available.

Then I would become distraught because once again my dream job is gone because I got caught up in the details and missed the big picture.

Remember, I’m still supposed to be applying for jobs but I’m losing Energy on the job that never was!

Then I laugh…I realize the dream job wasn’t really a dream job but I was unable to divorce myself from my idea so I found unnecessary information to miss the deadline.

This job search has been enlightening; yet, draining and I need to write more to release the stress and anxiety when I become overwhelmed.

Job searching is far from fun but I’m learning more about myself everyday and I believe I’ll find a position that works for me.

Writing is (was) my refuge

At one point writing was a refuge. I found my peace through my words.

The mental clutter would clear when I wrote

Once upon a time, writing was my refuge.

I need that time to return. I have so many thoughts and I struggle to organize them

I’ve never been quite this insecure or unsure

Perhaps it’s just a transitional phase and I’ll pass through it soon enough

But writing used to my refuge

My thoughts had to quiet when I wrote. Now they are still jumbled but I’m trying to find my refuge

I’m looking for my safe space.

At one point, writing was my refuge

Control

My battle with chronic illness failed to teach me that I had little control of life.

The tiresome, tedious path to my PhD failed to teach me that I had little control of life.

When will I learn that I have little control of life?

When will I accept that I have little control of life?

Will I ever relax and enjoy life?

Chronic illness identity

Chronic illness warrior, chronic pain survivor, spoonie, chargie, dis-Abled, fighter, and all of the other labels used among individuals who face a myriad of long term illnesses….

It matters little how I refer to myself when I’m at a place where I feel there’s nothing I can do to overcome, conquer whatever my illness has brought to me.

The labels tend to carry little meaning when I’m facing the implications of my illness alone

They matter even less when I’m sitting in yet another physicians or alternative health professionals office and/or waiting room…

So why do I find such comfort in whatever label I choose for the day? Although it seemingly doesn’t change the trajectory of my chronic illness or the acknowledgment of my pain by others?

These labels may have little meaning outside of the communities they create which often transcends an individual’s immediate surroundings.

These labels thrive in cyberspace and it’s easy to see how certain events in the real world are crafted around these labels.

Personally, I’ve found them useful in cyberspace and I’ve enjoyed the disconnect in the connections I’ve created through these labels.

I consider it a disconnect because I only checked into these communities when I felt the desire to…otherwise, I stayed away.

Some years, I was connected to various chronic illness themed communities on a daily basis…I was even an administrator of one such community at one point

But once I received what I needed or at least once my outside support system stabilized, I relied on the amazing community less.

Now, I’m not a part of any particular community of chronic illness individuals. At times, I miss the relational aspects of the communities, I miss the feeling of being a part of something bigger, the feeling of not being alone…but for the most part I don’t miss it enough to immerse myself into any of these communities again.

It became overwhelming as I shared my story, my experiences with so many who could relate…it was sometimes overwhelming to witness the pain and suffering many of those individuals in these groups shared.

Now. I’ll mention various chronic illnesses or pains I endure, but I don’t want to be consumed by it anymore.

My illnesses impact every facet of my life daily…but my needs are different than they were years ago when I had to plug into the communities to maintain a semblance of sanity.

I’m forever grateful for the groups and the amazing people I’ve had a chance to interact with throughout the years of my intense involvement.

Push and Pull

I’m somewhere between out of steam and full of life.

Constantly being pulled in opposing directions; attempting to decide whether to lean in to this or that.

On one hand I am making significant progress, while at the same time experiencing major setbacks.

No one prepared me for the tug of war called life

I’m somewhere between out of steam and full of life.

Who You Are

When I spend time with others, my self perception changes.

Not in the sense that I’m easily influenced, but momentarily I see myself through their eyes.

Who are you to others? Often my self-image is tarnished by my experiences and emotions – both of those are dynamic. On the other hand, how others familiar with me see me is often constant…I assume.

My siblings think of me as intelligent, quirky, and dependable. Members of the assembly I frequent, think of me as bold, anointed, and smart. My parents think I am kind, weird, and resourceful. My colleagues think I am intelligent, reserved, and mysterious. I could go on but you get it! I’ve been told these things but how I think of myself changes like my mood.

Hmm, who am I? Who are you?

Love, what?

At times I wonder if I’ve ever truly loved anyone

Other times, I believe I’ve loved many

Then I ask myself what is love?

I ask others what is love?

Some illustrate love to me with the imagery of a mother loving her child.

I counter that by the countless images of mothers abusing, neglecting their children

A mother’s love is the purest love, some would say

But the images of children abused at the hands of their mother – competes with that sentiment

Some people explain love with the imagery of a deity

But that often leaves me with so many questions that it fails to explain what is love.

I’m told that there are multiple types of love.

I wonder why are there so many types of love, if love is one thing

Perhaps that is why I cannot explain what is love

And I’ll never know if I’ve loved before.

Maybe I’m using the wrong approach and love is indeed inexplicable

Shrug…love, what’s that really?