Something my therapist told me once: ‘I never have to prod you. Our appointments go so fast!’ I think that’s a compliment- I know she meant it as one. And she’s right. I talk the entire hour long, with few gaps of silence; my therapist gives me an opening and I talk, talk, talk. Now, as I write this, with a therapy appointment tomorrow morning, I feel very excited to go through all of the things I’ve been brewing in my mind with her.
So, here they are. I don’t know if this is some kind of preparation, another OCD habit I’m picking up… or what it is. But, I’m going with it. Last week I was in Ohio, my world green and wet- I introduced myself to my brother’s new home, his new adorable puppy. I spent quality time (a rare thing) with my brother, mother, and father, all of us together eating Chinese food from Peking. I watched my father jump like a kid into my brother’s pool, the water below 70 degrees- he told me it was his favorite father’s day ever. And it was mine, too. Hans swam in the pool beside us, and we laughed, caught lightning bugs in the dark.
Home was quiet. I chose not to make plans with many friends, like I’ve done every other time I’ve been home. I didn’t want to feel overwhelmed or exhausted- I wanted to rejuvenate myself. I haven’t fully addressed or recuperated from the depression I was in only weeks ago- if I’m being honest, it was the darkest depression of my life. It plagued me into shades of grey and meaninglessness, left me unmotivated and stripped of confidence. My perfectionism and success in academics has not translated over to the work space, something I had expected effortlessly. The master’s degree I got in education was always a window into the world of academic. I got it in order to get my PhD, to make the transition to academic easier. The types of jobs I could get with my master’s degree, the Student Affairs jobs at different offices at universities- I expected them to come easy to me, for the work to be mindless, a way to finance my passion of writing and reading. I expected myself to jump around in entry-level or even mid-tier positions, saving up money before entering into a PhD program.
And now I have barely $1,000 in my savings account (despite hours of budgeting and planning, each paycheck, to save), a job that I’m not very good at, and an almost-severed relationship with my boss. I’m not closer to a PhD unless I bridge the gap. Unless I apply.
My position requires clerical skills and acute attention to detail. I don’t have that- it’s something I learned only within this job. The ‘easy’ job I expected isn’t easy at all, at least not for me. And that has made me feel… absolutely inept, insecure, and lost. I’d reduced these student affairs jobs to something small, and when I couldn’t succeed in them, I also became small. I could no longer fake it enough to write new cover letters, apply in other offices on campus. I had to face the fact that a different office wasn’t the solution- it was a bandaid, and the wound was bound to open again if I didn’t look at it honestly. And looking at it honestly? Fucking sucked. I didn’t feel financially secure enough to apply for the PhD, the next stop along my finely-planned route to success. I wanted to feel financially secure enough to tackle my passion without the stressors of money- but that hasn’t happened. And I don’t think it will. I think if I continue operating under the excuse of financial insecurity, I will never, ever apply.
So, I’m applying. And I am scared. My therapist also told me that I operate too often from a fear mindset, and she’s right. Instead of thinking what do I have to lose, I think, what if I lose this, and there’s nothing else to hope for? The weeks of depression made me ask that question relentlessly. It shocked me into numbness and desperation- I wanted validation from anywhere, and even when/if I got it, it didn’t make a difference. But when I made my announcement to my family, my boyfriend, my closest friends, none of them paused. All of them said a version of ‘well, duh,’ as if they’d known this was coming. And it has been. I just let myself forget.
I’m scared, and forever will be, of the financial aspect of this. The PhD program I am applying for is one of the best in the field of English/Creative Writing- in fact, it’s tremendous in terms of the financial package that accompanies admittance. It’s livable, and yet still a $20,000 cut to my wages. I will have to lean heavily on Hans for our shared bills and purchases, and letting go of that control makes me cringe. I haven’t fully accepted it yet, despite the numerous talks I’ve made us have regarding this. It doesn’t matter how many times I reshape the conversation. It always comes down to the same question that he’s already answered enthusiastically YES to: are you sure I’m worthy of you doing this? Because I’m not sure if I am. Who am I to spend 5 years (FIVE YEARS!!!!) writing, honing my craft? I’ve never had that financial luxury, and I don’t have it now- but it’s being offered to me. I won’t let myself be too afraid of taking it.
And there’s a few other things, too- the friend from high school who threw together a wedding in 3 months with her shitty boyfriend, the fact that I won’t be able to attend (due to other pricey wedding events), and her passive aggressive reaction. It’s the final loss in a years-long, slow erosion of a friendship that lost its purpose years ago. I feel guilty, disappointed- but also relieved. I can no longer maintain relationships that don’t involve emotional maturity on both ends- and I no longer feel burdened to. Obligated to.
Finally, there’s Rachael, the first close friend I’ve had to be pregnant. She’s Hans’ best friend from middle school, and one of our closest friends here in LA. We attended her wedding last summer, a week spent in rural Germany, and cried together at the pure joy of her and Matt’s relationship. Now, I’m watching her traverse morning sickness and hormonal cries, and I’m feeling my chest widen with a new desire. I’ve never felt either way regarding motherhood, but now, I do. Now, I look at children and envy their playfulness, long for their presence. It’s strange. But I’m proud of how stable my heart feels, how confident I am in the love I’ve found.
fictitiouserika 