Monthly Archive

The job is going well. I have been doing lots of training, and whatnot. My desk doesn’t look like my work home yet, but that will come. I thought I would miss my old job- particularly the kids- desperately, but I don’t, at least not yet.

I do miss my co-workers. I had a bit of a breakdown Tuesday night and ended up in tears, because I don’t have friends yet. After the second day. Good friends of mine reminded me that they will come in time, and that I really do have to take this one day at a time.

I have been busy cleaning, wrapping, doing Christmas cards, etc. Life is good. It’s a quiet kind of chaotic with holiday preparations, but in a good way.

My stress level has already greatly decreased. I can feel it with almost every breath I take.

I start my new job tomorrow.

I don’t know what I’ll be doing, where I’ll be sitting, who I’ll be sitting with. I don’t know what my day will look like or even what time exactly I’ll be leaving. I don’t know what I’ll have for lunch or who I’ll eat lunch with, if anyone.

I think that’s the biggest part that gives me some twinges of anxiety. My sister kindly pointed out I do know some things- that I won’t be leaving my desk/ cubicle, I won’t be going outside, I’ll have less flexibility. I think she was pointing these things out because they appear to be negative, but for me, for right now, all those things are actually ok with me. They may seem negative tomorrow, but for now they’re ok.

My brain appears to be having more anxiety than I am, though. I had a dream last night that I totally missed my first day. I had some appointments to go to, some bad news, then more appointments (in my dream). I didn’t think to call my supervisor until 4:30pm, and then I was in tears. She told me it was ok, to come in tomorrow. And in my next dream, I did go in the next day. Fifteen minutes late, with no paperwork filled out.

Sigh.

I know neither of those things will happen. The paperwork will be done, and I’ll be there at if not before 8:30. But I guess that’s my brain or subconscious’ way of telling me that I’m maybe a little nervous?

We’ll see how it goes!

I don’t know how many times I heard today that I can change my mind, or go back if I want to. I so appreciate that sentiment. And I know that I can.

I wonder if I will. I know that life takes us in all kinds of crazy and wild directions that we never plan on. I know that we can make plans that turn out perfectly, and we can make plans that never come to fruition, because something different crosses our path in life.

I know that when I left my agency the first time, I never planned to go back. One of the hardest things for me today is remembering the day my current supervisor called and asked if I was interested in a position. I was miserable at the job I had at that time, and couldn’t wait to leave. Nary a tear was shed leaving that job. I felt like on some level she saved me. I began growing as a clinician, therapist, social worker, and person again. I learned and changed. I loved what I was doing again.

I wish I wasn’t so tired, I wish I hadn’t had the year I had. But life does that to you, we don’t get to control it, and you have to do what you have to do (another phrase I’ve heard many times in the last month). But it’s true. I needed to make the choice that was ultimately right for me, for my family, for my future.

Right now? I hope I go back. I already miss my coworkers and families desperately. More than that, I feel like I cut off my arm, or some critical piece of my identity. I loved being a social worker in the foster care system, loved supporting families and working with children who needed more, loved doing therapy and eventually supervising other clinicians. Loved, loved, loved it. But I already know that even if I went back tomorrow, things would have shifted. Something would have shifted and it would not be the same. If I went back in six months, in a year, in two, it would not be the same. That doesn’t mean I won’t go “back”, but it means I cannot go backwards.

And so I feel sad for some moments, and try to focus on moving forward. I welcome the sad, I don’t want to push it away too vehemently, because I want to be able to walk through it and move to the other side, looking forward and moving on.

Embracing the future, and moving on.

Tonight, in the kitchen in a different office in my same agency.

I looked around and wondered what my new kitchen/ food storing/ food eating premises will be like. And had a pang of homesickness. I’ve been at the same agency for five and half years, with a short 7 month hiatus, and in this program for 2 years. I will be homesick when I leave, and am already feeling so.

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please don’t suggest I get therapy and stay at my job. I hate feeling like I have to defend myself here, in my space, but again- I know this is the right choice, for me, right now. I may go back in 6 months, in a year, in two. But right now, this is where I am. But I am also sad about that.

I will say this:

I know it is a painful decision, but sometimes the most right decisions are the most painful or confusing ones.

It is painful, but it’s also the right one for me. I know that without a doubt.

I’m leaving with a great deal of sadness, some frustration, some guilt. But also- with peace. Peace knowing that I’m making the right choice. If I didn’t know that I wouldn’t do it.

Here we go!

Today (which is officially yesterday, I suppose) is my birthday.

I laid around in my pjs, then got dressed. We went out to lunch (Friendly’s, my choice). Did a little shopping, then went and saw Mr. Magorium’s Wonder Emporium. I don’t care what anyone says, I loved that movie. Loved. It.

Did some more shopping, and drooled over Coach purses. Got supplies and came home.

Tooled around some more, and got to baking. Two kinds of cookies and cupcakes later, I’m tired.

But satisfied.

It’s been a sad day. My dad and grandma are on my mind a lot- it’s the first year they haven’t called. Not to hear my grandma sing happy birthday to me is a little heartbreaking. Talking about how proud my dad was to have me, and know I’ll never hear that in his voice again- that’s hard.

But I’m trying to be happy, still. So let’s call it happy with smudges of sadness around the edges, for today.

This morning I walked out of my door into freezing cold. I almost walked into him or her. It was a little bird, on the sidewalk in front of our apartment. He was just sitting, and I almost walked into him. There’s no way something wasn’t wrong, because he didn’t fly away. I thought something was wrong and he was probably dying. I looked at him as I walked away, and as I drove away. I couldn’t think of anything to do. It is the circle of life that sometimes birds die, but I also felt like I should do something. I wanted to save the bird. I couldn’t bring it inside, because - well, her name is Rory. Bring the bird to the vet? I don’t think so. So I drove away.

And I cried. I cried. I thought- I don’t know what to do. I want to save you, or be there with you, but I don’t know what to do.

When I told co-workers I was leaving, I tried not to show how happy I was. I was so ready to be done. So tired. So burnt out. So, so, so tired.

Then I started telling my kids. One after one- I have something I need to tell you.

One after one, the next question was always the same.

Why?

It’s one thing to explain it to coworkers and foster parents. They may be sad, but they can understand. They understand burnt out. They get emotionally drained. They tell me you need to do what you need to do. I would nod my head and agree. It was time. I told myself you need to go before one of your kids or families pays the price for you being burnt out. My foster parents had a range of reactions- tears, lots and lots of questions, disbelief at my next move (insurance?!?!?), and understanding, compassion, and support.

It’s one thing to tell them.

It’s a whole other thing to answer why from my kids.

How do you tell them? How do you explain to a six year old that you can’t walk around carrying his pain anymore? The pain that he deals with personally every day- how do you explain that?

How do you tell a fourteen year old you can’t fight for him anymore? That you’re running out of energy and can’t fight his battles for him? How do you explain that you are scared that you won’t be able to fight the way you have for the last two years and that he will end up paying the price for that?

How do you explain to a thirteen year old that you are leaving, again, and that she’s going to have to have a new worker, again. How do you respond when she tells you how much she hates changing workers, and tells you that she tells you everything, and won’t have anyone else to do that with?

How do you help an eleven year old understand that you can’t finish the work you’ve started with her, because it’s time for you to go? What do you say when she asks why? I just don’t know.

I don’t know what to tell them. I don’t know how to explain that I can’t carry their pain and fight their battles anymore. I don’t know how to reconcile the fact that I can’t be there for them,  yet I ask them to live with their histories and their pain every day of their lives. I don’t know how to explain the personal toll that my attachment to them, my passion for helping them, changing their lives, has had. I don’t know how to help them understand that the toll has become too great, at least for a time.

I’ve always wanted to be a social worker. There’s never been anything else for me, besides mom. I knew I wouldn’t fit anywhere else. I just knew. There’s always been a passion inside me to fight for those who are helpless. The bird, the children. I’ve always wanted to rescue them. As I became a little more experienced, a little less naive, I realized that I couldn’t rescue them. But I could show them someone who cared, I could be someone who was willing to fight for them, I could advocate for them. If I changed their lives in some small way, if I saved one of them in one way, it would be worth it.

I feel like I’m not only leaving a job, but that I’m cutting off a limb. I feel like I’m walking away from a part of me that has always been there. People joke that I am going to the “dark side” and I don’t know what to say. I feel like I’m walking away from such a huge part of who I am, in order to save the rest of who I am. This is something I still don’t completely understand. I know on several levels that it’s time to go, that I personally need a break and a change. I know that I need to focus on other parts of my life right now, and that while I am still pouring my heart and soul into these kids I cannot focus on the things that I need to elsewhere. I know, but I don’t understand.

I know. It’s a lot of emotion for someone changing jobs. Maybe I’m overreacting. Maybe I’m overthinking it. Maybe I’m overestimating the impact that me leaving is going to have. But I see the look in their eyes as they asked why. I hear the frustration they feel at finally finding someone they trust, only to lose yet another social worker. I feel the pain of having to say goodbye to someone yet again.

I feel guilty for causing any of them any kind of pain. It’s one thing to be the bearer of bad news, it’s another to be the cause. I know, I know I need to do what I need to do.

I want to save you, but I don’t know how anymore and I’ve run out of energy trying.

Why, indeed?

Am in TV coma.

Also, so sad. Our “To Do” list on TiVo? Less than a page long. I am not sure that’s ever happened since we got it. I guess we’ll be using Netflix alot more.

Please? Can the writers come back, now?

I am reality tv’s biggest fan, don’t get me wrong. I’m clearly addicted, admit I have a problem, but love my problem. I am, however, dreading the crap that is going to make it onto TV and stay because there are no writers.

aaaaaand that’s all I’ve got. I’m avoiding talking about leaving my job. It’s going to make me cry. I need to put it out there, but am avoiding it until I can’t avoid it. Let’s just say Khalil asked me last night if I was going to cry every night until I left, and I sobbed, “proooobabbbllyyyy”. Leaving is going swimmingly. Yeah.

You missed her?

She’s sleeping. Her bed is on top of one of our cabinets (such strict kitty discipline around here…) and half her body is off the cabinet, while her head and the other half are trying to stay in her bed. She didn’t even move when Khalil took this picture.

So what no one actually said they missed her. I did.

Last night, we had an ice storm. When I woke up, the world was covered. I took some pictures before I left for work this morning. If I had taken my camera out beyond my yard, I would never have gotten anywhere today. All I wanted to do all day was take photos- the world was so beautiful, covered in a layer of ice.

A fun comparison:

The forsythia today:

The forsythia in May:

I was out until my fingers were too cold. I loved it.

It just feels weird to go to bed without having blogged. I know I should feel relieved, but it feels weird. So here I am blogging.

I didn’t win prizes, in either NaBloPoMo or in Hannah’s contest for a printer. But that’s ok. I got to post some pictures and I got the best prize of now being in the habit of daily blogging. I hope that doesn’t mean my blog tanks, from the mundaneness of it all (what IS that word? Mundaneness? Mundanity?).

I spent all afternoon and evening baking. It was one of those days. Harry Potter on the TV, Khalil at the table doing his own version of arts and crafts with wood, me in the kitchen making messes and sweets, Rory going between us both and to sleep, curled up in a perfect circle in the middle of our couch.

A perfect afternoon.

Almost eight months ago I wrote a break-up letter to junk food. I read it now and think… “What was I thinking?”

Here’s the new letter:

Dear crap that I eat on a regular basis,

I feel like you are feeling like Justin Bobby. I’ve said a million times that I’m done, and each time I promise that this time, I really mean it. I’m done with you. Yet I always come crying back. I listen to your promises. I believe you when you tell me you won’t make me fat, and that you’ll make me feel better. I will reminisce about all the good times we’ve had, and want them back. So I’ll come back, with a stronger attachment than ever.

Why would you believe me when I say I’m done?

I’m going to be honest here, unhealthy eating. I’m not done. I love you so much. I love not having to say no. I love the freedom that comes with. I adore that total lack of self-discipline it takes to be wholly involved with you. It feels so easy to just let us abuse each other, with a wonderful devil-may-care attitude.

I don’t love the consequences that you come with, though. They are almost enough to make me leave you, again. They are almost enough to make me go back to the nice habits in my life, Eating Right and Exercise. Almost. I don’t love the way you make my pants feel. They feel gross all the time. I wish I could just wear sweatpants day in and day out, they feel so nice and comfortable. I don’t like the way my body feels. I feel slow, sluggish, and tired. I never feel good. I hate the way my body looks. I am back to avoiding mirrors, and I feel like nothing looks cute on me. Nothing. Nada. Zip.

I also hate the way that how I feel about my body and my relationship with you carries over into other aspects of my life. I don’t take good care of myself. I can find the time for sitting around  and for hanging with you, Unhealthy Eating, but I can’t find the time to take a walk?!?!

Yet I love you so much. I don’t know why. I truly don’t understand the hold you have on me, much in the way that Justin Bobby has a hold on Audrina. I don’t know why I can’t say no to you. Even when I spend six, eight, or twelve months apart, only coming around for naughty trysts every few months, I still come crawling back to you full time. I know I love the freedom from self-discipline and saying no that you offer. I know that I love the allure of laziness that  you tempt me with. I know that I love the ability to indulge my every emotional whim.

The consequences of such an affair, they are not insignificant. Yet I just can’t seem to care.

I know we need to end this soon. The trouble is, that it must be for good. And I don’t know how.

Yours,

Paige