Ignore this post.
Jun. 27th, 2003 11:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
judecorpI know that I shouldn't put all of my hope in one thing, because then I get so disappointed. I know this in my head, but I seem to do it every damned time. You'd think that at some point I'd learn my lesson. Whups.
The last two weeks have been non-stop and very challenging. Leaving the stress of work aside, in one week I looked at an apartment, put a deposit on an apartment, packed my apartment, arranged for movers and friends to help, changed my address all over the place, and moved. So for the two most stressful weeks of my job, I've come home from that stress to the stress of packing, or moving, or unpacking. And then going back to work. I am ready to explode.
I am so broken up about the loss of my job. Well-intentioned people keep telling me how they understand how I feel, how they've lost jobs, how they've stopped pouring their hearts into their jobs, how exciting it is that I've found a new job. You know what? Fuck that. I don't feel excited, and I don't believe they know how I feel. For a lot of people, their job is just their job. Sure, they might like their job, or they might feel that is the right career for them, but most people don't live their job, not in their heart and soul like I do. Most people's jobs aren't a part of them. For me, who I am and what I do are inseparable.
I am not a Faith Mission employee first. I am a social worker first and a shelter employee second (or not at all). I do not work for Lutheran Social Services, I work for the homeless men of Columbus. When I interviewed, I told my interviewer that I only wanted to work jobs that were back to the beginnings of social work - the real, in your face, mix with the oppressed and voiceless social work. I wanted Jane Addams and settlement houses and activism. And that is what I've done. I have hollered and ranted and battled against unjust rules and stupid policies to make things better for my clients. I've put in extra hours and given up lunches and opened my car and my personal cell phone and numerous other things for the people I work for. I've struggled with them, because the struggle is inside of me. It is not a job. It is, simply, the right thing for me to do.
This is being taken away from me, and I feel the loss of that as poignantly as I feel the loss of a part of me. I am an all or nothing person that gets 100% into whatever I'm working on, and for the last 10 months I have lived and breathed homelessness and poverty in Columbus. I believe in the quality of work that I do, and I believe that what I do is necessary and vital and important.
My Executive Director told a colleague of mine that case managers in our shelter are "enablers." Later, after he handed us our termination letters and offered us a demoted position, told other staff people that we "jumped ship" when we did not take the new positions. I feel like I've been working inside a lie since August, and that hurts me.
On top of that, I'm sad for my clients. Their services, which I feel are vital, are being pulled away from them suddenly. Who had to tell them that? Me. So they are frustrated, and they take their frustrations out on me, because I'm there, because I'm available, because I'll put the time in, because I'm staff. Because it's become us-them at Faith Mission and they're no longer sure which side I'm on. That hurts me to the core. People are struggling and they need services, and I'm not able to give them to them because I'm "phasing out" - because I don't want to operate business as usual until June 30 and then disappear into the aether. Instead, I've spent the last two weeks watching people struggle. Helpless is the worst feeling of all.
So I'm down, and for one stupid reason or another, I put way too much stock into this weekend, and in letting loose tonight in particular. This was the first night in two weeks that I haven't had some chore or duty to come home to. I finished the bulk of the kitchen before Jen came home and I was ready to hit the town. At 4:30, I made sure she was up to going, and she said yes, so I called Andrea. I was excited. Big mistake, because she came home and barely had time to say that she was feeling too lousy to go out before she headed up to bed and fell asleep. I spent my "let loose" Friday night watching a bad black and white 1965 film about swingers, and sitting on the sofa feeling badly.
And then Jen needed medicine, so I walked down to the grocery store. I couldn't drive because of Pride activities and Comfest - it's wall to wall cars down here and they were even charging for parking at the grocery store. I walked down to the store and passed pack after pack, pair after pair of people out and about, laughing and having fun. There were people on stoops and porches, people listening to loud music, people excited about summer. This is my favorite weekend of the year in Columbus and I'm walking by it as it's happening, feeling more and more alone. So I get the medicine and head home, and on the way home, bump into my old kickboxing instructor. Yeah. Way to remind myself that I let that go, too - so I could better serve my shelter clients.
Basically, I'm in a real downer of a mood, and I'm forcing myself not to look forward to tomorrow. I can't afford to think that Pride will make up for everything, because I'll probably spend tomorrow in the doctor's office or something.
The last two weeks have been non-stop and very challenging. Leaving the stress of work aside, in one week I looked at an apartment, put a deposit on an apartment, packed my apartment, arranged for movers and friends to help, changed my address all over the place, and moved. So for the two most stressful weeks of my job, I've come home from that stress to the stress of packing, or moving, or unpacking. And then going back to work. I am ready to explode.
I am so broken up about the loss of my job. Well-intentioned people keep telling me how they understand how I feel, how they've lost jobs, how they've stopped pouring their hearts into their jobs, how exciting it is that I've found a new job. You know what? Fuck that. I don't feel excited, and I don't believe they know how I feel. For a lot of people, their job is just their job. Sure, they might like their job, or they might feel that is the right career for them, but most people don't live their job, not in their heart and soul like I do. Most people's jobs aren't a part of them. For me, who I am and what I do are inseparable.
I am not a Faith Mission employee first. I am a social worker first and a shelter employee second (or not at all). I do not work for Lutheran Social Services, I work for the homeless men of Columbus. When I interviewed, I told my interviewer that I only wanted to work jobs that were back to the beginnings of social work - the real, in your face, mix with the oppressed and voiceless social work. I wanted Jane Addams and settlement houses and activism. And that is what I've done. I have hollered and ranted and battled against unjust rules and stupid policies to make things better for my clients. I've put in extra hours and given up lunches and opened my car and my personal cell phone and numerous other things for the people I work for. I've struggled with them, because the struggle is inside of me. It is not a job. It is, simply, the right thing for me to do.
This is being taken away from me, and I feel the loss of that as poignantly as I feel the loss of a part of me. I am an all or nothing person that gets 100% into whatever I'm working on, and for the last 10 months I have lived and breathed homelessness and poverty in Columbus. I believe in the quality of work that I do, and I believe that what I do is necessary and vital and important.
My Executive Director told a colleague of mine that case managers in our shelter are "enablers." Later, after he handed us our termination letters and offered us a demoted position, told other staff people that we "jumped ship" when we did not take the new positions. I feel like I've been working inside a lie since August, and that hurts me.
On top of that, I'm sad for my clients. Their services, which I feel are vital, are being pulled away from them suddenly. Who had to tell them that? Me. So they are frustrated, and they take their frustrations out on me, because I'm there, because I'm available, because I'll put the time in, because I'm staff. Because it's become us-them at Faith Mission and they're no longer sure which side I'm on. That hurts me to the core. People are struggling and they need services, and I'm not able to give them to them because I'm "phasing out" - because I don't want to operate business as usual until June 30 and then disappear into the aether. Instead, I've spent the last two weeks watching people struggle. Helpless is the worst feeling of all.
So I'm down, and for one stupid reason or another, I put way too much stock into this weekend, and in letting loose tonight in particular. This was the first night in two weeks that I haven't had some chore or duty to come home to. I finished the bulk of the kitchen before Jen came home and I was ready to hit the town. At 4:30, I made sure she was up to going, and she said yes, so I called Andrea. I was excited. Big mistake, because she came home and barely had time to say that she was feeling too lousy to go out before she headed up to bed and fell asleep. I spent my "let loose" Friday night watching a bad black and white 1965 film about swingers, and sitting on the sofa feeling badly.
And then Jen needed medicine, so I walked down to the grocery store. I couldn't drive because of Pride activities and Comfest - it's wall to wall cars down here and they were even charging for parking at the grocery store. I walked down to the store and passed pack after pack, pair after pair of people out and about, laughing and having fun. There were people on stoops and porches, people listening to loud music, people excited about summer. This is my favorite weekend of the year in Columbus and I'm walking by it as it's happening, feeling more and more alone. So I get the medicine and head home, and on the way home, bump into my old kickboxing instructor. Yeah. Way to remind myself that I let that go, too - so I could better serve my shelter clients.
Basically, I'm in a real downer of a mood, and I'm forcing myself not to look forward to tomorrow. I can't afford to think that Pride will make up for everything, because I'll probably spend tomorrow in the doctor's office or something.
