“God puts the greatest things on the other side of fear”~. Will Smith
December 31, 2021:
Five re-reads, three revisions and an offensive number of spellchecks later, it was finally complete. 12 years of public servitude condensed into two succinct paragraphs. It was the resignation letter that any employer would come to expect from an exemplary employee, a kind of “kiss the ring” gesture to acknowledge the opportunity given, and I was careful to cover all the basis. The letter included the usual verbiage; “I am grateful for the opportunity…”, I learned so much during my time…” blah blah blah. My departure is a good thing, a necessary thing; so why do I feel so sad?
I watched my work-life flash before my eyes. It was September 24, 2010, my first day on the job. To say I was terrified was an understatement. Here I am, a former Fraud Investigator for JP Morgan Chase, entering the belly of the beast known as child welfare, with absolutely no damn clue of what that entailed. I just knew that I wanted to make a difference in someone’s life, and Los Angeles County was hiring. After a month of “training” I was given a photo ID badge and a caseload of 45 families and kicked out of the nest. My first day out in the field, I had to detain a set of three siblings, due to their mother dying of cancer and their father being deported to Mexico…I cried in my car.
I then flashed back to year four on the job, when I applied to become a teleworker due to my insane commute (2 ½ hours each way). The Regional Administrator, a well-known micro manager and resident tyrant, sat on my application for two years because he was adamantly against anyone working from home. He openly admitted his preference of having “asses in seats” and had no intention of backing down despite my being qualified for the distinction. He looked me dead in the eyes and spouted coldly “No one told you to live where you live.”
It was at that moment that I knew that my days in this gig were numbered. A short time later, I decided to beef up my resume by going back to school to obtain a Master’s Degree in Social Work. For my Master’s thesis, I developed a Creative Arts Therapy program for foster youth with the intention of leaving my job to open my own agency. I had done the research, formulated a full business model and even drafted my own grant proposal. I managed to Graduate with honors all while managing the same ridiculously high caseload and raising two school-aged sons on my own. I had done it; I found a way out and it felt amazing…until it didn’t.
No sooner than I had walked across the stage to retrieve my diploma, I started talking myself out of leaving. “Sure I have a Master’s degree, but I don’t think I’ll be taken seriously without being licensed, so I better stay get that done first.” The average time it takes to obtain a social work license in the state of California is at least two years…I basically revoked my own parole.
But the self-talk didn’t stop there. While obtaining the clinical hours needed for licensure, I once again started to doubt that I was ready to step out on my own. I managed to convince myself that having a Master’s degree and eventually being a licensed social worker may not be enough to earn me a seat at the table, so I decided to up the ante and apply for a Doctoral program because, why not. This was a two-year degree program and according to my calculations, I could be done with both my clinical supervision hours and my doctorate by Spring of 2020. Perfect! This, of course, pushed my exit back even further.
In December of 2019, the end of the first year of my doctoral program, I had a vivid dream that I and my son, who had just started his senior year in high school, were hit by a tornado. A month later, Covid-19 comes to town…
When the pandemic hit, the agency, like everywhere else, became completely chaotic. Although everyone was working from home (the irony), we were still expected to conduct face to face visits with our clients despite the risks to our own lives and the lives of our loved ones. Many workers became seriously ill, some even died. Our caseloads skyrocketed and those of us who were able to dodge getting sick were left to fend for ourselves. Meanwhile, during all this chaos, I was still working on my dissertation and dealing with an angry son who was being robbed of his senior year experience. With all Hell breaking loose, I somehow managed to write an entire curriculum for a high school personal development course and successfully defend it before a virtual panel.
Through apocalyptic-like conditions, my son and I managed to finish school and get our diplomas; his hand delivered at our front door, and mine delivered by mail. I am now a Doctor, but the thrill and excitement that was to accompany this achievement was nonexistent.
A few months after graduation, I started a business so that I could teach my personal development program to high schoolers on campus. I was on track to score a contract with a local school district when the schools went to virtual learning for the rest of the year. A short time later, I completed my clinical hours and applied to take the licensing exam in the Spring of 2021. The plan after passing the exam, was to finally leave my job and work on my business full time. Spring of 2021 arrived; I took the exam and failed.
What little light I had left for this line of work had all but fizzled out, and all these letdowns were beginning to take a physical toll. I fell into deep depression.
September of 2021, I went on medical leave. I was in mourning. I mourned the extra years that I gave to an institution that I deeply despise. I was shameful of the excuses, nauseated by the self-made distractions and mortified at the dominant presence of imposter syndrome. The truth is, I could have left the job when I completed my Master’s program six years ago. I had a viable plan and the resources to bring it to life but instead I got in my own way. I hadn’t had an ugly cry since losing my mother over 20 years ago. It was way past due.
It was now December 2021, and near the end of my time off. I could feel the sleepless nights, the loss of appetite and the headaches starting to surface even before my time was up. Here I am, a Doctor with two viable and potentially lucrative business models, neither of which require a license in order to operate, contemplating a return to a miserable job where my future is determined by people who barely knew I existed. My tank was empty, and I dreaded the thought of going back.
There lied the fork in the road, and I knew in that moment that if I didn’t choose me in this situation, it would be difficult to choose me in any situation ever again. Standing there in the middle of all my fears, all my doubts and extreme uncertainty, I chose me. On New Year’s Eve 2021, I turned in my resignation and took the biggest leap of faith of my entire life. I hadn’t slept that good in in over a decade.
I started this story with a question: “Why do I feel so sad?” The answer is because I didn’t believe sooner that I am worthy of success. I had fallen into a deep well of my own fears and my own doubts and each time I would come close to climbing out, I would find a reason to wade in it longer. I’m also sad about shedding the predictable comfortability of a paycheck and full benefits and leaving behind the amazing coworkers that are still being subjected to the gross negligence of that agency. I recognize that I am in the grief cycle, and that is perfectly ok.
I guess you could say that I took the scenic route on this journey to resignation, but I made it, alive and (for the most part) intact. Here I am, free falling without a parachute and scared out of my mind, and it feels pretty damn amazing. There’s a ton of work to do, including conquering this monster of an exam, but now I control the narrative and that makes all the difference.
I Chose Me, and moving forward the choice will always be me, every time.
Grateful.Blessed.Determined.
