NSFW: The Chronicles of a (Free?) Girl, Chapter 6

Finally, it's 57 degrees

"This year has been terrible, but let's have a really good Halloween."

I'm writing this on my tiny balcony because it's currently 59 degrees. I've missed having a balcony; my last one was at my Adams Morgan apartment in DC where I got east and west views, which meant soft sunrises and electric sunsets. I compared morning skies to abalone shells and evening ones to lava seas.

My last week of freedom

This week is my last week of underemployment. Yes, I changed it to "under" instead of "un" since I worked at Glossier for a month.

Reflecting on these past four months, a giant wave of relief washes over me. Tender feelings of sadness and disappointment rise after hiding under a dusting of flour. Exhaustion is a ghost following me on my walk to Central Park, whispering, "Turn around; you can't go all the way." And to that voice I'll admit my feet hurt more than they used to.

I had to be tough, strong, invincible. How else was I to survive? Empathy was apathy, inspiration was motivation, and relaxation was restlessness. I was armed for a battle each day and slept in my armor to show dedication. More on this below.

Now I'm soft and thorny as a rose again, shedding petals and moving with the seasons.

Disappointment is a knife

My disappointments were plentiful during unemployment. After losing my job in the most fuckboy of ways (I detailed most of the story on LinkedIn), my dad told me I didn't deserve to live. Below is a text he sent me after I told him I'd lost my job three days ago:

"I hope your pursuit to not work is successful. I think you should pursue a new job. If you want to hire a lawyer and want a bunch of time hoping for a big outcome, I am absolutely as supportive of that as I am of you going on welfare. You have been very confrontational with me for some reason I don’t understand. You don’t have to take my advice. I think you should take the advice of all of the people that think you deserve to live without working, living on someone else’s dime."

This message came after three years of civility with a man who told me during my teenage years that I would never amount to anything and would live in a trailer and cut hair. For two months I was a sixteen-year-old girl again, with low self-esteem and inexplicable hopelessness toward the future. I fought through flashbacks and depression, not an ideal headspace to be in while searching for work.

Next was New York denying me unemployment benefits. My paystubs were nowhere to be found, so I was forced to file in Virginia three months later after waiting for NYC to appeal my case. Virginia pays about half of what New York pays, so I was still living on my savings and only received one unemployment check before starting work at Glossier.

Finally, two freelance gigs I snagged early on, both promising 15 hours of work per week, totaled 13 hours of work over five months. Let's just say money was tight and my savings are almost nonexistent.

Ms. Brightside

The good part is I'm unbreakable. I found my voice as a writer; before it was muddied with this little voice, also known as the inner critic, telling me I didn't belong here and had nothing important to say. Mine loved calling me dumb and insignificant while at my most vulnerable (sound familiar?).

I'm fully embracing my passions and following my instincts in a loving and nurturing way. Before it was life or death. My aspirations were now or never, and this need to urgently act was an insurmountable weight on my shoulders. This isn't shocking considering how high the stakes were from a young age (you either fight for your dreams or live in a trailer and cut hair).

This journey was cathartic and maddening and hopeful and vicious. For now, I'm happy to be free and have money again.