Strange Places

I remember vividly what made me decide that hospice was the job I wanted to do next. I was next to my beloved cousin Ali, who was just days from dying. A hospice CNA came in and sponge bathed him. I sat there, mere feet from him, in a chair, big heavy tears running down my face. The CNA kept a straight face and never even looked up to acknowledge me. And strangely enough, I was grateful to her for that moment. Because I had no idea how to function at the time when our close loved one is dying. In a moment like that, no matter what kind of education or experience you have, your brain seems to just seep out of your ears. But she was professional. She had a job to do, clean and check on him. While the family was all so emotionally spent, she came in and did what needed to be done. That was literally the moment I learned how important hospice really is.

I took two months after Ali died to finish writing a book (at least I thought I was done), before I went back to work. I'd been so distracted from the last few years that I knew that after being fired and losing my cousin, I needed a break. I'd tried so long to finish the book previously, that this was the first time that I felt like I could really work on it with no distractions, and once it was done, I would get another job. When I was ready, I started applying. 

After the job I'd gotten fired from, I wasn't really looking forward to going back into social work. I'd been bullied, lied to, lied on, gaslit and underpaid from many of my last few jobs. I was over it. But I decided to look at hospice jobs in the area. Coincidentally, my classmate from Clark was working as a hospice social worker and I remember vividly telling her that there was no way I could ever do something like that. She assured me it wasn't that bad. I had a hard time believing at the time that a job dealing with death and dying wouldn't emotionally drain me. But by the time I applied, I had a newfound appreciation for the position. And I landed at a place I'll call Chances Hospice.

Chances sat in the middle of nowhere in a small town, about 30 minutes from my old apartment. When first I interviewed, I told them that I'd just lost my cousin and I saw the importance of hospice up close and personal and I wanted to share that blessing with others going through a hard time. I was hired on the spot. Chances had an interesting cast of characters. It had the typical, small Southern town feel. The office wasn't too far from the local downtown area, which was only a few small shops and restaurants.

I was told that my list of clients would be south of I-20. I loved so much how I drove through all kinds of farmland to visit my families. Miles and miles of grass, as far as the eye could see. The job definitely put some miles on my car, but I was more than happy to collect them. They were so grateful for me, unlike working in crisis, where people drop all kinds of shit in your lap and it's then your job to put out their fires. Hospice was a much slower pace, less drama, less paperwork and I loved that it was overall based much more in compassion. When my uncle, Ali's father, died a month after I was hired, my coworkers were so kind and gracious. Not "so when are you going to get over this?" like the job I was fired from after Ali died. No, they were genuinely loving and allowed me all the time I needed and didn't give me mess when I had to fly to Denver for his funeral. When I met with a client's family right after my uncle died, I had to excuse myself to go cry, and my coworker was more than understanding.

I was heartbroken to have to leave Chances. I had every intention of staying there until my son graduates high school in a few years. But at the same time I was applying for Chances, I also applied for my current job. And when that major organization reached out to me much later, I knew what I had to do. Chances was great, but the other position that I'd been offered was too much to pass up. When this organization calls you, you pull up.

I offered to stay on part-time, but my coworkers at the time asked me not to do that, for fear it would cut their pay if the higher ups realized that my job could possibly be a part-time position. I respect it. I told them that I'd gladly stay on as a volunteer, and even emailed the volunteer coordinator twice, telling her that I was interested, but I never heard back. I assumed that management was miffed at my early departure, which is why I was never called. But even with that, I never lost love for Chances.

I stopped in to see my therapist today. Dr. R happens to be located in my old neighborhood, and the inviting weather told me that it was time to stop by Chances again, after my visit with her. I didn't expect to talk about Fred with her, but she's great at pulling things out of me that I'm trying to avoid. Nevertheless, when I emerged from her office, I called my old coworker, Sophie and asked if she would be okay with me stopping in for a visit. 

When I got off the exit, I was transferred back to the time when I started, just two short years ago. I remembered how peaceful I felt, driving through the small town to my office. I was also on the opposite side of town from all the traffic and I never had to encounter the hustle and bustle of rush hour, which I was also grateful for. I remembered those treatment team meetings, and how my coworker, Jennifer, and I would exchange funny memes as we updated one another on our clients.

Mostly, the old gang is still there. I was happy to learn that some of my old clients are still on the services and even still ask about me. I confessed to Sophie that driving through that small town into the office today helped me to recognize just how much Chances really saved me when I came in, 2 years ago, and I was far more broken than I'd realized at the time. Sophie encouraged me to reach out to the volunteer coordinator, but I told her how I'd done so previously, but never heard back. That's when she told me that the that the previous person in that position wasn't too good and that's why I never got a response. She told me that Chances desperately needed volunteers and encouraged me to drop my info. I anxiously filled out the application and emailed the woman before I left.

I came into Chances, grieving from the recent loss of my cousin. I was just a hair from leaving social work. I'd just broken up with my extremely shitty boyfriend, and I was still really processing my feelings regarding moving back from Los Angeles. And although I didn't realize it at the time, your girl was going through it! And driving out, in the middle of nowhere, and getting to support families, and being welcomed in, 5 days a week, from 8-5 was all I needed. I saw cows and horses. Heard all kinds of wild stories. Working there was like being transformed to a time when everything was simpler. I wasn't catching crap about dress codes and office politics. I wasn't bullied. When my uncle died, I was given nothing but genuine support. Chances gave me the work family that I so desperately needed.

Coincidentally, when I left Chances today, I called my friend Lisa, who I'd met through my work there. I was her mother's social worker, and Lisa and I just took to one another. Lisa had been caring for her mother with dementia for the last 4 years. Lisa's mother died recently, which I'd learned when I Googled her one day. I immediately called Lisa to offer my condolences, but she was with family. I told her that I'd drop by later. While I was out at Chances and in Lisa's neighborhood, I stopped on in.

She told me about watching her mother slowly decline. I knew she was still processing a lot and I allowed her to talk as much as she needed to about her mother, knowing the loss was only a month ago. Lisa's house happens to be on a lake, and we sat outside, talking, enjoying the 80 degree day. I told Lisa how I'm hoping to buy a home, but I'd been thinking about getting something in the city, so that ultimately, I could pass it on to my son, if needed. 

But being out there today, in the small town where Chances is located, made me rethink things. Maybe I really will buy a home in that tiny, country town, where I can be invisible and loved on at the same time. Chances did more for me than they will ever know. I am eternally grateful.

Balance

I haven't had vivid dreams in a while. Things are pretty tame in my life, so my dreams tend to match. But I had a pretty lively one last night. In it, my son's father and I were getting along quite well. So well, it genuinely surprised me. In the dream, I recall saying that I'd have to work out in therapy how to actually like my ex as a person, because I'd started detesting him so much, and he was so nice now, that I would miss my actual hatred for him. But then, the dream, he said the one thing that would set me off (which is par for the course with him) and I wailed on his ass right there. I woke up shortly after.

Like any typical Thursday for the last few months, I woke up this morning and dreaded going to see my trainer. Even though I've seen the benefits and observed my clothes fitting loser, yeah, I still hate it. On a good note, I've gotten to be pretty close with my trainer, and he loves to hear the stories about my debaucherous life. Actually, my life is pretty boring these days, compared to what it once was, but he's married, so any news of my ignorance, he's always happy to hear about. 

As I stepped in, he said to me "this is going to be a tough workout, you're going to hate me." I low key feel like he takes joy in hearing me whine about not wanting to do whatever he tells me to do. He told me that today would be a cardio workout that focused on balance. He had one of those workout tools I'd seen, that's half ball, the other half is flat, known as a BOSU ball. I'd seen those things frequently, but never stopped to figure out what they were.

He explained to me that I'd be standing on the flat side, balancing, while doing squats, and holding onto a pole. I surprised us both by getting through the set pretty easy. Next up I did the squats on the BOSU ball, without holding on. Then I lifted weights, while balancing on the BOSU ball. Then he had me standing on one leg, all while I did squats.

Once again, they were all pretty easy, and dare I say it, pretty fun. My trainer remarked on how wild it was that whenever he had me do lunges, I'd practically face plant, but here I was, doing one-legged squats on a balance ball, like a pro. He marveled at how uncoordinated I often am, and while he gave me tasks today, he said that I'm literally only one of 2 people he's ever worked with that had this level of balance. It's probably attributed to the at-home workout routine that I've done on and off for years. I'd never really thought much about it, but at the age of 43, I'm glad to see that I'm doing so well. My trainer joking referred to my combo of terrible coordination with immaculate balance, as me being a "conundrum."

Not sure what made me ask my trainer, but out of no where I asked him what men would typically think about my hair, which is in nearly waist-length, multi-color locs, that I currently have curled up. My trainer said that most men would likely see my brightly colored hair and think I was a free spirit or easy. I wasn't surprised. The fact is, while I love my hair, I get sick of talking about it with and getting complimented on it, by men. I did it because I like bright colors, not because I wanted the attention. I told him that I wasn't shocked, because men comment on my hair the most. My trainer suggested that I darken my hair and appear on the Kendra G show, and internet show where people put themselves out there and look for love. I told him that I pass.

I have no desire to do such a thing anyway, but why the hell should I change my hair to be taken seriously by a man? I'm a grown ass woman, with job I enjoy, higher education, I'm intelligent and well-rounded, my bills are paid. My hair and my tattoos have nothing to do with who I am as a person, and I refuse to dim my light to attract someone who isn't intimidated by the awesomeness that is me.

After gym time, I rushed off to my therapist. God, I love that woman! She's older, and a little old-fashioned, but she's thoughtful. It took her a few weeks to really learn me, but she has, and I thoroughly enjoy meeting with her. She's managed to identify that my biggest stressors are my dating life and my family.

As I walked in today, I immediately unloaded about the strange dream that I had. It was weird, mostly because I haven't talked to that knuckle-dragging idiot in forever, and he's thankfully another woman's problem now (or based on his extensive history, several women's problem). There's no reason for him to suddenly appear in my dreams. In fact, I've been meeting with my therapist for nearly a year now, and only one of our bi-weekly sessions talked deeply about the abuse I suffered at his hands. He's not at the forefront of my mind. So why am I having dreams about him now?

My therapist explained that the dream could have been based on something like a tv in the background, but I know that's not it, because I sleep with the tv on almost nightly. She said it could have been something like a recent interaction with him, but again, that ain't it, I don't talk to him and I don't really even want to. Then she said that it could have been reflection of something else going on in my life. I could almost feel the lightbulb go off in my head.

I immediately thought about a new guy I'd been casually seeing. The funny thing is that the guy is such a minor character in my life, that I hadn't even brought him up to my therapist. Like he's a non-factor at this stage in the game. I enjoy his friendship, and I love talking to him, but I'm not really putting my eggs in any baskets. I'm focused on my plans for when my little walks across the stage to get his diploma in 2 years. If this dude is still there, great! He's already shared his willingness to move with me, if things progress to that point. But if not, whatevs.

My therapist immediately asked me about him. I told her the good, and I shared with her my pink flags, which are leaning towards red. I told her that I pretty much addressed my concerns with him. He grew a smidge defensive initially, but in the end, he got it, and said he'll work on things. But again, I'm not pressed. I have my plans. Alone or booed up, I'm making moves regardless. I told him that if he works on the things I pointed out, whether he's alone or with someone, he'll be a happier version of himself, which he agreed on.

What sucks about working in mental health is that you often find yourself acting as a therapist in your personal life, even if you don't intend to. I recall some years ago that I tried to gently tell a dude that I appreciated the energy he put into trying to get to know me, but he needed some serious therapy to work through some trauma. Like I could see dude's trauma long before he uttered a word about it to me. And that clown then attempted to accuse me of weaponizing my job to judge him. Bitch, I can't help what my job is, but I'm trying to put you on game. Fix yo' shit! So yeah, we don't talk no mo'. Anyway...

I told Dr. C that with the new minor character, I hipped him to what his pink/red flags were, and that he agreed to work on them. I assured her that I'm not pressed regardless, to the point that I hadn't even mentioned him until this thing with the dream came up. He works in a different field, and he makes less than me, while still making a livable wage.

I mentioned to Dr. C that when I met him, I initially told him that my job title was that of a boring paper-pusher, and I only told him later on what I actually do. I explained to her that people assume too many things when I tell them off the rip what I do, and while I'm so fascinated by my field, I don't want to spend all of my down time assessing people and doing therapy. 

My dear doc then suggested that I'm dumbing myself down when I'm not always up front about what my job title or profession is. She suggest that I essentially say "I'm a professional woman who is solid in her career" as a way to meet new people and deflect when asked about my career. But I can only imagine how suspect and off putting that would be to many people. It just makes it feel like you have something to hide. 

Like when I told dude that I'm a paper pusher, he asked no questions. But when I tell people what I do, they immediately hit me with "I could never do that" (I agree, it's not for the weak) and then they assume that I'll be a mother figure/nurse/therapist to them. 

I went on to say how because of having bright hair, tats, colorful nails, and a nose ring, men tend to assume the worst about me. Like my trainer said, they assume that I'm a good-time girl. I really can't count how many times I've met a guy and he had assumptions about me, based on his preconceived notions, and suddenly he acts like I've wronged him by not being whatever he expects me to be. Like dude, I never lied to you. You just saw bright hair and assumed that I was uneducated and unmotivated, and now you're tripping to learn that I have standards because I have a higher degree than you, and I make just as much, or possibly  more money than you.

I became a bit incensed during the visit today. I shared how free-spirited men tend to be flakes, addicts, or all out mentally ill. And polished men can't seem to take me seriously. Like there's this fine line that I'm expected to walk in life. Be bright and friendly and outgoing, but don't be too confident and sure of yourself. People don't like it when you don't hate yourself. But then go into your profession, and you should only wear these boring, muted colors, and don't appear too friendly and sociable, lest you make your colleagues feel uncomfortable and you appear unprofessional and unqualified, in spite of having over a decade of experience, in addition to a professional license.

I ended up buying a BOSU ball this evening. I look forward to using it. Seeing how much I impressed my trainer made me want to stick with the workouts we did today. I already have weights that I enjoy lifting between calls at home. At this rate, it feels only right to further work on my physical wellness, while I'm on the clock. Been balancing this long, might as well keep the party going, right?