I sit at my desk, iPod on the never ending shuffle and try to decide what to write for this DIY MFA prompt. How do I honor my reality when I am still trying to find it? How do I write a post like this without sounding like a whiney teenager? (#Firstworldproblems)
Two weeks ago I was a receptionist, a psychometrist, a consultant, a student, a mother, a wife, an artist, and a writer. I am still most of those things but I had to let something go. I went to my boss telling her we needed to replace me. The front desk needed someone who could be there more than 10 hours a week. It wasn’t fair to the office and it would free me some time to study and make sure I kept my gpa up for my final year.
Well Monday that day came and I cleaned out my desk. I am no longer a receptionist and if every thing goes as planned that is a role I won’t fall back into again. For 11 years of my life I have worked in medical offices. I got to know the patients, listen to their stories, and help them how ever I could. I don’t do that any longer.
Admittedly, this was my choice. I can study in the mornings before classes, I have time to write while the kids are at school. I can spend my senior year keeping up and not forgetting what my friends and family look like. I can keep my grades up and get into a good master’s program. Being a therapist will allow me to help people in ways I couldn’t as a receptionist.
So why the hell am I so sad? I chose this, I wanted this, and this is 100% the path I am passionate about. Being a therapist is the road I have been on all my life. Just like telling stories has always been a part of me. Now that I have the opportunity to do the 2 things I love the most, shouldn’t I be ecstatic? Shouldn’t I be over the moon and typing my heart and soul into the story I’ve been playing with?
For now, I can not honor my reality. I have to forge a new one again.