UYW4 – God dammit, RuPaul was right!

After last weeks utter chaos, I’m glad to note that this week has been a lot quieter, more peaceful and thankfully a heck of a lot more loving.

I was sick for a couple of days though, finally got taken down by the dreaded lurgy that was apparently plaguing all my Derby friends. This meant I had to take things easy, take a day off from my Ultimate practice and laze on the sofa watching The Real Housewives of Atlanta.

Even though this rest was necessary and very much needed, I found myself struggling to let myself be. Even though I am a complete TV addict, I can’t sit in the same spot for more than an hour. Seriously, ask Alex, I am the literal living metaphor of ‘ants in your pants’. I get so irritable if I’m in the house longer than one day. So grumpy and irascible that everyone outside has a purpose, and my only purpose at this point in time is to read more Mark Haddon.

I think that has been the biggest problem for me being unemployed. A lack of ‘real’ purpose. The guilt that comes with writing all day, painting and learning how to use InDesign, when really I should be out there, sweating my bollocks off and working any job even if I hate it.

 

Let me explain this further.

 

I’ve managed to get three interviews next week (WOOOOOOO), all in completely different sectors, all of which I could do well. The first is an exam invigilator, the second being a brand ambassador for a charity, and the third  is a scriptwriter for radio. Obviously, given my love of writing I would love to do the last, but each of the others have their benefits. The first would mean I get to stay in Lincoln, a place I am growing to love, with lots of time in between exams to write, to see family and not be exhausted. The charity job means I could travel around, talk to people and slowly get better from the lingering miasma of shyness that has been encircling my body these past few months. The scriptwriting, well, that’s just a bit dribbly, but I would have a round commute of 2 hours every day.

Each of these jobs would give me a ‘real’ purpose, a reason for me being on this earth. Old Grace would be shooting straight for the hardest position, the scriptwriting, because it’s the furthest away, the one that will test me the most and the one that will incite the most change and chaos into my life. I’m a bit of a weird masochist. The New Grace however isn’t counting out the others just yet.

The pressure I am under to get a ‘real, proper job’ is huge. Not particularly from my family (they let that dream fizzle out a long time ago), but from certain friends and other outside influences. It seems to me that in today’s world if you aren’t pushing yourself to the point of snapping, you aren’t working hard enough. If you aren’t dying when you come home every night from work, then you aren’t working hard enough. If you aren’t slurping two bottles of wine over the weekend just to wind down from your hectic life, then you aren’t working hard enough.
Personally I think all of the above is utter horse shit.

Don’t get it twisted, I LOVE hard work. I love having to sit for hours on end working on solutions, I did English at Uni and spent hours researching essays on Baudrillard’s theory on simulacra; it’s basically my wet dream. Saying this, I will not compromise my actual life for something that won’t benefit me as a person holistically. All because it’s what I should be doing right now, now doesn’t qualify as enough of a reason to do it.

I am beginning to realise my worth, not only as a woman, but just as a person. I have a lot to offer any company, and  rather than taking on positions because I feel flattered that they even looked at me, I’m starting to realise that actually, they want me because I’m bloody good. So, instead of getting down about rejections, I’m spurred on by the acceptances. Instead of letting myself be defined by a facety look, I’m the girl who wants to wear socks and a skirt in March. Instead of constantly apologising for who I am, I’m going to rejoice in the fact that yes, I can be VERY ditzy and floopy, but if you give me 15 minutes and an idea I’m going to produce a story board you’re probably going to love.

Just from taking a couple of days to love myself, I’ve realised that the intrinsic, crushing guilt all the female members of my family, nay my contemporaries in society, suffer from is completely wrong. Alex tells me all the time, “Don’t feel like you ever have to explain something that you want to do,” and he’s so right.

So the next time somebody, anybody, gives you beef about getting up at 3pm, or about the weird shoes you like, or the fact that you want to wile out to Justin Bieber on your own, just smile, and say back “Because I am being myself.” Guaranteed they aren’t going to understand, but that doesn’t matter. Life isn’t about them, it’s about you.

 

Dreaaaaams, dream drea-NOT!

Getting your dream job isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Sure, you achieve your ambitions, or your goal, but if you’re like me, then that goal may possibly change position, in ooh, say 5 minutes?

I’m a butterfly minded child, I switch focus with each blow of the wind unless something roots me down. If I find a project interesting or stimulating, I will sit for hours and obsess to the absolute degree.

I was like that with ‘finding my dream job’. I did English and Creative Writing at University, and did pretty well for myself. I started working at a Publisher’s, paid, and was even allowed to ACTUALLY do some editing within the first month.

I absolutely loved it there, the knowledge of strolling into work in the morning, knowing that I got to read, and write blog posts for a living still astounds me to this day. I spent a whole afternoon researching Kundalini yoga, specifically the erogenous Moon Centres of women, all for a blog post. My job was cool.

I know you are all sensing a big old, juicy lucy BUT waddling on over here, and of course, you are right.

I was made redundant on Monday due to downsizing, but have been kept on retainer as a freelance editor. I will get sent Final Line Edit’s for UK authors, and I get to edit them.

Sweet.

When I got told about the redundancy, I was strangely euphoric. This euphoria lasted 2 days, until I started to come down and kind of assess my situation. I have been made redundant, but I do still sort of have a job. Right. Well, erm, what do I do now?

I think this s a common thing for graduates. We line ourselves up for the ‘obvious’ career path after our degree – you did English? You will be a teacher/editor/HR manager (obvs) – but if that path ends rather abruptly you get sort of, well, lost.

I now realise my odd euphoria was being cut free from a dress I didn’t necessarily want to buy but looked really lovely on the hanger. Everyone I worked with was lovely but incredibly quiet. I spent some days barely speaking to anyone. The promises that were made to me never came to fruition. The dress didn’t look as good as it did on the hanger.

I guess what I’m trying to say through strange, thinly veiled metaphor, is that if you decide that something is your dream job, then it turns out not to be, that it’s ok. You don’t have to do the one thing anymore, hell, you don’t have to do ANY career if you don’t want to. You can make your own. I am starting to realise that I am, in fact, the master of my own destiny, and if I’m not enjoying a job as much as I thought, then only I can change that. As soon as you realise that you don’t actually have to answer to anyone but yourself, then life becomes a little sweeter.

I’ll let you know how I get on x

Little girl lost

I’ve written a couple of blog posts on anxiety, my anxiety issues and how I’m slowly coming to accept that this is something that is now a part of my life. Having experienced mild OCD in the past (step counting, car counting with predictions assigned to them, routines with food), my anxiety issues have always been present, but at 22 they have come to a head somewhat.

I’ve graduated from University with the best mark I could have achieved, my boyfriend and I are moving in together within the month and everyone in my circle of love are happy and healthy. I’m incredibly fortunate with everything that I have, but this doesn’t quell the burning acid of fear that sits behind my rib cage.

I analyse it regularly. Being a retrospective type of person it’s something that I do regularly, I believe introspection and self-reflection are key in helping with anxiety. I’ve only ever had one panic attack, and my analytical skill did help it from turning ugly.

I was on holiday with my boyfriend. We were staying in the cutest B&B, with weird cross stitched pictures of Henry VIII’s wives coating the walls of the staircase. It was adorable, but I didn’t sleep for four nights. On the last night we cuddled and kissed and slept, but I woke up at 1am mid panic attack. I fled to the bathroom, as I thought an assailant (a spirit) was trying to smother me and choke me. I sat in the bathroom, quietly sobbing and ran back into bed, crawling into the back of my ridiculously heavy sleeper of a boyfriend. Everyone asked why I never woke him, but that’s part of my own personal view on my anxiety. I don’t want to involve others when things get difficult because therein dependency lies. I do not want to depend on anybody for my own mental health, and God bless that boy but he ain’t great in a crisis.

So, anyway, I digress. Kind of scared and anxious at the moment and I have been trying to focus on what is the cause, no matter how illogical. I’ve been getting no answers. The phone isn’t getting picked up, the fuse has gone off and the wiring is broken and I’m getting nowhere. So what is for best? Carry on analysing, worrying, worrying about my analysing. I do practise yoga, I’m starting to begin a different diet where I eat serotonin boosting foods, ones that regulate my hormonal imbalance (I’m naturally low in progesterone) and I’m applying for dream jobs that I could never get; just to say that I’ve tried.

Even though my analysing trick helped me in the midst of my panic attack I.  think it is also my biggest demon. When you focus on every detail, pouring over the fray of your jeans or your unfinished art project, you are protecting yourself from vast troubles or pain or even happiness, excitement, life. My fear is contentment and ease of life. I have my life at my feet with my twin flame at my side and it is terrifying, horrifying, to live my life to my full potential. So from today I am going to kiss my analyst on the cheek goodbye, stroke it’s forehead and let it go.

Anybody else who suffers from anxiety have a chat. Cuddles and kisses to y’all.