I might have thought I was done with therapy, but therapy wasn’t done with me evidently. As much as I discovered the first time around, and as much confidence as I gained the second time, there is still much more to uncover in what I consider to be the third go around. As you know, I started seeing my therapist again in September of 2022. And while I didn’t stop seeing her entirely, we had begun to taper off this past autumn and winter. But just as we reached what was meant to be the penultimate session, we began to discuss some things that I had ignored. They just hadn’t been relevant to the conversation up til that point.

What we discussed last year was centered around my writing career. I was doing well mentally and emotionally, but had stalled out in my writing so was looking for direction and guidance. I needed to find a way to get back on track. Needed to rediscover my motivation after suffering through a bit of burnout. Turns out what I needed was like-minded peers to bounce ideas off of and also an outlet where I could both give and receive feedback. In essence I needed to find a community that both helped me to figure out how I measured up, and also helped me to improve. Once I was able to find that, I was able to continue on my path of growth and my writing took off from there. 

I thought this would make me happy, satisfy me, fulfill me. And it did for a time. But I’ve started to feel an emptiness creep in again as of late. I wish it was a feeling that I could ignore, but I’ve already ignored it for long enough. I’ve tried to push it off to the back of my mind, but I’m afraid its run its course. Time to address it for what it is—it’s a wedge that’s driven itself between me and my writing. It’s something that holds me back from investing as much emotionally into it as I possibly can. Even though the true start of my writing career came when I quit my day job, it’s come back around to that point again. It’s something I didn’t want to do, and I hate to admit it, but I find that I have to. In order for me to move onto the next step in my journey, I have to return to the workforce, at least in part. As much as I hated being a member of it, and as much as I hate working for someone else, it’s time to jump back in. 

I’ll be honest, improvement in a craft is exciting and all, but lack of steady income is something that weighed heavily on my mind, as much as I tried to avoid thinking about it. While I’m less motivated by money than most, I still understand that it is a necessary evil. I need it to survive. I was able to make my savings last, along with some assistance, but it’s time for me to get back on the horse. I have no other choice. My time off while unemployed was fun while it lasted, but like anyone else my age, I need to find ways to make money. But let me be clear. It would be a disservice to my time and effort to say that, “I wasn’t working,” because I was. I still had a job to do, but it just so happened to be unpaid. I was and still am working harder than ever, so don’t get it twisted.

That being said, this doesn’t mean that I’m giving up on my writing career or even putting it off to the side. My novel (and the series to follow) is still my primary focus, and this here blog is still secondary. That much won’t change, but the time I allocate to each will. The truth is I’ve reached the point in my journey where my skill has progressed to where it needs to be. I no longer need to spend nine+ hours a day, five days a week developing my craft. I think it’s safe to say that while I’m still learning, growing, and improving, my craft is now developed. It’s just a matter of continuing to hone it, and getting words to paper. I can afford to give up some of that time to pick up a day job. 

But that’s the problem… While I have confidence in my writing ability and my skill set, I do not have confidence in the job search. That’s partially why I ended up staying at the same place for so long (along with a bit of bad luck/poor timing). It wasn’t just fear of the unknown, or the fact that I was risk averse. Yes, those played a role. But I think what it mostly came down to is that I didn’t know what I was doing, and I feel like I still don’t in some ways. Until I graduated from college, I didn’t have what I would consider a “real job.” It’d never been expected of me and no one had ever sat me down and told me point blank, “you need to get a job.” Although that would’ve been nice, no one is obligated to do that for me or for anyone else. Ideally you should be able to motivate yourself on your own without needing a push from somebody else. But by the time I turned sixteen I was already so caught up in my depression and was so lacking in self-confidence that I wasn’t able to find any ambition from within, and that continued on into (and past) college.

While I wasn’t born with a silver spoon, I was spoiled in certain ways, and was likely afforded better opportunities than most. Whether or not I took advantage of them is a different matter entirely. I didn’t have things handed to me per se, but they were there for the taking if only I would put in even an ounce of effort. But that’s where I was lacking the most. It was easy for me to give up and mope, because I was convinced that I wasn’t going to amount to anything. For the longest time I never had to face adversity head-on. I was often offered the easy way out and I would take it every time. I was able to run, hide, and/or ignore things that I didn’t want to address. Which I’ve mentioned before came back to bite me. And it turns out in more ways than one. We’ve already discussed the psychological damage it did to me in detail on multiple occasions, so I won’t touch upon that here. 

Unfortunately, other lasting effects of my evasion techniques have only just started to come to light in my more recent therapy sessions. As I said before, last year I spent nearly the entirety of the sessions discussing various ways of getting my writing career back on track. We spoke a little about the relationships in my life and my personal struggles, but not in that much depth. Our sessions were maybe a little too one-track minded but it was necessary at the time. My passion for writing turned out to be my saving grace. It helped to bring me out of my depression for good (or so I thought). Finding it was what helped me to feel happy and fulfilled for maybe the first time in over a decade. And for that I’m eternally grateful. This is what I want to do, and I’m going to see it through as far as it goes. But I have to admit, I lose sight of my vision at times, and I forget what I’m doing this for. I’ve had to take a step back from my projects for days or weeks at a time in order for me to refocus and revitalize. 

The unfortunate truth is that while I am seeing meaningful progress and improvement on my manuscript, the longer it takes the easier it is to get discouraged. I know that the hard work will pay off in the end. I’m confident in that, but the question is when. And I think that’s what worries me. A man can only work with no pay for so long. I started asking myself if this was really worth it. Deep down I know the answer to that. It’s always only ever been, “yes.” But it gets easy to conflate, “not getting paid in general,” with, “writing is not worth my time.” The mind starts to make a correlation between the two that shouldn’t exist. Which brings us back to the issue at hand. It’s time for me to find a day job, but what and how and where?

These are questions that I’ve already spent some time pondering, but I feel like I haven’t really gotten any closer to finding the answers. I just don’t know what I want to do or what I’m even qualified for. If only finding a job was as easy as they make it seem in video games. Where you can just talk to someone, then start working. But alas… that isn’t how it works. There’s a process that I need to go through, as does everybody else in the world. Eventually I’ll gather up the courage to start applying and waiting, but before I do that I need some sort of gameplan right? 

And that’s what’s left me sitting here with the wheels spinning. Problem is: what I went to school for isn’t the same as what I wanted to study, which isn’t the same as what I did in my previous two jobs, which isn’t the same as what I’ve been doing in my time out of the workforce, which isn’t the same as what I want to do when I rejoin. Confused? So am I! I’ve reached what I think is a midlife crisis. I feel lost and unsure of what to do. And sadly, I can’t reflect on previous experiences to guide me forward. The fact of the matter is I don’t actually have prior life experience that I can look at in regards to this—my work history is just too sparse for that. It’s a shame, because I’ve relied on reflection to help me through my mental illnesses recently.

I was able to think back on the past and point out mistakes I had made in regards to my mental health. I was able to use memories of past trauma to navigate my way around the field and avoid traps and pitfalls that I had fallen into before. Everything that had happened in my life I was able to use to guide me to a better, healthier future. When it comes down to it, that is the most important thing—my happiness and my healthiness. But that can’t be everything. Maybe my parents were right after all. Even though they never told me outright to pursue a career in something that was prestigious and financially stable, it was always heavily implied. Do something that makes us proud, and makes you money. Happiness is optional. 

If only it were that simple… I’ve done the thing that people “expected” of me, but I wasn’t happy or satisfied. I’ve done the thing that made me happy and fulfilled, but it hasn’t made me money as of yet. It almost feels like whichever thing I chose, I lose. So what comes next? I know I’ll eventually figure it out, but I don’t yet know, and it freaks me out.