I have always worked, with a few exceptions, I have always had a job. I was the new mother who had her new baby in daycare at three months and was back on the job. When the kids were all school age, I had the them up at six am, out the door at seven am and at work at eight am.
So, imagine my surprise at fifty-six, to be suddenly without work. I had been laid off due to “reduction in force”, is the formal term. Job hunting was not like back in the day when you read the Sunday paper…no Craigslist is the place now…or Linkin. I updated my resume, attached it to my inquiries to employers looking for a paralegal/admin assistant. I would then document the non-replys. Employers are so inundated with resumes, they barely respond. So much for job search etiquette.
I went through a period of self-examination. I went through a period of recrimmination. Then, one morning, I think I was reading a magazine, Oprah, Vanity Fair, Whole Living…take your pick, but somewhere I read that at some point in your life you must take a risk and do something that you are passionate about. It was not a magazine article, it was Bethenny Frankle’s book, Coming From A Place of Yes. Of all books I have read this year…The Help, the new book on Malcolm X – Malcolm X, A Life of Reinvention, the biography of the President’s mom, A Singular Woman…it was this young woman’s book, Coming From A Place of Yes, that inspired me to try and write. Write about my husband and our experience with PTSD. Write to the wives, the mothers, fathers, siblings of PTSD veterans, the ones that don’t get counseling…this could be my target audience. My husband has always said to me – write…just write…about anything and everything…but just write. I was too consumed with my job to write, until now.
Over the years, I have several journal entries with my thoughts or his words on the subject of his PTSD and how he managed (or was unable to manage). I started to write and got about fifty pages into it before I went to visit my grandchildren and put the project down. I started this blog during the summer, not knowing if I could be a blogger or have something of value to say, but in trying to recount some incident of worth, or some random thought, or in trying to describe the raw disconnect of PTSD, I found myself wanting to get better at expression. I found myself wanted to become a better communicator, a better writer.
Bear with me in this journey of mine. I may have lost my job due to a “reduction in force” , but I just might have found my passion.