Twenty- two was when I realized I hated my job. It’s no wonder though, I was doing something I wasn’t passionate about. On top of that, for the first time in my life, I was broke. I didn’t get a credit card during college, but the day after my birthday, Bank of America called to offer me a credit card. I thought, “I’m grown” and signed up. It was a somewhat OK idea because I would need to use that card for necessities like gas and groceries. I knew I could have reached out to my parents for help but I didn’t want to. One time I remember my Dad telling me out of the blue, “Don’t be out there struggling,” but that’s exactly what I was doing. I guess I didn’t ask for help because I wanted to do things on my own.
Back to me hating my job. I earned a degree in journalism but was working in child development, which would have been fine if that had been what I really wanted to do. Sometimes my lack of happiness would overwhelm me and I’d have to run to the bathroom and cry before anyone noticed. One time I was so upset that I sat on the toilet (with my pants on), with no tissue on the seat. Talk about giving no effs. I just sat there and wept for what seemed like hours. I don’t think I was depressed, but I was probably close to it. It was a difficult time.
Despite that, I stayed at that job for six years. Why? Initially, it was because of a lack of direction. But in the long run, it was because that’s where God wanted me to grow. I think my title changed at least four times during my tenure until finally, I was promoted to a management position. I developed patience, perseverance, humility and most importantly, peace, during my experience. Would I do it all over again? Hell no. But, I’m better because I did.
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