My first real job (aka not babysitting or paper route) was at Byerly's, our local high-end grocery store. At 14, I did all the correct employability things - showed up on time, kept my unflattering striped uniform clean, and smiled more than ever necessary in a shift. After only 5 months, I was promoted from bagger to cashier and felt like this defined me; I would always be the rising star at work, the youngest in my field or at my level. Work was easy, I don't know why grown ups made it sound so hard.
So after two years of being an awesome cashier there, I was ready to expand my career capabilities to the high(er than $5.75 per hour)-paying world of waitressing! I took a job as a hostess at my favorite Perkins in Bloomington.
The host stand was made for the type of organizational structure my brain runs on. I loved the visual seating chart, the checklist of who would be sat next, the quick problem solving when a surprise party of ten came in, the customer interaction that was just enough to be mostly smiled at, with little space or responsibility to screw up their day. It was great, and I was great at it. But host money wasn't server money. I wanted to walk out with cash like the girls finishing the after-church rush. So I asked to be trained, and within 6 months, became a cash-making server like I had dreamed.
I wasn't terrible at the job on its own. My real problem was that I was a hormonal-driven emotionally volatile sixteen year old girl who thought I was grown. This made me a bad server for many reasons.
One was because my friends would come sit and hang out during shifts, as wonderful high school friends do. I comped them food and neglected my tables while I caught up on who dumped who during third hour.
Another was because I fell for my incredibly attractive and flirtatious 20-something manager, who had no business flirting back to a 16 year old girl in braces. This meant working to impress HIM and not my customers. Anyone who has worked in restaurants knows the industry incest where everyone is sleeping with everyone else after (or during) shifts and dealing with the fallout of regretful hookups and jealous-turned-vengeful coworkers. I wasn't ready for that level of emotional adult drama, but sure pretended I was.
THEN, the on/off love-of-my-life-up-to-that-point ex-boyfriend got a job there because while we were very ON, I made a job referral for him and thought of how fun and hot it would be to work together and hook up in the back office or wink across the serve line. When we were OFF, it was literal torture. He was cute and well-liked and two years older than me, so of course, the irls without braces who were cute and well-liked and older than me kept us off for longer and longer. This led to crying at my tables and forgetting Ranch dressing because I was too busy glaring at the girl who pinched his butt on the way out of the kitchen. Nothing was good, my teen world was falling apart.
So, on a sunny slow afternoon, as I screwed up yet another order over my own emotional absentmindedness, my female manager, Jean, pulled me in her office. She offered to put me back to hostessing so I could have more time to learn, she gave me the choice to either finish the week or leave immediately, and she was about as gracious as you can be in removing someone from a job. I still spun it in my head as the greatest injustice of human history, stormed out, cried loudly as I gathered my tips, ripped off my name tag, and sped away from there immediately.
I called my best friend to vent about the whole thing, but she was busy with family (how DARE she...I wouldn't talk to her for two years after that). I distinclty remember thinking I might as well drive off a bridge because I can't do anything right ever and no one cares about me. I was suicidal over the nicest rejection of my life at a part time job when I was 16
These feelings were real and on that ride home, no one could convince me it gets better.
--
I've been working in suicide prevention for 5 years now. And when I hear someone tell their story of being on the brink or it, or worse, when I read the details of what led up to it for someone who isn't here with a hopeful ending, I remember how REAL it felt when I was in it.
Today, when I'm teaching entire units what it feels like, I can only speak for myself, but it has resonated with others:
My depression is like the weather.
Sometimes, it's the climate you live in. A sunny and 70 Hawaii climate - for me - is getting 7 hours of sleep a night, seeing friends often, feeling valued at work, eating well at least most meals most days, meditating and exercising regularly, and being in control of my finances. If I'm living in paradise, a little rain or a cloudy day are just minor inconveniences.
On the other hand, a desolate climate - let's say a remote Alaskan Inuit reservation in winter with no sunshine and blocked passages to civilization - is when I'm dating a narcissist, drinking too much, packing my schedule to avoid my feelings. Then the smallest storm, drop in temperature, or lack of preparation ruins everything and can cause a domino effect of destruction and long term damage.
Sometimes there are entire seasons where everything is just going to be a little colder, rainier, foggier, but you power through them because you know spring is coming. You've been in this season before, or you talk to people and learn what they did to come out to sunnier days eventually. These seasons can be college finals time, tough anniversaries on the calendar, space after a death or tough event, difficult years of parenting, just times where the days are long, but the years are short.
And sometimes, the scariest and saddest for me, are when I live in the midwest, where the climate is wide, the seasons vary, but when just when I think I'm good, I can see the dark clouds coming that I didn't plan on. I can feel the pressure changing. In the pit of my stomach, I can only imagine trying to blow the clouds away, but I know it's impossible, so all I can do is let the rain wash over me. I can prepare for it with umbrellas and boots, but it's still going to ruin some plans and get my stuff wet. I have had to learn to just let it come, and it will always go. The storms are scary because there is nothing you can do, but the storms never stay. So I wait for sunny days, reassess how to improve my climate, note what season I'm in, I keep pushing forward.
--
I, at 16, couldn't articulate any of these even though I was clearly depressed and living in a Chernobyl-level toxic climate for years.
I, at 33, have moved to a space of meditation and positive habits to keep it sunny and 70 when I can, and in writing this blog, am becoming grateful for the rain and the life it gives to the world around me.
If you're in a storm, call the suicide hotline at 1-800-273-8255. It's saved me, and many people I work with who are still able to share their stories of finding the sun again.
So after two years of being an awesome cashier there, I was ready to expand my career capabilities to the high(er than $5.75 per hour)-paying world of waitressing! I took a job as a hostess at my favorite Perkins in Bloomington.
The host stand was made for the type of organizational structure my brain runs on. I loved the visual seating chart, the checklist of who would be sat next, the quick problem solving when a surprise party of ten came in, the customer interaction that was just enough to be mostly smiled at, with little space or responsibility to screw up their day. It was great, and I was great at it. But host money wasn't server money. I wanted to walk out with cash like the girls finishing the after-church rush. So I asked to be trained, and within 6 months, became a cash-making server like I had dreamed.
I wasn't terrible at the job on its own. My real problem was that I was a hormonal-driven emotionally volatile sixteen year old girl who thought I was grown. This made me a bad server for many reasons.One was because my friends would come sit and hang out during shifts, as wonderful high school friends do. I comped them food and neglected my tables while I caught up on who dumped who during third hour.
Another was because I fell for my incredibly attractive and flirtatious 20-something manager, who had no business flirting back to a 16 year old girl in braces. This meant working to impress HIM and not my customers. Anyone who has worked in restaurants knows the industry incest where everyone is sleeping with everyone else after (or during) shifts and dealing with the fallout of regretful hookups and jealous-turned-vengeful coworkers. I wasn't ready for that level of emotional adult drama, but sure pretended I was.
THEN, the on/off love-of-my-life-up-to-that-point ex-boyfriend got a job there because while we were very ON, I made a job referral for him and thought of how fun and hot it would be to work together and hook up in the back office or wink across the serve line. When we were OFF, it was literal torture. He was cute and well-liked and two years older than me, so of course, the irls without braces who were cute and well-liked and older than me kept us off for longer and longer. This led to crying at my tables and forgetting Ranch dressing because I was too busy glaring at the girl who pinched his butt on the way out of the kitchen. Nothing was good, my teen world was falling apart.
So, on a sunny slow afternoon, as I screwed up yet another order over my own emotional absentmindedness, my female manager, Jean, pulled me in her office. She offered to put me back to hostessing so I could have more time to learn, she gave me the choice to either finish the week or leave immediately, and she was about as gracious as you can be in removing someone from a job. I still spun it in my head as the greatest injustice of human history, stormed out, cried loudly as I gathered my tips, ripped off my name tag, and sped away from there immediately.
I called my best friend to vent about the whole thing, but she was busy with family (how DARE she...I wouldn't talk to her for two years after that). I distinclty remember thinking I might as well drive off a bridge because I can't do anything right ever and no one cares about me. I was suicidal over the nicest rejection of my life at a part time job when I was 16
These feelings were real and on that ride home, no one could convince me it gets better.
--
I've been working in suicide prevention for 5 years now. And when I hear someone tell their story of being on the brink or it, or worse, when I read the details of what led up to it for someone who isn't here with a hopeful ending, I remember how REAL it felt when I was in it.
Today, when I'm teaching entire units what it feels like, I can only speak for myself, but it has resonated with others:
My depression is like the weather.
Sometimes, it's the climate you live in. A sunny and 70 Hawaii climate - for me - is getting 7 hours of sleep a night, seeing friends often, feeling valued at work, eating well at least most meals most days, meditating and exercising regularly, and being in control of my finances. If I'm living in paradise, a little rain or a cloudy day are just minor inconveniences.
On the other hand, a desolate climate - let's say a remote Alaskan Inuit reservation in winter with no sunshine and blocked passages to civilization - is when I'm dating a narcissist, drinking too much, packing my schedule to avoid my feelings. Then the smallest storm, drop in temperature, or lack of preparation ruins everything and can cause a domino effect of destruction and long term damage.
Sometimes there are entire seasons where everything is just going to be a little colder, rainier, foggier, but you power through them because you know spring is coming. You've been in this season before, or you talk to people and learn what they did to come out to sunnier days eventually. These seasons can be college finals time, tough anniversaries on the calendar, space after a death or tough event, difficult years of parenting, just times where the days are long, but the years are short.
And sometimes, the scariest and saddest for me, are when I live in the midwest, where the climate is wide, the seasons vary, but when just when I think I'm good, I can see the dark clouds coming that I didn't plan on. I can feel the pressure changing. In the pit of my stomach, I can only imagine trying to blow the clouds away, but I know it's impossible, so all I can do is let the rain wash over me. I can prepare for it with umbrellas and boots, but it's still going to ruin some plans and get my stuff wet. I have had to learn to just let it come, and it will always go. The storms are scary because there is nothing you can do, but the storms never stay. So I wait for sunny days, reassess how to improve my climate, note what season I'm in, I keep pushing forward.
--
I, at 16, couldn't articulate any of these even though I was clearly depressed and living in a Chernobyl-level toxic climate for years.
I, at 33, have moved to a space of meditation and positive habits to keep it sunny and 70 when I can, and in writing this blog, am becoming grateful for the rain and the life it gives to the world around me.
If you're in a storm, call the suicide hotline at 1-800-273-8255. It's saved me, and many people I work with who are still able to share their stories of finding the sun again.
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