We Can Do Hard Things

In just over a week, I embark on a new career opportunity, which I feel reluctant to share about. My boss, and dear friend of 24 years, says that she is happy for me– but the approaching transition has caused growing tension between us. Also, I do feel paranoid and fearful of my boys’ father and my FOO because of the overt things they have said and done which create unnecessary hardship for me. So, I am not loving how vulnerable I feel in this moment. This new opportunity within my current company, is one which I have wanted and openly pursued for more than two years.  Finally!!!

For the first time in years, I will have predictable hours of service, centered around data and SOPs(heart ♥throbbing) with benefits, retirement, sick days, holidays—the works. Divorcing, as the primary care giver of two young and chronically ill children, many court dates fighting for basic support and child care provisions, and NO help with my children made it impossible for me to seek or obtain any job requiring consistent and predictable attendance.   For years, I faithfully walked dogs, ran errands for the elderly, cleaned houses, collected recycle and roadside items to sell on Craig’s List or Ebay, while caring for my young and chronically ill sons. My mother assisted us with the mortgage. Those years were as difficult as they were blessed. I felt hostage to my children, my divorce, a man who would not consistently provide for his children what he did not feel inclined to provide. When we entered into divorce, it was with sadness and hope that we could do better for our children as non-husband and wife. Those sentiments lasted only until his consults with sisters who profited immensely from marrying and divorcing people who had more than they. When we married, I had and made more money, owned my home and had retirement and savings. He did not have those things….When we divorced, I was intentionally left with less than when I entered into the (familiar-I must pay for being me) dynamic. He is a zero-sum guy and was intent on some sort of victory
and defeat as proof of I am not sure what—Without a program of recovery, he would have crushed me spiritually and I would have given in to the urge to disappear. Providing for two little ones all of the time with only every other weekend as a break, not even long enough to recover, was debilitating. I was not the best most loving and patient mom. I was frazzled and frantic.  Our sons footed the bill for that sustained financial and mental ass whoopin.

Anyway, my boys are at the age where they are ill less of the time and can do many things for themselves. My ex agreed to go 50/50 if we moved to a place where he could afford to buy a home, which he now has. The 50/50 freed me of the hopeless and endless money and time fucks that were a natural consequence of the previous arrangement. I can finally work and breathe and have a large degree of autonomy from their father.  We are also now in a home which I can afford without stress and even if my mother cuts me out in her will as she has in her life, I will be fine.  No longer hostage to approval or financial arrangements is an immense win.

For the past several years, I have been blessed with an opportunity to work as a per diem, a daily and hourly worker, which allowed for the constant disruptions to my availability.  I began working for G in her warehouse/storage facility for $10.00/hour when I could, slowly increasing in hours, responsibilities and wages.  We nourished that relationship for more than 6 years and I have learned so much from her, about myself, and being a grown up.  We have each grown professionally and in friendship as a result.  I feel she is a sister to me, a protective, generous, and loving sister. This has been a mutually beneficial and challenging arrangement. I believe this relationship served us both well and was equal parts rigorous and rewarding. Together, we have endured great trials and successes, each personally and professionally.  I wouldn’t trade it AND it is time to move on. Change is hard.  But, we both know #wecandohardthings I feel that I am leaving her in better hands than my own and believe that our friendship will continue to thrive even without the constant contact required by working together so closely over many years.

So, there are the rewards of having made this move. I also enjoy the satisfaction of having shown up for my mother in a time of need, in spite of the state of our relationship. I came. I served. Once no longer needed, I tolerated the discard process with some level of grace and zero shame, only confidence for my contributions. These are all miracles of recovery. Showing up. Serving. Detaching from hopeless and sick behaviors; mine and others.  Live and let live—but mostly LIVE.

And now, I embark on this career opportunity, literally performing the exact tasks in which I feel most competent, from home (so I may be of maximum service to my sons, without threat of financial setback). I continue reminding myself that I have done nothing wrong, mean, or dishonest….Detaching from my friend/boss is painful.  Even while being open and training my replacement, I feel I have done wrong, simply because it is difficult and a little painful.  Those are the myths of the historical shame handed to me at birth.  See, doing things that fail to serve or please certain others has often “earned” me harshness and banishment. I will not apologize and should not feel sorry for living my life. I have been as transparent, probably past the point of being wise. But still, me not revering others in positions of power over me, traditionally yields the standard underhanded emotional  ghosting. The miracle here is that I do not defend or justify. I show up, open to discuss and to hear how we may make things the best they can be for all.  Nobody gets abandoned or discarded.  Though I am feeling a little of each.  Feelings aren’t facts, though they are real.  Thank gawd for my ability to understand and honor that.    Miracles are painful.  The best of friendships will face difficulty.  They are still beautiful.

Much Love,
Magda Gee

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