End of the Beginning

I forgot to clock out on the day I turned in my notice of resignation at work. And I forgot to turn my work cell phone off until it rang when I was sitting in my car in my driveway at the end of the day.

Part of me doesn't want to leave my home state, doesn't want to say goodbye to the world I both know and love, and the rest of me knows I don't have a choice. I have found myself saying that I wish I could pick up my life here and take it with me, just zip it up, strap it to my back, and unload it on the other side of the country where I’m going. Or perhaps I could go fetch the mountains I so ache for and plant them here where my life already exists so I don't have to leave. But I can't. I had to choose, and yet, instincts and destiny and God chose for me. Off I go.

A guy I used to have a little crush on recently got engaged, and my roommate laughed at me when I found out and walked around the house belting out ADELE's "Someone Like You.” That's how I feel about this job that I have to tear myself away from. “Never mind, I’ll find coworkers like you.” “Never mind, I’ll find clients like you.” “Never mind, I’ll find employment like you.”

For those that don't know, I work in a mental health clinic. It’s my first job since graduating from college and I’ve worked there for only nine months. I started working with a caseload of about 35 cases last summer, and it's grown to almost 50. I feel like I've been through it already, and am walking out both heavier and lighter.

I've dealt with the stresses of trying to meet productivity (i.e. literal time spent with clients) while they are too mentally unstable to keep appointments, and been told that my job was in jeopardy because of it. I've dealt with being penalized for doing overtime while not having enough time in the regular workday to get my work done or care for my clients sufficiently. I know this isn't uncommon. Many people deal with workplace stresses and pressures. But there is another level to my job that I think, dare I say, makes it more difficult than most.

The first client that made me cry (because he yelled at me) ended up being my first client to die. In the mere nine months I've worked at this job, I've walked with my clients through countless hospitalizations, most of them due to suicidal ideation or attempts. I've seen my clients cry because they can't stop drinking, or can't overcome their addiction to cocaine, or don't know why they are so endlessly depressed, or for reasons they wouldn't or couldn't even tell me, just silently crying while I sat by, helpless. I've been screamed at and had things thrown at me by people I'd learned to love. I've heard clients say things like, "I just need somebody to actually care and make me a priority" while trying to balance their needs with all my other clients as well as keep my personal life separate and indifferent.

My job has not been all drudgery, of course. There have been countless joys, both big and small, from seeing clients grow closer to God, to clients telling me they’re grateful to me because I’m the only one who ever asks them how they’re doing or feeling, to clients taking a flattering personal interest in me, to clients opening up their deepest selves to me in ways even their families don’t always get to see, to seeing recovery from mental illness and drug use bring hope and restoration to once broken individuals.

All of this has taught me so many valuable lessons, some probably pretty standard to fresh adults like myself, some probably unique more unique to my line of work. Lessons like, "you will want to quit but sticking with it pays off" and "working is good for the soul even though you don't want to go in when your alarm goes off at 6 a.m. day after relentless day" and "people are basically bad" and "people are basically lovable" and "literally everyone is crazy of some kind and to some degree" and "just because you are a Christian and someone else is a Christian doesn't mean you're anything remotely alike, which is a good thing" and "hope exists."

I'm heartbroken to leave a job I grew to hate, then grew to love. After I told my supervisor, I went downstairs, walked out of the building, got in my car, and cried. I feel like I'm abandoning a lot of people by moving away.

At the same time, I know I've learned the lessons I need to learn, and I'm ready to stretch myself more and learn new lessons. Here I go.


God bless.