I remembered today, while we're still in National Letter Writing month:
I completely fell off the bandwagon with my 30-day letter writing challenge. For years now.
This was an incomplete, private entry from earlier this year, when I got laid off 14 days into the new year. I am coming up on my third month at my new job soon, and when the senior marketing coordinator piped up, What? You've only been here for two months?, It was exactly what I was thinking.
What a difference a change of season makes.
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This isn't exactly how I wanted to start off 2015, unemployed and unsure of where life is taking me. It being the year I turn 30 and all later this fall, I thought I was finally going to settle in and put my tumultuous twenties behind me. Mainly because I am so ready to turn this page already.
And yet here I am, struggling with feelings of inadequacy and acute anxiety this week, trying, trying, trying, trying to snap out of this depressive fog I've mentally created and enveloped myself in.
There have been moments throughout these last few days where I am overwhelmingly grateful that we don't have a child to care for while I am job-searching, wondering what's next. I know it's a process - and yet this in-between place. It feels dark and scary and lonely, making it hard for me to think about my dreams.
My dreams. They seem like a luxury now, a defense mechanism I am hanging on to in order to forget about what's at hand, the reality that my share of our household income will be next to zero after this month.
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