Holy hell, has it been a minute.
I’ve been walking around in a daze for the past week.
I’ve done a thing.
A thing I’ve never done before.
A week ago Sunday, I finished payroll, doing my best to ensure “my people” would be paid correctly. I then called the supervisor on duty. I had her watch me as I packed up my bag, left a resignation letter on my interim boss’s desk, and I handed the supervisor on duty my badge and keys.
My hands shook as I punched out for the last time.
I’ve never, ever done such a thing before.
My resignation letter is probably the only resignation letter in the history of resignation letters that came with footnotes and citations. I spent HOURS on it.
And then I realized it didn’t matter. What I had to say didn’t matter. Nothing anyone had to say mattered. And it hurt that it didn’t matter.
Ultimately, that is why I left.
And so the note that I actually left simply said, “Please accept my resignation effective immediately. Neither this job nor this company is a good fit for me. Best wishes, and thank you for your understanding.”
It does matter why the company wasn’t a good fit for me, but it doesn’t matter today. Not right now.
A year from now, more likely.
But not now.
Perhaps that gauzy daze has finally cleared. It has, after all, been a week.
For the first week, I couldn’t write. I couldn’t think. I just kind of la-la’ed around, like a pool noodle floating on the surface of a pool. The wind blew me one way, then another. I just floated.
Not in a Pennywise sort of way, but more of a stunned silence. Did I really just do that?
That first Monday, my first official day of unemployment, I discovered that my dentist wanted to do something that would amount to me handing over about $11,000—an impossibility at this time. Maybe it’s an impossibility for a long, long time.
And then found that the mini-job I had lined up for “after” had been filled by someone else.
My leaving wasn’t an impulsive decision—I had sat on it for at least four months. I had looked for other jobs, afraid of that gap between one health insurance plan and another. I had been terrified of that gap, but I didn’t find anything I could do. Not yet, at any rate.
It’s a weird time. To the best of my knowledge, I have only been unemployed twice in my so-called career. Once, when I moved to Arizona, but that didn’t last long. I worked through an agency temping until I landed a job at American Express.
The other, when I left my husband and moved back to Mississippi.
What ties us to jobs that no longer fit us? This was a temporary job that lasted over a decade. I loved the field; I loved the people. The job was just…blah.
Ultimately, comfortable. Familiar. Better here, where I know what I’m doing and how to get things done (two separate things, I might add), than out there, where I would know neither.
For the past year, it has only been the insurance. Well, mostly the insurance. My boss of the past decade left almost two months ago; I knew when she left, I’d be soon gone, whether or not I had a job waiting for me.
But the insurance.
I have Rheumatoid Arthritis. I really, really, really need insurance.
The fear of not having insurance kept me tied to a job and a company that sucked both the energy and soul out of me.
I have struggled with fear—especially of the unknown—for just about my entire life.
The allowing of that fear to control me ended with a resignation letter of a mere 26 words. I don’t think I’ve ever been so pithy in my life.
But it’s done.
And now, wading through the daze is done, too.
When I was in grad school, I found this sign in one of the schools we visited.
Despite its run-on sentence, its lack of either a period or a semi-colon, it seems especially fitting now.