Gut Punch

***This is another one of my posts where I give a disclaimer up front. I'm not sure where this post is going to go yet, but it's likely there will be some major rants and possibly some white boy tears. It's not unthinkable that I could go into full-on "play the victim" mode. Oh, and there will probably be some swears. That's it. You've been warned. Read at your own risk.***

I'm angry.

I've found, over the years, that when I'm angry, that anger is my subconscious' attempt to cover over the discomfort that comes from pain, shame, or fear. If I don't acknowledge the underlying stuff, I stay angry, and I end up doing things that make the situation worse. Often much worse.

In this case, there's no "or" amongst the pain, shame, and fear. My anger comes from a lovely conflagration of all three.

Last week, I received what felt like a punch to the gut.

Like this, but less cartoon-y.

A slap in the face is usually anticipated and often deserved. A gut punch is often unexpected and feels unfair.

I've written about the position I had applied for. I may have mentioned how much I wanted the position and how worried I was about maybe being in the hospital doing my stem-cell transplant while the finalists came in to teach masterclasses and do final interviews with the Dean and Chair.

Turns out, I didn't need to worry about it.

I've been teaching for the last two years on a full-time, year long contract (two in a row). I did a ton of things that were outside the purview of my job description that I won't list here because it will just keep me in my rage cycle. I continued to teach, even in the dark depths of my chemotherapy. I worked my ass off for them. And even though I'm right here (so, you know, no one has to fly me out or pay for my hotel and food), I didn't make it into the four finalists.

Now, I'm not privy to the candidates they're bringing in, so I can't speak to their qualifications. All I know is that I'm qualified for the job and feel like I've been doing an excellent job for as long as I've taught there. And in the absence of additional information, my mind goes to the worst case scenarios.

They all hate me.

I haven't done as good a job as I think I have.

I'm actually a horrible teacher and a worse person.

They've been waiting for this moment to give me the boot so it will hurt worse.

Everyone is laughing at me behind my back.

Aaaaand it just gets crazier from there on out. There's some pretty dark shit swirling around in the cesspool of my mind right now, and the only way I know to fix that is to flush (i.e. writing it out). So, I'm going to go through each of the big feelings I'm having, and anytime I get angry, I'll pause in the writing, breathe until I'm no longer angry, then go back to feelings those big feelings.

That's the plan, anyway.

Hurt 

Ah, Johnny. When you sing of hurt, I totally believe it.

I don't like acknowledging my pain. The level of exposure feels too high, like this is Chernobyl and I'm taking off all of my protective gear. There's the toxic masculinity part where admitting hurt (especially hurt feelings) equals weakness, and I'm sure that's part of it. But most of it is a sense that I care a lot more about my coworkers than they do about me (or that's how it felt in the moment I found out, at least). I understand the department or the school isn't going to care about me--they're not capable of human emotion, seeing as how they are abstract concepts (that just happen to have a decent amount of office space).

My colleagues, though... that one's tough. I love them, and that's not an exaggeration. The gratitude and sense of excitement I've felt as I've worked alongside them helped me get out of bed in the morning. Especially on days when just lifting my head felt like one of Hercules' tasks. I value them, each one unique and vital and vibrant. They're building an amazing program together, and I wanted to be a part of it. Not making it into the group of four finalists... well, it hurt. A lot.

Fear

I, unfortunately, don't look nearly this attractive when I'm frightened.

This one's a doozy. Getting this news sparked my fear of so many things. I've spent hours cycling through them.

Fear of financial insecurity. Not only was this a job I loved, it was one that helped pay the bills. I'm not sure what I'm going to do to make ends meet.

Fear of the unknown. I'm not sure what's coming next, and there doesn't seem to be any way for me to know what's coming in the future without just going through it all. Dammit.

Fear of a lack of purpose. I'm entering into a time when having something to look forward to is going to be important to my health and recovery. This job was one of the things I looked forward to.

Fear of not being good enough. Do I need to explain this one? I'm pretty sure most of us feel that way from time to time. This experience has caused some of my negative internal voices to get really chatty.

Would it kill those voices to say something nice from time to time?

Shame

Ring that bell, sister. Ring. It.

Oh, shame, you adorable little devil, you.

This is the one that's the strangest and also hardest to talk about. On the surface, it's what? It's a job that I applied for and didn't get. What the hell do I have to be ashamed of?

It turns out, quite a bit, at least as far as my internal voices go. I didn't make a secret of the fact I was applying for the job. Now I have to exposit for anyone who asks about it that it just didn't happen. I'm embarrassed to explain it, and even more embarrassed about what the explainee (that's a word, right?) will think once I'm done explaining. It feels as if my measure has been taken... thoroughly... and I have been found lacking.

Shame tells me I'm a fraud. Shame tells me that of course I didn't make it into the finalists. Shame tells me I'm unworthy.

I could spend a lot longer on each of these feelings, but that doesn't seem all that productive. Suffice it to say that this whole experience stirred up a lot of shit for me.

Now that I'm starting to get a tiny bit of perspective on this, I can start to talk to each of these feelings. The feelings themselves are valid. They're also like toddlers. Lashing out seems like the only options they want to come up with.

So, now I'd like to talk about what I'm grateful for, specifically around this job.

Gratitude

This feels like it might be a more pleasant list.

First up, insurance. The fact that I was double covered (my insurance and my wife's) has meant that, even though this experience has been difficult financially, we don't have to declare bankruptcy. The cost of my care over the course of my treatment will more than likely top one million dollars once I'm done with the stem cell transplant. The debt we've incurred has been a tiny fraction of that money.

I wouldn't have had that insurance if I hadn't been hired in this position. My treatment is (hopefully) nearing its conclusion, and now the job is going to disappear. Instead of being angry that I won't get to continue in this job, I want to be grateful for the fact that it happened at all.

Next, colleagues. I've had the opportunity to work alongside some incredible teachers and human beings. I love them. How often does that happen at work? I had the joy of being excited to see my coworkers every time I went in to work.

Students. I can't even with this one. I have yet to teach a student who I haven't ended up loving as well. I haven't liked all of them, but the ones I haven't liked can be counted on the fingers of one hand. My students helped to keep me from wallowing in self-pity during this whole shebang. They gave me something for which I had to get out of bed.

Diversity. This might be a strange one. The department is completely white. I mean whiter than white bread white. The fact that I'm not amongst the finalists may mean that they'll finally have a person of color in the mix. That would be outstanding for our students of color. It can't be overstated how much it means to see yourself represented. I'm really grateful (and hopeful) that there's a possibility there.

Financial security. For the last two years, I haven't had to hustle. I'm not sure that I would've been able to hustle, considering all that has taken place. I was given a safe haven for two years. It was amazing.

Time. My contract isn't up until July. I have time to figure things out. Time to get well. Time for introspection. This is a huge gift.

Experience. I've been able to do things in this position that I wouldn't have been able to do elsewhere. It's meant a lot to me to be a part of a number of "firsts" for the department and its students.

Discomfort. In not getting this job, I've been thrust into a place of discomfort. That's typically where growth happens. So I've been given a wonderful opportunity to stretch and develop as a human being.

There's more to this list, but I think I've hit the major points. I have so much more to be grateful for than to be pissed off about. It didn't feel like that in the moment I found out, and there's still more than a few times when these feelings come surging up inside of me, threatening death by the feels. However, I can see (very dimly) the horizon, and it's looking pretty good.

Now, if I could just figure out what I'm going to do for a job.
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Next up: a dialectic in which my ego poses a plethora of opinions, and I seek to disprove them all.

No, I'm not crazy. Why do you ask?

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