Epitaph for a Normal Life

Hi. I'm Ariel. Wife, mother of a toddler, teacher, disillusioned academic, social justice activist and general ball of quirks. I'm here to tell you a story.

I do stuff. Lots of stuff. All the stuff.

Okay, not just A story. Lots of them. The first is how I got here to begin with.

I have played many roles in my life. I've been a teacher, social worker, PR/development specialist, curriculum writer, professional student, artist, singer-songwriter, actress, dancer, and mother among others. For quite awhile it seemed, the most prominent role was pursuing my doctorate in sociology. About a year ago, I made an extremely difficult decision for my life: to leave academia only 12 hours and a dissertation away from completion. The coursework was never the problem. In fact, I met with a lot of success in publishing and presenting at prestigious conferences. During that time, though, I was dealing with severe postpartum depression that often left me hysterical and sobbing behind closed doors. I had a terrible time coping feeling I would never be good enough or live up to the beautiful creature my daughter was. In addition, significant harassment and malicious gossip and deception intended to destroy my reputation left my health in decline and my stress, anxiety and depression through the roof. I sought help from the school, even provided police reports and other evidence, and I received no help. I couldn't keep weight on. I was heavily medicated with anti-anxiety, anti-depression and sleep-aid treatments. I had developed an auto-immune disorder from the stress level which led to an Addisonian Crisis. My adrenal glands literally shut down one day following a panic attack. I fortunately made it to the ER before it was fatal, but it was clear something had to change. A few letters after my name were not worth my life.  

And so I walked away at the end of the Spring semester, severing nearly all ties to the department and school. The relief was palpable. Within a month of my exodus, I received a clean bill of health. By a few months later, I was completely off of anti-anxiety/depression medications.

But where would I go from there? Everything I had planned just... poof!

I work as a sociology instructor for a university as an adjunct. This is both a great job (I adore my boss and I love to teach and I can do it from the comfort of home through distance learning) and an awful job (I can't teach over a certain number of classes per university so my income is limited, pay is low for the amount of work, there are no benefits nor job security semester to semester). Mostly I love it in spite of the negatives, but I felt compelled to find full time work upon leaving school. Adjuncting rarely affords the opportunity for a living wage. But I wasn't going to find anything in the dead-end town I live in, and we lived too far to commute realistically with a three-year-old child. I would never see her if I did. Basically, full time work would enable my family to move elsewhere. Finally. Sometimes you've just been somewhere too long.

So what does a person so close to a Ph.D. in sociology but little other practical experience in any one field... do?

I'm your huckleberry. That's... Wait. What's my game?

Well, as I mentioned before I've worn many hats. Over the course of the past year, I submitted over 250 applications for full-time employment ranging from copywriting/editing to teaching to PR/marketing to research/analytics. Grueling. And of those 250+ applications, I have interviewed for four. FOUR. The first offered me a position... that was supposed to be unpaid for at least a year. Not knowing that when I started, I got to about a month in without any contract signed or pay negotiated before I told them to consider it a freebie and keep looking. Then I interviewed with a Fortune 100 technology company to lead a research and analytics team there. I made it to the final interview/presentation, after which they told me I did an exceptional job, they were "blown away," but I had "more important things to do" than research for their company, so they basically turned me down out right. A bit disheartened, a few months later I was contacted about a PR/marketing position for a nationally established chain of chiropractic offices. I ended up being the only finalist. In the final interview with corporate, however, it became clear the doctor of the practice where the position was advertised had not cleared the job description with corporate. I was offered a position: a part-time chiropractic assistant. Next please.

And then there was THE posting. My dream job. An established and well-reputed community college in the community I grew up in was hiring for a full time instructor in sociology. The pay was great, the location was perfect, and all I really wanted to do was teach. I was among four individuals selected for interview. I nailed the teaching demonstration. I received excellent feedback during the interview with the search committee. My 30 minute interview with the Dean at the end of a Friday workday ran almost an hour and a half, and he was enthusiastic the entire time. I received the call I was selected as a finalist and was to meet with the President and Vice President. Both were lovely people, and we seemed to get along swimmingly. The remaining finalists interviewed that week. The following Wednesday, I got the word: they offered the position to someone else.

I can't put into words how devastated I felt. Over 250 applications. Only four interviews. So close to the job I had wanted, the one that led me to pursue graduate school in the first place. The chance to move, to get a fresh start and new perspectives... Dashed.

But then something kind of amazing happened. My husband (who might very well be a saint, I'm not sure) asked what would happen if we moved anyway.

Huh?

And that's when it hit me. Living here was not doing me any favors. We were struggling to make it on two incomes when mine was so limited. We were far from most of our friends and family, and the alienation and isolation had become more evident over the past year. Opportunities in the area are completely nil. And for those 250+ applications that were immediately filed under "garbage," how many might have been different if I had the opportunity, the mobility to approach face to face? To break the rules and the mold and show them in person what I had to offer? With a three-year-old and no money for additional childcare, those chances were limited. Until my daughter hit Kindergarten, they would likely continue to be.

So I went back to advice I had been given by my mother, my father, friends, colleagues, professors, and writers as far back as elementary school. Write. Just write. Forget about full time work. Move to a place where you can be surrounded by friends and family, where you have a fresh start and a chance for new adventures. And just tell the stories as they come.

And that was that. We are in the process of getting our house ready to sell, looking for another, and ready for whatever comes next. I hope you'll join me.

"There's no such thing as a normal life, Wyatt. There's just life. Now get on with it." -Doc Holliday, Tombstone