I recently reviewed the resume that I used to obtain my current library position. After reviewing it, I realized that my resume wasn’t really all that impressive for position that I applied. What probably got the hiring manager (my current boss) to pick up the phone and call me for an interview was my cover letter.
The ad, from what I can recall, wanted an “enthusiastic, friendly, outgoing, and motivated” person to apply for the job. Trust me, I am all that and a bag of chips. (One of the few areas in which I am confident.) I had dreamed of being able to help patrons at the library desk since I was a library page at the tender age of 14. (smile) But my resume excelled in nothing but journalism and editorial experience. How in the world could I convince a hiring manager that someone who had a mostly solitary work experience background could translate into an energetic person who would “relish” (yes, I used that word) the opportunity to work with the public? Read more…
Perhaps. Not really. But I couldn’t think of anything else to title this blog post that’s a mélange of things swirling around in my head.
I may stop attending the women’s Bible study at my church. You’d think that with a Bible study, I’d attend to—what else?—learn about the Bible. However, every time I’ve walked into the Bible study, I’ve left feeling depressed, hopeless, and sometimes on the verge of despair. No one says anything rude to me or hurts my feelings. Perhaps it’s a spiritual battle that wages once I set foot in those doors but more often than not, I’ve walked in like sunshine and left as a gloomy raincloud. I know people can’t read minds but usually people are so busy with their own concerns, no one really knows it. To be fair, I also don’t stick around to give anyone the ability to detect it.
But for some reason, I’ve come to expect more from the Bible study. Not just learning about God’s word but also being able to connect what we read to who we are and what we’ve experienced. Most of the women in my Bible study do that but for some reason, I feel as though I have a muzzle on my mouth and can’t quite speak as though my experiences are inferior and my pain isn’t valid.
If I’m quite honest, the things that have shaped my experiences in life—apart from God—are my depression and bipolar disorder, two rather disturbing topics. I know not how to speak of much else and the way I look at life is framed primarily by those two lenses. The additional topic of not being able to conceive a child as soon as I hoped eats away at me like freshly laundered clothing surrounded by moths. Very few people know how deeply my pain runs on something that I’ve prayed for a year now.
But with reluctance, I’ve come to accept that even with nearly 5 years of marriage under my belt, God doesn’t want me to have kids at this juncture. However, he seems to be blessing my efforts in obtaining a part-time job, which I’ve seen as a mixed blessing. I submitted applications to four different employers for part-time positions and within 2 weeks, heard back from all of them—one outright rejection; one implied rejection; and two callbacks for scheduled interviews. In less than a month since I applied for a part-time job, I will have already gone through two rounds of interviews for two positions. (Determinations should be made this week.)
While God has been very gracious to me on the job front, I’m broken and dismayed at how he’s kept the door to childbearing solidly shut. I would have happily forgone a part-time job to stay at home and rear a child. The ease with which I’ve been able to interview for two different positions (I’ll likely have my pick when all is said and done) is something that can only come from God in an economy where unemployment is in the double-digits. But I must also acknowledge that the inability to have conceived a child as easily or quickly also comes from God. Based on the Old Testament, Bible readers know God opens wombs and closes them as well. (I’d start sobbing at my computer right now but I’m at a freelance job, fighting back the lump in the throat that precedes tears in my cubicle.) I suppose all I can do right now is redouble my efforts on revising my novel, focusing on making connections in the publishing world, and investing in the necessary tools and resources to help me reach my professional writing goals (the PT job is a step toward that).
I’m amazed at how quickly God answered something I barely prayed for when He’s also chosen to not answer something I’ve been praying (and cried over) for much longer. Ah, only those who are list-ordering freaks and concerned with “first come, first served” fret over such trivialities. God hasn’t wiped my older prayer off the table; He’s just chosen to tackle the request at the very bottom of the list.
I still grieve, though. Every month. I know I’m not alone but I sure do feel like it once a month. An emotional pain so acute and so intense that it seems almost no one could possibly understand how you feel. I doubt I could survive the emotional turmoil of a miscarriage if the grief of not being able to conceive a child is so bad.
I’ve given up for now. The constant worrying and waiting and wondering each month has been too much of an emotional pendulum for me. And given my history with mental illness, it’s unlikely I’ll ever be cleared to adopt.
I’ve always fantasized of being part of a regular group of gals a la “Sex and the City.” Have a core group of women you trust, can share your life and problems with, and know that they’ll be there for you if you need them. But I’ve merely fantasized about it. Damn you, Hellywood, for making such unrealistic scenarios so attractive!
I’m friendly but I suppose I’m not a real friend-maker. I don’t watch reality TV or any of the popular TV shows that people bond over. At work, I engage people in conversation but keep most of my life and personal details to myself. There’s not much interesting about me beyond the fact that I’ve written a novel, maintain several blogs, like to surf the Internet, enjoy watching baseball, listen to music, and read. I cook but I don’t particularly enjoy it (although I will salivate over delicacies others have made or the stuff on Food Network… mmm…); I don’t garden and never will; and I don’t engage in any hobbies (except for taking pictures of state license plates, the weirdo that I am); and I’m not well traveled (never been west of the Mississippi, ya’ll!).
Yes, I’m a broken record because I’ve said this all before. (“There is nothing new under the sun,” ring a bell?) I love discussing theological topics, baseball scores and news, recommendations of new music, Harry Potter and other good books, and—perhaps—I may go back to engaging in political discussions. I don’t like to discuss celebrity news much (I don’t care what Lindsay Lohan wore to jail) and don’t care about fashion anymore (if the shirt fits, I’ll wear it!)—two examples of topics I view a bit shallow.
See? A mish-mash, rant-ramble on life and relationships. I don’t think I had a point to this post. May be another one of those posts that I take down because it’s gotten too teenage whiny emo and is fit, rather, for Livejournal.
Also unrelated: I am so good at interviews, I toy with the idea of sharing the secret to successful interviews on a community-scale (see FREE classes). What qualifies me to do this? The fact that I am almost always offered a position with any company I interview with. From an interviewee standpoint, I think that’s pretty darn good. Just something I toy with though.
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