Tag: identity

The Career Box

Posted on by andrew

Sometimes convincing yourself to stop holding you back can be more difficult than overcoming external obstacles. After making a big career commitment at a young age, Low Entropy Volunteer Writer Janki Patel was able to look back and realize that it’s okay to make decisions that are right for you now, regardless of what you thought in the past.

 

I was 17 when I made the decision to pursue a career in childcare. At the time, I thought it was the perfect choice for a person like me – a person whose top qualities involve being empathetic, patient, and caring. I was sure of my decision, but people around me expected better. It wasn’t perceived as a ‘notable’ profession, and I was referred to as a babysitter or nanny. I was constantly told that the career pays very little, is highly stressful, and not suitable as a long-term option. Despite the negativity tossed towards me, I started my three-year certification program with a positive attitude. 

 

Throughout those three years, as many students do, I experienced several breakdowns. One of them involved nearly dropping out of college because I doubted myself. I doubted my ability to be a successful educator. I dreaded most of my internships, and toward the end of the program, I felt like I had put myself in a box: a box where each side was sealed tightly, and as much as I wanted to get out, I couldn’t bring myself to. This was a choice I made, so I felt too guilty to complain. 

 

Nevertheless, I completed the program and spent several years working at a preschool. I surprisingly fell in love with the job, but I didn’t know how I would feel about it on a long-term basis. I enjoyed planning and implementing activities for my group, consoling a child whose crayon broke, or gathering the group for story time. I don’t think there is anything more rewarding than being able to view the world from a child’s perspective. I don’t think I was a terrible educator. I doubted myself as a student in training, but I was confident once I gained work experience. Even then, as each year passed, I became more restless and that empty feeling inside of me revisited. 

 

Fast forward to last year, when the unwelcome pandemic hit and boy, did it hit hard. It was mid-July when I got the call to start transitioning back to work. I immediately felt anxious, and I knew exactly why. No, it was not because of the virus. It was because I wanted to finally let go. I wanted to rip that box open and give myself another chance. I wanted to tell my 17-year-old self that she would not be a failure if she didn’t know what she wanted to do, that being lost is a part of the process and that, since she robbed herself of it before, she’ll deal with it now. 

 

Eventually, I left my childcare job. I still love working with children and could even see myself going back to it later in life, but for now, I want to explore. I was abnormally exhausted at the end of my workday and, at rare times, I didn’t look forward to the next. It takes a lot of energy to work with a group of young children, and I lacked some of it as time passed. I constantly pondered other possible jobs I could try that would, most importantly, allow me to pursue my love for writing. 

 

In December 2020, I graduated with another degree in education. As I reflect back on my professional career, I don’t regret any of it at all. I will always take it as a learning curve and be grateful that I had the opportunity to grow mentally, emotionally and physically. While some teenagers are encouraged to take their time, explore their options and then work toward a career goal, I simply thought I didn’t have that option. The truth was, I didn’t need somebody to tell me, I just needed to accept that fact myself. 

 

I think, as individuals, we get sucked into this whirlpool of academic and professional chaos – the type of chaos that begins the moment a child goes through their first day of school. From there, say goodbye to your personal growth and identity. It’s all about what you can and cannot do, alongside constant improvement. Don’t get me wrong, these things are great, and usually necessary to thrive in a fast-paced society . . . but at what cost?

 

I decided to break free from this whirlpool. At first, I felt ashamed to start exploring new career options and start afresh, mostly because I’d thought I had everything figured out and there I was, at 23 years old, breaking away from six years of education and work. I’m in a much better place now, mentally, emotionally and physically. I feel like I have room to breathe after years of believing I only had one option: to stay contained in the box I created for myself. I accepted that it is okay to start over and pick a pace that matches my needs. There is no race I need to win, and there is no finish line in this career journey.

 

Choosing a career is not a joke and should not be taken lightly, but it’s also important to understand that life goes beyond a position and paycheck. It took me some time to accept this fact, but the moment I did, I felt a sense of relief – a feeling I had not experienced since I was 17. And this time, I plan to keep it alive. 

 

Have you ever decided to steer your life in a whole new direction? Would you like to? Tell us about it in a Low Entropy meet-up, or simply pop down to the comments section and leave us a note!

There and Back Again: On the Road to Change

Posted on by andrew

Andrew Woods, Low Entropy Volunteer Writer

 

Please note that this article contains brief references to substance use.

 

“Why do you go away? So that you can come back. So that you can see the place you came from with new eyes and extra colors. And the people there see you differently, too. Coming back to where you started is not the same as never leaving.”
― Terry Pratchett

 

From the day-in, day-out perspective, it’s difficult to discern where and when change occurs. Can there possibly be such a thing as change, as we maneuver through the minutiae of our daily lives?

 

Between grocery shopping, our studies, our household chores, our jobs, our family duties … between paying bills and scrolling through politically motivated Facebook memes … where does “change” fit in?

 

And yet, I look back 10 years (or more) and it becomes overwhelmingly obvious that so much has changed. It becomes almost alarming to observe the changes that I’ve undergone. 

 

I was what the nurses called “a frequent flyer.” I wasn’t the only one who had earned that honour, though. Many of “us” had become accustomed to cycling in and out of those hospital wards. I spent Christmases and birthdays there, walking aimlessly up and down the halls, staring blankly out the locked windows overlooking the grounds, chain smoking cigarettes out front with the other patients.

 

After every hospital discharge, I’d keep to the straight and narrow for a couple months, but I’d always find myself back where I started – flushing my prescribed meds and looking to score my drugs of choice.

 

And then I’d end up right back on the ward. 

 

That was my life, in a nutshell, for a good 10 years or so. And oddly enough, I was comfortable with it. After all, I had discovered an identity in that lifestyle. I had taken on various labels: bipolar, mentally ill, obsessive-compulsive, drug seeker, troubled youth … and I began to wear those labels with a sense of misaligned pride. I was caught in a landslide, grasping for anything that would yield some stability. And as a young adult, having a sense of identity offered a bit of steadiness, even when everything else was precariously unbalanced. Predictably, the more I attached to that sense of self, however distorted it was, the more complete I felt. 

 

I was told, early on in my recovery, that change is the only constant in life. Everything else is impermanent and variable … our jobs, our homes, our friends, our family … it’s all either coming or going. But what can absolutely be guaranteed is our own personal evolution. 

The unfortunate reality is, change is difficult. And often we put up a lot of resistance to it. 

Some of us, like myself, have had to hit rock bottom before deciding to embrace change.

 

I had to do something … different.

 

I didn’t really see any other alternative … I didn’t want to risk uncovering what was beneath rock bottom.

 

I went all in. Change or no change.

 

Exercise.

Diet.

Meditation.

Breathwork.

Social supports.

Therapy.

 

Taking on the challenge of modifying my every conditioned thought and behaviour was no easy task. In fact, it was an impossible task. I didn’t realize that true change would need to come from within, that it was a slow, painful process, and that I was in it for the long haul. Maybe that’s why change is so very difficult for us – because the journey to lasting change follows a steep and rocky road, and everyone falls down along the way. 

 

I certainly admit to falling down along this journey. Not just once … but many times I’ve fallen.  And perhaps in falling down I learned life’s most valuable lesson – always get back up.

 

Nowadays, my sense of identity has expanded beyond what I could’ve previously imagined. Not in an egoic, full-of-myself kind of way. But in a way that is conducive to healing, and living a better, more fulfilling life. There have been many lessons learned over the past several years, and admittedly … I learned some of those the hard way.

 

I emphasize, however, that embracing self-growth, and the journey along our own self-evolution … it isn’t some kind of chore like doing the dishes or folding laundry.

 

No, witnessing the myriad of ways in which we, as individuals, flourish through all of life’s challenges is by far the most rewarding experience available to us.

 

In fact, that is why we’re here.

 

That’s it.

 

To evolve, to grow, to nurture and thrive.

 

And it isn’t about moving from point A to point B, as if life is a roadmap with a destination marked in red ink.

 

Instead, I think our journeys through life often lead us right back to where we started, to a world that is strangely familiar, and relatively unchanged.

 

And we realize that it was never about changing the world.

 

It was about changing ourselves.

 

Alone This Time

Posted on by dev_team

As the matriarch and primary caregiver in her troubled family, Low Entropy Volunteer Writer Kathy Woudzia had her fill of responsibilities and challenges. These roles became her identity, and she was good at them. But what happens to a person when all that was familiar disappears, and they’re left to pick up the pieces left behind?

Please note that this article discusses substance use.

In this past year many changes have occurred in my life. Since I was 21 I’ve been a mother and wife. I’m 58 now and the kids have all left home. I never really understood the term “empty nest syndrome”, but I certainly understand that sentiment now. When I became a wife and mother that became my identity, how I defined myself. Because I became a mom at such a young age, I gave up a post-secondary education. Although I enrolled in online university courses for certifications in health and fitness studies and business, I never completed my degree. 

Over the years I held jobs as a bookkeeper, library technician and conference planner, but held no formal education in any of those areas. When I was 32 my marriage to my first husband and father of three children ended. He had struggled with alcoholism for years. Six years later I met my second husband, a professional, and at the age of 41, was blessed with my fourth child. Because his job was so demanding, we decided that I would primarily stay home, raise the kids and look after the household. 

In September 2015 my beautiful little granddaughter was born. Unfortunately, I wasn’t aware that her mom, my daughter, and her partner were addicted to opioids. My granddaughter was born addicted to opioids and needed to be slowly weaned off over the course of one month. Because my daughter and her partner were ill-equipped to care for her in a safe and responsible way, I was compelled to resign my on-call position with the Richmond School District as a library technician and begin to care for my first grandchild. Later, my daughter would move in with my husband while she was recovering from her opioid addiction. 

Many addictions include relapses, and that was the case with my daughter and her partner. For three years I was not only the wife of my husband and mother to one teenager still living at home, but I became a 24-hour on call caregiver to my daughter, her partner and my granddaughter. My days were overfilled with family obligations. I couldn’t wait to have some alone time!

Throughout my 20s, 30s, 40s and 50s I have been parenting with little to no regard for self-improvement in areas outside of family. I devoted so much time to them that I failed at keeping old friendships or starting new ones. When my daughter was in recovery and went back to her position as a science teacher, I spent my days caring for my granddaughter, cooking, cleaning, shopping and working out. That was my life minute-to-minute, day-to-day, year-to-year. It is amazing how quickly the days turned to years and the years turned to decades. I had no profession outside of being a professional wife and mother.

Then, in 2018, things began to spiral downhill. On April 22, 2018, my daughter, mother of my granddaughter, died of an accidental opioid overdose. Suddenly my world was turned upside-down. The loss of my eldest daughter was devastating and I missed her dearly. When she passed away I also lost my granddaughter because she moved to Vancouver Island to be with her dad, who was recovering there with his family.

Initially, the lack of constant attending to others was a welcome one as I was fatigued with caring for so many people and having so little time to myself. Now it was just my 17-year-old daughter, who barely needed me and my husband to look after her. I filled my days with shopping and working out with some new friends I had made after the loss of my daughter. I enrolled in a writing course with New York University and began writing about my daughter. Then another blow. My only sibling, my brother, died of complications due to alcoholism. Another devastating loss exactly one year to the date my daughter had passed. 

Six months after my brother passed I began struggling with mental health problems of my own. I began experiencing bipolar symptoms. I was admitted to a hospital for one month in January 2020. When I was released from the hospital my husband had moved out of our home. Soon after, my husband had officially left me, my daughter went to university and I found myself completely alone.

The old parable, “the grass is always greener on the other side” is certainly true in my case. From wishing for alone time to longing for the busy days where I didn’t have a minute to myself, I have now realized I do not enjoy my time on my own. Not having developed many hobbies (outside of writing and exercising) or friendships, I often find myself very lonely and depressed. Because my job was professional wife and mother, I now find my life significantly vacant of activities I used to enjoy.

For the past four decades, a constant flurry of activity gave me a sense of purpose. In the absence of a husband or children to care for, I have now lost my identity. In raising my children, I was propelled by a desire to ensure my children transitioned to successful adults. In my mind, I was convinced that because they had graduated from universities with degrees, that meant success. My daughter once said in a card, “mom, if us kids were your employees then you would win employer of the year award”. That summed it all up for me. I had put all of my energy into what I viewed as my profession, motherhood. I completely immersed myself in activities that were centred on my kids and husband. Without either as a conduit to stay busy, I now find myself with loads of spare time and no  purpose: a toxic combination. 

Empty nest syndrome did not have meaning for me until I experienced it. In addition, I have experienced additional substantial losses in my life. The reality is, I have no one left to look after. In facing “ENS” head-on, I am compelled to find a new purpose outside of my husband and children – a new identity.

Do you have any advice for anyone who might be experiencing ENS? Or maybe you have your own struggle to share, to let us know we’re not so alone after all. Please let us know in our comments section or in person at a Low Entropy meeting.