Reducing Volcano Harbor to move onto new adventures...
How absolutely wild the almost-past month has been. I did indeed have that virtual interview which turned into a verbal offer, then a solid one, and my last full-time day at Volcano Harbor was this past Friday. I'm off this week in theory, working only a few days and taking a lot of time for me and Momma. We have Big Errands this week for her. I've tried to institute some purposeful self-care- MFNJ is coming over tomorrow and I have another float session with a massage planned for Wednesday. I feel like I truly am fading into that good night, which might be exactly what I needed to do.
People are angry. They're hurt and mad. Many a clinician has called me over the past week, some crying, some without guidance to figure out how to be the best clinician they can be. I feel more disappointed by the lack of acknowledgement, but am trying to re-frame this as further justification it was time for me to go since those I had been loyal to had already left. More resignations, more of this mass exodus. And though I'm going because, well, my father was pretty deliberate in those visions, I think it's becoming a damned good time to leave. My plan is to do part-time and individuals for awhile to see how that money shakes out, but overall, I should be working less in total for at least the next month. What a novel concept.
Oddly, the past month has begun to feel like when the Starship closed after its slow descent into madness. Eerily enough, it was also a little over five years I had worked for them when the doors finally shut. And we looked at each other, hugging, some moved away because their homes had been foreclosed on and couldn't pay for daycare and other catastrophes. Granted, Volcano Harbor isn't like that, but the bleary eyes and lack of morale, along with a mass exodus seem oddly familiar. There's this weird bizarro world that's happening where we're not recognized and younger clinicians call the older because they can't find their designated leaders.
In short, we'll be absolutely fine. We'll do this until we don't want to anymore, then make a responsible decision to part ways. And that could be awhile. We'll save up the money we need and work less for awhile- maybe we'll travel, maybe we'll clean the house, maybe we'll take Momma for rides or smush all over Fidget. There'll definitely be cats.
Regardless, this week will be strange. There's heavy days and self-care days, and we need to do some planning, processing, and reflecting. We probably need to find slacks (any idea, Pre-Pandemic Jess?). Maybe we'll only work 24 hours next week- maybe we'll make a schedule that allows for a full damned day off. Maybe we'll take Momma for an MRI and things will move forward with her knee.
And we'll float again. We're going to float and see things (or not) and get a massage and see things (or not) and we'll just enjoy being present. And we'll be relaxed.
Volcano Harbor, you were good to me for a long while. I gave it a damned good college try. I counseled and got my full license and switched a couple different sites and ran programs on my own. I just can't be loyal to you anymore...
... you don't serve me.
People are angry. They're hurt and mad. Many a clinician has called me over the past week, some crying, some without guidance to figure out how to be the best clinician they can be. I feel more disappointed by the lack of acknowledgement, but am trying to re-frame this as further justification it was time for me to go since those I had been loyal to had already left. More resignations, more of this mass exodus. And though I'm going because, well, my father was pretty deliberate in those visions, I think it's becoming a damned good time to leave. My plan is to do part-time and individuals for awhile to see how that money shakes out, but overall, I should be working less in total for at least the next month. What a novel concept.
Oddly, the past month has begun to feel like when the Starship closed after its slow descent into madness. Eerily enough, it was also a little over five years I had worked for them when the doors finally shut. And we looked at each other, hugging, some moved away because their homes had been foreclosed on and couldn't pay for daycare and other catastrophes. Granted, Volcano Harbor isn't like that, but the bleary eyes and lack of morale, along with a mass exodus seem oddly familiar. There's this weird bizarro world that's happening where we're not recognized and younger clinicians call the older because they can't find their designated leaders.
In short, we'll be absolutely fine. We'll do this until we don't want to anymore, then make a responsible decision to part ways. And that could be awhile. We'll save up the money we need and work less for awhile- maybe we'll travel, maybe we'll clean the house, maybe we'll take Momma for rides or smush all over Fidget. There'll definitely be cats.
Regardless, this week will be strange. There's heavy days and self-care days, and we need to do some planning, processing, and reflecting. We probably need to find slacks (any idea, Pre-Pandemic Jess?). Maybe we'll only work 24 hours next week- maybe we'll make a schedule that allows for a full damned day off. Maybe we'll take Momma for an MRI and things will move forward with her knee.
And we'll float again. We're going to float and see things (or not) and get a massage and see things (or not) and we'll just enjoy being present. And we'll be relaxed.
Volcano Harbor, you were good to me for a long while. I gave it a damned good college try. I counseled and got my full license and switched a couple different sites and ran programs on my own. I just can't be loyal to you anymore...
... you don't serve me.