Laugh loudly.
This job does not define me. When I walk out of those doors I can let it go. I have my husband. My daughter. My family and friends.
So why does it seem that it all bleeds together. And I cannot stop obsessing about every single thing that has been said. And that I allow that place to define me. That one negative opinion could ruin my outlook.
I am angry. Ashamed. Ashamed that that moment got the best of me. When I relive that moment I cringe. Cringe because I didn’t say more. Because there was so much left unsaid. There’s so much that no ones willing to say. And all I can seem to think is its because my happiness doesn’t matter. Enough. I mean, it can’t. It simply can’t.
So I count down the hours till I have to get ready in the morning. To hear the expletives and shudder hoping I’m not the target of the insults of the day.
I talk to a few people. And then when I’m convinced by them again that this is just what being an adult is I decide it’s easier for everyone if I just shut up. If I just eat my feelings. Check them deep down, on the couch of my stomach. Sit them right next to the insults that Nathan Shadle delivered in high school. Or the ones that my father said in elementary school.
The problem with all of this is I remember this feeling. I’m teetering on the edge of completely losing it or accepting that I deserve it. I’ve done both before. And it takes years to reprogram myself. And remind myself I deserve to be treated with respect.
But it’s okay, right. I deserve it. Let me get comfortable and lay down. You can keep your shoes on while you walk on me. I’ll be sure to laugh the entire time. Because atleast I know how to laugh. And unfortunately all the laughing in the world won’t fix 50+ years of miserable, bitch.