It’s with a heavy heart that I write this blog tonight
My doctor has assessed me and has determined that I’m not medically fit to work right now
So, I’m taking a leave
I’m not sure for how long
Part of me thinks I can never return to a place that made me doubt myself so many times
Questioning my value
Questioning my worth
I don’t care what anyone says
It was personal
It still is
And I can’t pretend that doesn’t hurt
Part of me is terrified at the prospect of starting over
I’ve never had to look for a job carrying the weight of an MS diagnosis on my back
I don’t know how I feel carrying that burden into a new environment
I’m scared to go from one unsupportive employer to another
Let’s be real shall we?
Who wants to hire someone who is likely to take a lot of sick days?
Even if said person is fucking stellar…
On the days they are there
From a production point of view
It just doesn’t make sense
In their terms
I will always be a liability
And not an asset
So where do I go?
Even with certification I don’t have enough letters behind my name to start up a private practice
I’ve never really learned to do anything else
But you know talk to youth
What will I do if I can’t do that?
I’m not so egocentric as to think there won’t be others who are more skilled at engaging youth than I
And I will be replaced
As if I was never even there
Maybe just a cautionary tale for new staff
I’ll just be another adult who abandoned the kids I currently work with
All that work building trust
Gone just like me
They’ll look back on their time with me with bitterness and a reminder to never let someone get too close
And I’ll carry that guilt with me
And let me tell you kid
I fucking get it
I trusted too
I placed faith in my employer
And I’ll look back on this time with bitterness and a reminder to never let anyone see your weaknesses
After all this and I can still relate to those kids so damn much
For them, I’m sorry
I don’t know what’s next
And that is probably why my heart is beating out of my chest and my stomach is warring against itself
What will I do while I’m home?
Will I get worse with nothing to occupy my needy brain?
Will I sit around in my pjs and anxiously pick at the thoughts reverberating in my brain?
And I think to myself over and over again,
Not every story gets a happy ending
Not even when I’m writing it
And especially not when it’s my story
And it’s okay
It’s gonna be okay…