When I was sitting
with my dad in the hospital a lot, obviously I wasn’t working a day job. The
family thought I’d been laid off….
That was a lie but
sometimes you have to lie to family to keep the peace. Where I used to work in
Harvey, IL…well, a coworker was attacked at 5:30pm in the parking lot. The
parking lots were spread out and she happened to be alone in that area when a
guy mugged her. She gave him her purse and keys but he still busted her nose.
The trail of blood led back into the building…
It could’ve been
worse, I know.
The company had
fencing around that area of parking, not all. But there was no gate to keep
others out of our parking area. Random stray dogs would get in there. Kids
would ride bikes in there… but in 11 years of working there, that was the first
violent crime I knew to happen to an employee where I worked.
Did the company put
in gates to keep the parking secure? No. They increased the patrols of security. Now they didn’t ADD to security
so it was then lacking elsewhere. The company was all about the bottom line and
had been going downhill for a couple years at that point.
I didn’t feel safe
anymore and started looking for another job but it was the holiday season.
Then, at a townhall meeting, the president of the company (who had a multi-million-dollar
golden parachute) said WE are the 1%. Speaking to union laborers and single
moms working customer service as well as accountants and salespeople, he said
that.
He is the 1%, not
us…That was the day I turned in my notice.
It felt like that
was the time to try writing full time. I’d been saving seriously all my adult
life. Paying down my mortgage. I basically had 2 full time jobs. Writing and
accounting. So I wasn’t blowing a lot of money elsewhere…the odd writer con was
all.
It’d been fine
actually for a while. Writing full time was working out, more or less.
I was writing some
cozy mysteries and getting good reviews—in addition to the hot stuff I’d been
writing before.
Then my mom had a
seizure and needed a driver/ sitter for a bit. She recovered well, needed
surgery for her collarbone but things were looking up. (It was a reaction to
medication so the seizures weren’t ongoing, thank God!).
So back to normal…Until
dad landed in the hospital.
Back to that
hospital time. I told them I was writing while I was looking for a new job
since I’d been laid off. Dad wanted to read something. Nope.
He doesn’t like no. We’ve established that.
He pestered me.
Bugged me. Tried to buy one. LOL
Please…he’s not
getting his hands on it. He’ll only JUDGE it. MOCK it. I know better. I’ve
known him far too long to fall for that crap.
He plays the
wounded puppy. Like I hurt his feelings. I didn’t buy it. I didn’t care because
he’s a master manipulator.
He asked WHEN I’d
let him read something I wrong. I told him the 100% truth. NEVER.
And he never did.
I don’t feel bad about that either. Maybe I should but he never encouraged me.
Never believed in me. He had his chance when I was applying to local colleges. BTW
He lowered my bar all the time. going away to school is SO expensive. Local was
cheaper. Live at home to save money .( And he could keep an eye on me all the
time…). Still, he could’ve encouraged me. Even met me half way and said to
double major in creative writing and accounting. Weird, but I’m weird. At least
it would’ve been some acknowledgement of what I love.
No, he didn’t.
When I was a teen, he stuck with writing was a cute hobby and I needed a REAL
job.
He never
apologized. He never understood the pain and damage he inflicted. I know, I
do…I understand in his mind he was trying to protect me. He wanted me to be
financially secure. I get that…it’s easier to deal with life with money than
without it… but he never made tons of money. He wasn’t Richie Rich.
The worst part was
he had no faith in me. No hope. No dreams. At least none that matched up with
my own. Compromise made no one happy…
Writing full time,
I don’t get migraines, I don’t have to deal with bosses who know less than I do
but suck up and play the office politics better so they make four times what I do
and just sit in meetings. I might not be a huge name but I’m still trying.
I know others play
the Amazon system or work the trends with more savvy. I’m trying to get back to
writing after the funeral and there will still be things with the estate.
Clearing out the house with mom. I want to be chugging along writing my stories
and doing what I’m supposed to be doing. I’ll get there.
I’m much happier writing
and accounting wouldn’t make me a millionaire either.
Now, Dad can read
whatever he wants—I’m sure. But I don’t have to listen to the mocking
commentary. I couldn’t handle that…I have to build some self-esteem on a solid
foundation.
The title of this blog is Trust No One....Else. Others may have good intentions. I believe my dad thought he was doing the right thing. In his estimation shaded by his experiences, maybe. I know he thought I was a dreamer and I'd never do anything or make anything of myself. A nice safe little job is better...to him. He was so overbearing with his opinions it was hard to argue or fight him...
But in the end, no one else knows what'll make you happy. You might try things and find they aren't what you thought, but you tried. No one else can tell you what'll make you happy. no one else knows you as well as you. Trust no one else's opinion more than your own. I've always known I wanted to be a writer. Deep down for no logical reason, it was there in me...
