Trust No One... Else

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...