The Closed Door

"You let your residednts and your co-workers down." Stepping out of the office, I gave in to my hurt and humiliation. Suppressed tears started to trickle down my cheeks. My hands, which I managed to keep still while I was subjected to my supervisor's tirade, started shaking. Why could I make her not see that it wasn't my intention not to let anyone down? All I wanted was to be spared the hurtful criticism of my colleagues for one night.

I never imagined it coming to this when I started my career change. But, "The best laid plans of mice and men often go astray."1 Visions of "collaborative care"2 rapidly disintegrated. Sad to say, I actually got used to never hearing a "Hi" or "How are you?" as my co-workers walked past me to start their shift. On the other hand, I never did get used to hearing everything I did wrong from the serious to the mediocre. It became a good night when I didn't receive any feedback at all. At first it hurt not be included in ordering take-out, or invited to come for a quick break. Later on, I started to just accept that was how it was. Besides, there was always something to do and not enough time in which to do it. The rejection was covered up by the lie that I could put break time to better use anyways.

It wasn't until I got home and went to bed that it finally hit me. Not only could I hear my Dad's voice, but he was standing right in front of me. His angry scowl, the disgust in his voice, it was like some one had turned on a projector and he was right there. Instead of an accomplished fifty-four year old woman, I was a young child again desperately seeking my parent's approval. "Stop that snivelling and get up." I didn't mean to be a clumsy child and fall. A teenager trying to grow into the adult world. "You can't even hold down a job." It wasn't my fault the store owner was a miserable ba*tard that no one on earth could ever please. Motherhood, which should have felt like a blessing, became a curse. Sitting reading my father's will in which I was "a bad daughter and an unfit parent" left me shaking and in tears. What if my dad was right? If I couldn't do anything right, was there even any point in trying? Should I give up entirely?

Sleep deserted me entirely. Getting out of bed, I poured a drink and added another log to the fire. Taking a swallow, I watched the flames dance on the burning wood. Everything felt so inevitable. The wood consumed by the fire. The wood has no say in what will happen to it. It can't change its fate. It's only purpose is to be consumed by a force greater than itself. Is this truly what life is? A repeat of the same until that moment arrives and life ends? If so, then what is the point of striving for betterment? Of attempting something new if it will only end in ashes. I would be better taking the path of least resistance and accepting that what I'm told is true. This is who and what I am.

The fire has burned down to its last embers. Tiny little bits of light dance in the darkness. My glass sits empty beside me as I reflect not only upon the days events, but upon the incidents that have occurred over the years. Raising two children alone, who now, have become successful adults. Recovering from a house fire, and starting to rebuild. Various sicknesses and deaths from which there was grief, but then acceptance, and finally the stage of moving forward. Keeping my willful son in school and passing, and finally watching him become a successful tradesman. Running my fingers along the top of the glass I recall the words I said to him as he struggled to get his first job, "If you give up, you're dead already." Would I be a hypocrite if I didn't embrace my own philosophy? Was there not proof that the words I said to my child were true in how far I'd come, and what I had accomplished? "We cannot change what happened, but we can change how we relate to it."3 As the last embers winked out in the darkness, a calm settled upon me as deep as the winter's night. The past is the past. Not only that, but its ok to learn from my experiences, and move forward. Tomorrow is a new, fresh day.

1. Robert Burns poem "To a Mouse" (1785)

2. https://bluebrix.health/articles/how-collaborative-care-planning-enhances-patient-engagement/

3. Eva Moses Kor Auschwitz survivor