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On Writing My Own Job

posted 29th April 2012    Written by: Sarah    CATEGORY: Creativity, Family, Job/Career/Work, Sarah

I never pictured myself the entreprenurial type.  The idea of striking out and doing anything on my own felt painfully uncomfortable.  I don’t know anything about running a business.  How could any take me seriously?

I’m a super rule follower.  That’s probably why I ended up with a government major and a government job.  The government provides tons of manuals and rules and requirements.  You don’t have to come up with anything yourself.  In fact, it would best if you didn’t.

But it turns out I wasn’t so well suited to cubicle work.

After Kate was born and Dan and I decided I’d stay home with her, I not-so-secretly found myself gleeful over getting to leave the workforce.  Not that motherhood doesn’t offer it’s own set of challenges.  Really, it should come with combat pay.  But motherhood wouldn’t require me to input data into spreadsheets that I didn’t understand or care about.

So I quit my job and made motherhood my full time job.  But that didn’t feel that great either.  I needed something else, something more to get back to my identity and the Sarah I knew before she was a wife and a mother.

In the height of the loneliness and identityless feelings, I looked back on all my previous jobs.  Did I want to go back to work full time?  Where?  Back to a job like all the other jobs I left?

When I thought back to my employment history, it read like a textbook case of a misplaced girl with a liberal arts BA and public policy Masters.  And nothing about those jobs said “Sarah.”  They only said “traditional path.”

Since I’m a rule follower, I assumed that traditional path was the only path.  The only right path.  There could be no other way.  You don’t just make your own way!  That would break about 565,598,716,894 rules in my Good Girl Playbook.

But I finally saw what all those jobs didn’t have in common.  Anything I loved doing.

It was all rote, paperworking stuff, Excel-filled, jammed printer trauma drama.  Nothing I did felt important or meaningful.  I’m pretty sure no one was interested in my thoughts and ideas.

Writing, sharing, storytelling.  That’s the stuff I love.  I started my blog because work crushed my soul.  So after I left the traditional work force, I wanted to more with my writing.

But I was scared.

I didn’t get a degree in writing.  Or blogging.  Or social media.  Or creative endeavors.

Who was I to call myself a writer?

But I knew I didn’t want to go back to anything I’ve done before.  So maybe it was time to do my own thing.

Coming up with something I loved to do while still being Kate’s mom presented a challenge.  I still wanted to stay home with her.  But I needed something outside motherhood that made me feel good about myself.

So I started toying with the idea of freelancing.  Freelancing is a tough road.  One just doesn’t decide to be a freelancer and sit back while publications vie for one’s writing.  It would require putting myself out there and selling myself, two things I don’t find particularly comfortable.

I almost quit when I realized I would need to write pitches and send them to editors.  Unsolicited.  And say I’m the best writer to take on that pitch.

Oftentimes I find myself falling back into these old constructs where I decide I can’t fully embrace this newer, stronger version of myself because that’s not how I’ve always seen myself.  I’ve fallen all over the less-than-confident spectrum throughout my life.  I’ve told myself, oh I could never do that, for no reason other than I just decided I could never be good enough.

Owning my talents and skills is not my best thing.  And telling other people about my skills and talents?  No, thanks.

But after becomming part of the Stratejoy community, I saw these other young women who admitted, yes, it’s scary to put yourself out there and do new things, but what they have to give is meaningful and valueable and so worth celebrating.

So I decided to take a risk and pursue freelancing with everything I had.  I made a website.  Contacted publications.  Pitched articles.

Sometimes I heard a thanks, but no thanks.  Sometimes the editors didn’t email me back at all.  But one time I got back a yes.  And that one yes was all I needed to start owning my new path.

My first article came out in Washington Parent Magazine this month.  Seeing my name in print just about blows my mind.

When people used to ask me what I did, I used to mumble and fumble around for words and say oh, I’m just a stay at home mom.  But now when people ask me about myself, I say with confidence, I’m a writer.  I blog.  I freelance.  And I’m a mom, too.

Setting up my own rule book?  Yeah, it feels pretty good.

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The Memory Keeper’s Granddaughter

posted 15th April 2012    Written by: Sarah    CATEGORY: All Posts, Family, Quarterlife Crisis, Sarah

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My Grandma, me, and Kate at three months.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My sister, Megan, Kate at twelve months, and my Grandma.

For the third time that evening she asked me where I live.

You know where I live, Grandma.  Same place I’ve lived for a long time now.  With Dan and Kate.  The house with the black shutters?  Remember how my daffodils are coming up?  We talked about that.

My family moved to Virginia the summer before my 8th grade year.  We picked a house five minutes down the road from my Grandma.  She’d been a widower for a while by then, still living in a house much too big for one person.  But she kept herself busy, worked a couple of hours a week.

Middle school was a rough time for me.  I was the new girl with a mouth full of braces and curvier than my narrow-hipped friends.  And my parents and I got into it with the usual teenage angst stuff that ended with me slamming my door and it coming off the hinges as punishment.

But I had an ally.

My Grandma Rosemary, my mom’s mom, and for whom I get the Rosemary in Sarah Rosemary, became my confidant.

I’d call her up when my mom refused to buy me the latest and greatest jeans, and she’d drive on over in her white Subaru and take me shopping and out to lunch.

After school I’d walk over and she’d pour me a diet Coke and offer me her signature, baked-to-a-crisp, chocolate oatmeal cookies while I whinned about mean middle school girls and how my parents didn’t understand me.

When I got my driver’s license, she let me drive her all over town.  Whenever my parents said no because they were in a hurry, I knew I could count on my Grandma.  She’d hand over her keys without me asking and away we’d go.  She never cared where we went, hasseled me over my following distance, or braced herself when approaching a stop sign.

One time my parents were out of town, so my sister and I spent the night at my Grandma’s.  I needed to get up early for my morning shift at the vet, so I jumped into my parent’s van at the top of my Grandma’s curvy driveway.

It was dark.  I was a new driver.  Backing up was not my best thing.

Misjudging the path down the driveway, I veered too far to the left, smashing into a fire hydrant.

I slammed the van into park and got out to assess the damage.  I broke the tail light.  Bits and pieces of reflective red plastic littered the grass.

My Grandma padded down the driveway in her dog-chewed slippers and picked up the largest piece of tail light.  Maybe we can glue it back together she said.

She told me she’d take care of it, just to get back in the car and go onto work.  I spent the day in knots, wondering just how my parents planned to kill me.  When I got back to my Grandma’s house she said she had a plan.

This is how it’s going to go she said.  I’m going to call your dad and say I did it.

I was pretty sure letting my Grandma take the fall for me would rank me up there as one of the Worst Grandchildren in History, so I told her thanks, but no thanks, to let me face my parent’s wrath myself.

She nodded and started dialing my Dad’s number.  When he answered she put on her best gruff voice and said now Michael, Sarah has something to tell you, and you better not yell at her.  It’s not her fault.  She’s only 16.

I got in pretty big trouble for that broken tail light.  And I shelled $80 for the repair.  But my Grandma softened the blow.

But now, when I look into her eyes, I see symptons of the disease taking over her mind, her thoughts.  I repeat the same answers over and over again.  Calmly explain remember, we had to sell your car when she calls me up and asks what happened to her Subaru.  Print out a list of family members and friend’s names, phone numbers, and birthdays in size 100 font to tape up on her fridge.

My Grandmother’s 85.  But it feels like she left me years ago.  She gets frustrated and angry.  Upset with herself, my mother, me, the cashier at CVS.  Doesn’t understand this world we live in.

When I suffered through my mini-teenage crisis, my Grandma came to my rescue.  Now, at this quarterlife crisis stage, I can’t call her up to moan about feeling lonely in motherhood or complain about Dan’s travel schedule because I’d have to remind her who Dan is.

It’s almost as if we’re both moving through a life crisis, her at the end of her life and me, in so many ways, just beginning.  When I brace her for a hug, I wish her mind would come back and she’d be my confidant, help me through my QLC with her sage-y grandma-isms.  But I know she won’t.  So I’ll help her.  I’ll keep reminding her, repeating answers, filling those gaps in her memory to keep her spirit alive.

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When Things Don’t Go The Way You Thought, Make a New Way

posted 1st April 2012    Written by: Sarah    CATEGORY: Family, Job/Career/Work, Love/Relationships, Quarterlife Crisis, Sarah

 

Some days I do well.

I take care of the house.  Put away all the laundry.  Plan dinner.  Keep Kate happy.  Take time to blog.  Write.  Think about me and my path.

And some days I don’t do well.

I’m fed up with motherhood by 10:00 a.m.  Don’t go to the grocery or plan a dinner for several nights in a row.  I can’t keep up with the house, my wood floors speckled with goldfish cracker crumbs, crayon wrappers, sippy cups.  There’s no time for me.  No thinking space.  No self-care.  No writing, socializing, centering.

Those days are my dark days.  When I enter the what-am-I-doing and I’m-a-terrible-mother-wife-dog owner-person spiral.

But I know I can do better.  It’s just going to require a lot of putting myself out there, a good deal of faith in the process, and a whole lot of self love.

I’m taking small steps here and there to get back to the Sarah I knew before marriage and motherhood and grown up responsibilities that came on fast and furious.

I thought back to what I love to do, pre-everything.

Write.

Share.

Teach.

And how I could put all those parts together into something that was workable for me as a mother, me as a wife, and me, as, well, me.

So I started putting a little plan into motion that got me back to my writing roots.  In January I started pitching publications with story ideas.  I started taking my writing craft seriously.  Got deeper into blogging.  Went to my first blogging conference.

I also want to work on this part of me that longs to connect, share with others.  Motherhood, while a lot of things, is a lonely enterprise.  So I thought about what else I loved, and realized it was right in front of me.  I’ve been taking group fitness classes for years.  But I never thought about actually teaching group fitness.  When the thought first crept into my mind, I thought, no way, no way could I get up in front of a group of people and lead a class.

But then I thought, why not me?  So without giving myself time to think too hard, I signed up for a step aerobics training, spent a weekend stepping my heart out, and received the highest score possible, advancing myself onto the next round in the process.

All these things are wins.  The writing.  The conferences.  The training.  The tiny plan I had that snowballed into more than I thought I could ever acheive at this phase in my life.

But even when I feel I’m making strides, that crisis feeling pervades my thoughts.

Is this path finally the right path?

How will I know?

I think I am figuring things out…but am I really?

What if things don’t work out?

What if all this is a big mistake?

What if I fail?

What if, what if, what if?

Even though I’ve created a plan and set the wheels in motion to get back to my identity and myself, I still feel cautious, timid about where I’m headed.  I’m not completely confident in myself and what I need to do.  And I struggle to even share and rejoice in what I’ve accomplished so far.  I barely manged to squeak out this post because I hesitate to put my big goals and acheivements out there for fear I’ll end up on my face the next day.

But then I thought, hey, isn’t that why I’m here, at Stratejoy?  To share and learn and be supported through this quarterlife crisis?  So I can share all those good things I’m working on and get support when I’m feeling stuck and low on confidence.

Over the next five months, I’ll share those good things and those not-so-good things.  How I’m managing to take care of myself admist motherhood and marriage.  My progress on my writing goals.  And my process of becoming a group fitness instructor.  But above all, I hope to find that confidence I lost when all my major life transitions landed me in unfamiliar and often uncomfortable territory.

I’m really into fresh starts.  And I believe we can all have a fresh start anytime we want it.  So I’m declaring a fresh start.  And I hope you’ll join me.

 

 

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I followed My Plan. And Then It Blew Up.

posted 25th March 2012    Written by: Sarah    CATEGORY: All Posts, Family, Job/Career/Work, Love/Relationships, Quarterlife Crisis, Sarah, Season 6

sarah bagley

I started my career in county government as a camp counselor.  Charged with a dozen five-year-olds, I spent my summer leading sing-a-longs, helping chubby fingers hold paint brushes, and making sure no one drowned at the local pool.

I loved everything about that job.  The kids ate me up, vying to sit in my lap, wanting to know if I could move in with them and their families.  After that summer I knew I had to get serious about a profession, so I lapped in all that goodness and tried to hold onto the fun and responsibility of my summer camp career.

Soon enough I found myself on the verge of graduating and an uncertain future.  So I did what any good undergrad from U.Va. did.   I entered a Masters program.  I powered my way through my Masters in Public Policy while balancing my second job with the county: working at a teen and community center.

I adored working with the teens.  Sure, they were surly and kind of rude.  And forever making trouble.  (Here’s a tip: when you see a group of teenage boys walk into a bathroom with pool balls from a billiard table, call a plumber right away.)  But they were also full of energy and spunk and challenged me to constantly think of new ways to entertain them.

As I wrapped up my Masters degree, I knew it was time to move on.  Obviously I couldn’t stay.  I got my Masters in Public Policy to, well, write and analyze policy.  Not run a teen center and help 8th graders with math homework.  So I applied for a job at the county’s budget office.

And I got that job.  I looked just like every one of those analysts in the office.  A BA in government and a MA in public policy/administration.  I could write, analyze, and use Excel.  It would seem I fit right in.

Right away I felt underwater.  Everything was complicated.  I tried and tried and tried but nothing clicked.  And the more it felt like I didn’t get what was going on, the worse I felt about myself.  I clunked around the budgeting computer system, trying to find the missing hundreds of thousands of dollars I mis-entered.  The agency budgets read like Chinese.

I felt defeated.  Wasn’t I supposed to be good at this?  This office was the next logical step.  It was in the plan.  Why am I so bad at this?

Tears stung behind my eyes most days.  I wanted to do a good job.  And I so wasn’t.  I tried my best, always giving everything I had.  But each day felt like I was jamming myself in a hole that didn’t fit.

About a year into my job, I found out I was pregnant.  I assumed I’d go back to work after my daughter was born.  I never thought I’d be stay-at-home-mom.  But as her due date approached and still no child care on the horizon, my husband and I decided to tighten our budget and for me to stay home.

Since I knew I wasn’t the world’s best budget analyst, I didn’t feel sad about leaving my job.  I assumed it was for the best.  But a couple months into my stay-at-home gig, I realized I wasn’t all that good at this staying at home thing either.

Then everything started to blow up.  I felt alone, isolated, like I was the only one in the world feeling all misshapen and out of place.  Clearly, I wasn’t built to be a budget analyst.  But I wasn’t doing so great at mothering all day either.  This signaled to me that I’d never be good at anything.

Around this time, I happened to find the Stratejoy blog.  I’m not exactly sure how I got here.  I think amongst the Twitter and Facebook and blogging rabbit hole, I found the Stratejoy community and thought to myself these people are my people.  I think they get me.

It seemed I wasn’t the only one struggling.  Whether it was motherhood or marriage or being a single girl or divorced or whatever, there was a lot of struggling going on.  But also a lot of earnest.  A sense of grasping for joy, a happier life.

That resonated with me.  Yes, I am struggling.  True, I am feeling identity-less.  No, I’m not sure where I’m going.  But, absolutely yes, do I want to live my best life.  My blog is called Sunny Side Up.  Because no matter how down and out I’ve been (or will be), I am certain there’s a path to a better way.

So here I am at Stratejoy, sharing my story in the hopes that something will resonate with you.  So you won’t feel alone.  And I won’t feel alone.  And together we can come to terms with struggle and instead of letting it eat us up, we can work through it to live a life on our terms.

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False Starts and Creating a New Path

posted 18th March 2012    Written by: Sarah    CATEGORY: Family, Job/Career/Work, Love/Relationships, Quarterlife Crisis, Sarah

 

Introducing: Sarah

“Here I am, 27, married for almost four years, mother of a toddler, home owner.  All these quick transitions broke me down.”

I dreamed of attending the University of Virginia.  It was the University.  The brass ring.  The arbiter of good, better, and best.  The day I received my acceptance letter will forever live in my mind.  Finally, a release.  Finally, I am good enough.  I made it.

Soon, though, I learned I’d never be good enough.

My first year at U.Va. broke me down.  Everyone was better than me.  Smarter than me.  Prettier than me.  Wealthier than me.  Funnier than me.  I was a nothing.  And each C, D, F I received that first year reminded me.

I never struggled in school.  I was the best.  The curve setter, the straight A student.  Who was this girl who botched tests, received back papers with more red marks than printed words?  Who was this failure?

College felt lonely and disappointing.  The biggest lesson I learned was I would never again be the best.

I graduated in three years and moved onto graduate school and my first job, eager to escape from those less-than feelings.  I hoped I’d find some worthiness in graduate school and in the working world.  But instead of feeling better about myself and my life, I felt more lost, worried I chose the wrong path, decided it’s too late to change directions.

At the same time, I was a newly-engaged young woman, navigating this idea of what it means to be married.  I barely focused on my wedding with work and school and life getting in the way.  I completely checked out of the process, refusing to go try on dresses, having my mom order me dresses online, decide on flowers, colors.  Everything felt like too much.

After the wedding, our house hunt began.  In between, I changed jobs, Dan changed jobs.  We spent weekends looking at open houses and week days prowling the listings online.  Got preapproved, got more serious about finding a place.  We decided on a house the first weekend out with our realtor, sent in our offer, closed 30 days later.

It wasn’t more than two months into our new house that I found out I was pregnant.  Good thing we sprang for the three bedrooms.  That nine months blasted by, and we welcomed Kate into our lives June 4, 2010, a couple of weeks before our third wedding anniversary.

We weighed all the options – full time work, part time work, quitting my job – and decided it would be best for our family for me to leave my job and stay home with Kate.  So I quit my job and began my life as a stay-at-home mom, both the most rewarding and most frightening job I’ve ever had.

Here I am, 27, married for almost four years, mother of a toddler, home owner.  All these quick transitions broke me down.  I tumbled around, feeling misplaced and identity-less, wondering how I got here.

Yet my life is everything I’ve always wanted, and yet so completely overwhelming and scary.  I’m still feeling the aftershocks of all these transitions, like I’m not fully caught up to what’s happening.  I question who I am, my identity, how I got here.  And, more scary than all that, why am I supposed to do now?

Processing all these major life transitions added up to a whopping quarterlife crisis.  As if life smacked me in the face all at once, and I’m still processing the wreckage.  But even amidst the emotional seesaw of past few years, I see the my gifts and my tenacity and my hope that I will find the answers – my answers – and the courage to live life on my terms.

I don’t know what’s next.  It’s uncertain.  And uncertainty is not something I do well.  I prefer to function in a world where I know not only my next move, but my move after that and after that, the path nicely paved and ready for me.  But since that path does not exist, I need to make it for myself.  And while I’m not sure where I’m going, I’m ready to find out.

And I know I’m not alone.  I know there are other girls out there, struggling in the same ways.  I want to share my story, be that support, let them know I totally get you.  It’s okay to say you’re struggling.  Let’s make our way through together.

 

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