Finding a Job - Part One

This is such a big change for me, I'm probably going to write about it more than just once... so here's the appetizer.

In two days, I start a new job. (Or position, or whatever you call it when you’re freelancing. Whatever it is, it starts on Thursday.)

Today, I’m losing my mind.

I’ve been working toward this moment for years, and now that it’s here, I don’t know if I have what it takes to make it all go the way I want it to. I don’t normally reference Eminem these days, but right now, I’m so nervous I feel like I might throw up my mom’s spaghetti.

Let me back up, and fill in the important details in random, share-as-they-come, stream-of-consciousness order:

I haven’t had a job since December 2008.

I haven’t been paid to use my writing skills since I left the Navy in November 2003 — except for one very important article I wrote two years ago about addiction recovery, which paid $75 and took about three months from start to finish (so, not really economically viable, even though it really mattered that I wrote that piece).

As a Navy Journalist, writing is such an integral part of my identity as a United States Sailor, I can’t put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard) without it evoking memories of my time on board USS BOXER (LHD 4).

Which as they say in my generation, “ain’t no thang but a chicken wing.” Only, the thing is, that’s where my PTSD comes from. And no matter how much I think I’m overcoming it all… it still impacts every decision I make about life.

And I don’t know if I can handle this one.

I spent an hour this morning on the phone with a friend, sobbing uncontrollably, because I don’t think I’m “good enough” for what I’m being hired for — even though it’s work I’ve already been doing for, like, ten months now… the only difference is now, someone wants to pay me to do it.

So I already know I can do the work. So why is it hitting me this way?

When I got PTSD in the Iraq War, I told myself I was to blame. I told myself I wasn’t as strong, or brave, or “good” as the other sailors I served with, and I must have some kind of moral or mental weakness that made me react to going to war the way that I did.

What’s rich is that, technically, I didn’t even go to war.

Yeah, we took the Marines that marched into Baghdad, and we came home with Marines who’d seen their buddies die on the battlefield. But we didn’t see anybody die. We didn’t march anywhere. Next to the Marines we ferried back and forth, we might as well have been on a pleasure cruise.

I didn’t ever see combat. I wasn’t, as the VA would remind me years later before finally granting my disability status, in “imminent danger.” But, as my friend Shawn is so quick to remind me nowadays, that doesn’t matter.

We were on the periphery of war, and that’s enough to test any man’s mettle.

The problem is I came home believing I had failed that test. In the moment of truth, I told myself I was a coward. I got so scared, I shut down, and I didn’t even try to face my fears. And every day reminded me of that.

I spent so many years with that being my narrative. But this last year, I’ve started to reverse all that. I’ve identified one fear after another and pushed through every last one to build a life I can be proud of, and prove I’m bigger than my fear.

Heck, I’m building a whole career around telling other people, “You are bigger than your fears and your limitations.” But I kind of feel like this is one that’s about to put me back in my place.

And there’s nothing I can do about it, except just keep going forward, and trust the process. I believe in the process. It’s just, in moments like this, I don’t know if I believe in myself.

I keep thinking I’ve conquered that feeling. Like, I’ve overcome the worst of it; I’ve put things in a new perspective, and I’m not gonna beat myself up anymore. I don’t want to beat myself up anymore, but it’s like I just can’t help it sometimes.

Like my subconscious still thinks I deserve to suffer for being part of a war that left men and women on both sides, dead, never able to return to their home.

When I lost my job in 2008, I lost all hope. I couldn’t cope with what was happening, back then. I didn’t know how. I was at the mercy of my trauma. I didn’t know that I could do anything else, but surrender to the pain of failure.

In the months that followed, I lost everything, and I just… quit. I gave up on ever having the life I wanted, and retreated into a life that was hardly worth living.

I stayed in that place for years, because I believed if I was to try and rise above my station, I would fail, again, and if that were to happen I don’t think I would ever recover.

And now, today, after spending the last handful of years really trying to change all of that… I’m terrified I’m going to fail, again. And I don’t know that I can do anything about my fear, except to just somehow, show up in two days and do the work I’m being hired to do.

I have no idea what that’s gonna look like. I don’t know if I’m going to fail, or succeed.

I guess, if there is one thing that’s different about 2008 me, and 2024 me… it’s that, today, I know God hasn’t brought me this far to let me fail now.

I don’t know that this means I’m necessarily going to succeed at this endeavor… but I know God pulled me out of the despair I used to live in… and I know, even if I’m incapable of believing in my ability right now…

I believe wholeheartedly in God’s ability to shape me into the man I’m supposed to be… the man I was created to be… and I have to trust in that… or else, what on Earth am I living for?

I might succeed at this new job I’m about to begin… or I might be so traumatized that I (figuratively) burn the house down… I won’t know, until I try. But if I’m not willing to try, that’s when I don’t deserve to even find out.

Meanwhile, if the worst thing that happens to me this week, as I push myself to rise above my own past limitations, is that I have to call a friend or a family member on the phone, and sob uncontrollably for an hour or so while I explain all the reasons I’m too afraid to let myself just be excited… well…

At least that’s one thing I do know how to do, already.

So we’ll see how it goes. I’m not ready to give up, before even starting — but I’m not ready to do a victory dance yet, either… I’m somewhere in between… and I’ll let you all know how things go, as they develop.

Maybe just say a prayer for me, in the meantime? Or whatever you believe in.

I’m stepping into something I feel wholly unqualified for… and I can definitely use all the support I can get.

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Thank you for joining me on this journey! Feel free to share this newsletter with a friend or colleague you think will enjoy it.