Two years ago, in July of 2022, I wrote a note to myself on a Post-it and stuck it on the corner of my monitor after a particularly hard day.
It says, “Imagine yourself in July 2024, looking back at yourself now.”
At the time, I was several months into a writing job which I liked with a Bay Area beauty brand, but things on the horizon were looking grim.
A big chunk of the creative team whom I worked with closely were let go because of budget cuts, and people in key management positions were leaving left and right.
I started taking on responsibilities that I didn’t feel fully prepared for, and it felt like it was only a matter of time before I was let go, too.
(Spoiler alert, it happened just a couple short months later.)
The weight of worry
I began experiencing heightened anxiety quite frequently. I worried not just about my job but about everything in my orbit—Connor, finances, things breaking around the house, etc., on a daily basis. Even seemingly small things, like the changing of the layout at Trader Joe’s, would really, REALLY stress me out. I tried to put on a brave face for the outside world, but inside, it felt like there were threats coming at me from all angles. It was getting harder and harder to “keep on keepin’ on.”
What was it that prompted me to write this message to myself, I can’t remember exactly, but now, looking back, I’m guessing that something deep inside me, the part of me that has always helped keep me safe, knew that I needed a lifeline. My internal compass, offering up a small kernel of hope.
The note sat at the corner of my monitor for two years. Day in, day out, from that day until now.
In that chunk of time, I did a lot of hard things.
Rejection, I know thee well
I applied for and got rejected from so many jobs, OMG! I’d go through entire interview processes that would last months, and I’d make it to the very end to lose the position to someone else who was just a little bit more experienced than I was. This happened at least 5 or 6 times. It was heartbreaking.
I also navigated a scary illness while switching our family’s healthcare coverage to a new system. Side note, this was really very difficult. Ten out of ten DO NOT RECOMMEND. But after multiple frightening incidents, sifting through several doctors who passed me around like a hot potato, and oh so many scary tests, I’m still here, and hopefully I will be for a while, knock on wood.
I drew boundaries with unhealthy relationships, and while social media makes it sound like this is easy, it’s not. People get hurt from all sides. Sigh.
The sunny spots
Good things also happened during that time, too, though.
Eventually, I found the job I currently have now at the college, and while it’s not what I had planned at this point in my career, I’m happy that I work reasonable hours and have the time to spend with Connor while she’s young and still needs a lot from me.
Connor also sailed through first and second grade, and she’s learning how to better handle the challenges of elementary school. Side note: remember the playground drama from your childhood years? It’s still there, except the girls are sneakier and meaner.
El Hub started a new job that gives him more time to spend with us, and oh! We added another member to our fam bam, Miss Marnie the Aussie, who is a lot of high energy fun.
Anyway, it’s been a long two years and I feel like such a different person now. I mean, yes, I still carry some weight of the worry I felt that day when I wrote the Post-it, but it’s not as heavy as it used to feel.
I have mostly good days, and for the first time in a while, I’m pretty happy.
You know the old saying that this too shall pass?
I guess it does. And sometimes it takes a Post-it to help you out along the way to remind you that things will eventually get better.
Two years from now, it’ll be July 2026. My hope for us is that by then, we’re all feeling steady and strong, and that we’re in a good place.
If you can’t see it now, hang in there. You’ll get there in time.
Your friendly neighborhood beauty addict,
Karen
