I’m sitting on my couch and crying as I watch American Idol. Watching struggling artists getting their chance to shine. Watching these singers that feel hopeless getting their big break.
I studied studio art and psychology. I am 28 years old and my résumé consists of food service.
Serving tables is physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausting. It’s fast paced, high pressure, endless multitasking, faking smiles and laughs every day for hours on end. There is no real growth or reward…no matter how hard I might work. Customers talk at me like I am a worthless piece of shit because I…
I love them.
They gave me a life.
But with all of the giving and all of the taking.
Now you are grown and you don’t know how to stop. How do I adjust in this body?
I have a voice that I don’t know how to use. Tell them what you need.
But if you never learned can you make my boots any less heavy?
Can you carry this weight with me?
Can we go back and prepare for this fall?
It was my last day at my bakery job and I could not have been more relieved. The relatively new pandemic and social isolation still had a stronghold on my mental health. Every day entering the bakery I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. My boss had become a micro-managing maniac, standing over my shoulder and watching over everyone’s movements each day.
I get it! The business was in a tough spot. Those sourdough loaves needed to be PERFECT. The business needed to stay afloat. Everything we made needed to sell. The pressure and high expectations were killing…