Whenever people ask about my weekend plans, I tell them about a nearby park where my dog, Ted, and I spend a lot of time. The park has a small lake surrounded by a mile-long walking trail. Along the lake are benches where we sit and watch ducks, geese, and seagulls glide across the water. This park is the only space in my day-to-day life that provides enough quiet to hear my own thoughts. It is the only place where I feel safe enough to be myself.
Two weekends ago, a swan magically appeared on the lake. The swan’s elegance and vibrancy stood out from the other birds, stopping me in my tracks. I couldn’t help but wonder: Where did this single swan come from? Why is it appearing on my path? Is it here to teach me something?
One of the most challenging parts of my life right now is trying to find the balance between working and tending to my mental health. When my alcohol-free journey began nearly three years ago, I knew having a criminal record and no driver’s license would limit my employment opportunities. I knew I would have to take a job I didn’t love, so I decided to work three days a week. Being childless and carless allowed me to live on a tight budget. During the first two years of my alcohol-free journey, making money was not a priority. Saving my own life was.
About six weeks ago, everything changed when I received a significant raise and promotion. The insecure parts of myself felt excited to be deemed worthy by the higher-ups. My last paycheck was almost double the amount I was making before. My socially awkward self is mingling with the “cool kids” now, and it feels like a high school dream come true.
However, along with these perks came a silent expectation to work more hours. And, of course, the pathological people-pleasing part of myself nodded politely at this expectation.
Now, instead of working three days a week, I am working four. I hesitated to include this detail because four days a week is still considered part-time, and part-time work is a luxury.
Unfortunately, adjusting to this new schedule has been rocky at best. Last week, I had alcohol cravings so bad that I began plotting and scheming ways to sneak it into my house. Fading affective bias hit me so hard that I was willing to throw all of my progress out the window just to experience temporary numbness and relief.
As a person on the autism spectrum, work has always been tricky because it requires extreme masking. Eight-plus hours of masking on top of doing my actual job while navigating social cues is exhausting. In the past, alcohol and bulimia were both there to calm my overwhelming “not-good-enough” schema, sensory overload, and chronic overstimulation. They both worked to soothe my nervous system following a long day of self-abandonment and assimilation.
In our society, prioritizing work above everything is the norm. Working 40-60 hours a week is expected and often necessary for basic survival. The higher you climb, the more of a slave to capitalism you become. (Just ask Kim K. Did anyone see the most recent episode of The Kardashians? Homegirl is working 18-hour days, 7 days a week.)
I worry about being judged as incompetent for only working four days a week because I don’t have kids or another part-time job. Being a thirty-five-year-old woman who works part-time, prioritizes solitude, and lives for long walks around a lake with my swan friend definitely makes me an outlier.
Call me crazy or lazy, but I do not want to participate in a system where I get exploited by CEOs and have to ignore my emotions and nervous system to survive. I have a hard time accepting the “pull up your bootstraps” mentality when it directly impacts my mental health. If I have learned anything over the years, it is this: full-time self-neglect is not sustainable.
After asking Google, I discovered that swan sightings signify growth and personal transformation. Ancient mythology says that swans heal, protect, and allow us to recognize the value of *solitude.* The swan is a powerful spirit guide, representing a transformation from darkness to light.
Maybe the swan appeared on my path to tell me it’s okay to work fewer hours than everyone else.
Maybe the swan appeared on my path to tell me it’s okay to be a childless, carless thirty-five-year-old woman who isn’t hustling for her worth.
Maybe the swan appeared on my path to tell me it’s okay to prioritize rest, creativity, therapy, support groups, and long walks with Ted.
Maybe, like the swan, it’s okay to stand out from the other birds.
Progress.
Kelsi. You are amazing. I don't deserve a chance to apologize to you, a chance to celebrate your victories with you, a chance to share with you how similar the last 3 years of our lives appear to have been.
But you've always given me more than I deserve. I've read most everything you wrote in 2023 now. Im... crying tears of joy. I had hoped and prayed that you'd get to where you are and here you are. I'm so proud of you.
Shiloh is still alive. She turns 16 this year. If in your heart there is room to forgive me, know I hold you in unconditional positive regard, am a traumainformed person now, and am so sorry for having gotten in the way of your progress in 2018.