Somehow I Got It: My Big Girl Job

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I’m still processing this in little jolts of terror and elation. It’s like trying to look at the sun. I can’t stare at it directly. But I f*cking did it, so I thought I would share.

Approximately 10 weeks ago, in the midst of my life just taking a massive dump on me in what felt like increasingly horrible ways, stuck with no car on this f*cking mountain wishing I could die, my friend gave me a ride to an interview for a job I very badly wanted assisting a case manager in the disabilities field for a nonprofit. Three weeks later, I got an offer pending my paperwork and stuff. I had to acquire a car within the week in order to even go. A week or two later I did orientation.

That was four tumultuous-ass weeks ago. Well, last week they got word the other case manager who had been on leave was officially retiring, and they offered me the job. I signed the paperwork yesterday.

I am pissing myself, because this job isn’t just kind of what I’ve wanted but magically checks every box on my list for EXACTLY the designer job of my wildest dreams. It is unreal. I can’t even wrap my head around it. The only difference between what I wanted and what I got was the pay is notably higher than my imagination could conjure.

I don’t know how I did it, but I f*cking DID IT.

I have three posts in this forum: completing my master’s, getting married, and this one.

I don’t know how I did this shit.


LOVE love LOVE !!!

Effusive flying hugs, football touchdown victory dances, and suavely sparkling eyes sophisticatedly and subtly acknowledging over the rim of a glass so delicately held …Eres La Puta AMA!!!… and throw that glass down!


You earned this.

So I definitely had some feels around this notion.

At the conclusion of my fourth week, I was fairly sure I was getting the promotion from assistant to bonafide. But my boss(? Sort of) wouldn’t just tell me, because he’s like an untethered balloon that alights and drifts away at random, and I guess he told everyone not to tell me, but there was a lot of wink-wink-esque behavior going on.

I’ve consistently landed in positions for which I’m insanely overqualified since getting my master’s and moving two years ago, and then many, many promises are made to promote me imminently, and my workload invariably increases with no such promotion or compensation, and then I’m out and on to the next opportunity—lather, rinse, repeat.

Working in a kitchen for the better part of this year was a relief in the sense that there was no such pretense. I made food. That’s it. Clean. Simple. Low-stakes. No great expectations (f*ck you, Dickens, you don’t own the phrase).

Getting the assistant position was such an enormous relief and joy. Things really went completely to shit for a hot minute between quitting the restaurant (which is tied up with my Dx in a way that stung only the way naked injustice does, but success really is the best revenge) and getting the position at this nonprofit. But it was still comfortably within the bounds of “Yes, everybody knows I’m way overqualified for this role.”

The promotion... hit me hard. Harder than I expected, definitely. My homegirl in HR told me what was up that Friday, ahead of me Officially Getting the Offer last Monday, and probably both because I have a strong rapport with her and because I was holding onto more baggage about the empty promises I’ve endured these past two years, I just cried. I mean at work in public tried to hold it together and f*cking lost it. Yeah. Just could not stop myself because the sense of finally cresting atop this mountain of bullshit compromising the past decade, my twenties, was utterly overwhelming.

And then the weekend came, and dissociation saved me from having to reckon with the thought of this behemoth of an opportunity and its accompanying responsibilities and expectations. Just blipped right out of my psyche all weekend.

Monday was a shitshow. Full moons, eh? I worked like 12+ hours, and right in the middle, I got my offer and signed the paperwork, but I was too busy to even think. Just how I like it.

And then Tuesday came, and I took the day off, and I promptly had a panic attack. Like I freaked out. I could not deal.

It took me until Thursday to say, though not feel, your words above. I’m working on the internalization bit. But I will boldly agree in spite of a lack of being able to really own these words within myself:

I earned this.

Thank you, Muttly.
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