Losing my job was one more blow in a year already stacked with losses. Breakups, bankruptcy, my grandfather’s illness, moving out of an apartment—it would be enough to crush the average person. And honestly? It almost crushed me too.
There was a single moment where the darkness pressed in so hard that I let myself think the thought I shouldn’t. But then, just as quickly, another thought broke through:
“But do the flowers ever grow in the places it don’t rain?”
–Let The Music Play by Good Charlotte
Breaking free from the “safety” of the pot I was planted in may have hurt. But I told them in the beginning I wanted to work for a place that had room for growth. They stifled that at every turn. I still want to grow.
🥀 Working in the Shade
The truth is, the environment was already toxic long before I was pushed out.
There was no sunlight to feed me. No water to nourish my spirit. No healthy soil to take root in.
Instead of leaning into the work, I was always leaning away—shielding myself, trying not to get consumed by the negativity around me.
When I spoke up about roadblocks, I was “creating problems.”
When I tried to establish boundaries or hold people accountable, I was “mean,” “hostile,” or in words that were allegedly said in a meeting I was not present for, “punishing them.”
Sharing what was currently happening to me in my personal life because it may bleed into my work life (such as my homelessness, my grandpa’s ongoing cancer treatment, etc.) made everyone “uncomfortable” and was supposedly creating a negative work environment as if that did not already exist.
When I asked “why?” I was labeled difficult—because what they really wanted was someone who would always say “yes.”
I am not, and never will be, a “yes” person. I am a “why?” person. And in a place that punishes curiosity, creativity and anyone who challenges norms or wants equity, every day was a losing battle.
🌸 Breaking Free From the Trap
The only reason I stayed as long as I did was stability—the false safety of a consistent paycheck.
That paycheck kept me trapped in a place that was suffering from an ongoing drought of integrity, equity and compassion.
But losing the job was also losing the last excuse. The storm came and destroyed the terracotta pot I had been planted in. I was comfortable in my prison and I should not have been. I know this is a blessing, the thing I needed to finally seek new ground.
Because flowers don’t grow in concrete. They bloom in cracks, after the storm, when the sun finally comes through again.
🌱 Choosing Growth
Yes, this loss hurt. It set me back in ways that will take time to recover from.
But it also freed me.
I don’t want to be trapped in toxic soil anymore. I want to plant myself in motion, in freedom, in the possibility of camper life, creativity, and a work life built on my own terms.
This isn’t where I thought I’d be at 37. But it’s where I am. And if there’s one thing I know—it’s that even here, even now, something wild can bloom.
🌾 Next Steps
The next steps have already started. I’m still applying for new jobs that offer stable income, but in the meantime, I’m creating—content, jewelry, and freelance work wherever it finds me. To keep my essentials covered—food, gas, Willow, my phone, insurance, and bankruptcy payments—I’m piecing it together with DoorDash and shift work.
I’m also planning to cash out my 401(k) and 403(b). Yes, there will be penalties. But the peace of mind of having a safe place to live outweighs any tax implications. My last paycheck and rental deposit should land around October, right when my grandfather finishes his first round of chemotherapy.
He is so ready to be done. He believes this treatment will cure him. We keep reminding him that scans come next, that this isn’t the finish line—but I see the weariness in him. He blames the chemo for his weakness, but I know the truth hiding underneath.
My aunt wants me to stay with him through February or March. And I will, if that’s what this season calls for. But I can already sense that by next summer, I may be in mourning. He is the last tether keeping me rooted in this place. When he’s gone, I’ll have to let go, too.
But not yet. Not today. Today, I’ll keep tending the soil I have, keep preparing for the next ground to plant myself in. And when the time comes, I’ll be ready to bloom again.