Officially Unemployed. Emotionally Unhinged

The shame, the panic, and the strange freedom of unemployment.

I’m unemployed. Officially. And I hate it.

The old back injury forced my hand, and at first it felt like a relief. Relief quickly turned into shame. Funny how I’d never judge anyone else for stepping away from work for their health, yet here I am tearing myself apart for doing the same.

Now the panic has set in. About money. About the future. About everything. I know I’m lucky compared to many, it doesn’t stop me buying a few lottery tickets, daydreaming about a miraculous windfall, and briefly — very briefly — considering OnlyFans.

I don’t know how to measure myself without clocking in somewhere. If I’m not my job, then what am I? A full-time worrier? A professional overthinker? A woman with too much time to rearrange her spice rack? I feel like a boat cut loose, drifting and bumping from rock to rock.

I know I need a career that doesn’t break my back, literally, but what does that even look like for someone like me? Someone who doesn’t have the grades, doesn’t want the degree, but still wants to make something of herself but has not even a sniff of a road map. I guess that’s the crisis part of the espresso!

These are the questions keeping me up at night, sipping coffee I probably shouldn’t be drinking, typing out thoughts I probably shouldn’t be sharing.

Maybe that’s the point. Maybe this messy, uncertain, totally unpolished version of me is exactly who I’m supposed to be right now.