Redirection

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Graduation has seemed like a forgone conclusion, and a bit of an anticlimax, for much of these last few months. But if I needed a reason to get pumped about crossing the stage in cap and gown this weekend, all I needed to do was remember: No more summer sessions, with their excruciating four-hour classes and overwhelming onslaught of assignments! No more group projects or presentations where I’m at the mercy of other people’s shitty organizational and time management skills!

No more Wednesdays arriving at work before 5AM and driving home from class after 8PM! 🙏🏻

Those were the jubilant thoughts I summoned to make me smile as I took my last stroll around campus last week on my very last hellish hump day. Shuffling along the lake- and farm-side nature trail where I’d decompressed after many a long, emotional day at practicum/internship, and looking up at the vibrant green trees that have always calmed and comforted my jacked-up nervous system, I felt a bittersweet mixture of melancholy and relief.

I “did the thing,” as we said in my counseling cohort. I successfully walked this grad school path and took my first baby steps into the mental health field. I “made it through the woods,” if you will, and now, it’s time to pause and take in the scene/enjoy the view, then keep walking on whatever path reveals itself to me next.

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👆🏻Wise quips like this make my social media feed both personally validating and professionally inspiring — in fact, I have used such posts for journal prompts in the “Morning Pages” counseling group I’ve occasionally helped to run on Fridays at the drug and alcohol treatment center where I worked between January 2023 and…well, actually, (*checks clock*) about eight hours from now!

Leaving this internship is just the latest in a pretty long line of “redirections” I’ve experienced in my life. And yeah, in hindsight, all of them could be considered upgrades!

From quitting the softball team at Northwestern back in 1997, which opened the door to my experience in newspaper journalism, to quitting my alcohol habit 58 months ago, which opened the door to (*gestures at everything*), each ending has begotten a beginning that led to my “leveling up.”

Even the career shifts that seemed like lateral moves, nonstarters, steps back, or flame-outs, and even the personal issues and choices that led to big regrets and rock-bottoms…they were points of reckoning that forced me to pivot, and in time, to change, learn, grow and evolve. They were gateways to new people, different places, challenging experiences — all the most interesting aspects of this colossal gift we call life.

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I’ve been repeating the phrase “rejection is redirection” — which I also ripped from Instagram — throughout my post-grad job search. A simple reframing can do so much to soothe the injured pride and boost the self-esteem! I’ve also been using this as a tool with clients as they navigate their own employment, and general life, challenges.

Most humans know how it feels to be rejected, and to feel the spectrum of reactions, from anger and resentment, to panic and desperation, to shame, dejection, or hopelessness.

It’s tempting to interpret someone’s “no,” or worse, their total silence, as a measure of our worth. If we believe something we love, desire or have worked hard for is out of reach or denied to us, that can seem like a devastating failure.

I mean, it’s kinda like being an alcoholic and realizing the “magic carpet” you thought was flying you off to “happily ever after” has actually dumped you straight out of the sky, headfirst into a pit of quicksand, and after the long, hard struggle to climb out — if you even make it — you’re doomed to muck around on regular, boring old solid ground, or, roll your Sisyphean boulder uphill all day every day. Meanwhile, you have to watch all these other jolly jerk-offs ride around in the clouds with no consequences!

You feel like something’s wrong with you. You don’t deserve happiness. You can’t have a magical life. Your dream has died, and what’s the point in pressing on, in even trying?

Hopefully, you’re in therapy and/or working a program so you eventually get your head out of your ass and realize the beautiful truth in our little refrain: “Rejection,” or whatever is not working or does not fit, is merely a “redirection,” an invitation to go forth in this big, wide world and find your place, somewhere else.

Coming to terms with the death of my dream, the reality that salvation could not be found in blackout oblivion, that I could not drink if I valued my life, felt like the most painful rejection possible — at first. But “rock bottom” turned out to be liberation from a life not meant for me. To be free to create one that is…what a precious gift!

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I have had no choice but to “put myself out there” throughout my life, having chosen extroverted vocations where talking to strangers is par for the daily course. I’ve had to take risks and face rejection time and again, and here I am, at 46, back at Square One of a new career journey: becoming a therapist.

Transitions are tough — even the ones you’re supposed to celebrate — with the grief of leaving the familiar, the fear of the unknown, and the raw vulnerability of offering up your whole being to a harsh, impersonal world that’s poised to slap you down.

It felt like kind of a slap that, despite the positive response I received from the clients on my caseload and in my weekly group, and the high ratings I got from my supervisor on evals and job reviews, my internship site basically greeted my resignation with a shrug.

Not gonna lie; that stung, but it’s really just final confirmation from the universe what I believed in my heart all along: This isn’t your place. And with it, I “put myself out there” once more, sending my resume and cover letter to a slew of local therapy practices, hoping someone would bite.

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Today, my path forward looks a little bit clearer than it did the last time we talked. I’m close to accepting a part-time gig as an outpatient therapist at a community mental health center while trying to hook on — also part-time — at a local private practice that aligns with my personal passions. The latter is up in the air; cross your fingers for me!

Actually, everything feels a little up in the air…the arrival of out-of-town visitors we’re expecting to shuttle in and out of our house over the weekend, the weather on graduation day, the group reservation for lunch that’s contingent on the ceremony happening as scheduled, the various trips across the country we have planned over the rest of this month…

The only real certainties are my marriage — Hubby’s hard work and the four-week sabbatical and stipend it earned him is making the aforementioned vacations possible — and my sobriety. In July, the former will be 17 and latter five years old, but I don’t wait for true “anniversaries” to celebrate. The 7th of every month usually finds me indulging in little treats, like takeout sushi or a 90-minute massage.

This past month, I felt a little more treat-worthy. My last class wrapped on May 1, and when final grades dropped, it was official: I earned a master’s degree after three full years with a straight 4.0. 🌟💆🏼‍♀️🍣

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There’s still more to celebrate this weekend, but I’m enjoying a nice little breather before the commencement chaos begins. My old job just ended and my new one doesn’t start until June.

I have no way of knowing where this new career will lead after that, but for today, future worries can wait! At this moment, at this crossroads, I am free! I can choose the path I want to take and the direction I want to walk.

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👆🏻 Figures I’d pick one with an arduous incline stretching as far as the eye can see. When you’ve vowed to turn the great existential human dilemma into a purposeful life, sans self-medicating substances, the “path of least resistance” no longer registers on your radar.