I formally resigned from my counseling gig on Wednesday, giving three weeks’ notice, even though my departure from the clinic has been a foregone conclusion for a few months.
I’ve felt like a ghost in the halls, or the walking dead — invisible, ignored — and that’s just as well, because “breaking up” with my clients, as my beautiful friend [name redacted] put it in her text message 👀⬆️, has hit me harder than I imagined it would. I’ve been carrying around a lot of grief and sadness, and it seems intent on leaking out, despite my efforts to contain it.
When I got that text on Friday morning, I was sequestered in my therapy office, puffy-faced and sniffly after spending most of Thursday crying in my bed, and I didn’t think I had any more tears left in me, but my phone buzzed, and whoosh! 😭
Guess I won’t be showing much improvement on my final internship eval under “managing emotions.” My lack of a poker face rubbed them the wrong way from Day One, and while I’m never gonna be hip to the blank slate approach, it’s clear that this will continue to be a “growth area” — euphemism for “glaring weakness” — in my next job.
No, before you ask, I don’t know what that is yet!
Continue reading “Permission”
Jen Wielgus Journalism 