Something's Gotta Give (doesn't it?)

I've been unemployed for almost two years. God, that's hard to accept. Whatever doubts I've had about my social, emotional, physical, and romantic abilities, I've always known that I am a damn good worker and a valuable (though not always valued) employee wherever I've found myself working. And I never really had to concern myself with the possibility of not being hired when I went looking for a new job; unemployment stats baffled me, since my experience was that it only took two or three interviews before a job offer materialized from one of them. I am now one of those stats.

My belief in my professional self was shaken when I moved to Seattle and spent four months hunting for work, going on interviews and feeling that I had nailed it and an offer was just a day or two away. Time after time my hopes were dashed as I watched my bank balance dwindle away. When I finally did get an offer, it was doing a job that proved to be both mind-numbingly boring and heart-breakingly difficult. I found myself unable to connect with my new boss in any important way; we bonded briefly over our mutual appreciation for Irish whisky, but our attitudes and values regarding accountability, professionalism, mutual respect, and communication were so widely divergent that there was essentially no common ground. As the underling, I felt it was my responsibility to adapt to his ways, and lord knows I tried. But every attempt was met with indifference, confusion, or outright hostility, so I gave up.

Eventually, I not only gave up trying to figure out what my boss wanted, but I also felt myself losing the will to do good work for its own sake. This scared me, because my work ethic and sense of pride in work well-done have always been such an essential part of who I am. During this time I was also applying for jobs, mostly at the University of Washington, but despite a few very promising interviews, nothing came of it. Naturally, this made me feel even more unsure about my worth as an employee, and the daily atmosphere at work of being inadequate and wrong bolstered those feelings.

After two years of trying to resolve such an untenable situation, my natural optimism had eroded to almost nothing, and I decided that I needed to get away from the toxic situation I was in, since I was clearly not able to fix it. After a visit home for Thanksgiving, I made the resolution to quit my soul-sucking job and move back to Columbus, where at least I had an emotional support network.

Part of the reason it took me so long to make the decision (aside from my innate mulishness) was that my step-brother lived in the Seattle area, and I loved being able to see him regularly. For the first 15 years of our related-ness, he lived across the country from me and I only saw him once or twice a year. Our understanding and appreciation of each other had developed gradually and steadily until he became one of my truest friends. I respected, adored, and admired him, and his presence in Seattle was a large part of why I moved there. However, it had finally become clear to me that my mental health was being threatened by my situation, so I made up my mind to break the news to my brother and his wife at Christmas-time. It was three days before Christmas that my brother was diagnosed with an aggressive form of brain tumor, and he had surgery the next day. My plans were suddenly put on hold as the entire family went into shock, and then into crisis mode, where we stayed for the next year.

My work troubles became very much parenthetical during the time of research, treatment, intense hope and despair, heartsick laughter, urgent tenderness, spiritual discussions, reluctant acceptance, and one wonderful family vacation to Alaska during a time of relative optimism. After 14 months of battle, he died in his bed, with his wife beside him and love all around. As allies in the fight, my sister-in-law and I had started to develop a bond with our mutual love for Grey as the foundation. We have very little else in common, but I felt that it was important for me to support her after his death as I had tried to do during his illness. I have the luxury of a much firmer emotional and spiritual base than she has, and she had turned to me with her fears and doubts about what was happening to her beloved. It seemed like I could do some good by staying in Seattle to be of service to her until she had moved through the initial stages of grief. Of course, my own ego was part of this decision, because it felt good to believe that I could be a source of strength and wisdom, but mostly it just felt like the right thing to do -- in my world, family is paramount, and you do whatever is needed.

Eventually, it became clear to me that my sister-in-law either didn't want/need my support, or she was unable to see/accept what I was offering. As with the horrible job, I gave it my best until I was forced to accept that this was a situation I could not fix. So, a few months after my brother died, I quit my job, packed up my stuff, and moved back to Columbus. A friend had agreed to let me stay in her spare room until I could find work and get my own place. I warned her that it might be a matter of months, given my experience in Seattle, but didn't actually believe that it would take that long to find a job. And now here I am, 22 months later, still trying to figure out what I'm doing wrong.