At first I thought…life got in the way. However, when I thought about that phrase and what it encompassed I instantly knew that was incorrect.

Work got in the way.

When I say that statement, it is not with excitement that may have been produced by a month of intense focus. Or that this past month resulted in some culmination of a project that fills me with pride. In reality nothing can be said except exhaustion. Soul crushing exhaustion. The slog of one foot in front of the other while some medieval executioner adds another stone.

Several years ago, 2017 to be exact, my anxiety and mood disorder were so extreme I was put on medical leave. Six months followed of weekly therapy sessions and a crossed out list of medications that were attempted, failed, and finally determined. Six months of days were I could not get off the floor intermingled with random spurts of intense focused mania.

I actually miss the mania…it moved me…

Within those therapy sessions I determined I needed a different form of work. That would fix things, right? I had some general ideas of what I had enjoyed (…?…) from all of my other work lives in hopes that this new list of what worked would be a guide. With that, I decided my new profession based on a catalog of degrees from a random online university that my employer gave a discount. I picked a degree that held some semblance of prestige. That when I said that title maybe someone would be impressed and I would feel proud. It fit into my previous work experiences, was easy to transition into within my current employer, and felt like this was it. Maybe this is what my life had been lacking. I pushed through schooling as fast as the university allowed and transitioned into my first year on the job in the fall of 2019. I became a School Psychologist.

March 2020. The world stopped.

Now its 2020.3. The job I entered is an open battlefield where veteran professionals are drowning from the upheaval the pandemic caused. This vocation will never be the same. Students and staff alike have not recovered from the global trauma that exposed the broken systems to the world. The developmental impact of those lost years will ripple through our children for the rest of their lives…

My days look like a caseload that grows exponentially. A wait list miles long of students needing counseling, with staff right there beside them hoping for that free session if I could just spare five minutes…parents and guardians demanding help for their students with vultures pretending to be advocates going in for the kill. Never enough hours…never the right answers…unable to fight the void that sucks in one generation after the other…however, it is a good fight. It is meaningful. It means that at least one student might make it. That is a righteous sense of purpose…right?

Despite the constant imposter syndrome, I am good at my job. I flow between five or six different districts or schools, weaving in and out of teams, code switching to fit their culture and needs. I am asked for by name when contract requests come in. I am head hunted for job offers by other districts. And yet..?

And yet…

I sit here…feeling that rock in the pit of my stomach…

I failed…again…whatever is missing is still missing.

I still feel empty.

Unmotivated.

Without purpose.

Yes, there is purpose. The definition of any job has purpose. But…it is not my souls purpose.

As my 40th birthday approaches, now less than three months away, I realize a bit more why that deadline feels like a deadline. 40 years and I still have not figured it out…will the next 40 years be a reminder of failure? A monument to being trapped in my own trauma and labyrinth of experiences? Is that why that date is my sepulchre…?

**Note, I do not have suicidal ideations. Despite my mental health challenges, thankfully that symptom has not plagued me. If you or anyone you know is suffering from suicidal ideations and are within the United States, call or text 988 for the National Suicide Hotline. English and Spanish available.