I think it's time for a change.

Waking up before 5 in the morning, before the sun, before Boyfriend, before movement, leaves you with a lot of time to just think. And that is just what I did today. When Pinterest and Facebook could not hold my attention, I laid in the comfort of my bed pondering the nuances of my life. I mostly thought about one thing in particular, one thing that has been weighing pretty heavy on my mind these last couple of weeks but have been too chicken shit to let my teeny audience know. However, my morning contemplation has brought me to a point of acceptance.

Being a peer support specialist is not for me. I know, I have mentioned dissatisfaction with my job in the past, but that was mostly concerned with how freaking little it pays. Money is still an issue, but it is so much more than that. I feel like I overlooked the fact that I am super not a people person when I started down this path. I am more comfortable behind a computer than I am in front of a person. And then turn person into people? Dear god, no. I communicate best through written word as opposed to carrying on a dialogue in the moment. I am just plain awkward. All these factors led me to the conclusion that I am simply bad at my job. Shitty, in fact. Sure, I have a friendly face and a calm demeanor, but aside from that, I don't think I'm really helping anyone. The patients may actually be placating me as I nervously paw my way through the conversation and they sense my discomfort.

The other major point of contention that I have had with being a peer support specialist is the fact that it is massively triggering. HIPPA laws, laws protecting confidentiality, probably prevent me from explaining to the world exactly the what and who and how of this roadblock, but the few people I have confided in assure me that I am not being a pansy. I am dealing with some pretty intense shit. I am in situations that no one should be in, bordering on a safety issue. And given that I have a sordid history with this specific circumstance, it is no wonder that it is fucking with me just a bit. (I know that I have explained nothing in these past 5 sentences, but, ya know, HIPPA.) A part of me feels guilty that I am "running away" from these fears and triggers. But a very rational part of me says that no one should have to, or calmly be able to, face them.

So, come next week, I am pouring all my energy into finding a new job. Maybe something with 9 to 5 hours where I can't wear jeans, save for Friday. Someplace a little bit boring but in that "American Dream" kind of way. A job that may be less fulfilling and noble and more demeaning yet fruitful. Something to tide me over until I can be a full time housewife/writer.