I just woke from the weirdest dream. I don’t recall all the early details, but I’ll tell you how it ended. I was standing gleefully crafting—painting designs on bags. One side was detailed and professional, but on the back side, I was painting freely like a child with watercolor paints.
I had the biggest smile on my face as I was in pure bliss, when I heard a family coming down the stairs from around the corner. When they approached, I saw they were a family I respect that has done so much in the music industry. They knew me and asked what I was doing. And with no shame I smiled at them, held up my crafts and said, “painting like a child.”
They were impressed because on one of the bags I had painted a realistic portrait of their family. On the other side was the equivalent of a finger painting. The wife (who turned into Beyonce after they saw the painting—dreams are weird like that) was both happy to see the painting but also had a look of disappointment. She said, “I wish I had time for things like that. I’d love to be finger painting.” And I understood exactly what she meant. I heard what she didn’t say. I let them know I’d have to let their painting dry and we said our goodbyes and I thought about her words.
I have in real life watched many Beyonce interview videos. And if you’re not a fan, please don’t get distracted. It’s not about her, so picture whatever person you feel deserves, or holds her level of, similar fame.
The life that they experience—the good parts: the fame, the success, the money, the access, even the support personnel they have—is often envied. Who wouldn’t want to have lots more money, to be treated with more respect, and have automatic access to the finer things in life?
And, with that comes some sacrifice and lots of hours more of work and commitment that I honestly don’t have in me. I personally hated—and I mean vehemently loathed—having to be at work if my child needed me. The idea that if she was sick at school, or had a daytime school program, I could not attend because I was at somebody’s job made me all but physically ill. I hated it. I missed her first day of school, because that same year I started working at a school. Her first day was also my first day. So rather than risk losing my new job by missing the most important day, we had been planning for for months, I let my dad take her. And I will likely feel that “pit” in my stomach for the rest of my life when I think of how I missed that day and will never get it back.
That moment, mixed with the first time I had to ask a coworker to work a shift for me so I could be at my daughter’s school program, was kinda the last straw for me. The thought that I had to prioritize work over my daughter, that if my coworker didn’t agree to come in I wouldn’t be able to attend, was a dealbreaker for me. And to many that sounds so silly and just part of being an adult in the workforce. But to me—someone who has wanted to be a stay-at-home mom since I was a kid—it was absolutely unacceptable. The idea that some random employer got to decide for me when I could be available for my child… again… was not gonna work for me.
Having to constantly choose between my child and my job was irritating. I had to close the office alone long after my coworkers and boss left. By the time I balanced the books, cleaned the offices, and locked up, I would literally have to run to my car, beat traffic, to get my daughter’s school. Most days she was sitting in the front, with the last staff members, who were waiting on me so they could lock the school.
And my job, of course, didn’t appreciate the sacrifice. They didn’t care that my daughter was the last child to be picked up each day. They didn’t care that I’m a single parent so when I don’t show up to her programs—unless I got my parents to go—she was the only child with no one family in the audience. All that mattered to them was that I was there to do what they needed, and that I made sure my work responsibilities were covered if I couldn’t be. And I hated that. She was, and still is, my highest priority and and a job that didn’t even appreciate me was not going to keep getting in the way.
So soon after I called off to attend one of her school program, I quit that job. And haven’t been an employee since.
Although I take great pride in making that decision that day—that essentially I was going to have to sink or swim as an entrepreneur because I was done being an employee—I made a huge sacrifice. I’ve heard many friends commend me for doing it because they are mothers too, and wish they had been more present for the kids, but had to go to work. And I feel torn as they look at what I’ve done as some huge accomplishment, because I look at the life they’ve been able to give their children and wish that I had been able to do the same. And when I tell them that, they don’t change their response to my choice. They remind me of how far I’ve gotten without having an employer, that my child’s needs have been met, and that although I may not have what I want that she has had what she needs. They remind me that I have been present and how blessed my daughter is to have a mom she can rely on to be “there.”
And I try to take it in. I try to feel good about it. I try to remember my resolve that had me walk off that job back then. And all I see is the sacrifice. All I see is the struggle. All I see is how uphill it’s been to not have money—the steady income—that comes with regular employment. I see the humbling moments when I had to ask for help or tell my daughter I couldn’t get/give her what she was requesting.
I see the unexpected loss of viability that came with back-to-back emotional traumas that stripped me of the independence I once had….
Being an entrepreneur requires that you can self-motivated, self-start, and keep opportunities and income flowing in. What I did not anticipate when I walked off that job was that life would beat me up so bad, with so many devastating blows, that I would pretty much forget who I was and what I was capable of. I had no idea of a term called skill regression that can happen in neurodivergent people when life traumas hit so hard that you literally forget how to do things you used to be good at and do easily. I didn’t foresee my absentee ex taking me to court, nor my mom having a medical emergency the following year causing me to become her caregiver. I had no idea that the year after that there would be a global pandemic, or that I’d be diagnosed as neurodivergent or experience numerous losses of friends and loved ones. I had no idea that all of that would happen, overwhelm my system, and render me incapable of doing the things I used to do to earn money.
And I’m grateful that despite the loss of my ability to remember how to do the things I once did, that my writing and sharing stories hasn’t left me. I am grateful that my ability to find value in the moments is still a part of me. I am grateful that even as I share this today I am finding the truth of my experiences—the common thread that makes them collectively make sense and bring me peace. I am grateful that you are here, a witness to my experience, gaining what you can from what I share…
Sometimes we look at another person’s life and think, “I wish I could…,” but we have no idea what losses they sustain to have it that way. We see the good they show, but have no idea what is missing from the picture. We see the beautiful portrait, but have no idea what’s on the backside of that painting.
Today I am grateful for the dream that helped me make sense of my life as it is right now. I’ve recently learned about this concept of skill regression, but today was the first time I put it all together and understood the full story—my full story…. well, at least these parts of the journey. I needed this…. to share this… to see this… for my own healing. And I hope that somewhere in here you’re able to gain a message for yourself.
Thank you for being here.
Blessings,
Marlene Dillon Empowerment Specialist
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