I Crashed. I Burned. I Changed. I Learned.
Count Me Down, Don’t Count Me Out.
I sat there in my car in the parking garage and I felt sick.
I had just gotten off the phone with my manager, Sheila*. She was flying up from Texas and I was to meet her in a local hotel lobby the next day.
It was happening. I was going to be fired. I had to fight down the panic that was welling up inside of me. I had never been on the wrong end of things like this before.
Part of me knew this was coming. It had been coming for a while. My judgment was way off and I was messing up. Sheila had been tracking my work performance very closely.
Sheila was never fond of me. She was nice enough in a group setting but she could be pretty condescending when it was just the two of us. We pretended to get along. I knew she wanted me gone. Those last few months I recognized her smug expression like a lion with a zebra clenched in its teeth. She had me beat and she knew it. It seemed she particularly enjoyed my disintegration.
I was in a marketing position that required a lot of travel and entertaining clients. The travel and social responsibilities were just too much for me. I had taken this new position not even 3 years earlier, after 15 years with the company. I knew pretty quickly it was a mistake.
My personal life was in shambles. My husband and I were going through our divorce — which was the culmination of years of anger and resentment. Our son was really acting out at school and at home. We weren’t able to deal with it. My Dad had died two months earlier after we had been estranged for the last 6 years of his life.
Everywhere I turned there was misery.
I was living in sheer survival mode. I just couldn’t see it. I was making poor choices in the name of self-preservation. I thought I was managing. My tendency to rely on alcohol a little too much did not go unnoticed — both at home and at work.
There had been a work incident about a year before, during a dinner meeting with clients.
Occasionally upper management would attend one of the client dinner meetings that I had scheduled. Usually, this was because the meeting involved some of our bigger clients and the higher-ups liked to make an appearance once in a while. It just so happened the night we were all meeting for dinner was my 50th birthday. Cocktails were a standard part of what we did. But there was an unspoken line we weren’t supposed to cross when we were socializing with clients.
That night there was no doubt in anyone’s mind I crossed that line — big time.
I got off with a warning about cooling it — or so I thought. There were more eyes on me thereafter than I realized but I was so far gone as to be reckless.
I became less obvious about my consumption but it didn’t stop. If anything, I came to rely even more heavily on alcohol to help me cope. And, in turn, my judgment was further affected and my choices continued to be unbelievably bad.
Eventually, a lot of little things added up and my luck ran out.
I arrived at the hotel lobby right on time. There was a huge knot in my stomach and I couldn’t wait to get whatever was coming over with. Sheila appeared shortly and I followed her into a small conference room. She sat down across the table next to her manager. A guy from corporate compliance sat at the end to make sure the appropriate procedures were followed.
Six judging eyes were burning through me as I sat in silence and was advised of my fate. I have never felt smaller or more powerless in my life. It was all I could do to maintain outward control. The experience was surreal. It took maybe all of 10 minutes. I signed some papers and left. It was over. I was done.
My life was in freefall.
Finding myself divorced, unemployed, and pretty down and out might seem the obvious time for some serious soul searching. It would take another 6 years before I sunk low enough to feel compelled to make a change.
During those years I hoped things would get better, yet I was unwilling to commit to doing something different.
I couldn’t let go of the humiliation and shame. I didn’t trust myself anymore. I questioned even my smallest decisions.
I continued to rely on alcohol to make things tolerable. I didn’t see any way out. I felt a little smaller and more disconnected with each passing year.
And then … one miserable day … I decided I’d had enough.
I didn’t want to live a small, sad life anymore. I didn’t want to be a victim. I’ve seen firsthand, on more than one occasion, what happens when life becomes all about numbing the pain. Something inside me said that was not the way I was going to go.
It finally became clear that if I wanted something different it was me who had to change.
A friend gave me an idea that turned into a resolution and ultimately got me started on the journey back toward believing in myself again, and believing I have something to offer.
It hasn’t been easy and sometimes I have to remind myself how far I’ve come. I focus on staying present and not letting my past mistakes influence how I envision my future possibilities.
I’m grateful for the part of me that never lets me give up. And I’m working on becoming better and better at living my life.
It feels a lot like starting over and getting it more right this time.
*not her real name
