I have been thinking about what makes a person get through life to a better place. I think of it as rebooting.
I started my employment with the state of Washington on April 10, 1978. I made $513 per month as a file clerk for the Department of Labor & Industries. I had moved to Olympia and been unemployed for three months and was in terrible need of a job.
Previously, I had been a clerk typist with two different private insurance companies. I didn’t mind being a file clerk. There were tens of thousands of files for employers in the state of Washington. Each employer filed a quarterly report, and we file clerks filed them.
Sometimes, we got fabulously behind. The eternal pull of not enough staff and too much work in government caused us to have mountains of reports needing to be filed. We would sit at desks pushed together and sort quarterly reports by six to eight inch stacks by their six digit numbers. We set them out in ten piles by the first digit, picked them up in number order, and laid them out by the second digit, repeating the process until we had gone through all six digits.
It was a time when there was still smoking at the desks. It was common place and accepted that we engaged in verbal harassment by gender, religion, politics, and whatever else came out of our very bored minds. None of us knew anything about laws against discrimination.
We knew too much about each other’s personal business. There was one guy I remember for whom no topic and razzing was out of bounds. I called him “Rotten Roddy.” He delighted in poking people in places where they were most vulnerable. The work we were doing was painfully mind numbing. We were just trying to get through the day.
One day, I looked at all those files and said to myself, “Well, this isn’t going to keep me out of the mental hospital.” I tried to think of what my options were.
I put myself on the hiring register for a clerk typist job. I got hired just a couple units over and was tied to a desk. I couldn’t play or joke. It was way too serious for me. I talked to my old file clerk boss and told her I was really depressed. She told me I could come back. So, I decided to voluntarily demote. I made a lot more money as a clerk typist 3 but hating the job wasn’t worth it to me. I know I was supposed to hate being a file clerk, but I could get up and move around make jokes and tell stories.
Sometime, in my second year of full time file clerking, I learned about tandem employment. It was where you shared a job with someone fifty fifty. I knew filing could be easily accomplished by two people in a week. I started lobbying my management to allow me to job share so I could go to college.
I set a date to begin in July 1980 so they could hire someone in time for me to start school in September. In typical management fashion, they put me off by telling me they weren’t sure. But, I kept coming back with, “When can we start?” Finally, in July, it was approved, and they recruited for the other half of my job. When someone was hired, I started making $268 per month now working half time.
I worked eight hours on Monday and Tuesday and a half day on Wednesday. I had to learn to live on less money. I moved from my apartment and in with roommates. It was a lot less money but working half time was so much easier on my psyche. I started to believe maybe I could stay out of the mental hospital.
I started at the Evergreen State College in the Re-entry to Education for Women program. It didn’t work out for me. I found it to be too great a challenge. Before the end of the quarter I dropped out. If I knew then, what I know now, I could have made it work. But, I had limited knowledge about how to help myself along when I didn’t meet my own expectations.
The new problem was that I didn’t want to tell my employer, because working part time was so much better for me mentally. I enrolled in a correspondence course in motorcycle mechanics. I knew I wouldn’t actually be able to be hired as a motorcycle mechanic from a correspondence course. But, I learned the world of engine mechanics, and I was fascinated. I had a motorcycle that I loved. I can't say how many times I took it apart and put it back together sometimes correctly and sometimes incorrectly.
My partner at the time helped me start volunteering for South Sound Advocates. It was a small non-profit agency that advocated for people with disabilities. I began learning American Sign Language.
After a year or so, I told my management that I had changed the course of my education. By then, the tandem situation was working so smoothly that they didn’t feel the need to end it for which I was grateful.
I put myself on the half time clerk typist 3 register. I would not consider a job unless it was part time. My mental health was worth more than making the most money, having the best career, or being top dog.
I told people that getting a little more each pay day did not make up for hating your job every day. What you do every day is what matters the most. Maybe you can’t have a new car every three years. Maybe you won’t be able to get a new stereo. Maybe you won’t be able to buy a house. What mattered to me was how I spent my days.
I worked with people who actually said to me, “I only have 17 years until I can retire.” I was flabbergasted.
“You are wishing your life away,” I thought. “How is that a good life plan?”
Of course, if you have children, it changes the equation. I still think there are options. If I am mentally ill, it won’t do my children any good. We might have to live in a multi-family situation. We might have to do more creative things to have fun. We won’t be going to Disneyland. I am willing to make those choices.
After about six months, I got a call for an interview for the Washington State Human Rights Commission that needed a receptionist in the afternoons. I excitedly went to the interview.
I wasn’t the most stylish dresser. I knew that might be a problem. However, I had good skills. I wanted the job. At the end of the interview, the manager asked, “Why do you want this job?”
I thought a second. My response was, “It would be the first time I ever had a job that matched my own personal beliefs about equality and the world I want to live in.” I could tell by the look on her face that I got the job.
The point is that I looked at what wasn’t working for me, what didn’t seem sustainable for me, and found other options. There are ways I was lucky and continue to be so. There are also ways I was willing to adjust my work life to match the needs of my mental health.
I work with people all the time for whom their health is seriously impacting their ability to work full time. We meet and talk. I make suggestions to them that there are other options. I am frequently rebuffed by how no other options will work and yet what they are doing is not working.
Making less money is a pain. Sometimes, a person might have to get food stamps or change their living situation. Some folks need to apply for disability benefits. There may be other options they are not considering. Of course, it isn’t easy.
I think sometimes our lives are like our computers. Computers have millions of things going on inside them. When your computer goes all out of whack and you ask someone what to do, what do they say? “Reboot.” It’s always, “Start by rebooting.”
Sometimes, our lives need a reboot. We need a redo. We need to stop and assess what is working and what is not.
I go to counseling every week. I self pay. My insurance doesn’t cover the cost. I can negotiate something reasonable with my counselor. Not going is not an option. It is like a utility bill. I have to allow money for counseling every week, every month, year after year. It is non-negotiable.
I can’t tell you how many times people tell me that they’d like to go to counseling but they can’t afford it. Or, things aren't that bad. Or, they don’t have time. Or, they don’t know who to see. I say, “Make a phone call. Make ten phone calls or make a call a week. Keep making phone calls until you figure out something that works.” Life is short. I need to do what I can to make the most of my life. It is the only one I’ve got. For all we know, it is the only one any of us has. Make the most of it.
L’Chaim.
Joceile
