![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
It’s funny how sometimes the things of most consequence to us happen so slowly that we hardly notice them. I lost my voice and I can’t even remember when it happened. I just know that I reached a point where I had nothing to say. I suppose it was not so much nothing to say as nothing that I wanted to say out loud. I didn’t want to say out loud how ashamed I was—about my failed New York minute marriage, about the fact that I’d walked away from my life here so cavalierly and gave up a job I loved for something that quickly turned into nothing at all. I was working so hard to get back to being myself again, but it never seemed to get any better.
Being a defense attorney for the last two years was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I did the best I could, but my heart was never in it. I turned down more work than I took, some by choice and some because I was simply conflicted out of it. Most of my best friends are cops and prosecutors and there was a lot of work that I couldn’t take because I still had people calling me for advice on cases in the middle of the night. I still worked teaching cadet classes at the Sheriff’s academy. But because I was on the “other” side, I nonetheless endured the slights and snubs of a lot of people who’d once had nothing but good things to say about me. I had no benefits, no health insurance, and no steady income. I woke up every morning worried about money and dreading the work I had to do to make ends meet. I finally cashed in stock that had been a gift to me from my grandfather—money that I had earmarked for my kids and sworn I would never touch—just to pay the bills. I kept telling myself that I was learning from this, that difficulty is always a test of character. I had been through harder things before and come through just fine, but over the last couple of years I felt the buoyancy that I’d held to so tenaciously through other hardships slowly seep out of me. It was a slow leak that came dangerously close to leaving me flat.
For months, there had been the possibility of going back to work at the D.A.’s office, but it was never a certainty. There were elections to get through, changes to be made no matter what the outcome. The worst part of it all was how badly I wanted it, how badly I feared not getting it. If it had just been me, I wouldn’t have been so worried; but with kids to provide for and no safety net, it was difficult to practice any sort of detachment from the desire for a place that was home to me for so long. Starting up the roller derby league probably saved me. I took a leave of absence this season. I was worn out, both physically and emotionally by all the work I’d put into it. Still, I was glad for the escape it offered me from my problems. I am proud of what it has become and the fact that I created something that is still going strong without me, like a child that I managed to raise well enough in spite of all my bumbling.
Aside from my children, the cases I deal with have been the focus of most of my days. I work exclusively with persons crimes now and I love what I do so much. I look forward to Mondays again. It’s no wonder I missed it as much as I did. It’s still hard for me to believe that I’m back, even now that I’m settled in to my new office and have been gleefully slogging through the mess of cases that were waiting for me.
I went to lunch with a friend the other day whose path has mirrored my own in a lot of ways, though for very different reasons. He’s finding his way back to the fold as well, hopefully sooner rather than later. We talked about how I learned a lot of hard lessons over the last three years. I almost lost everything that means anything to me—professionally and personally on a lot of levels, but I am finally feeling things settle back into place.
I still get the occasional flashes of fear that something will come and take it all away—that having my life back again is just temporary. I have learned from this, though. That seems to be the one thing that I can always do in any situation. I endure and I find ways to be better. I’m much more measured in the way that I see change in my life now. I hold more to the things that are precious to me and am not so quick to sacrifice familiar rhythms for the transient rush of the next new thing. I am still fearless in the ways that matter, and I still believe in myself. Every day fills me up now and confirms what I have always known...that my particular odd combination of tenacity and hopefulness will always be what saves me in the end.
Being a defense attorney for the last two years was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I did the best I could, but my heart was never in it. I turned down more work than I took, some by choice and some because I was simply conflicted out of it. Most of my best friends are cops and prosecutors and there was a lot of work that I couldn’t take because I still had people calling me for advice on cases in the middle of the night. I still worked teaching cadet classes at the Sheriff’s academy. But because I was on the “other” side, I nonetheless endured the slights and snubs of a lot of people who’d once had nothing but good things to say about me. I had no benefits, no health insurance, and no steady income. I woke up every morning worried about money and dreading the work I had to do to make ends meet. I finally cashed in stock that had been a gift to me from my grandfather—money that I had earmarked for my kids and sworn I would never touch—just to pay the bills. I kept telling myself that I was learning from this, that difficulty is always a test of character. I had been through harder things before and come through just fine, but over the last couple of years I felt the buoyancy that I’d held to so tenaciously through other hardships slowly seep out of me. It was a slow leak that came dangerously close to leaving me flat.
For months, there had been the possibility of going back to work at the D.A.’s office, but it was never a certainty. There were elections to get through, changes to be made no matter what the outcome. The worst part of it all was how badly I wanted it, how badly I feared not getting it. If it had just been me, I wouldn’t have been so worried; but with kids to provide for and no safety net, it was difficult to practice any sort of detachment from the desire for a place that was home to me for so long. Starting up the roller derby league probably saved me. I took a leave of absence this season. I was worn out, both physically and emotionally by all the work I’d put into it. Still, I was glad for the escape it offered me from my problems. I am proud of what it has become and the fact that I created something that is still going strong without me, like a child that I managed to raise well enough in spite of all my bumbling.
Aside from my children, the cases I deal with have been the focus of most of my days. I work exclusively with persons crimes now and I love what I do so much. I look forward to Mondays again. It’s no wonder I missed it as much as I did. It’s still hard for me to believe that I’m back, even now that I’m settled in to my new office and have been gleefully slogging through the mess of cases that were waiting for me.
I went to lunch with a friend the other day whose path has mirrored my own in a lot of ways, though for very different reasons. He’s finding his way back to the fold as well, hopefully sooner rather than later. We talked about how I learned a lot of hard lessons over the last three years. I almost lost everything that means anything to me—professionally and personally on a lot of levels, but I am finally feeling things settle back into place.
I still get the occasional flashes of fear that something will come and take it all away—that having my life back again is just temporary. I have learned from this, though. That seems to be the one thing that I can always do in any situation. I endure and I find ways to be better. I’m much more measured in the way that I see change in my life now. I hold more to the things that are precious to me and am not so quick to sacrifice familiar rhythms for the transient rush of the next new thing. I am still fearless in the ways that matter, and I still believe in myself. Every day fills me up now and confirms what I have always known...that my particular odd combination of tenacity and hopefulness will always be what saves me in the end.
Tags:
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
I only met you in real life once, eating shellfish in Grand Central Station. I was not only impressed by you, but enamoured, and remain so. You never disappoint me. Never. Whatever you do.
I am so glad to know you.
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
:::hugs:::
You are doing your life justice and it is beautiful. Thank you for being strong and scared and so open here.
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
Then there are those things in life that won't change and are still there patiently waiting for you to come back and it's like you never left... Like me! :-D
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
I understand as well as I can from the perspective of my own experience,
welcome back
From:
no subject
This is beautiful, and I'm glad you're back to work you love and writing.
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
you are quite amazing.
and very admirable.
From:
no subject
And on a completely selfish note, I'm glad that I got to see you several times while you were here. I risk sounding like a teenager when I say this, but really -- you are so cool.
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
You've been through a lot in the last three years. Then again, I sense you've been through quite a lot through your entire life. I'm still very much in transition myself and while far less focused (no clear path in general) and goals still being considered, I'm hopeful I'll find some place in life (and a job being a large part of it) as well.
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
as for marrying the wheeled moron, i got nothin'.
i love you! i can't wait to see you! i have so much stupidity planned that i've already purchased helmets!
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
XOXO
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
I remember my mother working as a bartender to make enough tips to get by. I actually went to the restaurant with her and watched tv downstairs.
From:
no subject
From:
no subject