Thoughts on 2016

As the first day of the new year comes to a close I can’t help but take a minute to reflect on the past couple months and all that’s changed in the world. We’ve had a lot of crazy things happen to us – there was the Brexit fiasco, Trump won the US presidency against Clinton, we’ve lost a large number of people near and dear to our hearts, and we’ve experienced terror like never before.

Keeping all that in mind, we’ve also done some great things too. We’ve had an unforgettable summer Olympics, the giant panda is no longer on the endangered list, we had some great music releases (Lemonade quenched all the thirst), and other truly unforgettable moments. This just goes to show that mankind isn’t far from change, we’re capable of being positive when the future looks bleak. When people die, we find a way to honour their memory by shining light on their achievements and not their failures. When the Orlando, Paris, and other terrifying events happened we stood in solidarity and came together to help our neighbors. We finally are taking significant action against climate change to make the world better for our future generations.

We should take a page out of our own books and strive to better ourselves in the coming year. Every day should be better than the last, and every day we should be helping those in need and working to change the world. There are so many things that we have been gifted with (Pokemon Go and offline downloading on Netflix ftw) and many more to look forward to.

 

So with that being said: goodbye 2016, here we come 2017!

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The Difference Between Shy and Introvert

When I was younger I used to dread the days where extended family would visit our home to catch up and chat with my parents. I would always ask if there was a child around my age with whom I could play with, or if I was allowed to scamper back to my room after saying hello when they arrived. My parents laughed off my behaviour, telling our guests that I was shy and didn’t like to meet new people.

Now that I’m older and have had the time to understand who I am, I realize that introversion is something that very much defines me. I like to be alone and watch shows all day, I like to stay in bed for hours and read a book while I sip on some tea. With that being said, I enjoy a good party and I love to get together with my friends. None of that means that I’m shy, it just means that I sometimes need to be alone more often than what people may believe is normal.

Shyness is to be afraid of being judged negatively by those around you. It’s akin to anxiety, to be uncomfortable when you’re meeting new people . To be an introvert means that you prefer to be in a quiet environment, especially if it’s a mentally stimulating one. Many people get these two traits mixed up with each other. I’m often perceived to be awkward or standoffish because of my introvert nature. I do like to meet people but sometimes I simply don’t feel like I have the energy to do so. The most important thing to me is my own mental health, so sometimes I’ll make up excuses for my absence at events. I could be invited to something as simple as a catch-up session over coffee, but when the time comes I’ll fabricate a doctors appointment to get out of the plans.

I think it’s important for us to start being truthful when we can’t make it to an event due to any kind of a personal mental strain or issue. I understand that some people don’t want to come outright and say, “oh not today, my anxiety disorder is weighing me down”. Not everyone is comfortable enough to be so honest about themselves, and that’s okay. What we should be doing is starting the conversation so that others can be more accepting of themselves. I’m still trying to be comfortable in my own skin. I’m trying to stop making excuses for why I sometimes don’t want to hang out and just honestly say that I’m feeling too exhausted to leave my room. It’s time that we understood each other and are okay with our individual needs.

So to all my friends who I’ve cancelled on because of a doctor’s appointment or a random last minute thing my parents needed me to do, I really am sorry. I was probably just needing some alone time that day.

Wild animals belong in the wild

Yesterday I saw a documentary called Blackfish, about the treatment of killer whales in captivity back in the 90s. I enjoyed the film, definitely understand why it’s critically acclaimed. It’s the kind of thing that really gets your stomach in a knot knowing what’s going on with those animals out there. Creatures like Harambe or the whales in Blackfish are raised in captivity, not being allowed to experience true freedom like they’re meant to. It’s not natural for us to hold animals in tanks and cages and stare at them for our pleasure. I am ashamed to say that I have been to zoo’s and aquariums, recently even, and perpetuate the normality of seeing wild animals tamed and confined within walls. It terrifies me to even think about being in their position, to be captured as an infant and raised among strangers, then being fed only after performing tricks to please an audience several times a day. It’s inhumane. The whales in Blackfish were volatile and rightfully so. Animals live by their primal instincts, we can’t talk to or completely understand them. As much as we like to argue otherwise, they’re unpredictable. We like to believe that we can communicate with animals, that we understand their wants and needs and form a bond with them. In some ways we can, with domesticated creatures like dogs and cats. But for wild animals like killer whales and gorillas, mankind hasn’t progressed enough for us to know what these beasts are thinking (and to be honest, we don’t deserve to). They are highly intelligent and have incredible emotional capabilities, but they still can kill us at the snap of a finger whether they are provoked or not. We need to stop hunting elephants for their tusks, that ivory doesn’t belong to us. Stop hunting seals for sport, stop killing lions to show off to your rich friends, stop separating baby whales from their mothers. Stop bleeding the world dry to make a profit.

 

Island – Daily Post writing prompt, July 3rd

Religion

Religion is one of those things that people either love to argue about, or avoid all together. It’s a topic that’s led to wars and crimes against humanity. But you know me, I love to talk about stuff that makes people uncomfortable. I identify myself as an agnostic rather than as a Hindu like I was raised, although I used to tell people that I am the latter to avoid questions. To be agnostic means to believe that the existence of God is unknown and may always be unknowable. We’ll never really prove that God is real, but we also don’t have a sure method to prove otherwise.

I personally don’t believe in creationism. Evolution is what makes sense to me, but I know that there are those people who believe in both. Science and religion are often seen as opposite sides of the same coin but it is possible to see truth in both. Some say that the two are complementary as they deal with different human experiences. Accepting one doesn’t mean that you’re dismissing the other.

I always wonder back to when humans first started believing in a higher existence. Why is it so powerful that people today are still divided into religious beliefs? The three major Abrahamic religions are a great example of religious division. Judaism, Christianity and Islam are all based on a similar monotheistic premise. Christianity and Islam believe that Jesus was the messiah. Judaism and Christianity say that Jesus died at the cross, which Islam does not follow. Only Christianity believes that Jesus was resurrected, while Judaism does not believe that there will be a second coming of Christ. It’s a little confusing, but the point is that these three ancient beliefs are very similar to each other, yet the relationship between them isn’t fields of daisies and roses. People like to play the “my religion is better than yours” game. Why they are divided instead of following one common belief could be due to a difference in how they interpret their religion. It’s similar to how Christianity is further divided into different denominations such as Catholicism and Protestants, each with their own varying practices.

I may not believe in God but I do believe in karma. It confuses me when people ‘ask’ God for things. We ask for better grades, a well-paying job, good luck for our children, but the temple is not a marketplace where we ask for things and wait for it to happen. I believe that we are supposed to make our own decisions and give thanks for when we feel that thanking is necessary. We live our own lives according to what we feel is right, and hope that through whatever guidance we have, we make the right decisions. We shouldn’t ask an invisible being to place a shortcut on our path, we need to learn how to take the long way around, mistakes and all.

People like to have something to believe in, we want to know that there is someone out there who is looking after us, because to know that we are completely alone in the universe is a depressing thought. We like hoping that there is a reason for the good and the bad in our lives. Over the years we’ve all become divided in our faiths because we all see religion with difference perspectives. Some people believe in a single god, while others believe in polytheism. We can’t really judge someone for their beliefs, your faith is your own and no one else’s.

It’s Pronounced Vidhurah

This is something that I know a lot of people can relate to. When the supply teacher walks in and begins the attendance at the beginning of class, I just sit and wait for the inevitable.

“Vi-, Va-, V-…umm…”

“It’s Vidhurah, I’m here.”

The above interaction is usually followed by said teacher attempting to repeat my name, then me saying it again correctly, a back and forth until they either give up or finally get it kind of right. What I tell people is that it rhymes with fedora (as in the very popular type of hat) but starts with a V. When I go to Starbucks I sometimes tell the barista that my name is Victoria which I see as the Western equivalent of my name, or I just shorten it to V. Over the years I’ve learned that I need to “American-ize” it, so to speak. I’ve had to mispronounce my own name so that others can somewhat attempt to say it.

Those extra letters are in my name due to the positions of the stars and planets at my time of birth. All that information was mapped and my family used numerology to plan out the best combination of letters that would bring the most prosperity and luck into my life. I know a lot of us Tamil kids roll our eyes and sigh when we hear the word ‘astrology’ but it’s a pretty interesting tradition of our culture. I love that my name is unique, and to me it has almost a mystical energy around it. I feel like my name protects me, and what I’ve learned from various shows and movies is that a name has power. There is power in identity, a name reflects who somebody is to their most bare spirit. The way you pronounce your name, the way it’s spelled, your name gives you your most basic sense of self.

If  I were to describe it, my name is pronounced with the ‘dhu’ sounding more like ‘thu’, and with the ‘rah’ slightly rolling off the tongue. I’ve spent my whole life hearing people say it differently, but I’ve grown to like it. I’m more grateful of the fact that people at least try and say it the way it was intended. I like how there are so many different ways of saying my name. I’ve heard all the variations, from Vadora to  Vid-who-ra, and I actually find it all quite amusing. I know that many, many people can relate to me, some of us have pretty complicated names, and I know that a lot of us have gotten frustrated at the number of times we’ve had to correct someone.

What I want to say is to forgive those who fail. We grew up pronouncing syllables a certain way, the ‘rah’ sound rolls off my tongue much more easily than for my non-South Asian friends. It’s like how I can’t really pronounce French words properly because I didn’t grow up with the practice of speaking it everyday. Some people just can’t say it right, and that’s honestly okay. I love my name and what it stands for, it has so many meanings that really amaze me. Vidhurah is a Goddess. Vidhurah is to be without beginning, middle, or end, or to suffer separation. Vidhurah is my name and I wear it proudly.

A Rant About Tipping Your Server

There was a period of time when I worked as a waitress in a quaint little breakfast place down deep in Scarborough. My overall experience there was pretty good, I had a great boss, the food was fantastic (who doesn’t love breakfast food) and the customer’s were great people. What really drives me nuts though is the fact that some people don’t think that servers should be tipped. Because of my time as a server, I make sure to always tip generously when I eat out. I have several friends who are currently or have been servers at one point in their lives, they probably understand what I’m saying here. Being a server is stressful. You deal with being on your feet for your entire shift carrying heavy plates back and forth. We carry drinks on trays praying that we don’t slip and cause a major accident. We deal with customers who think they’re high and mighty, and customers who are just generally mean people. There’s literally blood, sweat, and tears that goes into this kind of job. The entire industry is built upon sub-minimum wage and tiresome physical labor.

Being a server means being a master in multi-tasking. You’re constantly making sure that things are up to the standards of the customers. Everything has to be spotless and clean, the food has to be presented perfectly, drinks have to be served immediately, tables have to get their orders at the same time. You have to please the customers, laugh at their jokes and marvel at how great the weather is today. We are essentially the faces of the establishment we’re working at. Customers see us and they have to understand what it is that the restaurant is about. We’re family-oriented, we’re fun, we’re energized, we always have a big smile on our face! You can imagine how tiring that would get after just a few hours. Sometimes it’s actually fun to talk to customers, you get to meet some awesome people from different walks of life. With that being said, there are still those days where you just aren’t “on” all the time. Some days are worse than others, when it gets really busy and you’re not able to deliver as well as you are capable. The feeling of being so stressed out that you want to cry in the middle of your shift is not a fun feeling. It’s happened to me, it’s happened to my friends, it’s happened to nearly every server out there. We all have our horror stories.

A vast majority of servers don’t get paid the same amount as the most basic office job. Full-time employees in the service industry rely on tips to get by because minimum wage isn’t paying the rent. I myself was pulling two jobs at the time because the wages just weren’t enough to make my student loan payments. You don’t know which of your servers is trying to pay their way through school with their tips. You don’t know who’s there doing their best to feed their kids. You don’t know who is out of school and doesn’t have the education to get a better job.You don’t know who really needs the money, or who is just trying it out for the experience. Tipping is a standard practice and if you’re one of those people who don’t tip at the end of your meal, then please rethink your decision and understand that if the situation were reversed, your server would definitely tip you. I’m not ignoring the fact that sometimes the service isn’t up to par, and believe me when I say that no one is more sorry and embarrassed by it than your server. It frustrates me when people don’t think that servers deserve to be tipped, don’t demand a service and then belittle the people who provide it for you. That’s exactly what it feels like when we don’t get tipped. It feels pretty damn shitty.

My Story

I grew up hating myself. I always thought that I would be the quiet awkward kid for the rest of my life. I thought that I would be alone, and that no one would love me because I didn’t love myself. I’m ashamed of the destructive thoughts that used to fill my mind, they were not pleasant. I felt ugly, fat, dumb, and like I wasn’t good enough to reach the standards of the people around me. Sometimes I think back to my childhood and wonder why I felt these things. I wasn’t bullied, I had plenty of great friends, but I realize that what I was missing was confidence and reassurance that I was okay the way I was.

My parents aren’t the sentimental type. I get it, they didn’t grow up in a self-obsessed generation like ours, so they didn’t really teach me how to love myself. When I was a kid I never really gave too much thought to how I looked or what I was doing, it was more until I hit puberty and became a teenager that I became more self-conscious, just like every other kid at that age. It’s normal to doubt yourself and to wonder why you look a certain way or why you don’t look a certain way. Maybe for some it’s worse than others.

If you knew me in high school, then you’d know that I had a ton of acne on my face. It was disgusting, to say the least. I cringe every time I think back to those days. There is nothing anyone can say to me now that will make me feel better about my face from that part of my life, and I’ve come to terms with it. It made me feel incredibly self conscious about myself, and I started to find other things about myself that I didn’t like. I hated how my front teeth were slightly larger than normal, it made me stop smiling wide. I hated my big thighs, they rub against each other and made holes in the thigh areas of my favorite jeans. I hated my small eyes, I always got huge framed glasses to make them seem bigger. I hated my hair, it used to be puffy and flat. There were many, many things that I wished I could change about myself. Like any other girl my age I wanted to be skinnier, to be smarter, to be cool, interesting, funny, social. I wanted to be happy, and I wasn’t happy with the way that I was.

Sometimes I would stand in front of my mirror and just stare at myself. Years ago, all I saw were imperfections. All the curves that I wanted to flatten out, all the scars that I wanted to hide. It was at some point in my post secondary career that I finally committed to clearing the acne off my face, I refused to be discouraged by things that I can’t control. Someone taught me that my odd teeth are endearing. Someone showed me how to dress to my body type. Someone showed me how to use makeup to my advantage. Someone helped me realize I didn’t even need makeup to feel pretty. Someone tells me I’m beautiful every single day. These people in my life have taught me to love myself, all of my curves and imperfections included. When I look in the mirror now, I see a young woman who’s on the way to loving herself in all her glory. I adore my love handles, I love my smiles, my wild curly hair, my slender fingers. I love my body, the way my tattoo wraps me in a hug and my curves that make me feel fantastic in a dress.

It’s important for people to start being confident in themselves. By loving yourself, you gain control over your life. Sometimes I still feel like I’m a bore, a bland wallflower in the background. That’s something I’m working on, it’s not shameful to admit your insecurities. I think that I’m a creative, beautiful person. I think that I’m a smart and caring person. I think I’m pretty awesome, and I’m proud of myself for coming such a long way from an insecure teenager to a confident young woman. I’m so grateful for the people in my life who’ve gifted me with pieces of confidence that have built up my self-esteem, and I hope that I can do the same for my friends who need a little extra boost. Just keep doing you, and along the way you’ll love who you are.

My Grandmother, The Queen

I’m envious of the people who have the good fortune of being able to live with their grandparents and grow up with that influence in their lives. A great many of my friends have their grandparents living here with them or with their family members. Whenever I visit my best friend’s house, I always say hello to her grandparents and accept the tea or the warm meal that they sometimes offer for me. I always feel a pang of yearning when this happens. I’ve only met my own grandparents a handful of times. I’ve met both of my grandfathers twice in my life, and my grandmothers three times. None of my grandparents had ever immigrated over to Canada, the harsh weather that we sometimes have is what deterred them from considering a life here.

One day, after her father passed away, my mom actually told me about how her parents were supposed to come live with us in Canada. Back when I was just a small child, my parents wanted my sister and I to grow up with our grandparents’ influence. All of their papers and passports were ready for them to immigrate here. Unfortunately, they decided last minute to stay in Sri Lanka because they didn’t want to be overly dependent on us and were afraid to take the leap and fly across the world. My grandparents were used to being independent back home after my mom and her siblings left their nest. After years of caring for their children, they became accustomed to their simple way of life with just each other for company. My maternal grandparents were together for more than half a century, they were life-long companions.

When I think about the decision that they made to stay in Sri Lanka, I wonder how my life would have changed had they been a bigger part of my upbringing. My sister and I would have been raised knowing the constant presence of our grandparents, their love more evident as opposed to the yearly phone call on our birthdays that we had over the years. My mom would likely have been able to enter the workforce a lot sooner instead of being a stay-at-home mom for the first few years of my life. At that age, I loved having my mom welcoming me home from school, but in another world I would have had my grandparents welcoming me home too.

Out of my grandparents, only my maternal grandmother is still alive. My grandmother suffers from what’s commonly known as Alzheimer’s disease. This is a chronic condition that slowly deteriorates memory and other mental functions over time. Alzheimer’s is a common cause of Dementia, a mental condition that will eventually cause the loss of the brain’s functionality as the brain cells die instead of regenerate.

My grandmother stubbornly refuses to get the help that her condition requires unless my family forces it upon her. She lives by herself in Jaffna and sometimes a housekeeper or nearby friends and family would stop by to make sure she’s doing okay on her own. My mom and uncle went back to visit her a few months ago to check in and make sure she is being taken care of. She was taken to a specialist for patients with Alzheimer’s to stay updated on her condition. It’s difficult to find a caretaker who is experienced or knowledgeable enough about the condition to take care of her on a full time basis. The disease had manifested itself sometime after my grandfather passed away. My family believes that her age and loneliness is what caused the disease to appear and worsen over time.

I remember when we went to visit her a few summers ago, my sister and I would sit with her in the kitchen and she would cut up vegetables while telling us stories of how she migrated to Sri Lanka from Malaysia when she was a girl and her stories of raising my mom and her siblings. I remember her stories very well, she would recite them several times in one sitting because she didn’t remember that she already told us the story a few minutes previously. My sister and I would exchange a quick, sad glance and pretend we were hearing them for the first time with each telling, our reactions as genuine as we can make them the fifth time around. We didn’t want to make her sad or scared of her condition.

In my eyes, my grandmother is a noble woman. She has several back problems that causes her to walk hunched over, her body almost at a complete right angle because she can’t hold herself up straight without any support. My most vivid memory of her from our trip was when I saw her stand up straight for the first time, with the assistance of her cane. She held it in front of her with both hands and slowly stretched out her back until she was standing at her full height. If you stood beside her, you could hear each joint of her spine popping as she straightened out. I was stricken by how regal she looked, she carried herself like a queen. I still see her as one, the queen of my family. I wish I could see her again, because I know that I won’t have many more chances to before she leaves this world to join my grandfather in the next life.

We left her house very early one morning, just before the sun came up so that we could catch our flight at the airport. She woke up early with us to see us off on our journey. She stood at the doorstep of her house crying as she watched us load all our luggage into the rental van. Finally, when we were all ready to go, she came up to us and pleaded with us to return. My sister and I could barely keep our tears in, we promised her we would return but we knew that it may or may not be likely. Despite her memory troubles, I think she knew deep down that she might not see us again. On some level she knows that she is sick, and when my grandfather passed away a few years ago, she was left to live on her own for the first time in decades. That mental strain is too much for someone who’s never been alone in her life. I wish I could bring my grandmother to Canada and show her all the luxuries that we have here, but her frail body can’t handle the strain and stress of travelling to a country that’s so far and so cold.

People don’t know what they have until it’s gone. In the few moments that I’ve had with my grandparents I’ve noticed how their smiles are always so pure with the joy of seeing the family that they don’t get to see often, but always with a hint of sadness when they realize we have to leave. I adore their eyes, so crinkled with love and dewed with happiness. Their faces aged and wizened by the years under the sun, each wrinkle being a part of a map that portrays the long life they’ve lived and the trials and tribulations they’ve faced. Grandparents are truly the guardian angels of mankind, I only wish I got to know mine.

Nature or Nurture?

I’ve been meaning to write my thoughts on this subject for some time now, so I figured I’d finally try to put my mental babble into words. We all know of the age old question of what really makes us who we are. Are we more influenced by what we are taught, or do we inherently have traits in our personality that have been there all along? Take me for example, I can be incredibly stubborn when I need to be, a trait that both of my parents also possess. So does this mean that their tenacious nature was passed down to me through birth or have I grown to be stubborn from watching and learning from them?

I am often thinking about my personality and who I really am, something I’m sure a lot of us have wondered about at some point in our lifetimes. Exactly what events had had the most change in my being, and how different would I have turned out if something in my life had gone differently? If I had never moved from Scarborough to Markham when I was younger would I be more introverted than I am now? Or less? If I had never taken Visual Arts in grade 9 would I have never been inspired to pick up a pencil and try to draw something? If I had never decided to start a Tumblr blog, would there have been another opportunity for me to pursue writing?

Question: What do the above things have to do with Nature vs. Nurture?

Answer: Everything, actually.

If I continued to live in Scarborough for my whole life, then of course the behavior of my friends at the time would play a role in my personality. Back then I was a much more carefree and spirited person. I was a rambunctious tomboy who loved to auction off snacks at recess and played epic games of red rover with the class. The move from Scarborough to Markham had completely changed me. I retreated into myself, mourning the loss of my friends and the familiarity of my old home. I was very shy at my new school, a trait that I know I’ve always had but never really became more pronounced until after the move. Similar to this is the art situation. If I had never opted to take Visual Arts in grade nine to satisfy the required arts credit, then who knows if I would have thought at a later point in my life to try putting pencil to paper. Is my artistic talent now a result of what I’ve been taught from class and various tutorials or has it always been in my genetic makeup? As is with my writing, Tumblr is my personal space for when I write poetry and prose, something that I know I’ve gotten a lot better at over time. If I had not discovered the site, would I ever be as good of a writer as I am now, or was I always destined for it through my DNA regardless of how I got there?

See what I mean? Nature vs Nurture is everywhere. It’s such a crazy thought when it really sinks in, that something as small as making an account on a social media site or as big as deciding to pack up your family and move to the next city over can have such a tremendous impact on who we are. That isn’t to say that I don’t love who I am now, I’m glad that whatever big or small decisions I’ve made have led to me becoming my current self. And I mean, I’m pretty awesome if I do say so myself.

Work & Mental Health

If you know me personally then you know that for a couple months last year I worked at a collection agency (who would have thought that peaceful ol’ me would go to THAT line of work right?). You may also know that I’m now working in a very different place than in collections. What I’ve come to realize is that there is a very stark difference between these two jobs and that the place you go to spend 40-something hours every week will have an effect on your mental health and stability.

Working at a collections agency was a crazy, yet interesting experience. I got to work alongside some great people who taught me a lot about stuff not even related to collections. I feel like the general public just assumes that collection agents are skeevy creeps who call you ten times a day. I’ll admit, yes we do call multiple times in a day (within the legal limit of course) but I can assure you that the employees are fantastic people. We often had potluck lunches at work, showed each other pictures of our kids/pets/vacations, you know, typical co-worker stuff. The job itself, however, was the single thing that I dreaded going in everyday. I really disliked talking to people who were miles and miles in debt. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been verbally abused and harassed on the phone. We get called every swear word in the English language, the women get asked what color underwear they’re wearing, I know one of my female co-workers even had a debtor ask her for some explicit phone services. This kind of behavior was normal for us, especially for the women. We also got a lot of prank callers who would call in to yell profusely into the phone and then hang up on us. The most extreme is probably the bomb threats and threats of violent behavior that we’ve gotten from angry debtors who call in. As you can see, it wasn’t the most pleasant of jobs.

Things eventually got to the point where I dreaded logging into my phone to begin making calls. I counted down the minutes to each of my breaks, then to the end of the day to make the time pass by faster. I’d get the newspaper every morning to keep myself busy and distracted between each call. I sometimes even brought a book with me to work to ensure I had a way to de-stress and wind down between the really bad calls. I often went home in a bad mood and climbed straight into bed with a book or my laptop. I still remember my breaking point at that job, it was the day when the volume of calls that needed to be made was close to 600-something as the month was ending and I needed to reach my target. The stress and anxiety had really piled on that day as it was just one bad call after another for hours and hours. I actually had to stop working for a bit to stop crying when my anxiety escalated and had to bring myself down from an impending panic attack.

Flash forward a few months, a friend tells me about an exciting opportunity to work a contract job at a bank in IT support. It’s something totally different from my university degree and from past job experiences, but I jumped at the chance and immediately gave in my resume to be considered for the job. A couple more days of anxiously waiting and I had managed to secure an interview, and later on was offered the job at the bank. The minute I was hired, I gave in my resignation at the collections agency – there was no way I was staying there any longer than I had to. I couldn’t deal with the bad calls anymore, no matter how much my co-workers distracted me with their stories of what they were up to on the weekends.

Now, at my current job here in IT support, I find that I am happy to come in to work and excited at what new things I learn here. My co-workers are great people and I’ve created relationships that I know will last a long time. My mental health is a lot better, I no longer dread my work, and I’m happy to come in even on the craziest snow days (as much as I may complain about having to drive through the blizzards). I’m challenged in a healthy way here, and on average I make a lot less phone calls than I used to when I was in collections. It’s actually kind of funny, I really disliked talking on the phone and used to get major cold sweats when I needed to call someone, whether it was a friend or a pizza shop to place an order. My decision to even try working in collections was supposed to help me get over my fear of the phone, but it only made things worse. Now I’ve become a lot more confident and I don’t hate phone calls as much as I used to. I’ve even made some acquaintances over the phone with the technicians that I speak to on a daily basis.

In a nutshell, the moral of the story is that you need to find something that you enjoy doing so that you don’t go to work feeling like you want to shoot yourself. The work that you’re doing for 40 hours of the week is definitely going to have an impact on your emotional health, as will the people around you. I’m no longer going home grumpy, instead I’m going home excited for the next day. Despite my shifts being at odd hours, I still find myself relaxed and praying to all the Gods above that my contract here keeps getting extended. I feel like I really have a future in what I’m doing now, but I’m still young so who knows what the universe will throw at me in another few months!