How Quitting My Calling Saved My Life
Okay so this is a painfully click-baity title. But in a year where every single consistent thing in my life was ripped away, maybe I've earned a little click-bait?
Regardless, "quitting" social work really did change my life. And sheep, of all things, really did save it.
Social work has been near and dear to me since I was 19. It was a direct means for connecting with all types of people in a way that felt hopeful. When systems and laws felt hopelessly oppressive, supportive work with kids, families and adults was so purposeful.
It was also exhausting and fraught with its own confusing oppressive impacts. Being a clinical social worker was my main identity for over a decade, in part because there is not much time to have other identities when you're a full-time social worker. I know that part of this was rooted in my inability to create harsh boundaries between work and personal life, but I also know and love tons of other social workers who, despite their best efforts, also face burn-out. The profession is not set up for effective boundaries. I've worked in public schools, non-profits, the disability community, health clinics and addiction/recovery and it's always the same. I've been a manager, a therapist, a program director and more... doesn't matter. In my experience, there's no escaping the all-consuming cloud of full-time clinical work.
When I was pregnant, I knew some things would have to change. I remember thanking Merrill over and over for giving me an "out". A reason to scale back and settle down once she arrived. An "excuse" if you will, to focus on something personal. When she died, my ability to help other people felt like it died too. I could barely dress myself for the first few months, and even now, almost a year later, I still deal with daily brain fog and confusion, forgetfulness, and fatigue.
Merrill's death forced me to sit down and care about my life. At times this has felt selfish. Keep in mind that the entirety of my 20's was focused on this idea of finding purpose in work. Basically, the purpose was work.
For some strange reason, I had my mom teach me to crochet in the days after Merrill died. I didn't pick it up right away so for some reason, I drove to my local yarn shop to see if they could teach me how. Renee, my sweet crochet guru, sat with me and it clicked pretty quickly. I then began crocheting for hours every day. It didn't matter what I was making. Sometimes I'd make nothing at all, just crochet aimlessly. It was something to do that required my focus, and yet also disconnected me from the world, which was exactly what I craved. After a decade of exclusively cerebral work, it was dumbfounding to create something tangible. I became enamored with the feel of different types of natural yarn. Sheep, alpaca, cotton, mohair, I loved it all.
Being home while trying to figure out what to do next for work meant I spent tons of time with our animals. In the past, Jordan did the lion's share of the animal care, but then it transitioned into my wheelhouse since he still held down the full-time job for us. Luckily, I love caring for our animals. It's somehow both easy and hard, straightforward yet complicated. It's predictable yet there's always surprises. I love all our animals, but watching the process of sheep growing out their wool, which then produces yarn (all while they just munch away on grass all day) still blows my mind.
Maybe one day I'll wake up and have a desire to return to social work. I'm open to that possibility but am not banking on it either. I had lots of well-intentioned people talk to me after Merrill died about how I could use this experience to "help" people. They suggested that one day I could help other moms who've lost children, or host healing groups.
However, the most healing part of the last year for me has been the acceptance that I don't have to make any meaning out of my daughter's death if I don't want to.
I could start a podcast, create a foundation, or be a really great grief therapist. BUT, I could also tend to my animals, knit my heart out, and love my people. And that's enough too. Merrill should not have died, and no efforts I make to create a "positive" out of my situation will change the fact that I'll always have a dead daughter. Perhaps getting up each day to tend to a farm that I care deeply about is enough. Perhaps showing up the best I can to my different commitments and relationships is enough.
Sweet little Merrill has taught me countless lessons. But perhaps the biggest one is that I am good, exactly as I am. I don’t have to work really hard each day to be good. I don’t have to solve big problems or always take on big challenges. Some days I can just sit amongst the sheep, and allow myself to be fully awestruck by them. For now, that’s more than enough.
P.S. To my pals who have found the balance in social work, I salute you. We need you, I see you, and I love you!
