I feel heartbroken. In a time where I feel the most people reaching out to me I simultaneously feel the most alone. I am mourning. I am mouring the life that I saw for myself. The in many ways dream job for me. One that allowed me to live my life the way that let me be the mom I want to be and be the artist at the same time. In an environment where my colleagues were brilliant and kind and understanding and supportive. Where I had students that I could joke with and be serious with and help learn and be a part of their journey navigating how to express who this creative part of them is. I imagined in a few years being able to pick up my kids from school in town and bringing them with me to watch them get paint all over themselves as they helped get something a base coat. Watching them be impatient running up and down the Woodmar stairs and through the aisles chasing each other while I yelled that we would be leaving soon. I imagined being able to go home to tuck them in before going back to work for the night or a few more hours. Taking them to see the shows Mommy had worked on in the space.
Thad says I could still have this just a different space, a different school, a different company. And he is probably right. But I longed to be able to say this is where I brought you to play in your pop up when you were 6 months old. This is where I felt you jump inside me when I used the jigsaw. This is where I took photos for your announcement.
Part of what makes this so hard is that I wasn't ever planning on leaving. Sure I was only part time and no benefits and probably lower pay than I could get elsewhere. But I was rewarded in so many different ways. I had the benefit of knowing no one would bat an eye if I had to bring my kids in. Or if I had to leave to go pick them up from school. Or if I needed to take a few months off for maternity on baby #2. I could not work Tuesdays because I didn't have childcare that day. I could decide my schedule to an extent to be able to accommodate family care over taking and paying for daycare. I had the support. I had so many hidden benefits with this job.
I knew that the shows I worked on mattered. They weren't fluff for entertainment, they weren't just a cranked out show thrown up on stage for money and speed, they were good. Or at least watchable and enjoyable and thought provoking. They were shows that I could see 10 times and get something different each time. That I could look at and say, these were worth the late nights and the stress and the hand holding when students work didn't go as planned. They were worth the stressful strategy sessions when they tried and failed, and the high fives and laughter and "see you got this" when the pieces came together. They were fun. Some of them more than others, but the thrill of the challenge was always there. The race against the clock and the innovation to try something different, and figure it out.
I will miss Bryan's designs. His sometimes peculiar particularity of small details and his nonchalance with things that felt they should be important. I will miss that partnership. I will miss his sometimes consistent inconsistency. And we both know we will work together again. And that this is not our end. But for now it's hard to not have it feel that way. I know I won't be calling as much, I know I won't have as many questions, I know I won't hear his voice every week or every day. I won't hear his "I trust you"s and his "ah crap! I gotta go. I'm sorry"s. He taught me that it's possible to be a good parent, a good friend, and a good worker. That theatre can make it hard to make everything work, but that you can. It takes balancing and a lot of sleepless nights but it's possible. And of all the important theatre things, that's the one that screams the loudest. I will miss the clicking the timers at tech Olympics down to the millisecond and matching and no one but us thinking that was as cool as it was. Or sitting in the seats on no sleep staring at the sets laughing at our misfortune at how much we still had to do while nodding and reassuring Rhett that we TOTALLY have this and everything we told him we would have was TOTALLY going to be there. Making our master lists.
There is so much about this job I loved that no one ever saw or knew or will understand. I'm not losing my job, I'm losing my life. I'm losing my community. I'm losing my space. I'm losing the future I was making for myself. I'm losing my creative outlet. I'm losing my shop. I'm losing my colleagues. This is so much more to me than losing an income and losing a job. Another job is not going to be this. Another job is not going to hold such a huge place in my heart.
For once I don't have a next show. I don't have a sense of my next space, my next resources, my next script that I will do a bad job reading, my next calendar. I'm not coming to a close on my show and cleaning up, taking a breath, and going to the next one. In many ways I feel like I'm fresh out of college and looking for what's next except without the vigor that I can do anything but rather with the knowledge of what I had and lost. Without the drive to do it because I'm mourning. I know what I had. I knew when I had it I was fortunate. That I was lucky. That it wasn't the case for my graduating class. That this wasn't everyone's story of being able to say they made it somewhere. That in my industry they had something consistent. I know the value of what I lost. I know what my leaving is going to do to my program. I know how it is going to negatively impact students and Bryan. How things won't be able to be the same and yet will need to feel the same. I mourn knowing what leaving is doing. And I don't know how to express that.
I think while I'm deeply heartbroken. And saddened. I'm also a little hurt or bitter or angry. I'm angry that I was laid off by two people who I had never met before. Who didn't see my value or my work or my drive or know anything about me other than my cost and title. I know that my department fought incredibly hard for me. That a dozen other cuts were offered in an attempt to keep me. That a colleague that I barely see on campus took an early retirement when she was led to believe that I would be safe if she did. That sacrifices were made in an attempt to save me. That conversations were had late into the night arguing why this could not happen. And I'm humbled by that knowledge. I know I was valued by those around me. So to be laid off and told I was great by people who don't know me... That sucked. That sucked royally. To get an email the day before asking for the meeting to do it and being up all night crying knowing it was coming was horrible. To sit around all day waiting to be laid off, twiddling my thumbs, and checking the clock to not be late to being fired. The guise of having a face to face conversation because that would be more personable and better. That sucked. Knowing that I had to piece myself back together for some people I didn't know. And having to scramble to figure out how to make it work for my daughter to not be interrupting the call or have her see me bawling my eyes out. That was horrible. I'm angry that was my experience. I told Bryan that and he said they wouldn't let them be there. And that's really stupid. I hope they re-evaluate that in the future. Because in all this sadness I feel just anger at administration. And maybe that's why they do it, so you don't walk away with a bad taste from your supervisors. But. I wouldn't have, because I know they support me and see me.
What adds insult to injury at this time is the show I went out on. My last show was one I worked on for 164 hours by myself. Alone. In a pergatory of the space feeling so empty and then me. Trying to fill it with as much hard work and fun and love as I know it to have. Going out on a show where I never saw the story. I won't get to see the end of the process. I won't get to be a part of getting it finished. I am walking away with it not done and not knowing when or if it will. The show ended with students being sent home from Covid. And we did a zoom thing to say goodbye to it. Everyone mourned. I did not. To me it was still going. I was still working on it, still in the thick of it. So I feel like I missed my goodbye. And I won't get a goodbye to my students.
I won't get a goodbye right now. There will be no sad moment at a banquet that we will miss you. I get a very nicely worded informative and reassuring email that things will be different and I will be missed. Which I appreciate... But right now I won't get real goodbyes from my students, or hugs. Or a last late night work party. Or a last pizza and strike. I won't get the end that I never thought I would have. I won't get a we will miss you but we know you are off to better things because I don't have a clue where I am going now.
Do I wait a bit and see what happens? Do I try to just get some other job? How can we afford daycare? We can't afford for me not to work. We can't afford for me to not watch Shana. I could make it work before and now it's all screwed. Our long term plan to move to Newberg so I could be close for late nights is maybe now shot. I can't work at Broadway rose because they are strapped budget wise too. I can't go back to bud because he is going to be in the same boat. Who knows with Wilsonville or band what will happen with the school year. I have nothing solid next. I have nothing. I have no plan, except to right now not have a plan. To feel this for a while.
I feel a lot of guilt... I solidly confirmed that I'm pregnant the same day as I was laid off. Planned. And I'm sure I will at some point be excited. But for now I feel... Nothing. I feel like I can't find the joy in that. Everyone I've told has said the expected congratulations and it just feels so empty to hear it. I'm not excited right now. I'm not thrilled and planning for a great future with a now completed family. I just feel guilty. Guilty to this baby that this is how I will remember this moment. When they ask how it felt to find out or to know they were coming that this is how I felt. I feel numb. I know second pregnancies are different. But I want to feel happy. I want to feel excited. Right now I just feel scared. We knew that we were trying during a really tumultuous time. But I didn't think the worst would happen, and I didn't think I would lose everything at once. I want to see this as the happy thing amongst a world that's full of uncertainty and fear and sadness. But right now I don't. And I hope that changes. I hope that soon I can officially announce and actually feel happy to be congratulated. Until then I just want to pretend it isn't happening. I don't want to talk about it and wonder if it's a boy or a girl. Or names or whatever. I just want to keep this separate from what is going on as much as I can. So I don't want to talk about it. But. I'm feeling both at the same time. I know both events to be true. Unemployed and this baby.
How will I get a job with a toddler and being pregnant. Do I try right now before they can tell when they hire me? Am I really going to have the energy and brainpower to be learning a new job right now?
I feel guilty to Thad for losing my job. I feel guilty to him for getting this degree and being in an industry that is almost non-existent right now. I feel guilty to him that he is the only one going to work and bringing home a paycheck and that this is putting more pressure on him. I know he doesn't see it this way. But I feel guilty. I feel guilty for getting a new car this year and now having that loan. I feel guilty for spending money on anything. I feel guilty for being pregnant. I feel guilty for not having the energy to clean the house or do my normal. I feel guilty he spent his days off with his wife upset and crying and numb the whole time. I feel guilty that I don't feel like I can be the same person.
I feel guilty for having to leave my students. And my space in the place it is.
I feel alone. When I turn to social media for condolence or a normalcy it's all more fear and push for justice and fighting for causes that were important for me days ago but that now I don't have the energy to fight for. I don't have the emotional space to feel for. I feel alone. I fear that I won't feel better until I have a plan. I fear I won't feel better for a long time. I fear that I will always be mourning this loss and wondering what would have happened if I could have stayed.
I have no choice but to look ahead and forge on. I don't know what's next. I don't want to think about it. And though I feel like I can try and sometimes will succeed at putting on that face and do it, I know that this is how I really feel. And I think I will be feeling this a long time.
