I quit!

I quit my job for the first time that had nothing to do with moving out of province/country or having a baby.

I felt uneasy the first time I met my new boss, but wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt.  Obviously she had a lot of stress in her life and I wanted to be as gracious and understanding as possible.  When she started firing people and other people started quitting I did not want to add to her stress.

The woman vibrates with anger and threatens to ‘give people hell’ for such misdemeanors as not doing this woman’s dishes.  She has imagined several cases of sexual harassment between us employees.  None of these accusations are true and the people this woman told were being sexually harassed said they would have laughed if they weren’t so afraid of her.  When one person went on vacation, we were told he was on a personal leave of absence but to book patients for him and not tell them until they arrived for their appointment.  She threatened us if we refused to do what she said.

She is charging people for free samples that say “Sample: not for resale”, sometimes at ridiculous prices.  She is also selling our expired products (at a slightly reduced rate) that we used to throw out or give away.  Our employee  discount has practically disappeared.

I hate the stupid mind games she plays and how she tries to pit us employees against each other.  I hate how she pulls people into the back and yells at them for imagined crimes or for not doing her dishes.    I hate how she gloats about getting one of us to clean her shoes, mop up her mess or scoop her messes out of the toilet.  I hate how she has taken our safe space where we respected each other and served people with knowledge and compassion into a place of tension, anger and fear.

On the other hand, it is making it much easier to move on.  In fact, it is now necessary to move on. New adventures ahead…  Summer is a great time to have weekends free!

Strength

http://nike.lotekk.net/archives/n52

 

I love this image.  Love it.  It might go nicely with the breastfeeding picture, come to think of it.

More Decisions

A friend of mine is very intuitive.  A few weeks ago she told me that she had been meditating and focusing on me.  She got a very strong impression of

1) job promotion

2) moving

3) job loss

I told her that was easy to interpret but that it was not about me.   Her husband has been told he may have an opportunity for a large promotion soon.  They are looking at buying a house and when they move my friend wants to quit her job and expand her home businesses.

She said it did sound like her family but that she had been really focusing on me during that time.  She asked me to keep her posted.

On Friday my husband was asked to consider transferring from CowTown to DeerVille.  They said it would lead to faster promotions for him.   We’ve talked about the possibility of moving to DeerVille before.  It is much smaller and cleaner.  I have relatives there that I would love to see more often.  It would be a good place to practice midwifery and lots of good gardening opportunities if my lover wanted to work less at his other job.  There is a college I could finish my degree at through the University I am currently attending.

But we would have to move.  I am finally feeling settled after 6 years!  I like my job and am not ready to leave.   I like Lil’T's school.  I like my school.  I know where babysitters, libraries, and community kids programs are.  I can finish my degree here and if I don’t make it into the College of Midwifery (10 spots a year, waiting list of 100 is always full), I can do a Master’s.

I told my friend about this ‘opportunity’ and she grinned.  I had forgotten her impressions of a few weeks earlier.

She smiled and said that she never says what will be, only what may be.

I hate making decisions.

 

Recieving End

A customer at my work was interested in helping a cosmetic condition.  I told him about what could be helpful.  He wasn’t interested in anything that wasn’t instant and remarked that instead he should just ask his pastor to lay hands on him and pray for healing.

I added that Iwas familiar with such services and tried to segue back to what could help his condition and what would not.  The woman aiding this man who had a slight disability, suddenly paid attention.

“Did it work – the healing services?” She asked.

“Sometimes.”  I replied.

She gave me a look and asked my opinion of why it worked for some and not for others.

“I think certain people are more responsive to the placebo affect than others.  There may be more to it, but our minds are powerful and we don’t understand how we work.”  I told her quietly.

The man she was helping walked closer.

“Do you go to church?” he said.

“I used to.”  I added reluctantly.

“Used to!  That is no good!  Why did you stop.” The man leaned over the counter.

“Well, I finally read the bible differently and saw that it wasn’t what I had been told it was.”  The aid nodded knowingly.

“No!” the man replied.  “You couldn’t have read it.  I’m going to bring my bible next time and read it to you.  Maybe my pastor will come too.”

I smiled and explained that the product he wanted to buy was excellent, but not for what he wanted.

He walked out, and then called back that he was going to bring me a bible and make me read it.

It was interesting to be on the recieving end of prostelyzation.  I hope that man is surrounded by compassionate people who won’t take advantage of him.  I hope that if he does get prayed over they won’t blame a lack of faith when he doesn’t get what he wants.

Prophetic Voices

To keep from writing about things happening here and now, I am drifting into memories past.

Prophesy was the main gift in our church.  Prophesy was supposed to be the best gift and one that all believers should exercise.  But, with certain restrictions of course.  Namely that male leaders be present.  Yep, I think that was the only real restriction.

A broken parody of weepy King James English was the expected vernacular, but some brave people spoke in normal voices and risked their prophesies sounding less sacred.  To distinguish from ordering fast food we were to end every other word with ‘Ah’ instead of ‘mmm’.

Most of them sounded the same: “Yea, andAh heareth theAh voiceth of the LordAh.”

I was a failure and thought I was alone in my inadequacy.  One time all the young people (ages 30 and under) were called up to the front.  We stood behind the pulpit and were only allowed to leave once we had ‘prophesied’.  I was 7 years old.

I was petrified.  I love public speaking, but speaking my own words or the words of whatever character in the school play was very different from speaking the words of The Lord.

And I was the last one up there.  I was frantic.  The only things that came to my mind I recognized as my own thoughts.  There was no foreign voice that I couldn’t control.   I now recognize this as a sign of mental health not to have strange voices bouncing around in my head, but then I was sure it was a sign of spiritual disease.

Finally I mumbled my favourite verse into the microphone and walked off in disgrace.  The congregation cheered.  Did they think God had just spoken through me?  Had I deceived them?  Now I was doubly guilty.  A big burden for a little kid.

I second guessed every single thought I had from then on, certain that the devil was talking to me or worse- that everything in my head was just from me.  All the bad was mine, and that meant all the good and charitable thoughts were mine and possibly not good at all.  What if I didn’t want to really help that person but to think of myself as a good person?  Was I being prideful instead of loving?

I was still determined to prophesy.  I interrogated every person I could about how they knew prophesies were from God.  It was very disappointing.  It sounded like they just thought of something preachy and said it.  I thought of preachy stuff all the time.  I gave imaginary sermons while brushing my teeth.  I knew all those thoughts were from me, so I stayed silent.

Questioning what was prophesied was taboo for a girl like me.  That was only for the men in office.  To be fair they did ask us to test everything that was said against the scriptures.  Well, they could have demanded genocide and still have been scriptural.

I first allowed myself to question prophesies while in India.  A pastor stood up and berated the little community of believers, mostly poor women of the lowest caste.  He told them the reason that their church didn’t have a proper building was because they didn’t evangelize enough and have enough tithe payers.  I was disgusted.  This wasn’t from God, but from a greedy man’s desire for status.  This pastor, by the way, sold his 13 year old daughter as a child bride to an abusive man.  She ran away and was working at the orphanage I was at.

Another prophesy at a similar church was from a plump young man addressing a few women who lived alone with their children.  (Their husbands lived with their other wives.)  These women fed their kids by working 12 hour days, 6 days a week, in the fields in the hot sun.  The prophesy told them to leave everything, especially their families, and evangelize.  God would provide for their children if they only had the faith.  I saw these reed thin women falling to the ground and crying in anguish.  I hope none of them did it.

Later, at the orphanage, I told an interactive bedtime story like I did every night.   There were only about 20 children who were real orphans there since it was a holiday and the other kids had gone to be with family.  I felt a message in my heart and I ‘knew’ it was from God.

That night I had an overwhelming urge to hug each little left behind child.  I wanted to say, “You aren’t alone.  You are loved.  I love you.  God loves you.”  That was it.  But because there was that emotion behind it and a rapid pulse, I was sure it was from God and I couldn’t speak on his behalf without an elder or a deacon.

I hesitated to tell lonely abandoned children that they were loved because of a patriarchal fear – the fear of the lord.  Meanwhile, other people did not hesitate to take advantage of poor desperate people to improve their own financial status.  All in god’s name.

I now delight in swearing in god’s name.  Much better than prophesying.  Do I hear an Amen?

 

Doctor Envy

Another one of my high school friends is finishing up med school.  He isn’t someone I expected to pursue that path but one of my computer programming friends.

It brings up mixed emotions.

On one hand, I may not have a degree but I do have 2 healthy and mostly adorable daughters.  I do get to live with a man I find fascinating, attractive, and good for my emotional health.  I have a job that challenges me to learn new things all the time.  And, I’ve had the space to work through a lot of the BS my particular flavour of religion fed me.  I may not have these things if I was an MD.

I may not have enjoyed being in the allopathic culture.  I spent some time in it while studying at the Nut-Farm (College of Nutrition and Pharmacy), and found it hypocritical, close-minded and fearful.

 “No, no one should need to take a Multi-vitamin, we should be able to get all our nutrients from food that has been mass-produced in nutrient depeleted soils and bred to be large and pretty looking instead of nutritionally dense.  Oh, except for this particular brand of vitamins that sends representatives to take me out to 5 course meals.  This is the only multi worth anything no matter what the studies say.  Don’t even look at other brands, they are bad!”

(Note- I’m talking about the overall culture, not individual professors, practioners, or classmates.)

People come into my store asking for the particular brand of vitamins their doctor recommended.  Often, it is this same cheap brand that has poor absorption but is made by a pharmaceutical company that once took me and my classmates out for those 5 course meals.  When I explain that we don’t have that brand but I have something better, those people roll their eyes at me and condescendingly tell me that they want what their doctor recommended.

I would love that sort of power.  These people don’t care that the amount of nutritional education that most doctors have is less than the introductory nutrition course offered to anyone at a Canadian university.  All those people care about is what their doctor said.

I love to diagnose.  My brain loves finding patterns.   And, I want the ability to order blood tests.  I miss looking at charts.

But, maybe being a doctor would be bad for me personally.

A cousin was talking to me about her job as a doctor in a hospital.  She said that basically she just walks around and plays with peoples’ meds.  I didn’t appreciate the way she talked about her patients or the way she talked to anyone else.  If being an MD comes at the price of losing respect for most of the world and severing ties with my family, I don’t want it.  Of course, she is a different person than I and many doctors are not like that.

But I do love to know better than others.  I know I would be both terrified and pleased at the power that people give doctors.

I think that the reason I have not resolved this issue is that I feel like the choice to pursue it or not was taken away from me when I got pregnant.

I didn’t choose for the birth control to fail, but I could have done more to prevent it.  Now it feels like that door is closed forever.  I do not have the unflagging energy required to pursue that type of education while taking care of a family.

Yes, there are many options still open for me and perhaps for opportunities that I would enjoy more.  But, I still have a sense of loss whenever I read about amazing doctors or hear about former classmates’ studies.  I wish I could just get over it.  This is part of that process.

Creepy Customers

Normally I love my work.  It gives me energy, I learn something new, and I get to spend time with spiritual and artistic people who love to laugh.  I only work a few hours a week at this job and I usually look forward to it.

Today was the worst day I’ve ever had!

Customers were rude, belligerant, and even creepy.

One woman was in a bad mood and decided to blame me for it.  I asked if her phone number was in our system (it is the membership number so that customers can get discounts).  She said yes and then glared at me.

When I asked what it was, she huffed, rolled her eyes and said it.  As if I should have known.  I’ve never seen the woman before.

She kept changing her mind about what she was buying.  There were many customers in the store, the line-up was getting long and I was the only person on staff.  When she asked why her purchase didn’t run through I pointed out that the machine said her pin was entered incorrectly.  She got visibly upset and declared that she had entered the right pin.

I asked her to do it again.  The machine said the pin was incorrect the second time.  She got even more angry and demanded that I fix whatever my mistake was.  I told her that she would have to talk to the bank.

Normally, I laugh at these people.  But normally, these types only come a few at a time.  Instead of counting the ridiculous customers, today I was counting the nice ones.  Like the ones who didn’t yell at me. 

Or tell me that I, who studied biochem and metabolism at university, obviously know nothing about physiology  because Dr. Oz said something, they can’t remember what, but the pancreas sure doesn’t have anything to do with blood sugar levels… (rolls eyes)

Or the ones I didn’t have to call security on.

I’ve called security before, but this is the first time I’ve done it while working alone.

I had been warned by a coworker about a Mr. Briefcase who had bothered her earlier in the week and then kept asking for products that would give him fast hard erections.   The last guys she warned us about about both ended up getting arrested for criminal harassment.  One of them sexually harassed one of my coworkers, the other attacked the lady in the florist shop next door.

Mr. Briefcase came in and immediately started asking questions about all the products in the only corner of the store that the security camera doesn’t hit.  Then he started yelling that acupuncture doesn’t work to the acupuncture patient I was helping at the till . 

That is when I called security.  I didn’t want to wait until the store was empty.  He got very nervous around the security man and left the building.  Only to return from the other door. 

That is when I decided to lock up early and discovered the mountain of paperwork that hadn’t gotten finished because there were so many customers.  

 At least I get to go home to a clean house!  Thanks, darlin’!

afraid to fall so i won’t get up

I am afraid of failure. 

Part of this comes from being raised by two people who continually sabotaged themselves.

Part of this comes from a religion that demanded we “be perfect as your heavenly father is perfect” and then viewed every sign of humanness as depravity and sin.  God was allowed to remain perfect since us humans took the blame for everything that went wrong. 

Because I am so afraid to fail (which means be less than perfect) I am afraid to try.

My artwork is stale and rigid.  While I know my best pieces come while I’m just having fun, like doing caricatures in church or math class, I feel like I must get my proportions mathematically exact or I lose.  I am afraid to play on paper because the paper is wasted if I don’t produce a masterpiece.  So I have good doodles and few finished paintings.

I had this idea that other people were awesome, but I was a wretched worm.  If only I could run the fastest, or be the best, then other kids would want me to play with them!  (Note: it does not work this way in real life.) 

One time in elementary school we were running races.  When I saw that I was going to come in 4th instead of 1st, I stopped running and finished dead last.  For some reason, I thought this would be less humiliating.  After that I stuck to long distance running where I could win by sheer stubbornness instead of talent.  I still wasn’t picked first for teams.  Or even 10th.

My biggest struggle has been finding ”god’s will”.  That mythical elusive path that would ensure the salvation of myself and the entire world, were I to be successful at it. 

My focus of finding god’s will rested in my career path.  My calling.  And I was terrified of making the wrong choice or failing in the right one.  Paralyzed, actually.

I was afraid of ending up in a job that paid less than minimum wage (like my parents) and yet I didn’t want to make too much money out of loyalty to them as well. 

I asked for advice from the elders and my parents.  The advice I got from them was horrible. 

“Be a hairstylist.”  (I have no talent or interest in hair.)

“Don’t forget to get married and have kids while you are young.”  Well this isn’t necessarily bad.  But not helpful to a single girl trying to decide what to study.

I should have listened to the advice of the older women in my church.  “Don’t make any choices that will trap you.” 

“Finish school.” 

I am still afraid of failure.

Part of me was relieved when I found myself unexpectedly pregnant.  At least I knew what to do for the next few years without having to make any decisions, try anything or … fail!  (Little did I know about mommy-guilt.)

Part of me wants to hide behind raising kids.  I have a part-time job that I enjoy and interests I could pursue.  I love painting portraits.  I enjoy writing.  I love public speaking.  It would be so easy to stay at home and forget the hassle of child care and scheduling.

I wouldn’t risk failing, but to me that would be giving up. 

I have it in my head to be a professor some day.  Researching, learning, and giving lectures sounds ideal!   I also want to have practical skills that would let me impact people on a personal level.  (No, nursing is not appealing.)

But I am terrified.  What if I spend so much money on trying to find a career and then fail?  What if I make the wrong choice and don’t like it?  What if I can’t be a decent mother and wife and go back to school?   What if I can’t even make it into a program?

At least I don’t have ‘god’s will’ to worry me.  But I still worry. :p

White Privilege

I always assumed that I was not racist.  I considered myself anti-racist.  However, a class assignment has made me question myself and look beyond personal prejudice.

Racism is not just discrimination or a prejudice against a racialized group.  That is just discrimination or ethnocentrism.  It is when this discrimination is attached with the power to oppress that it becomes racism.

Personally, I don’t feel I have much power.  I do have prejudices, but they are often counter-cultural.  For example, women who have perfect hair scare me.  I assume that they spend hours on their appearance and label them as materialistic and shallow.  This is an unfair judgment, but hardly like racism. 

 When I was younger, I believed that people of European descent, especially the English, were a horrible blight on the earth.  Because that area of the world was responsible for colonizing so much of the rest of the world, I blamed them explicitly.  While this caused me to read more First Nations mythology than the Knights of the Round Table, it was only discrimination. 

Because I preferred non-Eurocentric stories, food and friends, I believed that I was immune from racism.  Our local church had a large population of black people, an anomaly in rural prairie town, and I was so envious of their skin colour.  The few First Nations kids in town were nice to me and I considered them some of my best friends.

How could I be racist?  Well, I was blind to my own privilege and so I contributed to the problem.  

When I lived in Mexico I worked as an edican.  Canada has no equivalent- it is a cross between a model and a sample clerk.  I was hired to represent different companies at events, doing everything from handing out samples to singing onstage.  I did more high end events, where I wore suits and socialized with the cultural elite, and fewer low end events which sometimes included bathing suits and standing on curb corners with signs.

I always assumed I spent more time in certain venues because I was bilingual, or because I was nerdy and could quickly memorize large amounts of information.  Now I must admit it was because I was blonder (and taller) than the other models. 

This still doesn’t make me racist, but if I stay in denial of how I’ve been privileged I am feeding the myth of meritocracy that contributes to social inequality. 

Honestly, I benefit from a lot of society’s biases: I am tallish, pale, able-bodied, young, slim, English-speaking and hetero.   I always thought I had special privileges because I earned them.  Oh well.  I can still be smart and blonde

You know what I hate?

I’ve started back at work for a few hours a week. 

The store doesn’t open until 10, and a customer had been waiting for a few minutes so we opened the store early.  He was in a bad mood.

“You know what I hate?” No ‘hi, how are you’. 

“What?” I say in sarcastic anticipation.

“I hate cold.

“And I hate having to wait for things.

“And I hate the stupid drivers on the roads.

“And I hate high prices

He went on and on.

I interrupted him, “Do you know what I hate?  People who  complain all the time.”

“Yeah, me too!” He said without a pause.

I love people who don’t get that they’ve been insulted!