Muriel L. Whetstone
1 I dreaded Sundays. I began living for the weekend at 8:30 Monday mornings. I felt bitter towards my boss. The thought of answering other people's telephones, typing other people's work and watching other people take credit for my ideas and opinions would throw me into week-long bouts of depression. I hated my job. I hated my life. I hated myself for not having the courage to change either one.
2 When most of my friends were planning college schedules and partying into the night, I was changing dirty diapers and walking the floor with a crying baby. At 19 years old I was the mother of two, and a pitifully young wife. Everything I did for years, every decision I made, was done with my family in mind.
3 And then I turned 29, and 30 was only a breath away. How long could I live like this? Certainly not until I retired. I began to feel that if I didn't do something soon, something quickly, I would die of unhappiness. I decided to follow my childhood dream: I was going to get my undergraduate degree and become a full-time journalist.
4 I quit my job on one of my good days, a Friday. Almost at once I was filled with anxiety. What would I tell my husband and what would be his reaction? How would we pay our bills? I must be crazy, I thought. I was too old to begin again. I prayed, Lord, what have I done? I wondered if I was experiencing some sort of early mid-life crisis. Perhaps if I crawled back to my boss on my hands and knees and pleaded temporary madness, he'd give me my job back. I spent that entire weekend in the eye of an emotional storm.
5 But while I was feeling uneasy about the bridge I'd just crossed, I also began to feel a renewed sense of hopefulness about the possibilities on the other side. I had had a long love affair with the written word that was separate and apart from any of my roles. What we shared was personal: It belonged to me and would always be mine despite anything going on outside of me. I wasn't quite sure what my journey would involve, but I was positive who would be at the other end. I steeled myself to travel the road that would lead me to a better understanding of who I was and of what I wanted out of life. I shared my mixed feelings with my husband. He was as worried as I was, but he was also warmly supportive. And so I stepped off the bridge and onto the path, nervous but determined. I soon discovered that I loved to learn and that my mind soaked up knowledge at every opportunity. My decision at those times felt right. But sometimes, after realizing what was expected of me, I would be weighed down by self-doubt and uncertainty.
6 I was older than a few of my instructors and nearly all of my classmates. I felt like an outsider practically that entire first semester. Finally I met a group of older female students who were, like me, making a fresh start. We began to share our experiences of returning to school, dealing with husbands, lovers, children and bills that had to be paid. Over time we have become sisters, supporting ourselves by encouraging and supporting one another.
7 I eventually had to seek employment to help with expenses. In fact, I've had more jobs in the couple of years than I care to count. Many times I've had to stir a pot with one hand while holding a book with the other. More than a few times I've nearly broken under the pressure. I've shed tears on the bad days, but smiles are plentiful on the good ones.
8 However, I would not take back one tear or change one thing about the last couple of years. It hasn't been a snap: From the beginning I knew it would not be. And it's not so much the results of the action that have reshaped me (although that's important, too) as it is the realization that I have within myself what it takes to do what I set out to do. I feel more in control these days and less like a flag on a breezy day, blowing this way or that depending on the wind.
9 I no longer dread Sundays, and Wednesdays are just as pleasant as Fridays. Now I get credit for my ideas, and my opinions are sought after. I love my new career. I love my life again. And I can clearly see a new woman waiting patiently just a little way down the road, waiting for me to reach her.