Diary of a Laid-Off Dad: Episode 8
“More than that, we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope” (Romans 5:3–4).
As I sat in church, our parish priest began his homily in reference to this piece of Scripture; he went on to speak of a Benedictine monk who paraphrased this excerpt by alluding to the fact that “suffering leads to hope.”
I include these references not out of any sense of religious authority, nor to evangelize, but as an example of how I have been challenged in my unemployment, again and again, to turn from any sense of despair to a renewed sense of hope.
This past week has been rough. In addition to my unemployment passing the one-month mark and a lack of interviews from the dozens of applications I submitted, I learned a loved one of mine is losing their health battle. It’s sobering to consider how one person’s health can have a ripple effect on a family. This is not my first brush with family suffering; in fact, I’ve had many. Yet somehow, that doesn’t make this one any easier.
In times like these, I go to a dark place: my mind. I’m a natural worrier, an overthinker. In my mental health journey, I discovered this tendency comes from growing up and seeing so many of my loved ones avoid or ignore their problems. Whenever a negative event came up, it was swept under the rug. It was forgotten, never mentioned again, until the issue exploded in everyone’s face. Not wanting to confront that fate in my own life, I gravitated toward an opposite approach. That is, I’d dwell on the problem to try to solve it. I’d ponder over it, and rather than accept it, I’d grow to obsess over it.
This process was my default code for so long until I began doing the work of unraveling this thought trap. But with everything going on in my life, I found myself backsliding . . .
Then I went to church. I heard the words. I paused.
Upon reflection, I reminded myself the highs and lows will continue to come. But feeling those lows — living and breathing those negative experiences — is a suffering I would not wish on anyone.
It’s tough to admit you’re down. I knew I was. After mass, my wife and I went about our weekend with our boys. And it was a great weekend. I came out of my low a bit.
Then on Sunday night, after we put our sons to bed, I opened up to my wife as I’ve been doing so many times since being laid off. She knows of my journey, and being my partner, my wins and losses are hers as well, for better or for worse. In the course of our conversation, we had a number of mini-epiphanies. One of them was how much we — or should I say, I — avoid the negative because it is our mind, body, and soul trying to stay away from the danger of spiraling into anxiety and depression.
And that was it. Again. Myself. My defense mechanism. Avoidance. Under the microscope of not doing something wrong per se, but as an act of self-preservation, something I had long done but only now have grown to understand and accept.
We went to bed last night with me feeling a little less low. Church helped. So did talking to my wife. And praying, along with meditation.
I woke up this morning feeling a little better. Not low, not high, just somewhere in between. I stayed in that space as I opened my email to find a job interview had been cancelled by the recruiter. It’s OK, I told myself. My mind didn’t obsess or overthink. I remained calm, in the middle of my highs and lows. I’ll call it one of my middle moments.
I’ve had many middle moments this past month. I reckon I’ll have many more. Neither entirely good nor bad, they will likely populate the rest of my unemployment. They’ll come after big losses and wins, and while I may feel stuck, at such times I also need to remind myself this is the process. It won’t be ideal, but through my daily pauses, I know they are needed. And like everything else, they will pass, for they are the springboard to my highs, the transitions to my hope.
For me, hope has always been fickle. It doesn’t seek me out; I have to search for it in vain. This past weekend, I found it, or something like it. It’s enough for now, and God willing, will be enough to prompt me to seek it the next time, and all the times after that.
I could end this post right now . . . I don’t want to, for it would seem disingenuous. I began this writing with hope and I’ll end it with hope. Because that homily didn’t come to my mind from nothing; it came from a priest, speaking to his parish. Nor did the resulting conversation with my wife happen in a vacuum; it came from my partner, the love of my life. And all the points in my mental health journey were not out of thin air, but with trained professionals. Whatever doubts I have about myself, or my future, even in my lows, I know there has been a community to support me. To those reading this, I hope you have yours too, whether now or in the future. For suffering does not need to happen alone. And hope — with all its possibilities — does not just come from within but from outside, including beyond so much more we can grasp, no matter what your faith or beliefs may be.
