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By Rebecca Sullins, May 23, 2011 6:00 am

Image by h.koppdelaney via Flickr

I had been laid off. I had nothing to do. And lethargy doesn’t suit me.

I felt like the anxiety was going to overwhelm me. I’m a worrier by nature, and the impending financial disaster, the lack of health insurance, and the embarrassment all made me feel hopeless.

My first thought was to run home. Live with Mommy, and work at the Dairy Queen. This was my first major life crisis as an adult, and I didn’t know how to handle it.

However, that would have necessitated telling my parents, and I was far too ashamed to even imagine the pity that would be all over their faces. Besides, I knew they couldn’t help.

As soon as I realized that moving into my mother’s basement wasn’t an option, the reality hit me. I had to find a job.

I started with every job search website I had ever seen advertised, and even a few that looked really sketchy when I Googled “job search.” But hey, I was desperate.

There were jobs out there that required degrees, certifications, and general education that I didn’t have. My field was incredibly specialized, and while I was great at what I did, there were only a few places in the country that I could do it.

Then my mind wandered to the idea of moving. Places like New York, Las Vegas, and California were packed with venues that needed sound technicians. And even better, they were packed with contacts and friends that could help me get a job.

But I kept hoping for something reasonably appealing that would keep me in my house and with my dogs. And preferably away from the ramen and Spaghetti-O’s. I made hundreds of calls, put my resume anywhere the internet would let me, and hit up every friend I had. I begged for temp work, for side work, anything. I had a pirated version of my design software, and I was willing to draft carpet patterns if it meant I could keep my house. Continue reading 'I Never Thought I Would Lose My Job, Part 2'»

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By Rebecca Sullins, May 2, 2011 6:00 am

Photo by Abby Rae via Flickr

So here I am. I’m wondering what I could have done to prevent any of it, to take it back, to prepare myself.

Three months later, I’m still drawing a blank.

The high-end audio-visual systems industry didn’t feel the sting of the recession right away. We survived the first two or three years on projects that had received funding prior to the burst. And so, I ignored the possibility that I wasn’t safe, and I settled into comfort.

Besides, I’d been working at the same company for almost five years. I was a (mostly) model employee. I stayed late, I worked quickly, and compared to the rest of the people in my department, I came cheap, since I lived in Tennessee as opposed to San Diego.

Still, I spent the last four months at my job with no new projects, nothing specific to work on, and way more Facebook updates than any self-respecting woman closing in on 30 should have. I spent my days writing a manual for the company, fixing standardization problems, and researching anything and everything I thought might be remotely helpful… all the while fighting the feeling that I needed to make a change.

I had even poked around on job sites just to see what was out there. But never once did I entertain the notion that I would need to find a new job.

One extraordinarily cold and icy Friday in January, I was sitting in my office, twiddling my thumbs and trying to find something to do, when the phone rang. The voice on the other end of the line was one I’d talked to nearly every day for almost five years, and yet my stomach twisted and curled when I heard the tone in his voice. I knew that bad news was coming, and it felt like Iwas tied to the tracks, waiting for the train to run me over.

All of a sudden, I was sweating, I was crying, and I felt like I was going to throw up.

There it was. I was being laid off. Continue reading 'I Never Thought I Would Lose My Job, Part 1'»

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By Rebecca Sullins, December 13, 2010 6:00 am

Image by Bill Lapp via Flickr

My mother was right. About everything. And if you ever tell her I said that, I may have to kill you.

I wasn’t always the upstanding, hard-working, settled-down, home-owning, pinnacle of the American dream that I am today. And yet, that’s exactly what my mother predicted, even as I was sneaking out all night, smoking, throwing parties, and piercing body parts that aren’t easily visible in everyday clothing.

My rebellion started after my mom sent my brother to live with our dad and forced him to relinquish his troublemaker badge of honor. I picked it up, dusted it off, and gave it the best run ever. I was rebelling against everything I found to be mainstream: office jobs, pearls, kids, marriage, and any other kind of socially-accepted lifestyle. Worst of all, I’m pretty sure I permanently corrupted my younger brother.

My mother has one small tattoo on her hip. I went levels beyond. Today, everyone can see my rebellion plastered right there on my forearm. And my back. And my hips. And my thigh. Never did I contemplate how looking like I belonged on the back of a motorcycle would affect job prospects, social interaction, or even the person I ended up marrying.

I stopped caring about school. Not to the point of complete and utter failure, but just enough so that the assistant principal was on a first-name basis with Mom. I still had plans to attend college, but never once thought beyond the typical in-state arts college.

Children were out of the picture. Marriage, a dream that belonged on afternoon sitcoms or bridal magazines.

I was living my life as though the story that had no ending. No regrets, no consequences, and no clue.  Continue reading 'I’ve Become My Own Worst Nightmare'»

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By Rebecca Sullins, October 11, 2010 6:00 am

"You need to grow a pair!"

I’m a bad girl.

I don’t mean that I’m promiscuous, a partier, or a bitch. I mean I’m bad at being a girl. All my life, societal norms have told me that I’m not a good female specimen. And I’m generally okay with the fact that I play pool, own a snake, am an engineer, like sports, and didn’t own a purse until I was 23.

But recently, a much more glaring phenomenon was brought to my attention.

I was at the bar, playing a pool match, and made a quick trip to the bathroom. A friend of mine walked in behind me, with all the telltale signs of a girl who’s about to have a breakdown. I decided it would probably be better for me to stay and see her through.

Like any good friend, I asked her what was going on. And the floodgate opened.

“I’m not good at anything. I don’t understand what’s wrong with me.”

“’Splain, Lucy.”

“I just lost my eighth pool match in a row… I drink too much… My boyfriend doesn’t appreciate me….” I’ll spare you the rest.

I sat her on the sink, looked into her eyes, mustered as much compassion as I could, and I told her to get the hell over it. If she didn’t like her boyfriend taking her for granted, why was she still with him? If she was losing at pool, she should either quit or practice more. If she didn’t like the hangovers, she should put down the pint. I told her that there was absolutely nothing in her life that warranted the kind of self-pity normally reserved for terminally ill patients. And even then, I’ve known terminally ill patients who had a less dismal outlook on life than she did at that moment. Continue reading 'True Friends Stab You In The Front'»