So I had my job interview yesterday, and let’s just say it was an interesting experience. The people I interviewed with were very nice and I felt reasonably comfortable with them; the room we were in was small and intimate; and I didn’t even make any wrong turns in the maze that was the inner sanctum. But the questions were harder and more complex than any I’ve ever been subjected to, and they made my interviews with the State look like a cakewalk.
Bottom line: I don’t think I did very well, although I thought the same after that second State interview, and we all know how that came out. I may be a bit of a bumbler sometimes, but I’m not stupid, and when they kept coming back to why that last job didn’t work out, I figured I was sunk. If I could’ve kicked myself under the table, I would have, because all I could think of to talk about was that damnable computer program I couldn’t learn to save my life. Not that I never felt like I belonged there or that the job involved more travel than I’d been led to believe, just the difficulty of learning the software and memorizing reams of information.
However, the tone of the interview remained upbeat and positive, and they were upfront and honest about what the job entails. They also mentioned that there was a full-time nursing position open, but I told them (gasp!) that I wasn’t interested. I’m kind of proud of myself for that, because even a few weeks ago I’d probably have gone for it in spite of knowing what I know about myself and my inability to deal with that sort of stress.
The problem is, this job is going to be equally stressful, and the interviewers were brutally honest about that. There’s the multi-tasking and constantly changing priorities, and I’d have to be very detail-oriented and deal with families going through extremely difficult circumstances. NONE of which I’m good at, except the latter…..my whole career was spent taking care of people in crisis, and I did it well. The two things this position has going for it are a) it has regular hours—no overtime, no nights, no weekends—and b) I don’t think I would EVER be bored. I also wouldn’t be holding anyone’s life in my hands. But…..
I’d had such high hopes for this job. I’ve decided that working in mental health just might be the right fit for me, but I can’t take the risk of losing my own marbles while I’m doing it. Even Will was adamant about my not accepting the job should it be offered: “No, you know you can’t do that, you’ll only end up getting sick again and this time it might be worse. Besides, you know what Dr. Awesomesauce would have to say about it.”
That’s true. I DO know what Dr. A would say about it, and I don’t want to hear it. Although I’m in a good recovery, it wouldn’t take much to upset the apple cart and I know that. My stomach is knotted up just contemplating what such an undertaking might do to me—I’ve been through it so many times already, why do I even THINK about butting my head against that wall again?
Because I’m desperate. Because I want to save my home and my way of life. Because I want to prove to myself that I’m stronger than my illness.
Is it so wrong to want to try again, even though I know what the outcome would probably be? Or am I still in denial about my limitations?
To be continued…..