I'm good at it.
They love me. In fact, I was told that I was awesome.
I've talked about it nonstop at home, to you: I've told you how I love it, how they think I'm awesome. How, for the first time, I feel like a professional, and like I'm doing something that is just mine. All mine.
Why on earth would you tell me that there's a job opening where you work, that has nothing to do with what I'm doing, and that you've had the idea that I should apply for it? Then get all pissy when I tell you that I don't want to apply for it?
"It's double the money," you said.
So now I feel like shit, because I'm the selfish one.
Well.
I spent my kids entire childhood working in public schools so that I could be a better mother. I picked up kids from school, went to school meetings, usually alone. I was the one in charge of children, all day long, mine and everyone else's. I was the one who put my life on hold, for twenty years. Me.
When my friends were in college, I was wiping noses and changing diapers, making people feel good, and being there. Just being there. When my family needed me.
I watched the world around me, the people in that I knew, start their careers, change their careers. Live their lives. Go places. Have experiences.
My friends went to graduate school and started doing the things they love. When my kids were going through puberty and slamming doors at me, I was getting postcards from everywhere.
I waited until I was old enough to have to compete for jobs against girls fresh out of grad school and nearly 20 years younger than me. I put together graduate school, and experiences, and developed an area of expertise that quite frankly, is a critical need. I spend my days solving riddles and changing lives.
And I'm good at it. Really good at it. All those experiences and education converged to form a professional--me--who knows kids, can talk to parents, and has a nice wealth of knowledge to do a job properly.
People I work with, who have been in the field longer, are asking my advice.
I thought you heard the pride and excitement in my voice. I thought you were proud of me, too. You seemed enthusiastic.
I've had parents hug me because I told them that there kid didn't have some intractable mental illness, when some other dufus had. I give people hope. I've had people consult with me from places around the state.And I thought that you heard me. I thought that you actually respected me for being good at something important, something I loved, something I was trained for, where I was respected. What else is there? You've live with me for how long now?
So how could you be so thick, so dense, as to say, "hey, here's this job that is nowhere near your interest, experience, or expertise. It's tangentially related to your line of work, but it's higher pay, and it's where I I work, so you should apply for it"
Why on earth would you even think to do that, except that you don't really think that what I'm doing is serious, or important? How could you not see that when you did this, you clearly were not taking me and my work seriously?
Well
You're pretty fucking insensitive.
You bet I'm pissed.
....
