DPJ Member: I Walk on Quicksand All Day Long
Posted on | June 16, 2010 | No Comments
Hi, everyone. I agreed to publish this first-person piece from a member of our community without a byline because sometimes finding catharsis is hard enough without having to put your name up there in bright lights. As much as I’d love to have Displaced Journalists write and sign their stories, it’s getting to the point where blows to your ego take such a toll that I think it’s better to offer anonymity than to have people afraid to write at all.
– Susan Older, founder of Displaced Journalists
Got Work?
I won’t always be unemployed.
Pride slipped away long ago with my looks, so even though I’m the editor who rocks at managing breaking news coverage, I am applying now for every job from bookseller and barista to house painter. I will work for whoever will have me. Something part-time came trickling in this week and it will be too much work for too little pay. Still, money is money.
I expected to get pushed out of jobs after age 60, because older, experienced journalists cost more in salary and benefits. But not so soon – and not after bullying and harassment and being blamed for a bad economy. I know I’m not alone. I just can’t afford to stop and care about that yet because all of us are competing for the same jobs.
The state has been holding up my unemployment benefits for more than a month. How am I supposed to live and pay my mortgage when I can’t appeal the delay? And why am I not given the reason the state is questioning my eligibility? I walk on quicksand all day long.
I try to ration the panic attacks to no more than one an hour. Bedtime is worst – it takes three or four hours to wear myself down because the minute the lights go out and the room is quiet I can hear my brain churning and feel the physical motion of dropping into a deep, deep hole.
With friends I feel testy, obliged to account for my time and efforts to find work, something I already do weekly for the unemployment people. My friends bring me leads and I think, “Oh God, not another one,” but am also grateful in a not-exhausted corner of my brain. We have a cup of coffee and they talk about how bad their employers are or how much they spent on their vacation to Tanzania.
Seriously? I mean because if you’re spending that kind of money, toss some my way for groceries and medicine and socks without holes. Or like a good neighbor, invite your unemployed friend to dinner.
Tags: Commentary > Displaced Journalists > Jobs > Journalist > layoffs
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Displaced Journalists is a community – our community – where we find common ground, where we can begin to pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off and get on with our lives and livelihoods. [more]