We have lived in Nashville for 43 days. For me, it has been 43 long jobless days. I’ve looked. I’ve applied. I’ve made cold calls. I’ve scheduled awkward networking meetings. And so far I have seen no fruit from that. As the days have dragged along with very few responses, and even fewer positive responses, my emotional state has been deteriorating.
After a few weeks of searching, I started asking myself these questions: Why won’t any employers call me back? Why did I even get my master’s degree? Doesn’t anyone know how great of an employee I am?
And then after a few more weeks, I started asking a new set of questions: What if God wants to teach me a horrible lesson in humility and He’s not going to let me get a job for months? What if we got impatient and moved from St. Louis too soon? What if we didn’t hear God right at all and weren’t supposed to move here at all?
And in in the midst of emotional spiraling and pessimistic questions I started wallowing. I don’t know about yours, but my wallowing isn’t real pretty. Per my usual wallowing patterns, I started eating whatever I was craving (and my comfort food is never green and healthy). I stopped exercising. I started being extra crabby with my husband… And the list goes on.
The funny thing about wallowing is that it never helps. (And yet I continue to do it). Instead of feeling better in my self-comforting state, I started feeling even worse. In addition to low self-esteem about not getting a job, my pants were fitting rather snug and my body just felt out of whack.
Because I was feeling out of whack and I was extra cranky with my husband, we had difficult but needed conversation (which resulted in his creation of this amazing blog post) after-which I decided it was time to (in the words of Liz Lemon) shut it down. I decided to cancel the pity party. Last week, I started eating healthy foods again, I began working out again, and I began spending more time in prayer. I’m not all better, but I certainly feel better than I did last week, and I hope that trend continues. Maybe I’ll even fit into my favorite pencil skirt for the next interview (which I know will get scheduled some day, right?).
Do you ever throw yourself pity parties? What does that look like for you? What typically snaps you out of it or causes you to ‘shut it down?’