by Jenny Rose | Aug 31, 2024 | A Flourishing Woman, The Journey
In July of 2016 I wrote my first post on this blog, a letter of resignation from people pleasing. Since then, that post has had more than 20,000 views. A comparatively modest number for the internet, but for me personally an astounding one.
Now, in August of 2024, I’m writing another letter, this one a heartfelt thank you to all of you who read my words, commented, and sent my work on to others over the years. I hope my posts will continue to find those who are treading some of the same paths I have.
When I began this blog, the only goal I could identify was to have the courage to do it. I wasn’t sure who I was or what I thought and I didn’t know how to use my true voice. I felt as though I was fighting for my life. I didn’t expect anyone would read it, but I knew I needed to write it. I wasn’t sure why, exactly, but I knew I had to, and I knew intuitively whatever I wrote here would be real and true and honest. I wanted to find that woman, know her, and reclaim her if I could.
Photo by Ryan Moreno on Unsplash
I did not imagine how powerful the practice of blogging would be for me. I did not dream of the healing, the growth and learning, and the self-acceptance I’ve achieved.
I almost never take vacations. I don’t say that with pride or a sense of superiority. In fact, I’m determined to give myself more regular breaks in the future. I’m off work when sick or injured, of course. We were furloughed during the pandemic, but that hardly felt like a vacation. However, for two weeks the pool facility where I work is closed down for maintenance, and I was amazed at how I looked forward to these two weeks, how I longed for them.
I’m not traveling, or doing anything wildly different or special, but the gift of time is exquisite. Time without clocks or my phone. Time in the garden. Hours in which to read and write. Time to sit in the sun, take a catnap. Time like a ripple of playful music, empty, inviting, unpressured. Time to think and feel and drift. Time for inspiration and intuition.
When I feel like I don’t have enough time during normal working life, I’m harsh with myself. I tell myself we all find time to do the things that matter and if I’m not, either I don’t really want to do what I think I want to do or I’m doing life WRONG. Again. I’m lazy, I’m disorganized, I’m ineffective, I’m wasting time, and I’m making excuses. So I work harder, get up a little earlier. I try to be more organized. I simplify my routines. I keep moving, producing, and doing.
In these days of my vacation, however, I discover when I have time, real, unlimited, unbounded time, I fall joyfully into exactly what I most want to do (working on my third book), like plunging into a lazy summer river.
I’ve been asking myself what needs to happen for me to follow my heart and soul into writing this book and all the books after it. Now, when the voice of my intuition says ‘more time,’ I’m listening instead of attacking myself. Maybe my story does need more of me than I’ve been giving it, more presence, more space, more energy, more time.
I’ve been thinking about the shape of my life, what I do in a day, a week, a month. I’ve wondered what I can take out. Not work. Not gardening. Not exercise. Not reading. Not Substack, where I serial post my fiction and occasional essays. It occurred to me to wonder if I’m ready to let go of Harvesting Stones.
This morning, while driving to get groceries in early morning rain, I found myself mentally drafting this post, and I thought, I guess I am ready. And I felt sad. Thunder rolled, as it had been all morning. The wipers went back and forth. I sat looking at a stoplight, waiting for the green arrow, and for a moment I let Harvesting Stones drift away, shining, heavy with words, a creased and folded roadmap of my psyche, so full of effort and vulnerability. I imagined space and time and energy in the place where it had been and I thought about letting die what must.
Sadness was there, yes, but also peace. A sense of rightness. I’ve found an interactive community on Substack where comments turn into discussions and inspiration. I like the creative energy there, the collaborative tools and people. Harvesting Stones has been a solo endeavor, hugely growthful when I began because it forced me out of hiding, but now the challenge is gone and I’m ready for more interaction, more connection, and the endless fascination of writing compelling fiction.
It’s been some time since I’ve seen the path ahead so clearly in my writing life, and I want to find out where it leads.
I’m going to leave Harvesting Stones up, just as it is, in the hopes people will continue to stumble across it and find it useful. I will still receive and answer comments and maintain the site. You can always find me on Substack. My work there is free to read, just as it’s been here.
This blog has been one of the most significant things I’ve ever done. Letting go is hard. I cannot close this chapter in my life without thanking my emotional intelligence coach. Without him, I would not be in Maine. I would not have started blogging. I would not have written two books and be working on a third. I’m not sure I’d even be alive. I certainly would not have reclaimed my health and joy. I did the work, but he showed me the way.
Thank you all for being part of my journey. Come see me on Substack!
By Danijel Durkovic on Unsplash
by Jenny Rose | May 4, 2017 | Choice, Power
Last Friday I resigned from my medical transcription job. Shortly after emailing my letter of resignation to my supervisor, she called me, wanting to know why.
I told her the truth. I don’t feel as though my contribution matters. I don’t like the company culture of perfectionism and high stress. I don’t feel valued as an employee, and my skills and talents are worth more than I’m receiving.
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We parted in a friendly manner. She assured me I was eligible for re-hire any time and wished me well. I wished her and the rest of the team well. Cyber handshakes and smiles all around.
I’m in the middle of selling a property back in Colorado. I currently have wonderful renters in the house. They’ve been honest, cooperative, open and have done every single thing they’ve said they would do. They’ve become friends. I’m faxing paperwork, including the lease with these tenants, to Colorado and working with my Colorado real estate agent long distance. The agent expressed surprise that our rental agreement didn’t contain language about punitive consequences if the tenants suddenly decided to break the lease and leave.
It never entered my head to limit my tenants’ choice to leave if they were unhappy. Obviously, at least one property professional feels this is inappropriate business practice, but why would I want to force two people whom I respect and like to stay in a situation that wasn’t working for them?
Answer: I wouldn’t want to, I didn’t want to and I don’t want to.
Last evening I had a long conversation with one of my sons, and among the things we talked about was the idea of noticing how things are within ourselves and the choices we make about our own unhappiness and discomfort.
This morning, as I fried bacon and sausage and worked in the kitchen, I was thinking about this week’s post, trying to come up with something I wanted to write about from my current experience, and suddenly all these interactions lined up in my head (Clunk! Clunk! Clunk!) and I thought, well, there it is. I want to write about quitting.
What do you think of when you think of quitting?
Photo by Milada Vigerova on Unsplash
I think of the word “should,” as in should quit smoking, should quit drinking, should quit eating so much sugar, should quit fill-in-the-blank. These are the kind of circumstances under which quitting is supported and validated, but the “should” is an instrument of shame, guilt and fear, as well as a thoroughly ineffective motivator.
I was taught being a quitter or a dropper outer is a desperately mortifying thing. Quitting is associated with betrayal, abandonment, failure, letting others down and weakness.
Quitting is often an act of aggression. It’s what we do when we’ve hung on by our fingernails until they’ve torn out, one by one, and we have to let go or die. It’s hitting bottom. It’s burnout, breakdown and nothing left to lose, often accompanied by scenes, meltdowns and an exchange of insults.
Quitting is selfish and irresponsible. Choosing to be happy is an embarrassing thing to admit. We’re told If everyone did what made them happy, everything would unravel. Nobody would work. Important things wouldn’t get done. The economy would collapse.
There are cultural consequences for quitting. The label “quitter” impairs our ability to get hired, find stable relationships or make financial choices. A quitter is unreliable and untrustworthy at best. Someone who quits their marriage, family or children is so despicable as to be unforgiveable in some cases.
The word quit, according to a quick search, means to leave a place, resign from a job or stop or discontinue an activity. In short, it’s a word that defines a choice. Interestingly, one of its origins is Middle English, in which it means “set free.”
Set free sounds a lot more positive than quitting, doesn’t it?
It occurs to me that the whole idea of quitting is rooted in power. To quit is to stop. How is it that the culture is so unfriendly and unsupportive, for the most part, of making a choice to stop? Why are we so consistently and pervasively discouraged from saying no, from quitting, from changing?
I’ve written before about the yes and the no. To be in our full power, both consent and dissent have to be available to us. We have to be able to make a real choice. The inability to freely choose points to a power-over situation, and it doesn’t matter if it’s work related, relationship related, addiction related or some internal limitation like fear. Something or someone is interfering with our power to freely choose if we can’t make a choice to quit.
Said a different way, the problem is not so much the addictive substance, the miserable job, the narcissistic family member or the abusive romantic relationship. The problem is we’ve been systematically amputated from our full power to choose.
Sadly, this is a consequence, at least in part, of our current educational system in the United States. It doesn’t work for a lot of kids. It didn’t work for me. It didn’t work for my kids. I told my sons the same thing I was taught when they complained. Education is important. Everyone has to go to school. It’s the law. We all have to do things we don’t want to. Being happy doesn’t matter.
Ugh. I wish I hadn’t believed that. I wish I hadn’t said it, and more than anything I wish I’d listened to their distress and taught them to respond to it appropriately by responding to it appropriately myself. At the time, all I had was what I’d been taught, and I’m absolutely certain my own mother taught me the only thing she knew as well.
Photo by Gemma Evans on Unsplash
The point is few of us learn how to respond to our discomfort or unhappiness, either by expressing it appropriately or taking action to help ourselves. Public education certainly doesn’t teach it. The way we work in this country doesn’t support it. Patriarchy in general doesn’t validate self-reflection, honest communication, or simply saying, “No more. This isn’t working for me. I’m stopping. I’m quitting.”
On the other hand, we’re great at demanding and commanding, as in “You should … You will … You must … You have to …” However, living in a cage of internalized and externalized shoulds is more power-over. When the shoulds have our power, we’re not free to choose. I know, because that’s how I’ve lived most of my life.
One of the hallmarks of power-over is its resistance to change. Change threatens the status quo. Traditional marriage vows are forever, no matter what. Many jobs reward length of service. We’re encouraged to grow up, settle down, get a stable life. Loyalty, dependability, reliability and predictability are all rooted in not changing.
But we do change. Our bodies change. Our needs and desires change. We learn new information. The things that captivate and delight us change. The best of us learn, grow, question, seek new experience, dance elegantly with challenge and tension, and develop a healthy relationship with being wrong. The best of us spend a lifetime making friends with our changing selves, investigating our motivations, our patterns, our behaviors and beliefs, our weaknesses and strengths, and doing battle with our fears and demons.
A relationship, job, priority or place may be a perfect fit at some point in our lives, and then be outgrown. A coping mechanism or response may work very well, even save our lives at one time, and cripple us at another. Life is always changing. The ability to flow with change, to welcome it and play with it, responding with free choice after free choice, defines a well-lived, powerful, elegant life
Quitting, like boredom, has a bad reputation. I suspect this is mostly due to a cultural smear campaign. My son is in his 20s, and as he shared parts of his experience with me, I realized we’ve arrived at the same place, he’s just 30 years ahead of his late-blooming mother. He’s reclaiming his power to respond to his own discomfort and distress and choose what to do, based on prior choices and how they worked out. He’s not waiting until he can no longer bear his unhappiness. He’s not quitting in a blaze of hand grenades and gunfire. He’s not self-destructing. He’s allowing himself to stop, to change, to leave. He’s setting himself free of what doesn’t work for him, and he’s doing it without guilt or shame or the need for outside validation.
Quitting is an art. I can be done with respect, gratitude and dignity. It can be a gift of love and authenticity to self and others. The right person for a job, place or activity is not someone who hates the job, place or activity. The right job, place or activity for us is not the one that makes us unhappy. Commitment, responsibility and keeping our word are all important things, but not unto death. Not unto madness and broken-down health. We are allowed to set ourselves free. We are allowed to change. We are allowed to learn. We are allowed to try and fail and move on.
I began this project of blogging with a letter of resignation. This week I sent another letter of resignation. In both cases, I hung on long after I knew I was miserable because I was afraid to make a change. I have more work to do in building trust with myself, but I’ve made a start.
I quit. My daily crime.
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Jennifer Rose
except where otherwise noted
