Rejection is redirection; I will MAKE it so.

The day after Passover I started a new job.

I was ecstatic about it, though super wary. My previous job had lasted four months, and aside from my amazing coworkers, had been toxic for me. As has happened previously in my life, I got lucky - they did me a favor and broke up with me. They fired me with literally no good reason.

But from the moment that I received the notice of hearing (how it works here in Israel), I decided to make a change in my life and focus on my improvement.

I immediately signed up for classes on Coursera, started taking lessons on social media, marketing, and confidence on Linkedin, and chose a multiple of podcasts, one of which I have really connected with (20 Minutes with Bronwyn). I focused on Linkedin (more than any other social media) and followed the positive outlook posts and adopted my mantra: "rejection is redirection." 

It wasn't easy. Especially with my depression, anxiety, sleep issues, and four children under eight years old. I even had a day where I absolutely lost my sh*t, had an anxiety/anger attack, and had to hide myself in my room for the rest of the day (and medicate myself).

But I stuck to it, listened to my podcast almost daily, ignored the little voices in my head that tried to put me down, and landed an interview with a reputable company (in the same city). I walked into their office and felt an undercurrent of... calmness. 

I sat with the CEO and he was a soft-spoken leader. I liked him, his approach, and his demeanor. So I took a second interview over Chol HaMoed Passover and was hired that day, a mere week and a half after I was fired by the toxic company.

It took at least a month for me to get used to the calm work environment. To get used to the fact that mistakes are a part of learning and refining your skills. To not fear for my job every time my content manager or CEO called.

And about four weeks after I started my new job, my father's health drastically and rapidly deteriorated. I didn't automatically book a ticket, but instead went in on Sunday to help with production of a podcast. Upon sitting with me, the CEO -without question or hesitation- told me to book my ticket home. So I did.

And my father passed away on my flight home.

The CEO, my content manager, and everyone at the office were incredibly kind. They told me not to worry and they took care of everything while I was gone, while I attended the funeral, while I sat shiva for a week, while I flew back through two layovers, while I recovered over the weekend.

And the CEO sent me constant messages of strength and support and heart. It was unexpected, but reiterated the feeling of family and community that he had told me about at the very first interview. 

I am pleased to see that there still are some people who consider their word as their bond (thank you, Amir).

It was very unlike my last shiva experience (for my beloved mother nine years ago) where I was fired, via email, while I sat in my brother's house (I've had some pretty traumatic work situations).

To get through everything, I have relied upon the base I created eight weeks ago. The base that focuses on my internal strengths, my spirit, my capabilities, and the future. I feel a veneer of calm I never used to have.

I'm not saying that I don't have outbursts of anger. I'm not saying that I don't have anxiety or episodes of depression where I don't want to get out of bed or randomly start crying (like now).

But I'm better than I used to be, and the veneer is thickening. Maybe others don't see it yet, but I do.

I'm a lot more confident at work and in myself. And I am using this as a springboard for everything else: now is my time to work on myself physically (again), on learning how to be better organized (and to pass these skills on to my children), and learn. Just keep learning.

It'll come.

And as I now use as a mantra when calming my two year old...

"It's okay. All is well."

An Adult's Anger - A Kid's Perspective

In life, you go through experiences alone. Honestly and brutally. 

Even if someone is by your side, they're not inside your brain, your feelings, your heart. They don't feel the pain you do. They don't feel your anxiety and fury and sadness from the inside out; they do, however, ride the rocky ocean the wave of emotions is creating.

And it's like dropping a rock into a lake (or exploding a nuclear bomb, depending on the event). The concentric circles of feelings spread and touch everything - both on the surface and beneath. Everything is affected, whether you notice it or not.

The Adult Mind & Anger

As an adult, you try to navigate your own thoughts, reactions, and feelings flaming through your amygdala. It's really fucking difficult and definitely not linear. You may know, intellectually, that it's the right thing or that it had to happen, but honestly? Who cares about the intellectual on the day or day after the event?! You have emotions that are raging, lighting everything on fire, triggering extreme anxiety and physical discomfort within your chest.

Even breathing and meditation doesn't always expel the toxicity and anger, even if it helps a bit. It doesn't help enough though, when you're home with four kids who just want to sit on you. Be near you. Breathe on you. Block any movement of your arms to do anything. Hug you, run away and scream, return and hug you again. Ask for a sandwich, refuse the sandwich, ask for a different sandwich. Eat yours.

A part of you just wants to bury your face in their hair and breathe. Another part of you just doesn't want to be touched. And all you end up doing is flinching, crying, and screaming from rage when some tiny thing goes wrong.

From Adult to Kid

How the hell do you understand all that as a kid? 

Mom is crazy, sad, angry, cranky, snapping at the least offense. To prepare my oldest one for me (I'm a cocktail of issues sometimes: depression, anxiety, ADD), we spoke to him (8yo) so he knows what happened to trigger this. First my husband let him know, and later that afternoon, I felt it was a vital, teachable moment. 

I squatted down to meet his gaze and explained my feelings to him, my frustrations, my anger. I told him that I was treated unfairly because of a person with bad communication skills (the communication thing is a key issue in our family). He was sad for me, asked why the other person hadn't tried to explain better the problem. He and I ended up having an entire conversation about the importance of talking, and the disappointment when some people simply don't have the same values as you.

Amongst a ton of other feelings, I was just sad. And he got that, kept giving me hugs. I told him the whole situation sucked and I was super upset, but I would try again tomorrow.

A New Day - Tomorrow... maybe the next....

I'm feeling a little better tonight, but I had to hide in my room, take some prescribed medicine to help with anxiety, and relax. I listened to my newest communication podcast, which has brought me to a really good place this past week (check out 20 Minutes with Bronwyn), drank some wine, took some Udemy courses.

Hubby had to put the kids to bed, and from the sound of it, they were being challenging. And I could do nothing to help since sometimes it's simply better to stay away when you're a fire-breathing dragon with a short fuse.

So tomorrow, hopefully, I'll feel better. And I'll apologize for losing my shit and explain that adults also have really big feelings, but we have to learn how to react to them and control them instead of the other way around. Many times we succeed, but sometimes we simply fail. And failure is acceptable in life as long we learn from it and don't beat ourselves up about it.

One day, I hope the explanation of my feelings and apologies for bad choices will prevent at least one session with a psychiatrist. And maybe, just maybe, my love and hugs will help, too. 

That's what my tomorrow will be filled with - talking, opening up, and lots and lots of hugs and snuggling, if they let me. I think they will. Kids are pretty resilient - but don't take advantage of that. They're also pretty bright and perceptive. They know you better than you think.

Take that with a grain of salt and a shot of tequila.