A year ago, I found out that I was losing my job. 

Two months into a graduate program is particularly bad timing (or at least it felt that way at the time). And right after moving in together with my husband to our first apartment, in a new city, with no friends or social network. 

Stress on stress, for an easily stressed person. 

I questioned whether I was in the right place, whether I should drop out of the master’s program. Because of visa issues, quitting and flying home wasn’t an option. I had worked so hard to get there, and all I felt was disappointment.

I signed up for therapy, called my parents, talked to my husband—all of those little things we’re meant to do to help us carry on. During my intake session for therapy, I shared my anxiety about my master’s program being some weird, indulgent project of mine—that I had needlessly complicated my life and should have been content with the status quo, keeping my head down at a job I hated in a way that wouldn’t have jeopardized my employment. 

Self-doubt is a demon I’ve fought all my life, and here I seemed to find some proof that I really wasn’t good enough. I should have put off my master’s degree for some indistinct future point, some moment on the horizon when I would have been good enough, worthy enough, when I would have earned the opportunity. Whatever that means.

I almost called self-doubt an old friend, but it’s no friend of mine. 

I try to pacify it with all the extra work, reviewing my thoughts, words, and actions—analyzing what I did wrong in the past, and planning what I can do better next time around. Refusing to let others care for me because I haven’t done enough to earn it. Ready at all times to downplay any and all success with bashful, red-faced stammering or a self-deprecating comment. 

As a protestant Midwesterner, not having a job feels like a fundamental negligence of my purpose as a human being. If I’m not working, washing the dishes, paying the bills—or, possibly, spending time with unpleasant relatives—then who the hell am I? 

This year has been my project. And what can I say? After graduating from a master’s course, everyone is supposed to thank their family and say how much their support meant. But with Juan, it’s been so much more. Juan has helped me to believe that what I am doing with my life is worthwhile, that my goals matter, that I am more than my ability to win a paycheck from an employer that doesn’t value me for anything more than my ability to fake enthusiasm and instantly respond to Teams messages. Juan helped me to reorient my mind toward belief, validation, self-love, and acceptance. 

The more distance I get from losing my job a year ago, the more I see it as one of the best things that has happened to me. This past year, I’ve had good soil and good weather to help me grow. To pursue my education, my goals, my writing, my relationships, my passion, and my joys. In nearly all aspects of my life, I have become richer. I find myself more in quest of my life and less in search of a living. 

There’s no moral here and no takeaway. I can’t send you home with advice to quit your job and empty your life savings. All I can say is that for the first time in a very, very long time, I feel some small measure of joy in the things that I do—and that’s quite enough for me.