My career shame

I love Brené Brown. I spent this morning listening to these two talks:
However, no matter how many times I watch her videos, I still don’t feel like I’ve truly internalized the message. Shame always trips me up. Last week I finished my job. This week I’ve been exhausted. It occurs to me that now, I have returned to a state I was trying to protect myself against. The shame of unemployment, or more accurately, of not having a salary. I spent the first four years of my life after college without a stable salary. This past year was the first time I had a salary and full benefits. It felt just as validating as I had always hoped it was. It removed a large source of anxiety from my life, both monetary and personal. However, as this blog mentions, I was not as happy as I had always thought I would be. Instead I was constantly drained, grouchy, and cried a lot. I considered quitting long before I did, but I knew I had to prove something to myself. I had to prove I could stick it out. I had to prove I could stick with something.
I don’t think many conversations about careers include the word shame, but they should. I always thought it was just me, but then isn’t that how shame operates? It keeps you from opening up to others or connecting through the messages of “You’re the only one who feels this way; no one else would understand; there’s something wrong with just you so don’t tell anyone; etc.” Even when I would hear my own fears echoed back by someone else, I would dismiss this as “it’s different for them, they had #{x} (where x is whatever job they had—my Ruby training says this looks better) job or internship before this so they don’t have to worry about finding a job like I do.” Then, the worse lie: “if I just get straight As, if I just do everything perfectly, if I never fail, then I won’t ever have to worry about this again.” So, I cried over every A minus, had a nervous breakdown over the one C I got, had anxiety attacks at my field placements, and annoyed my boyfriend at every turn, because I wouldn’t let him understand. Then, miracle of miracles, I got a job! I was not as happy as I thought, because I accepted the job, not from a place of worthiness but from a place of fear and insecurity. I assumed (wrongly, as it turns out) that they hired me because they would have hired anyone. I agreed to start earlier than I wanted to because I was so afraid of losing what I believed to be my one opportunity for gainful employment. I spent the year always looking over my shoulder, waiting for someone to tell me that I wasn’t good enough, and they don’t know how I managed to get hired. And despite knowing it wasn’t a good fit, I was scared to admit it out loud, for fear I would lose that which I had worked so hard to get.
Now, I’ve admitted it. I’ve left. And I am daily combating the fear that I will never get that again, and that I will never be a good enough programmer, and that I will fail again.