"Tedi Ellis is no longer with our agency," was the email that was sent out two days after I resigned from my position as a caseworker. In the days that followed, I laid silently on my couch, eating cereal from the box and watching endless reruns of grey's anatomy and Netflix originals. If I was to be completely honest, there was very little that my resignation had to do with me. It was not, by a long shot, my choice.
I promised myself in the days that followed that I would never talk bad about the agency, as the root of that agency surrounded bettering the lives of children. They deserved more than the little I could say. I also promised myself that while I felt hurt by some of the people I had trusted for the last 11 months and spent countless hours working beside, I would not spend my energy hating them or trying to destroy their work. There was, even in the midst of all the hurt, freedom in that choice. I promised myself that I would not allow the hurt I felt and the "what ifs" to follow me. I promised myself that I would choose to allow the last year of my life to be used for good, to not allow my words to ruin the friendships I created and the work I dedicated the last year of my life to. So I stayed silent. I think though, to a certain extent, there was also freedom in that choice.
When I was a student in college, I knew Social Work wasn't for me. I knew journalism wasn't for me, either. Same for psychology, sociology, law school, marketing... and on the search to find a path for myself, I even took a small detour through med school, where I literally lasted a conversation and a tour through the hospital, before I knew that wasn't for me either. I had to make Social Work "work" for me. So I did. I think there is a line, in both directions, when it comes to being successful in a career. If you care too little, you won't be successful... but on the other side of that, if you care too much, you won't be either. In this case, I fell on the later, where I found myself forcing myself to give up, to stop caring, to shutting it all off, just to survive and make it through the day. I mean it when I say that I needed a nap, every single day I got off, to transition from the weight of the work back to my own personal life. I cared too much. I cried daily, my heart broken to the hurt and grief these children I worked with experienced every single day.
This period of my life, this chapter of my life, was closed before I wanted it to be and the last three months have taught me, that that's okay. I laugh more than I did. I see my family more than I did. I dream more, plan ahead more, make time for the important things, I pray more. I play and chase my puppies around more. I take more pictures, I watch more movies, and I smile more. I go to church more. I lay in my bed more, I sleep more, and I honestly mean it when I say that I just feel more like Ted. Mentally, I am just more.
I am happier.
I wanted to make a difference in the world... and I wanted to do that for foster children and I thought that being a caseworker was my calling, but it wasn't. My calling in life got buried under paperwork, missed calls and voicemails, court dates, and meetings, and I lost myself. I lost what I wanted in life and what I wanted to accomplish and I realized that I wasn't making a difference at all. I lost the last year.
And that's okay.
Three days after the last day I worked as a caseworker, I got out of bed, showered for the first time in three days, poured a bowl of cereal, and I walked into a new job (an old job) and I knew that I was exactly where I was supposed to be. It felt like home. It felt like Ted, the old one that I had spent the last year trying to find. It was right. It was what I needed. It was healing.
When I was a kid, I spent every summer at my grandma's condo with my brother and sister while our parent's worked. Every day of the summer, after lunch, we would go swimming. We would play for hours. One thing I always did was jump in with my sister and we would try to swim the whole length of the pool under water, trying so hard to get to the other side before coming up for air. I could never do it, but there was this moment when I would push myself past my limit and I would have no choice but to swim like hell to try to get to the surface to keep my lungs from exploding, and then I would take this big deep breath of air... and in seconds, everything was fine.
That's what walking back into Tiger Bounce was for me.
It was the breath of fresh air that I needed after trying so hard to make it in a field that wasn't for me. I didn't know everything I know now, then. But I knew I was where I was supposed to be. I can't explain it, but it was just good.
And in a little more than a week, I'll be the new owner of Tiger Bounce, official January 1st... a complete and utter blessing, a gift I did not deserve, and a beginning I didn't see coming. As this new chapter begins for me, I am blown away by the grace of God and the kindness of others.
In 3 months, I have been broken and shattered and destroyed... I have felt hurt, I have grieved for a life I won't have and broken dreams scattered all over the place. I have been at my lowest... completely unsure of where to turn. But God has taken all of that, all of that brokenness, everything that I lost, and He has created this hope and these dreams and this beginning for me that I never imagined was possible.
Thanks to everyone who has stayed a part of my life through the last decade, as I have failed more times than I can count, but who have supported me endlessly and remain my motivation for everything. I am so thankful for the friends I have made over the last year and the people I have worked alongside and I hope and pray that the friendships I created in the Social Work field will continue as I transition from social worker to business owner.
I never thought I would say anything close to this, but I am so thankful September happened and I am so thankful that January 1st is right around the corner.
.
