My last job was working for a bookkeeper in 2008. In July of that year I had a mental breakdown and spent 6 weeks on the psych ward. I never went back.
I loved my job. People thought it was boring but it was my passion. The typical response? “I’ve never heard anyone say they were passionate about bookkeeping!” It’s strange, I know, but I love everything about it
By nature, I am meticulous, organized, and detail-oriented. Bookkeeping was a perfect fit. If my work didn’t balance I wasn’t happy until I found the error.
Me: I’m not balanced
Boss: How much are you out?
Me: Two cents
Boss: You’re balanced, don’t worry about it
Me: I have to find it
Boss: No you don’t. I’m not paying you to find two cents
It sounds anal, but I really like everything to balance. I need it to balance. The rush I feel when everything balances is amazing.
It’s ironic to me, that in my quest to be precise in my work, my battle with depression and anxiety left my mind scattered. It was a bitter disappointment that I would never work again.
After a couple of months my ex-husband wondered when I was going back to work. It was an expectation and a demand.
“I don’t know. I don’t know when, or even if I can go back,” was my response.
I was filled with guilt and shame. Did my ex-husband think I was being lazy? Didn’t he know how much I wanted to work? He became frustrated. As his impatience grew, he struggled to understand what I was going through. Our relationship eroded and we seperated in 2009.
Since the separation I often wonder if I can work again. Maybe, one day. When that day comes I hope I can do something I love. Something that requires the skills of an exacting, particular mind.