One Year Later: Lessons Learned From My Life on the Dole

It’s been a year.

A year of living on the dole.

A year with no job.

A year of doing without.

A year of learning.

It’s been a year.

In some ways it’s been the longest year of my life. Yet, in others, it seems to have flown by.

That frenzied, harried, stressed-out working woman who stared out from my mirror has been replaced. Sure, she had lovely, expensive, salon highlights in her hair, name-brand professional clothes and a well made-up face, but those workplace trappings did little to camouflage the stress lining her face.

Now, a new woman looks out from my mirror: A woman who is unashamed of her hair streaked with grey; a woman wearing sweats (more days than not), yet fresh faced from a full night’s sleep. Yes, this woman looks years younger than the other one. This woman cannot afford expensive tubes of trendy moisturizer, but there’s something better that comes from peace and rest, and no cosmeceutical company can quite replicate that look.

Yes, it has been a year.

And, while I don’t appear to be the same woman on the outside, I’d like to think I am not the same one at heart either.

Here are some of the life lessons I’ve learned:

Life’s too short to turn yourself into a stress hairball. Ironic, considering health insurance worries that dog me. (My premiums go to $400 a month in February and if—and that’s a big if—I can get insurance at all, it will become $1,200 in June). But, job stress and unemployment stress are two different beasts. Doing-without-stuff stress is not the same as stress associated with navigating office politics, hidden agendas and interpersonal minefields. I hope I never feel that way again. I want to work—I just don’t want to let job stress consume me anymore. I think I know a lot more now about work/life balance.

Lesson learned: Even though jobs are hard to come by, I’m going to try to choose wisely next time.

Life’s not about having (or buying) stuff. I’ve spent the past two weeks cleaning out closets. Simply put, I have too much stuff. Even though I haven’t purchased any nonessential for more than a year, I still have too much stuff. Consider:  Ten half-used moisturizer tubes and 20 (or more) little hotel-type shampoo bottles. Fifty half-used lipstick tubes? Really? I don’t have enough lips to use that much in a lifetime.

And, let’s not even discuss clothes, shoes or purses. Too much. Too much. Too much.

Donating stuff to charity, trading at the used book store to earn credit for a friends’ son’s birthday gift and tossing the ratty-looking stuff is far more liberating than marching through stores grabbing up stuff.

Lesson learned: I am never going down that path of mindless consumerism again.

I’ll never have the same easy relationship with money ever again. I never was a spendthrift. Possessing some measure of frugality, I always worked to find the best deal even when buying something expensive, such as my car. (That car is now seven years old and if I got a fabulous job tomorrow, I’d still keep driving it.) Even in the old days when I overdid the eating out, at least I used coupons. But, there’s a huge difference between being frugal with a good income and paddling like a maniac to keep your head above water.

In the future, my nest egg will need to be double or triple what it is now to make me feel any measure of financial security. A huge mortgage even when I can afford it? No, I don’t think so. Every purchase will be thoroughly considered—not just the small ones. And, wastefulness? I hope it never again enters this house.

Lesson learned: I get it now. I mean I really, really get it now why those white-haired folks from the Depression Era never stopped being frugal and savings-conscious even after they had plenty.

I’m not sure I’ll ever feel 100% job security again. Sure, it was incredibly naïve to feel as secure as I did in my pre-dole days, and I was probably an oddity in my generation. Experts say Gen Xers never felt job security the way Baby Boomers did, claiming they were scarred from watching their company-loyal parents get downsized in the 1980s. But, my parents weren’t downsized—Mom was self-employed and Dad worked 35 years at his government job before retirement. I never felt, or even saw, insecurity. I worked hard. I worked for a large company. I got promotion after promotion until I reached the top. I felt my job would be around forever. I was wrong. Naïveté, I will miss you.

Lesson learned: Never, never again will I believe I am so bullet-proof it can’t happen to me. 

 
True friendship is priceless. When you’re in an influential position and have money to socialize, it’s easy to attract new social acquaintances. But, are those folks true friends or the fair-weather variety? Worrying about whether I would lose my job, it never occurred to me to worry about losing people. While the fair-weather social acquaintances have fallen away, true friends stepped in to show me how priceless they are.

Lesson learned: Next time, I’ll figure out who the real friends are a lot sooner and I will treasure them more.

  

The joy of the treat is worth savoring. Whether it’s a much anticipated free haircut or a birthday dinner out with friends, everything is better when it’s a treat, a break from everyday routine. But, if it all comes a bit too easy, then nothing is special—nothing is a treat. There’s no anticipation.

I used to wonder why turn-of-the-century children got excited about a mere orange for a Christmas gift. But, in those days, oranges were rare and special—a treat meant to be savored. Not having everything your heart desires makes doing something special just that—special. There is an incredible joy that comes from savoring the moment—preserving the feeling so that it can be remembered long after the moment has passed.  

Lesson learned: I’ll never again let treats become commonplace. I’ll keep some things as special things to be savored.

Life on the dole has been challenging for me but never horrible. While some unemployed friends are down to their last $10 and others do without health insurance and home heating, I’m not missing anything critical. Admittedly, being without a clothes dryer has no appeal, and cold showers while the water heater was out was not my favorite part of this adventure. And, it’s entirely possible I’ll be paying into the distant future tiny installments on the bills for the ER, casts and physical therapy for my tumble down the stairs. Sure, income is limited, but I’m not poor or even broke.

Occasionally, I wonder what happens when the dole checks end, but, channeling Miss Scarlett, I declare in my best Southern accent that “I’ll think about that tomorrow.”

Lesson learned: As my grandmother always said, “Remember there’s always somebody worse off than you are so just count your blessings and don’t complain.”

Money cannot buy life’s important things. It can’t buy time with Mom and Dad. It can’t replace their TLC while I was injured. It can’t buy a visit with a friend. It can’t buy a snuggle from my cat. Maybe I can’t go out to eat or to the movies with friends, but I can still visit with them in my own house or theirs. In fact, having a job used to limit severely my time with family and friends, making them complain they never saw me. Now I have time for those I love.

Lesson learned: The best things in life really are free.

I already have everything I need. I may no longer have everything I want, but I have everything I need (and then some). I have a warm home, good health, loving and supportive parents, loyal friends, healthy food and some money left in the bank. I have more than most people living on this planet. And, most importantly, I have a thankful heart.  

Lesson learned: Money is just a tool that makes life more comfortable. Don’t make it more important than it has to be.

Yes, it’s been a year.

A rough year that often felt like an emotional rollercoaster.

A year that’s left me feeling refreshed and rejuvenated to begin again.

A year of lessons learned.

A year of transformation.

A year I would not trade for anything because it made me who I am today.

I have made it through the year. Yes, my life on the dole is still a work in progress. But, I like the woman I’ve become. And, I like the woman I’m still becoming.

And I still believe this story will have a happy ending.

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Photo Credits:

Woman (Not Ariel): http://www.flickr.com/photos/zarajay/2321493140/sizes/z/in/photostream/

Desk Covered with Resumes: http://www.flickr.com/photos/25866546@N04/3146995298
Walk-in Closet (Note: Not Ariel's closet): 
http://www.flickr.com/photos/hckyso/2810247806/sizes/o/in/photostream/
In God We Trust: http://www.flickr.com/photos/zanthia/2950288412/sizes/o/in/photostream/

Friends: Source Unknown

Depression-Era Laundry: http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:REA_woman_works_washboard.gifDepression-Era Laundry

Thanksgiving Grace 1942: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Thanksgiving_grace_1942.jpg

That’s a Lovely Dress You’re Wearing, Miss Scarlett

I have a hard time accepting help.

No, I mean, I really, really have a hard time accepting help. 

Like Scarlett O’Hara, I’ll flounce grandly about in drapery dresses before letting anybody guess I need help.

All my life I’ve helped people. Maybe it’s in my DNA—a personality trait inherited from altruistic forebears. Once, I took a personality assessment and was nearly off the charts for helping others. It isn’t just what I do; it’s who I am.

My family was a strong influence. My grandfather worked multiple jobs during the Depression to support five families. My grandmother visited the sick and cooked for others even as she was dying of cancer. My parents are also givers and helpers.

Until I started living on the dole, I didn’t think much about my volunteerism or donations. I did for others because helping makes me happy.

Now, I’m on the dole. There’s not much to share. I can’t give money because I have none. In short, my charitable usefulness is diminished. Instead, I find myself—to my horror—on the receiving end of help—a peculiar situation indeed.

And, I still do not, repeat, do not, like it.

In recent weeks you’ve read my parents’ take on my situation. Here’s mine:

My “Super” Dad was always the first to look over broken stuff at my house, but in the old days when I had money, if it required more than a simple fix, I would tell him I would call the plumber, carpenter, electrician or other repairman. Mostly, he advised and I’d take it from there.

Yet, last December, it troubled me to watch my 68-year old father with bum knees and arthritic hips down on the cold garage floor trying to repair my dryer—for days. I wanted to say, “Don’t bother with it. I’ll call the repairman.” Instead, I bit back my words and let him work while I cooked him dinner. It wasn’t much, but it was all I could offer.

Since my late twenties, my parents and I have gone to dinner “Dutch treat.” However, now that I’m on the dole, they insist on paying. At first, we’d squabble about the bill;  I told them I could still pay my way if we went out only occasionally.

More than once, Mom said, “Stop being silly. We want to see you, and we’re perfectly capable of paying. You can take us out when you get a job.”

Each time I accepted their generosity I was uncomfortable. Still, I reasoned  I would have a new job soon; my freeloader status was only temporary.

But, the thing about parents is how wily they are. To avoid the who’s-paying hassle, Mom mostly suggests a restaurant farther away. She knows I’ll drive us in my fuel-efficient car, and I won’t make a fuss about the bill if I drive.

“We’ll get this,” she says as she grabs the check. “It makes up for the gas.”

I’ve figured out that trick. Now when we eat out, I don’t argue because I understand it’s important to them to do this. It makes them feel as if they’re doing something useful. Yet, I can’t help who I am; Mom told me yesterday that I still wince as though I’m about to be hit every time the server asks if it will separate bills or all on one.

And my parents aren’t the only ones accommodating my circumstances. When my college roommate (last week’s guest blogger), told me not to buy her eight-year-old son a Christmas present, I felt awful. Still, I appreciated her understanding . She’s been a supportive friend during my joblessness.

The list of those who have given to me goes on and on. Here are a few examples:

Mom’s longtime friend suggested that Mom and I join her and her daughter for a home-cooked lunch at her house.

A friend about to be married asked if, to avoid the expense of a bridesmaid gown, I’d prefer keeping the guest book. (I did.)

Another friend suggested dinner with a “buy-one-get-one-free” coupon. Then she grabbed the check, telling me she was the “buy one” and I was the “free one”.

A CPA friend bought my lunch—saying I could reciprocate when I found work—and put me in touch with other contacts I could call to try to network some contract work.

A business contact became a friend as she encouraged me, took me to networking events, offered free use of her copier and office space, and in general, made my job search easier.

I’m blessed with people who care. But, I’m still me, and I can’t shake that tendency to minimize my challenges by saying with a smile: “Well, it’s tough, but I’ll get through it.”

Maybe I really do suffer from Scarlett O’Hara Syndrome—the affliction that causes strong women to sew drapes into dresses just to appear to be keeping it all together in tough circumstances. Even if our bellies are filled with shriveled radishes, we maintain the illusion that all is well and thanks-so-much-but-I-don’t-need-any-help.

I’m not sure if I will ever be 100 percent comfortable receiving help. Hugs, encouragement and emotional support are easiest to accept. Work, money and restaurant meals are another matter. But I am learning. I really am.

I keep telling myself others need to help—just as I needed to help back when I had money.

When I won’t accept help, am I withholding myself from them?

Is it selfish to be unwilling to be emotionally vulnerable enough to accept help?

Is it arrogant?

Am I depriving them of the opportunity to feel good about themselves?

Is it just another way of saying, “I’m awesome. Let me be the strong one. Let me be your benefactor, but you can never be mine”? 

I’m learning it’s important to receive the love, understanding, support and help that  friends and family want to share. It makes me human. And, maybe that’s the hardest part of all.

Still, in the end, even tough Miss Scarlett knew where to go for help: “What is there to do? What is there that matters? . . . Home. I'll go home.”

And, even if it’s hard to accept help, home is what I want, too. Home is not a geographical place—it’s my family and friends. It’s their love. It’s where I keep everything that matters most to me.

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Just for Fun: Check Out Miss Scarlett’s Drapery Dress in Gone With the Wind:

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And For Even More Fun: Check Out Carol Burnett in “Went with the Wind, Part 2”:

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And, a Bit More Fun:

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Photos courtesy of Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer (MGM) (public domain)

What Do You Say to a Friend?

By Guest Blogger: "Martha," Ariel's college roommate and close friend

 

What do you say to a single friend you've known for more than 20 years when she has lost her job—her only source of income? What do you say to that same unemployed friend who has always been employed and has worked her way up to a great job? What do you tell that friend who had her foot poised on the next rung of the corporate ladder?

 

"It will be okay. . ."

 

"God has a plan. . ."

 

"It could be the best thing that ever happened to you. . ."

"God uses these times to test our faith and teach us. . ."

 

"Just think how God will help you grow through this experience. . ."

"Just be glad you knew in advance so that you could plan ahead for the change in income. . ."

 

After Ariel lost her job, I struggled with what to say that would ease the blow and help and support her as she faced uncertain days. All the phrases above sounded pretty cliché and didn't seem to be appropriate (even though I still said many of them, I'm ashamed to say).

 

Now, upon reflection, I realize that I should have handled things differently. After some pretty devastating personal events in my own life (not job related), I heard some of the same clichés from both friends and family.

I just wanted to scream at them and say, "NO IT WILL NOT BE OK!!! I DON'T CARE WHAT GOD IS TRYING TO TEACH ME!!! WHY ME?!?!? WHY AM I BEING PUNISHED?!? I HAVE ALWAYS TRIED TO DO THE RIGHT THING!!! WHY IS THIS HAPPENING?!?!?"

I wonder now if Ariel secretly wanted to yell any of those heart-wrenching words at me each time we hung up the phone. If so, I can only ask her forgiveness.

I wish I had just said, "No, it's not OK. It's hard. You'll have to struggle. I don't know what to do to help. But, I will be here for you."

 

Sometimes, I'm learning that simple honesty and a willingness to listen and be leaned on are the best ways to help a friend who needs you.

As the months have passed since Ariel's job loss, I have noticed some differences in our relationship. In the past, because of her busy work schedule, I had to make appointments just to talk with Ariel. (No, I'm not kidding). We would email several times to find a suitable time for both of us and finally connect by phone. And, always, as we were talking, Ariel was on her way to or from work, to or from meetings. Now, I can expect to find Ariel at home almost any time I call. I still have to be careful of my timing in case there is a phone interview on the calendar, but at least I know where she is.

 

It's also interesting how our topics of conversation have changed. We still share personal things (not to be mentioned here), but now, instead of talking about the latest trendy restaurants that Ariel has tried, she is sharing recipes with me and chattering excitedly about her herb garden and homegrown tomatoes that will be ready soon. It seems that in her efforts to save money during these lean financial times, Ariel has become quite a good cook and gardener.

Instead of visiting and heading to a pricey restaurant for lunch, we choose homemade pizza topped with herbs from Ariel's garden and fresh vegetables from a local farmer's market. My son had no complaints, by the way, and LOVED Ariel's pizza that she served when we last visited.

(Food has always been an important "ingredient" in my relationship with Ariel. When we first met, we bonded over homemade goodies sent to us by our moms during final exam week at college. All our friends were still studying, but finals were over for both of us. There we were with care packages filled with homemade pound cake, cookies, bread and other goodies. Ordered out of our rooms by our (then) roommates who had to study, we met in the hallway each holding our care packages, found a place to sit and began to dig in. And, now, more than 20 years later, we still enjoy being together and eating yummy food.)

Any friend who can stay friends with me for more than 20 years is someone worth keeping. Ariel is a friend like that. I fully expect our friendship to last many more years. So, Ariel, the best I can tell you is that this time in your life right now is hard. I know you are hurting and confused. But, God heals in HIS time, and works through events to make us more like Christ. This is often a very long and painful process. It's just plain hard when you're going through it. But, God is there. Trust that HE cares and that HE won't let you down.

And most of all . . .

 

I didn't say it in the beginning, but I want to say it now, "No, it's not OK. It's hard. You'll have to struggle. I don't know what to do to help. But, I will be here for you."



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Photo Courtesy of: http://bit.ly/9KhcCK (Note: Not Ariel and Martha)