I had a moment of clarity yesterday during my therapy session. In retrospect, it seems like something so very obvious, and something I should really have already known. But I didn't, I guess. And it seems to make so much sense now.
How many times have I said my job is killing my soul? How many times have I complained and bitched and moaned? A lot, I would say. An awful lot. Enough to be super fucking obnoxious, I'm sure. But until yesterday, I hadn't really considered just how much how I feel at my job has probably affected the way I feel in the rest of my life.
I spend forty hours a week feeling useless, purposeless, unproductive, and quite frankly, stupid. I've spent five days a week for about the last 50 weeks, for the past two years, at a job that doesn't fulfill me or challenge me or give me anything beyond a meager, never increasing paycheck, and free snacks in the kitchen. (Not that I'm complaining about the snacks.) I've lost the drive and motivation to do anything.
Outside the office, I'm constantly criticizing myself, thinking I'm a failure or worthless. I'm incredibly competitive with myself. I set myself up for failure, sure that I can't succeed. I worry I'm not smart enough or talented enough or worthy. I've lost the drive and motivation to do anything.
Gee, wonder why? Could it be that the way I feel about myself at work has translated over to the rest of my life?
Food for thought.