Who Needs a Therapist When (Pt. 14)

So, I've been trying to get a job teaching. For, like forever. Well, a couple years at least. See, I thought that since I was having a hard time writing, but I really really enjoyed teaching and engaging in creative writing workshops, that maybe that could be a good alternative to vaccilating between a job that left me plenty of time to write and left me too poor to live and a job that was full-time, but left no space for writing in my life.

It turns out, even a Master's degree in creative writing isn't enough to get a writing job. Instead, college level teaching experience or extensive publishing credits are required—even to teach at a basic community college level.

So, after two and a half years of applying for every writing job, remote or in the state, I finally decided that maybe a PhD with a teaching fellowship could be a good route to getting teaching experience and a teaching job. I've always planned on the PhD, maybe it was time for it.

For the second year in a row, I've been rejected from the PhD program. The only program in the western US that offers a teaching fellowship. I know they are cutthroat, I know it is something that lots of people want to do.

But I'm too poor to keep working part-time for too little. I'm too sick to keep functioning without healthcare. So, while I might apply for the program again next year, and the year after that until my GRE scores expire, I can't put off saying goodbye to this dream.

In the wake of the news, I heard over and over soft, kind words from friends. They were disappointed on my behalf.

The thing is, I'm not sad that I'm not starting school. I'm in a terrible place to try to attend school full-time while teaching. I'm in a terrible place to make just over 20K for the whole year again. I don't have much faith in the teachers of the program to think that I would really improve my writing. I want a PhD because I like thinking critically about writing, literature, media, and the world.

But I'm not really sad that I'm not starting school right now. That feels almost like a relief.

No, I'm sad that I'm still not going to find a teaching position. I've been applying for basic composition, introduction to Microsoft suite, first semester of college type classes. Still nothing. I need that first job, that first inch of experience before I can move on, and I just can't get it.

I can't keep waiting. Poverty is reaching some pretty bad levels, in large part because my partner was unemployed for almost half of the last year, but only made worse by how little I make.

So, I need to find something else. I need to find something full-time. I need to stop prioritizing a career that is trapped in eternal floundering, and focus on getting stable.

That's what I'm sad about. Because it feels like giving up. It feels like signing on to abandon my dreams completely. It feels like the next 40 years are going to simply get worse until I can finally lay down and die.

I'm sure maybe in a couple years maybe I'll have the energy to write a bit on the side. Maybe one of the things I've completed will magically get picked up now.

But, I don't think I can afford to keep hoping for miracles, and my rejection means that there are no more non-miracle routes.

I'm sure this won't possibly be bad for my emotional wellbeing.

But hey, at least I'll have health insurance again.

Last Week's (Pt. 13)

Part 1