As we gain closure to yet another
year, I am reminded to reflect on all that has transpired on this latest
journey around the sun. It’s easy to brush off gratitude. In today’s hectic hustle and bustle very few
find time to ponder on the little acts of kindness that over time has
positively impacted our lives. We forget how fortunate we are sometimes because
of the little things such as your partner being kind enough to fill up your gas
tank, or when you lost your ATM card and your co-worker bought you lunch, or
when the stranger held the elevator door for you, or even when the doctor told
you that the lump in your breast was benign. These are all hypothetical
situations, but these examples happen a million times a day to each and every
one of us.
Scientific research from UCLA Health
indicates that actively practicing daily gratitude for 15 minutes a day has
lasting physical and mental health benefits. From reducing depression,
lessening anxiety, and even improving sleep quality, there is no doubt that
practicing the art of gratitude can affect every aspect of your health.
One of the many aspects of my life
that I am grateful for this year is being able to work with such an amazing
group of people. The photo below is a portion of our Washington team, but I am
grateful for the collective whole. 2022 was a devastating year for me. In the
first quarter of the year, I was laid off, then I was evicted, I lost all my
belongings, everything sentimental, baby teeth, 1st grade art drawings from my
children, love letters I had saved, and musical instruments that were my
Father’s. To survive, I lived in my SUV, which doubled as my office. I charge
my phone and laptop why applying for every job, and every county health and
human services benefit while simultaneously also looking for a place to live
and just praying that by the time I have to submit a rental application I will
actually have an income. This was the beginning of Sacramento’s scorching
summer. It’s 117 degrees daily and gas prices are high. I’m trying to minimally
operate the SUV’s AC but by 9:30 - 10 am it was already reaching triple digits.
My default character disposition has
always been sunshine and rainbows. This outlook has sustained me in life. Colin
Powell’s quote resonates with me, “Perpetual optimism is a force multiplier.” As
I’m trying to juggle basic survival, I still needed to be a partner, and a
mother, and a daughter. It would serve no purpose to breakdown and reveal my
true feelings. I have always been a bastion of stability for those that rely on
me. I did not want to expose my fear.
My reluctance to disclose my fear was
not out of pride. I didn’t want others to worry. I did not want to burden
others with my problems. I got myself into this mess, I will get myself out.
But truth be told: I was scared. All my insecurities permeated my soul. What if
I can’t get myself out of this? I felt like the living effigy and poster child
for imposter syndrome. I was an epic failure, a charlatan. My old acquaintance
Depression kept visiting me. She would bring her sidekick Anxiety. We never did
get along.
Do you know how hard it is to exude
confidence in a job interview when you know that the position would literally
change your life? To nonchalantly answer interview questions with a matter of
fact tone, hoping to mask the tinge of desperation that is overtly audible to
my inner self. I wanted to present a level of professionalism during each
interview. With each interviewer I met, I would scan their face in hopes they
were not members at the same Planet Fitness I would visit every morning for a
shower. That two minute walk of shame
from the parking lot to the shower stall was
worse than standing in line at the county benefits office or at the
local food bank. I would actively avoid the looks I would receive when I entered
the gym in pajamas and leave without so much as breaking a sweat. I did not
disclose my situation to any potential employer, I didn’t want the job out of
pity. I wanted to be chosen because I was the most qualified for the
position.
I found solace knowing that I was not the only one who had befallen hard times. I would read posts on reddit about functioning unhoused families and what they did to survive. I had posted on my social media a random blurb about not letting this downfall define me. I was so shocked when a reporter from the Washington Post responded to my tweet and asked if I would be interested in an interview. After the interview was published CNBC reached out.
Inflation is making people homeless - The Washington Post
Inflation and rent increases are making homelessness worse - The Washington Post
I remember telling my son about the media attention. He and I share the same disposition. We laughed at the irony. He said, “Well, Mom, that’s one way to get famous.”
Somewhere between, oh boy this is
bad and holy crap could this get any worse ….my vehicle was
repossessed. It was at this juncture that I could feel my sanity start to chip
away. This situation had now entered Def Con 5, and now I faced a new slew of
problems. I was entering unchartered territories and panic mode was steadily seeping
in. Everyday an infinite loop would replay in my head of rhetorical questions
that I would ask myself over and over. Relentlessly self sabotaging and digging
a deeper hole of depression. The theme of despair was constant as I asked
myself : Could this get any worse?
The answer is yes. On August 18th,
2022, sometime between 1:45 am and 4:15 am, my Father passed away at Mercy San
Juan Hospital in Carmichael. He died from complications from a surgery he opted
to undergo. He was bed ridden for the last year and a half and he wanted
fervently to walk again. But really he told me, he wanted to endure the surgery
because he wanted to dance with my mother again.
I had been estranged from my Father
for quite some time. When he finally did reach out, I was still a bit distant
because I wanted my life to be more together. I wanted him to be proud of me
before I let him again. Death rarely makes appointments. And I thought I had
more time.
It may have seemed that I have gone
off on a bit of a tangent, but I preface my gratitude story with this timeline
to give you a recap of the chain of events. Everyone mourns differently. There
is no recipe for recovery of the loss of a loved one. There is no set standard
as to how long it will take to grieve, to let the grief pass so that you can
function again. I think about my Father daily. I still cry everyday. I’ll hear
a song, watch a basketball game, smell his aftershave or even just looking at
my son.
My work saved me. I’m sorry, let me
revise that statement. My work is saving me. Going through the motions of the
mundane minutia of life, I was able to find a sliver of peace as I set my focus
there and my subconscious mind compartmentalized my pain. I became part of a team. I was
delegated tasks, I was given increasing responsibilities. Slowly I was
functioning. I was part of a whole. I was part of a well-oiled machine.
Everyone had their duties. I had mine. I enjoyed contributing. I enjoyed the
break from the sadness. Slowly my bout of crying would become bouts of not crying.
And those instances became longer and longer. I was healing, My coworkers respected
my privacy. I was not ready to divulge any part of me that was previously hemorrhaging.
I was picking up the pieces of my life and we were all working toward a greater
good. I became a staunch advocate for my
customers. Making sure their projects were being processed by the building
department in a timely manner. I was surrounded by such talented people all of
whom had more knowledge of the fire restoration industry than I. I soaked up
information like a sponge. By sheer osmosis I was leveling up by being
surrounded by greatness. I became more succinct and efficient. Each member of
the team brought to the table a level of expertise that I did not possess.
Their shared knowledge filled in the gaps where I was lacking. With their
tutelage I was able to see things as a whole. With this newfound perspective, I
was able to process my work quickly and my level of productivity multiplied.
This sense of accomplishment set the tone and my confidence came back. Like the
domino effect, when my confidence returned by self-esteem stepped up and an
opportunity arose and presented itself which led me to the great State of
Washington.
2023 had a rocky start for me as I was
still recovering from being broken: financially, emotionally, professionally,
and spiritually. When I look back at that time in my life, there are so many
what if’s. There are simply too many to enumerate. But instead of going down
that rabbit hole, I’d rather focus on not the what if’s but what did. I
am so grateful for my coworkers who through their collective grace allowed me
to fumble through my grief. They were understanding with my unintentional
errors and naive questions, and they were generous with imparting their
knowledge.
The leadership team is the driving
force of the culture at Golden Coast Construction. If we, the employees, are
the fabric of what makes up that team, then it is our company culture that
weaves us all together.
I will be forever grateful for the
senior leadership at Golden Coast Construction. Greg Thode, Tom Biglin, Nadia
Kotyakov, and Alex Kotyakov. Thank you for not giving up on me and thank you
for believing in me.
As we celebrate endings, for they
precede new beginnings, I want to remember all that I am grateful for. Every
person who’s helped me along the way. Every hug I’ve ever gotten. Every piece
of advice. Every smile I received from a stranger. I am even grateful for the
struggle. The struggle that gave me the mental fortitude to know that “this too
shall pass.”. As I close out a momentous 2023, I do hope that 2024 brings you
joy, laughter, serenity, and peace in abundance and is sprinkled with
extraordinary moments that we can share fond memories of this time again next
year.
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