All my life, I have valued education, and so my law degree, and being a lawyer, mean a lot to me. I am very proud of those things–when people ask me what I do for a living, I’m proud to say “I am a civil rights attorney.” Even though, most of what I do each day isn’t being an attorney, it’s being a bureaucrat. It’s shuffling papers and working in a system, not doing Clarence Darrow, Thurgood Marshall, Ruth Bader Ginsburg stuff. But that title, attorney, represents the hard work I did to get it. It represents my intellect and my knowledge too. And I am proud of those things.
And now I am losing that title, because I am leaving my job to become a full time cancer warrior. And I am having the predictable identity crisis about that.
I wrote a while ago about stay-at-home parenting not being a real choice for many women, that often it happens not because women hate their jobs and want to stay home with their kids, but because it’s financially better for them to stay home with the kids than to pay for daycare. The idea that it is a choice based in personal preference is really one for wealthy people, whose incomes are high enough that they can choose to work or not to work. It’s a privilege to have choice. I always had that privilege, and was grateful for it.
Until cancer took it away.
I’d been really burnt out at work before The Cancer happened. It hasn’t been the greatest place to work lately. Don’t get me wrong, it CAN be a great place to work, and I love my coworkers, but lately it’s been a really stressful job. I wasn’t happy at work–I came home frustrated a lot, and dreaded going there when I woke up in the morning. So I suppose leaving my job should be one of those “cancer is a gift” moments where I say “Cancer sucks but it gave me the gift of leaving that job I hated.”
Except, no, cancer is not a fucking gift. It’s a monster that eats the things that define you, even things you didn’t think about being defining until the cancer ate them. Like my eyebrows. And my breast. And my job. And this blog. And my privilege of choice.
I’m coping with this identity crisis by keeping up my law license. I will still be an attorney–just not one who is working. It’s a few hundred dollars a year to keep myself licensed, an unnecessary expense in a time when our family will have to be downsizing, but it’s my way of saying FUCK YOU to cancer–by holding onto one little bit of who I am, and not letting the cancer take it away from me.
7 thoughts on “Losing the Privilege of Choice”
As my mom always said, “No one can ever take your education away from you.” I am so proud of you!
Cancer can go fuck itself.
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Thank goodness for your blog and your chance to still be a Civil Rights Attorney will at home!
You’re an inspiration. I totally relate to tying your identity to your career. It’s a hard one to give up. Sending you love and healing thoughts. Here’s to being able to make that choice again in the near future! xo
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What Jen said, yes. Cancer blows and is no gift. I’ve been lucky to not have to deal with much if this in my life, other than grandparents I’ve never really known being taken from me and one I did get to know and love, but it’s been so long ago that I seldom think about it anymore in a sad way. Anyway, I earned my law degree with a new wife and new baby in my care, oh, and I worked full time as a police officer (still do) so I appreciate the effort it took you to get that title and your desire to hold onto it. You’ll always be able to call yourself an attorney, but, and this is maybe the first post of yours I’ve read so I hope I’m not out of line, you sound like much more than that as well.
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I keep looking for the silver lining, I see this blog as your way of saying Fuck cancer. I share it with my folks here in Houston, you are a rock star warrior in our eyes. I know that doesn’t mean a while lot in the grand scheme but, I have 3 survivors working for me, there are 4 others still fighting for their lives, we all need hope and want to focus on the road ahead. Sometimes the steps backwards don’t seem like progress, but your plan B and C and rest of the alphabet still has a lot of story yet to tell.
Cancer is NOT a gift. It’s a giant asshole bastard.
While I think you’ll be the most ass-kicking cancer warrior ever, I’m sorry that you’re having to go through this. If I ever wished for a magic wand, this is it. XOXO
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