I was always good enough.

I usually never post these kinds of things, but you should know that there is at least one person who believes in you and your capabilities.

I have spent so many years doubting myself. Consequentially, I’ve held myself back from doing things I’ve always dreamed of doing, solely because of silly feelings of inadequacy, that I am not deserving or good enough.

I’m done with being my own worst enemy, my number one longstanding obstacle. I’m done with refusing to acknowledge and take accountability for my maladaptive behaviors, thought processes, and refusal to properly address how numerous things of my past have impacted me.

Since I was ten years old, I’ve wanted to be an attorney. I still want to be an attorney. And I will become the attorney I’ve always aspired to be.

When applications open up this fall, I will be re-applying. I was admitted to law school before. Let’s forget about all those things that contributed to a derailment of several years.

I know that I have what it takes to achieve my goals. I have the desire, and I have the endurance.

Next year, I will go to law school. And I will be successful, despite my moments of self-doubt. I will be that assertive, headstrong person I was once perceived as, the person I know I still am.

I was always good enough. Thank you for helping me see that these past few years. And with that, I will be taking an official hiatus from the WordPress community. All the best.

– Kristine

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I got the job.

Tonight, I finish my last round of white papers. Footnotes and formatting mainly. Make fifteen copies tomorrow morning, blithely white and collated. I should be happy.

The day before our annual conference, I broke my stress ball. Told my direct supervisor how I really felt, and back then, it was all so petty. I still felt worthless for what I thought were four years’ wasted time. I did choose to major in two rather unmarketable degrees, if limited to just a Bachelor’s. But as much as I tried to compensate for a hiccup in high school that was pivotal in the things I presently deal with, it seemed what I did was all for naught. Research fellowships. Under the school’s umbrella. Organizations. Within a collegiate shelter. Peer-reviewed publications in a journal that doesn’t cater to undergraduates (I was stubborn and felt professors doubted my ability when they gave me a list of undergraduate journals to submit my honors thesis for publication. I didn’t really see how this was impressive to graduate schools, if the journals’ only purpose was to give undergrads a boost. I wanted to demonstrate that I could be published along with doctorates. And I did this. I’m not saying this to be arrogant, but I sensed I was heavily patronized in college due to my family-related difficulties and the fact that you just don’t tell someone at this school that “you’re too stupid for a Harvard doctorate. I would know. I went there.”), and two outside internships. I know this is not a remarkable list, and I know so many others my age have similar resumes. I will be blunt. So many people are going to college. You get this murky feedback as to whether or not your alma mater matters, and amidst this talk, you try your best to “stand out.”

Common questions over a span of 43 interviews:

“Why are you not in graduate school?”

“…do you really have an intermediate knowledge of Mandarin Chinese?”

“Why did you double major in international relations and psychology? Explain how this makes sense.”

“Look, if you’re going to jump ship and leave for law school, we’ll end the interview now. I’m looking for someone who can make a five-year commitment.”

“Much of what you do seems to have been within the comfort of your school. Would you say that you were spoon-fed?”

“How and why would you do these things? You went to that school.”

Oh, how my insecurity waxed and waned since the summer of 2013.

For the past year and a half, I got a lot of flack for where you went to school. I think it was just specific to the standards of a certain individual. I observed the process of micromanagement, but without any active monitoring. It was subtle, sometimes flagrant. But the jabs and occasional side comments of “she’s weird” (because why the hell would I have a specific set of interests and not have graduated from the Ivy League?) eventually bit me hard, swallowed me whole, expelled me into an extended depression and a minefield of panic attacks I never quite experienced before.

Originally, it was agreed I would stay for two years. But after ranting to my colleague about my frustrations, to include being mistaken as an unpaid intern, condescendingly asked why I wasn’t pursuing a Master’s Degree, and feeling that our efforts were limited to the pages of a glossy bubblegum gossip mag, I chose to spend my weekends differently. Yes, I recently started freelance writing to further refine my skills and keep my mind going. I also watched tons of trash TV. I’ve gone through multiple Youtube playlists of The Maury Povich Show, seen start to finish of Dateline’s To Catch a Predator, and replayed and sang to most of the Epic Rap Battles of History vids. But did I spend some time to apply to jobs that were a bit more relevant to my interests? No. I exquisitely bitched.

After applying to a good 143 jobs, I got several interviews. I wasn’t so nervous, but dealt with the same questions. Fortunately, a year and a half of this questionable job of many hats granted me speaking points to justify weaknesses, address concerns, and fuel curiosities in a positive way. I’ve grown more confident, but remain cynical. I still applied for jobs not expecting much, but this time around, I carried myself better. I have a clearer idea of my strengths, tendencies to folly, and importantly, what I want most out of a job. And currently, I want to improve my people skills.

While I finish these projects on mental health, child welfare, and like topics that still so interest me, I’m enthusiastic about Monday. While I’ve got plenty of cubicle bits to share from my time here, I know that January 12th will beckon more opportunities for storytelling.

Dialogue and spillage. Expect more soon. But next week, you’ll hear it from a former research associate.

How a laptop became a limb.

 

“Hi Kris. I have an overall comment for you – a lot of your sentences were awkward and convoluted. Try to be as straightforward and concise as possible in all of your writing. You can view the tracked changes to see how sentences were revised to improve the flow. Let me know if you have any questions.”

Why thank you, kind editor. A reminder to not complete copywriting tasks three hours after midnight, drinking Red Bull with a thud in my chest. No such pressure balled into fists. Just a girl, her laptop, a notebook, and a can of the vilest sugar. It is my vice, quite honestly.

Technical and sales-oriented writing are new to me, bitter to the tongue but acquirable with time. Though tedious, it pays better than cashiering at the Italian restaurant across the street during a typical weekend. They have enough servers, and my experience hardly meets minimal expectations. I’ll stick with this course.

Web content, though speedily done once you’ve completed a good three or four tasks, makes me squirm. I like that I’m learning to write content in a space with little breathing room, but often, I’m desperately trying to touch the edge of that minimum. 250 words a section is hard. I’m not so attuned to the crisp and catchy. I tend to crowd…convolute. A bad habit? I wouldn’t call it that. More so, just a penguin out of place in Death Valley.

Aside from reading the extensive track changes that only remind me of the ways I drain just by speaking, I can say the following:

– I have learned that much of what we learn is absorbed through auditory pathways.
– Voiceover narratives may just decide whether your employees remember what blood borne pathogens are.
– Real estate lawyers can be guardian angels in the war against your Homeowner Association.
– A certain lawyer in America’s Southwest wants to take all cases to trial. Mediation’s criminal.
– Again, lawyers achieve utility, when family-owned ice cream shops endeavor to use real strawberries.

The organic anathema.

And copywriting is not organic. But I’m sure you could tell by the flavor on the label.