I’ll stare the devil down, let the fire take me.

I spent most of the last year fighting—to keep going, to push through, to stay positive, to persevere, to not give up.

When 2020 began, I was dating my boss and less than a month into the year he ended the relationship. And when he broke it off during lunch at work, my exact words to him when he told me to “say something”, were something like, “well I can’t be too surprised since it feels more like I’m a workplace sex toy.” And I wasn’t wrong.

Less than 2 months later I’d lose my job along with the rest of the staff, only for him to pursue hiring high schoolers and college students on the cheap. Or so I heard.

It takes something from you when you lose a job where you had also had a physical and romantic relationship with the owner. It wasn’t something I had entered into lightly—there were four girls all under the age of 11 involved, both of us being single parents. And the last time I’d dated a boss, I was pregnant & he fired me (by telling his superiors I had put in my two weeks when I hadn’t) in fear of not getting a promotion when management asked about our relationship. It wasn’t something I ever wanted to repeat.

And yet there I was again.

Like I never learn.

I questioned all of my worth. I questioned my mind. I questioned my decision making skills. I questioned my body—not if it was good enough or if I was pretty enough, but if that was all I’d be seen as by a man. An ornament, an instrument. Something only meant to please them and to covet.

Not for me to be loved.

I was once told at a job to wear heels to a meeting because we were meeting potential partners. I had been asked on more than one occasion if I’d gotten where I was at because I slept with someone, if it was because of my body.

I don’t mind using what I have when it’s appropriate (aka not career) but I do mind that being seen as all I have to contribute.

I more than doubled my salary in 3.5 years of my marketing career and suddenly I was jobless. When I changed jobs and moved across state over two years ago, I had been kept on at the first as a consultant for a term. I went from working 60-80 hour weeks to being labeled “unemployed.” I went from 430am workouts before work and working until 11pm at night to not having to do anything. Except parent.

And then I couldn’t find a job. I started applying at 530am the morning after I lost my job. I was devastated. I filled out hundreds of applications and 95% of them I never heard back from. The rest? I didn’t have childcare during a pandemic and they wanted me at work during the shutdowns. With virtual school on the horizon and everything unknown, they didn’t want a single mom who couldn’t come in 8-5. I was too experienced for the job and they couldn’t afford me—I literally told them I am not above anything, I had lost my job. But for most of that 5%, they changed their minds and were no longer hiring for the position due to an uncertainty with the economy and shutdowns.

So I wore that godawful unemployment crown.

And I took my background in marketing mortgages and decided to pursue real estate instead.

Only for me to receive a letter last month claiming I owe the state almost $30K (with monthly interest) because I was never eligible for unemployment due to not having childcare during a global pandemic that shut down the state.

I was so mad. At the government. At my old boss. At hiring companies. At fucking politics. At this fucking virus.

I’m still waiting to see if my protest will be approved or if I have to go to court.

My health and fitness have often felt like the only thing I could control. It has helped keep me sane. Helped my sanity and mental health, helped me check those self doubts.

I have questioned my worth—in career, in love, in parenting—more days than I would ever be willing to admit. But I’m still here.

I’m. Still. Here.

Because in the last year, I have made a career jump to real estate, met an amazing guy and fell in love, I have learned I can love my body—I should—and relish it and not accept that it is all someone sees of me, and have never once heard my daughter tell me she hates me. She has never once physically fought me or threw a temper tantrum upset at me like I’ve heard many parents go through with their young ones during the shutdowns and pandemonium. Instead, I still hear everyday how much she loves me.

So I’m still here pushing for more because even on the worst mental health days, there’s still a light, still a desire, still a flame in me, no matter how small. It’s still there. No matter how worthless I might feel, I know—I KNOW—I am in fact more than enough. I am more than just a body. And sometimes, life is simply hard. I simply have to overcome. If it was easy, there’d be little to appreciate.