Get a Job, Get a Job

Dear James,

No, I won’t go out and get a full-time job. No, I won’t polish my resume. No, I won’t pick up your burden again.

I realize I’ve set a precedent. You lost nine jobs since we’ve been together, and each time I’ve stepped up and taken on additional work to maintain our standard of living. In addition to teaching, which you say isn’t a real job, I’ve coached soccer, swimming, and Power of the Pen. I’ve taught as an adjunct at two different colleges. I’ve worked as a co-op coordinator at a community college and taught summer school. I worked for three straight years as a contractor for an educational publishing company. I take work as I can get it for other publishers. I write and edit for a local blog. I tutor in our co-op. I manage curriculum for our church. I do it all without any childcare. Or any help around the house. You don’t even mow the lawn…I have to pay someone.

You literally have one responsibility: go to work. I don’t feel bad that you have two jobs, because somehow you still have more leisure time that I could ever dream of. I feel like I have to justify my very existence if I’m reading a book or doing a Bible study. You think naps are your God-given right.

I don’t expect you to acknowledge the terrible inequity that has existed in our marriage since day 1. I won’t even fight you about it because it isn’t worth my time. I just know that I won’t apologize for reading a book anymore. I won’t apologize if I only bring in $700/month instead of $1000 because our children needed more of me than work did. And I won’t accept your lies because you (sometimes) pull the bigger paycheck. Nothing…NOTHING makes someone deserving of the way you treat me.

You are supposed to be my protector. My provider. You are supposed to love me the way Jesus loves the church…to lay your life down for me.

Instead, I’ve done that for you. And in response, I’ve gotten called names and told I’m not enough.

I’m not enough, no. None of us are. But I’ve certainly given you more than you deserved. More than Jesus asked me to give you.

I moved here because you promised that I could trust you. It turns out, you lied. But I like it here, and I'm staying. And I’m not bailing you out this time. Or ever again.

I suppose I sound a little angry, and I’ve certainly struggled with anger. But at this point, I’m just DONE. With a capital “D”. I’m looking forward, dreaming of what I want for what’s left of my life. For my children’s lives. And I won’t be entangled by your fear-mongering anymore. You can’t shame me. Your voice isn’t the one I have to serve.

If you don’t like it, take it up with God. He created me. He enabled me to do far more than I ever thought I could. He has so much more for me to do. But He hasn’t told me to get a job.

Maybe you can change His mind?