“I dont want a job. I just want checks!”

I joke. Or do I? Who wouldn’t want to get checks without effort?

Truth is, we’re all in the same boat — rowing as hard as we can in uneven waters. Life isn’t fair, and the starting line isn’t the same for everyone. I didn’t have family cheering me through college or helping me land that first “real” job. My mom could barely feed and clothe us, much less send me off to higher education. I was the sixth of seven kids — by then, she and Dad were just done in every way, and the money was long gone.

My first job came at age 10, babysitting a toddler after school every weekday. That led to summers at the fireworks stand and a dozen other odd jobs. In our family, if you wanted extras, you earned them yourself. At 18, childhood ended abruptly. I landed at Burger King, hating every minute but needing every penny. Drive-thru math under pressure? Not for me. Next came Ross — a quick no — and then a retail position at Miller’s Outpost (now Belly Under). I loved the music, the people, the vibe, and then—like most good things at that age—it ended when the store closed.

That’s how I stumbled into Mouser Electronics at 19, pulling orders and grinding through long days. Six months in, new hires thought I was a supervisor because I handled every mistake thrown my way. My pay didn’t reflect it. Then I met Vanita — a young, determined manager who saw something in me. She moved me to the catalog department and took me under her wing. My skills grew, my confidence grew… and then life happened again.

Hannah arrived in January 1998. I turned 23 the next month and wanted nothing more than to stay home with her. For a while, I juggled work, daycare, volunteering at church, a baby in diapers — survival mode. I finally convinced my husband to let me quit. We were poor again, but I was home. I cooked, cleaned, stretched every dollar, and did what mothers do best: made something from nothing. Two more babies followed — Gabriel in 2000 and Brooke, a surprise, in 2002 — and survival became a lifestyle.

By 2005, I was divorced, 30, and forced back into the workforce. A quick, miserable gig as a secretary reminded me that “a paycheck” doesn’t equal peace. Then fate stepped in — I ran into my old Mouser manager, and just like that, I was back with Vanita in the catalog department. Same story, different decade: I gave it my all; the job gave me just enough. But it was stability — benefits, PTO, a 401k — and as a single mom with three kids, that meant everything. Child support covered maybe daycare, but I held it together.

Years passed. I bought my first house. I raised three kids on faith, caffeine, and hustle. Then came remarriage in 2013, another house, and another chapter. But technology had other plans — and the printed catalog I’d built a career around became obsolete. Suddenly, the job I’d mastered no longer existed. I was expendable. I woke up Monday after Monday hating the life I’d fought so hard for.

So, in 2016, I did something wild. I enrolled in massage therapy school while working full-time at Mouser. One year of 12-hour days later, I graduated, terrified but hopeful. Letting go of security to follow passion was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. But when I started at Daired’s Salon and Spa, I finally felt alive. Helping people one-on-one — easing pain, lifting moods — it reminded me of what work should feel like.

Then, life hit again. My dad’s health failed, and I became his caregiver. Eventually, I took a job at a chiropractic office for more flexibility. That shift came at a cost — physically and mentally. Between the physical toll (which turned out to be a torn rotator cuff and herniated disc), caregiving exhaustion, family tensions, and grief after my mom’s death, I unraveled. Hard.

Depression swallowed me. Twice I checked myself into the hospital. Twice I came back trying to piece together what “normal” even meant. I quit again — my job, my identity, my version of “success.” And just like that, I was back in the uneasy quiet of not having a paycheck, feeling the old shame creep in.

Everyone has an opinion — that I should “pull my weight,” that staying home is “lazy,” that I have it easier now. But inside, the judgment I fight most is my own. I want to contribute. I want meaning. But I also don’t want another job that drains my soul.

So here I am again — searching for work that feels aligned. Something that pays the bills, yes, but also honors the person I’ve become: someone with experience, empathy, and a lifetime of resilience. I don’t want just a job. I want a life I don’t need to recover from every weekend.

Maybe I don’t just want checks.
Maybe I want peace.