What am I worth?
I’m asking this question again as I look for more work to supplement our dwindling finances.
It’s a place of immense privilege to even ask the question, I know this. I have to carefully consider my audience when I talk about how I turned down a minimum wage job offer because the commute and hours were heinous enough to nullify the $125 a week in take-home pay. Not to mention the work promised to be mind-numbingly boring. Those jobs are a good fit for someone, but I don’t think they are good for me.
I took a job last year based on the attitude that any work was worthy and that I shouldn’t value myself beyond my ability to just get a job. The job, when there was work, was stultifying and when there wasn’t (i.e., no customers) I had to pretend I was busy. It was monotonous and tedious and I hated every second I was there. Then I would come home and hate myself some more for not having a better job. Then I would retroactively hate myself for not going to college. Then I would proactively hate future-me for taking another minimum wage and/or stagnate job because I can’t escape the guilt of not being grateful. Because ultimately, my worth seems to be defined by how deeply I can ingratiate myself to anyone willing to hire me.
I’m stuck in a constant argument loop with myself: I don’t deserve interesting or intelligent job opportunities because I didn’t go to college (never mind the fact that many of my college-educated peers are just as under-employed as I am). This sparsely populated, rural area is an employment desert – no one can be expected to create opportunities in a place where most of the population lives below the poverty line. (Economics at its finest – no one can buy your product if they have no money to spend.) If I was smarter/more educated/worked harder I could create opportunities no matter where I was. Well, here I am, at the culmination of my life choices and I can just lie in this bed that I made until my flesh fuses to the sheets.
Every time I email a polished and professional resume to a local listing it is accompanied by a fear and shame so acute as to be nearly debilitating, and is utterly unique to employment searches. I don’t deserve this, no one will notice me, I am a pitiful contestant in this modern game where I don’t know the rules.
It’s not just being frustrated by the lack of choices. It is being certain of rejection. It’s having other people define my worth – not just in an hourly wage but in the kind of tasks they want from me. It is knowing, deep down, that they’re right.
The worst part is having to explain myself to well-meaning onlookers in my life. Explaining to people who are so far removed from privilege that they can’t understand why I’m so “picky”, or those that are so immersed in privilege that they can’t understand why I just don’t start my own business doing something at which I’m embarrassingly incompetent. I’ve been on the receiving end of platitudes, sympathy, even (strangely) political anger and all have been equally unhelpful or even hurtful. They don’t address the core issue – What am I worth?
I just don’t know. And the guilt of not knowing, the shame of suspecting it isn’t much, the defiance of anyone who would try to define it for me is eating me alive. Trying to monetize all of that seems like a horribly vulgar way to determine my worth. And yet, it’s the only way that matters.