Final Thoughts
I never planned to keep these daily posts going so long. What started as venting became a tool to help me process, and at some point, it occurred to me that there would be some value in documenting my experience in real time, rather than waiting to construct a narrative out of it after the fact. If you’ve stuck with me all this time, thank you.
This whole business of forced redeployments will be such a small footnote in the history of Quebec’s COVID-19 response, but I hope it doesn’t get forgotten. It’s always interesting to think about how current events will be judged in retrospect. Was it a strong, unpopular but decisive action that ultimately brought the crisis to heel? Or yet another example of government taking advantage of an emergency to violate personal freedoms? Did it solve or create more problems in the long term? Those are questions that remain to be answered (although I have some guesses).
What about me, was *I* ok with all this?
The answer to that is still no.
I will freely admit that for all the difficult, scary and exhausting aspects of this experience, there have been many positives. I’ve learned a lot, contributed what I could, met some incredible people, bonded with colleagues, and created extraordinary memories. A wise old friend told me that looking back across time, you can see the purpose and the good in even the most difficult events. And on a metaphysical level, I can certainly appreciate that.
But none of that outweighs the fact that losing control of one’s life, to this extent, is so profoundly destabilizing. When I applied for a job as a speech therapist, I truly never fathomed that I was also consenting to be used as ammunition, to be thrown at a crisis in a completely different field, without being consulted and with little regard for my family situation, the needs of my current clients, and potentially even my health or my life. What I struggle with most is that this had nothing to do with my particular skills or training. It wasn’t, “we desperately need your expertise in this area,” it was, “we need someone with a pulse who we can control.” And that… is not a good feeling.
Even if I could bring myself to understand this decision intellectually, on a visceral level the hurt and betrayal runs pretty deep. My job will definitely never be the same.
So I never knew I was signing up for this, but maybe I should have known, and maybe that’s my bad. The question is, now that I know, can I stay? I’m not sure. That’s the decision I have to wrestle with now.
On the one hand, I still believe strongly in public institutions and the services we provide. I love my colleagues, my clients and my work, and I’d be devastated to leave them all behind. On the other hand, I can’t and won’t ever put my family through this again.
So that’s where I’m at, as I face the prospect of returning to a job that I love, feeling surprisingly ambivalent about the one thing I’ve hoped for for weeks. At some point I need to work through all these complicated thoughts and feelings, and come up with a plan. Before any of that though, I need time to rest.
I’m tired.
(Click here to read again from the beginning)
This whole business of forced redeployments will be such a small footnote in the history of Quebec’s COVID-19 response, but I hope it doesn’t get forgotten. It’s always interesting to think about how current events will be judged in retrospect. Was it a strong, unpopular but decisive action that ultimately brought the crisis to heel? Or yet another example of government taking advantage of an emergency to violate personal freedoms? Did it solve or create more problems in the long term? Those are questions that remain to be answered (although I have some guesses).
What about me, was *I* ok with all this?
The answer to that is still no.
I will freely admit that for all the difficult, scary and exhausting aspects of this experience, there have been many positives. I’ve learned a lot, contributed what I could, met some incredible people, bonded with colleagues, and created extraordinary memories. A wise old friend told me that looking back across time, you can see the purpose and the good in even the most difficult events. And on a metaphysical level, I can certainly appreciate that.
But none of that outweighs the fact that losing control of one’s life, to this extent, is so profoundly destabilizing. When I applied for a job as a speech therapist, I truly never fathomed that I was also consenting to be used as ammunition, to be thrown at a crisis in a completely different field, without being consulted and with little regard for my family situation, the needs of my current clients, and potentially even my health or my life. What I struggle with most is that this had nothing to do with my particular skills or training. It wasn’t, “we desperately need your expertise in this area,” it was, “we need someone with a pulse who we can control.” And that… is not a good feeling.
Even if I could bring myself to understand this decision intellectually, on a visceral level the hurt and betrayal runs pretty deep. My job will definitely never be the same.
So I never knew I was signing up for this, but maybe I should have known, and maybe that’s my bad. The question is, now that I know, can I stay? I’m not sure. That’s the decision I have to wrestle with now.
On the one hand, I still believe strongly in public institutions and the services we provide. I love my colleagues, my clients and my work, and I’d be devastated to leave them all behind. On the other hand, I can’t and won’t ever put my family through this again.
So that’s where I’m at, as I face the prospect of returning to a job that I love, feeling surprisingly ambivalent about the one thing I’ve hoped for for weeks. At some point I need to work through all these complicated thoughts and feelings, and come up with a plan. Before any of that though, I need time to rest.
I’m tired.
(Click here to read again from the beginning)
Hi I have read your blog it's amazing.
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