{"id":1937,"date":"2019-06-17T16:37:03","date_gmt":"2019-06-17T22:37:03","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.irenenorth.com\/writings\/?p=1937"},"modified":"2024-04-22T02:46:11","modified_gmt":"2024-04-22T02:46:11","slug":"sometimes-the-hardest-thing-to-do-is-the-right-thing-to-do","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/irenenorth.com\/writings\/2019\/06\/17\/sometimes-the-hardest-thing-to-do-is-the-right-thing-to-do\/","title":{"rendered":"Sometimes the hardest thing to do is the right thing to do"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

I have turned in my key. I have made my peace. I am no longer a reporter and photographer for the Star-Herald.<\/p>\n

For the past five and a half years, I have written on a variety of topics and always put my best foot forward. That time has come to an end.<\/p>\n

While I will not speak of all the reasons why I have made this decision, I will discuss a few.<\/p>\n

The past nineteen months have been increasingly difficult for me, personally and professionally. My stress levels at work have continued to rise during that time, which has affected my ability to effectively manage my PTSD and my personal life.<\/p>\n

In early May, I woke up around 1 a.m., nearly unable to breathe. With each beat of my heart, I felt as if I was going to vomit. My resting heart rate was 153 beats per minute. All the techniques I had learned to lower it were not working. I seriously considered going to the emergency room.<\/p>\n

After about an hour of deep breathing, I lowered it to 122 bpm and drifted off to sleep. In the morning, I called my doctor. She scheduled me to be fitted with a heart monitor, which I wore for forty-eight hours. The test results found nothing.<\/p>\n

I gave up the 68 ounces of hot and cold tea I was drinking per day. Some of the heart palpitations went away, but there was still something there. I was given the option of seeing my doctor at the beginning of June, the earliest I could see her, or waiting until the end of June for my regularly scheduled appointment.<\/p>\n

Since my heart rate had returned to the low one hundreds, I opted to wait and pay attention to everything. Each morning, my heart rate went up. I spent an hour each day convincing myself to go to work. It rose again as I traveled to work. My heart rate settled to normal when I returned home and stayed that way until I went to bed.<\/p>\n

I tried as hard as I could to determine if the increased heart rate was due to stress at work, my PTSD, or both. I reduced stress everywhere I could. Paul was mindful of everything and helped to make home as peaceful as possible so we could determine what was wrong.<\/p>\n

Once I made the decision to leave the Star-Herald, I found my heart rate returned to almost normal levels. It still rose in direct relation to flashbacks and memories, but the knowledge that I was not going to remain at the Star-Herald brought a sense of peace to my mind.<\/p>\n

This was not an easy decision. I enjoy writing and I am extremely good at it, but there is more to life than putting words on paper. I also need meaning in my life. I was no longer finding meaning in my work. When I took a step back and took a serious look at my professional life, I found I was being pushed beyond my physical and mental capabilities and it was slowly killing me.<\/p>\n

One day in late May, I was at my breaking point. I posted the word \u201cdone\u201d on Facebook, walked over to my couch, curled up and started crying. I couldn’t stop. Less than two minutes after making that post, a friend who I did not realize cared as much as he did for me started texting me asking me if I was okay. This friend kept texting me until he was assured I was okay.<\/p>\n

That night, I told Paul, even though I love writing and have been doing it since I was a little girl<\/a>, I had to make a change. My soul was being sucked out of me.<\/p>\n

I had already spoken with my therapist about what my job was doing to me. My therapist had me write about what I love about writing and why I write. When I did so, my therapist noted when I spoke about writing over the past two years, something changed. I was using darker words, my writing style had changed, and I did not seem happy.<\/p>\n

I took a long, hard look at what I wrote. My therapist was right. Soon after, people I know in town, from acquaintances to friends, started asking me if I was okay. Some hinted they were worried. Others came right out and said they were worried about me and my mental health.<\/p>\n

Everyone was right. This job has taken a huge mental toll on me. If you follow me and read my blog, you have probably seen it, too. I didn’t want to see it because I love writing so much, but the signs have been there for more than a year. I just didn’t heed them.<\/p>\n

I had many long conversations with Paul. He supports me in whatever decision I make, but he said something to me that struck me so deeply I couldn’t ignore it. \u201cI just want you to be happy and you aren’t happy right now.\u201d<\/p>\n

Sometimes, the hardest decision is the right decision. The truth was in front of me, but I was stubborn. I was convinced I could do it on my own. Much like ignoring my mental health and thinking I could fix it my PTSD on my own, I had to reach my own breaking point<\/a> to realize I can’t do this anymore.<\/p>\n

A position opened up at the CAPWN Youth Shelter. I spoke with Paul about applying for it. He thought I would be good at it. A friend also works there. When I asked him about it, he thought I would be perfect for the job. He also said some other really awesome stuff about me, which made me cry.<\/p>\n

I applied for the job, but didn’t think it would be offered to me. It was. I accepted. Providing my TB test and drug test turns out okay \u2013 and there is no reason to think it wouldn’t \u2013 I will start training on Wednesday.<\/p>\n

I am grateful to everyone who honored me with the privilege of letting me tell their stories. I will miss being able to do so. I will miss all the perks, the cool people I got to meet along the way, and the cool things I got to do because I was a reporter.<\/p>\n

However, I have a chance to make a real difference in this world with my new job. It won’t ever be 100 percent easy, nothing ever is, but what I do will matter.<\/p>\n

For now, I plan to take a week or two off of writing before I start to look for some freelance work. I have some projects I need to get completed for a friend. I am also going to continue to try to get my memoir published. I will continue to write here, hopefully more often.<\/p>\n

Two people told me today that I was glowing. My friend, Peggie, said she hadn’t seen me smile so much in more than a year. People saw what was happening to me and they are already seeing the positive changes in me. I look forward to more positive changes in the future and I will continue to work on a better me each day and continue progressing in bettering my mental health.<\/p>\n

Thank you to everyone who read my stories over the past five and a half years. Thank you to everyone who has continued to look out for me, lifted me up when I was down, and encouraged me to keep going when things got rough.<\/p>\n

I’m not always good at saying so in person, but all your words have been taken to heart and I appreciate everything everyone has done and said to me to help me keep focused on what is important in life. I hope you will all continue to read what I write, from the silly to the serious, even though it will mostly be here on my blog.<\/p>\n

Take care and I will see you all around town sometime.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

I have turned in my key. I have made my peace. I am no longer a reporter and photographer for the Star-Herald. For the past five and a half years, I have written on a variety of topics and always put my best foot forward. That time has come to an end.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[10],"tags":[238,254,294,405],"class_list":["post-1937","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-ramblings","tag-mental-health","tag-nebraska","tag-ptsd","tag-writing"],"post_mailing_queue_ids":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/irenenorth.com\/writings\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1937","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/irenenorth.com\/writings\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/irenenorth.com\/writings\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/irenenorth.com\/writings\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/irenenorth.com\/writings\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1937"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/irenenorth.com\/writings\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1937\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3753,"href":"https:\/\/irenenorth.com\/writings\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1937\/revisions\/3753"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/irenenorth.com\/writings\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1937"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/irenenorth.com\/writings\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1937"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/irenenorth.com\/writings\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1937"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}