The Curious Case of Identity Theft and Summertime Sadness

I struggled to come here and write this blog, because I know what I need to say will take a lot out of me emotionally and I don’t have much to give. I’m on shaky ground, trying to climb out, and I want to manage my upward trajectory.

I feel good and emotionally stable now… but my time away hasn’t been about “quietly growing.” I been losing my fucking mind.

I’ve always felt like my first post back had to dig up everything that’s been going on. Anything that doesn’t reflect that is not real. And I’m not for the fake shit.

But I also know I can’t make my emotions, or my words, wait any longer. So here we go.

I kept trying to figure out how to take a paid leave from work and lamented that adults don’t get a summer break. I wished so hard, I actually made it happen. I got laid off, sent packing with a severance package. My idea was that I’d have a job to come back to, but you gots to be careful what you ask for.

I remember thinking about the role I was stepping into: frequent layoffs, the first people to go. I figured I’d be okay, because I had enough connection in the business to step back into my previous role and keep a job. I’d be back where I started, no harm done. But when the offer to step down came, I declined.

In the past, I would have taken it without hesitation, just for the familiarity and reliability. But I couldn’t deny how much I’d grown. I had outgrown the box I was in, how could I squeeze back into something even smaller?

I felt dejected and discarded. So I leaned on my personal growth and realized I don’t need to stay where I’m not valued.

So I bet on myself and said bye.

While I knew deep down I’d made the right decision, the daily struggle that followed made me question myself, and my confidence in self.

Even though I hated the job: the way my brain buzzed with ideas I couldn’t execute because I was caged in that store, it felt like prison. Crying in my car on lunch breaks, dreading my off days because I knew I had to go back, coming home too drained to give anything to myself..

As much as I resented it, that job gave me structure. It held my routine, my purpose. It was stability I could count on.

When it was gone, I didn’t just lose income. I lost a version of myself I’d worked hard to build, and my creativity went with it. It wasn’t just unemployment; it was a complete loss of identity.

Suddenly, I found it hard to connect. I went to a dinner where everyone took turns talking about their work, and I dreaded when it would be my turn. I wasn’t ready to answer “How’s work?” with “I got laid off.”

I had less to say, both in groups and even in one-on-one conversations with friends, and I realized a lot of my vibe had been tied to work, and how much I hated it. So I set out to figure out what my vibe really is. Not the curated version: what actually makes Taylor happy.

I tasked myself with making my apartment feel more cozy. Though it’s beautiful, it didn’t feel like home. It was curated, but there was nothing that said, Taylor lives here. It could literally be anybody’s space. My aunt suggested I fill it with things I like, giving me examples of how her own personality fills her home. That’s when it hit me: I didn’t really know what I liked.

After purging negative personality traits I didn’t want to carry forward, my interests went with them. I wondered, if I’m deciding to be a fundamentally different person, do I even really know what I like?

And then, losing the job that had been in my life in some form or fashion for nine years, it was a complete blow to the person I thought I was. I began to question how much of what I liked had been built around connecting with others or appearing “cool” in their eyes, and how much of it was actually me.

In addition to questioning everything I’ve ever thought about myself (except the negative thoughts, of course), during my summer, I anticipated the anniversary of my mom’s death (and then grandpa, and then dad), and I’m sure it triggered a series of dreams set in my childhood home. Some let me say the things I never had the strength to. Some allowed me to examine what actually happened through a new lens. Some left me waking with relief and understanding, others with only tears.

I had more tears when I went to visit my sister in California.

I won’t fault the city for my less-than-desirable experience. It wasn’t about the place, it was my mindset. I was deep in my “living in lack” bag. Instead of exploring and trying new restaurants every night, I was running a mental tab of every purchase, comparing every minute to how this trip would’ve looked if I still had the job I hated.

I was so proud to see my sister’s apartment (in a building I’m sure I inspired her to look into, though she’ll never give me the credit). I admired how she’s managed to keep herself afloat after moving from state to state, reinventing her life each time. But then shame hit me. I’m the big sister. I’m supposed to have it together. I’m supposed to be the one she looks up to. Instead, I was unemployed, directionless, and barely had the will to get out of bed.

And yet, when everything else felt like it was falling apart, something beautiful was falling into place. It was good to have someone to lean on when I couldn’t get out of bed.

It’s strange, though. On the surface, my partner and I are incompatible. We don’t share many common interests. They work in the yard, and I’m an in-the-house type of girl (y’all know I get hot quick)! They can name every tree on a walk, while I can tell you exactly which accoutrements pair best with a raw oyster.

But what I’ve realized is, it’s not incompatibility at all. We’re complementary. Where I’m weak, they have my back. Where they fall short, I step in.

With them, I feel true partnership. More compatible than I ever thought possible.

I was literally on the floor, crying about missing my parents, missing the job I hated, and everything else that weighed on me. But I wasn’t judged. My partner held me and let me process my emotions.

I didn’t worry about how I looked, snotting. I didn’t worry if they thought I was a basket case. I just allowed myself to be held. To feel safe.

I figured I probably would’ve exited stage left on myself if I’d seen me like that. That’s when I realized: we really locked in.

Because anyone who can see me in that state and still love me completely disproved everything I used to believe: that nobody would ever truly love me. That I had to be perfect to be loved. That I couldn’t be in progress, actively breaking, and still be worthy of love.

I scrolled through and un-bookmarked the tweets I saved back when I was begging that guy to treat me right. I feel so detached from that season of life now.

I feel so seen and supported by my partner that it makes me laugh at that girl who cried over what’s-his-face. Like, girl, what was you doing??

But then I get sad, realizing how much time I wasted trying to prove my worth to people who didn’t deserve it, simply because I didn’t know any better.

Now, I feel revered in actively receiving better, because I know better.

And when you know better, you do better.

That’s all I ask of myself.

Learning that I deserve love and actually accepting it are two different lessons for me. Once I got clear on what I didn’t want, I had to then learn how to receive what I’d been asking for.

That came with the realization that the same action that once came from negativity (with one person, or even everyone in the past) can also come from a place of genuine love, curiosity, and a desire to understand me from someone else.

And once I did the work to see that this person’s love for me is unconditional, that they do these things to connect with me, not hurt me, I was able to settle in and finally accept that love.

You sort through a lot of trash just to find one gem. My friends are gems too.

Just like I leaned on my partner, I leaned on my friends too.. but in a different way.

I leaned on them through absence, trusting they’d understand it wasn’t them, it was me. When I don’t respond for days, maybe weeks, it’s not because I don’t want to talk. I do. I just don’t have the bandwidth. I’m trying to survive. I’m doing my best, okay?

I’m thankful for the friends who still reach out, still invite me, still offer words of encouragement, even when I’m not there to receive them.

Recently, I had a conversation with my apartment building’s management about getting a coffee maker for my building. Right now, one machine is shared between both buildings, which means that most Sundays, when I go to make a cup, the waste bin is full and it won’t brew again until the property managers dump it on Monday.

This Sunday, I got my coffee, and as soon as it finished brewing, the message popped up: waste bin full. I got the last cup.

I’ve been noticing that pattern in this season of my life: there’s only one of what I’m looking for and I get the last one. Especially at the grocery store. Like, I understand supply shortages are common these days, but still… I got the last one. I could’ve easily been the next person and found nothing.

I think the lesson there is that there will always be enough for me. I’ve been living in lack lately, and I need to stop. Even when the world isn’t abundant, I’ll have enough. And I need to stop worrying about that.

While I was laid off, I couldn’t help but focus on everything that was missing; what I thought I should be doing. But that time forced me to shift my mindset. I didn’t have everything I’m used to, but I had enough. My nails weren’t done, but my rent was paid. I wasn’t splurging on Amazon, but I had food I actually like to eat.

I realized that “enough” doesn’t have to mean plenty. It means receiving what you need, when you need it.

I also had a moment of gratitude when I went to get my computer to write this. I realized I have the MacBook I always wanted, especially since college, when my (then) friend had one and my laptop was broken at the hinges. If I turned it a certain way or handled it wrong, the screen would go out. Eventually, it went out for good, and I had to keep it plugged into an external monitor. The battery was shot too, so it stayed connected to power. By the end, it was basically a stationary PC.

But this day, I looked around my apartment and had to mentally say, “No, my personal MacBook,” when my work MacBook from my new job caught my eye. Not bragging, but you have to understand the gravity of that distinction. I went from scraping by to having choice and stability.

It’s not just about the computer. It’s about the shift from barely holding it together to being comfortably equipped.

I might not have everything I’ve ever wanted yet, but I’m making progress.

I couldn’t even write this until I had shit figured out. And even then, this is still the “after I cleaned up the mess” version. I don’t want y’all thinking I don’t have it under control.

(I don’t.)