I Was Left Burned Out And Brokenhearted

[Note: In my previous post published 9-11-19 titled "My Caring For Others, & Killing Someone" there is the background information on how I came to be a CNA, and the primary back injury I suffered while I was in that job, which was caused by a specific patient, is also detailed there.]

My doing constant patient lifting, as a Nurse's Aide (with my slender frame, at 128 pounds, and 5'9" height), began to cause more and more lower back problems for me resulting in increasing anxiety, as I started to see 'the end of the road', then, for being able to continue working in this medical career field. I had loved doing this type of work because it felt very rewarding to me as I gave the very best skills and effort that I had to offer in my caring so conscientiously for these patients. I was also respected, by the nursing staff, and doctors, and treated like a very valued member of the hospital staff, by them, as well. I especially enjoyed doing new patients' intakes upon their admission to the hospital floor that I worked on. During those initial assessments, I focused on gathering and charting all of the information that could help the doctors and nurses with their diagnosis and treatment, of these people arriving for our care. I prayed with patients, comforted patients, and sometimes cried with patients. I laughed with them, rejoiced with them and shared special moments with them, as well. I was the very last person with them, at times, before they went downstairs, for their surgery or other procedures that they were having done, which some of them, occasionally, did not survive and return from. Because of all these things there was an underlying sense of purpose, even drama, in the career field. There was tragedy, comedy, and everything in between in helping these people who were admitted to the hospital to receive our care, while they were in a vulnerable state, in some way or another, while there. The one constant thing, about it, was that I knew that everything, that I did, made a difference.

Because I gave everything in me to this job and these patients that I directly cared for, one of the doctors, Steve, who was Head of the ER Department, sternly warned me, that I would be headed for burnout, if I approached my job, and these people, with such an open heart. I felt that of course he had to feel that way, to protect himself in that medical career field, because he saw the very worst of what there was to see in this hospital, down there, in the ER, as the ambulances brought in people, needing care from hapless, to horrifying, reasons, to be dealt with, directly; often by him. As for me, performing my daily duties, up on the medical surgical floor (https://www.nursingjobs.com/explore-travel-nursing/things-to-know/content/med-surg-floor-nursing) away from the terrors and tragedies, that he saw, in the ER, it was not always pleasant to do some of the patient care involved but I strove to make it a positive experience for them. Because this work was so personally rewarding, to me, I became despondent as I realized with each new back ache from it, now (which I limped and winced from, sometimes being unable to perform my duties), this career field was quickly coming to a close, for me. I was given rounds of physical therapy, and medications which I didn't want to have to take to begin with, for my back problem, now. Despite all this I had no reassurance that I would ever completely heal, or be able to continue doing this type of job, which was clearly beginning to wear out my lower back. In fact, I was being told that I was risking permanent damage to my back, if I continued on, doing what I was doing. So many people working in this nursing field end up losing their career, in it, as I did, due to it stressing, straining, and ultimately causing, what can often be, lasting damage to their back. Now, it was happening to me. I did not feel ready to let go of something which had meant so much to me, when the recurring back pain became increasingly frequent, even more problematic and just too much to ignore anymore; but It was forcing my decision. I would have to let go, of this work, in nursing, and move on.

So, with a very heavy heart, but still wanting to stay at this hospital, where it felt so much like a family to me with my co-workers, I took a clerical job in the Admissions and Billing Office. I had thought that I would find this same camaraderie between the staff, that had caused all of us on the nursing floor to be so close to one another, emotionally. I saw, almost immediately, that this was not at all the case, in this jarringly different atmosphere that I was in, there. The women in the office were as walled off, from one another, personally, as the separate cubicles and desks portrayed. I easily, and continually, overheard rude, demoralizing comments being made about one, to another, and even face-to-face, from one, to another, with no remorse, or apology, ever coming after such shocking snarkiness. To me, it felt like I had just left a warm bath, only to be plunged into icy waters, socially speaking, as I tried to comfort myself, in my own dismay, after realizing that I was no longer in a team spirit environment, now, but a bitchy, unsupportive one. I did not even feel welcomed, or wanted, in that office. There was a plant, on someone's desk, that she said smelled bad, that she therefore brought over and sat right under my nose, on my desk, as a very telling 'Welcome' present, to me, which she smirked about, as she returned to her own desk, leaving me looking down at this thing, wondering what I should do with it since I wouldn't give it to anyone else in there, like she had to me. Also, watching patients which I had just been caring for up on the nursing floor, and had only been concerned with doing all I could to help them to feel better, coming down to this business office, upon being discharged, getting relentlessly hounded, by these office women, for immediate payment, on the spot, in cold, and callous, ways (and seeing their distress from that) took my breath away! Clearly, those working in this office in no way saw their job description as having anything, at all, to do with caregiving of these patients. It was a HUGE culture shock, for me! It was very difficult to even reconcile in my mind that this was actually a part of the hospital that I had so loved working in, where I had both given and received so much caring, between my heart and others there; from the doctors, and the nursing staff, to the patients, we had all cared for. It didn't take me long to see that this was not going to work, for me, which meant that I would also have to move on, in my life, now, from not just my nursing career, but this place, that had been so fulfilling and nurturing, for me.

While feeling the deep loss of these, very meaningful things, in my life, I was still, emotionally, dealing with the custody transfer of my son, too! I had moved to a (somewhat) better, but very small, efficiency apartment, during my time as a Nurse's Aide, at the hospital, and Linnea had brought Jay to visit me, there, just as she, and Jim, had also done at the previous place I had lived in, after I had given them custody of Jay, to give him a better life than I could give him all alone. My little boy was still so young, and all of that was still so hard, for me! Now, with these other losses happening with my career, significantly affecting my life as well, it just felt like too much heartbreak for me to deal with, all at one time. I had already been brought to the ER, by ambulance, when I mixed my medications for my back with alcohol one night, in some foolish attempt to numb all of this physical, and personal, pain. (This is also described in my post, on 5-8-19, "More Of My Memories Of My Mother".) Now, I felt both my morale and my motivation slipping away, from me, and I knew that I needed to talk to my supervisor, in this office, about how I was feeling, from all this. I dreaded coming to work, anymore. It was adding to my grief, and my distress. I was miserable, now, at a time in my life when I had still really needed to be in a positive atmosphere to motivate and to encourage me, like the nursing field had been for me once I began to work at the hospital. The two nursing homes I had worked in, prior to that, had felt significantly less uplifting, to me, perhaps because staff, there, were taking care of the same patients day in and day out for extended periods and those patients were not improving alot, if any, in their health conditions, or normally being discharged, to return home to a happy life. They were basically there to be cared for until they died, at some point, which made even getting too attached, to them, painful, for me, on top of all the other relational heartache I had.

When I went in to talk to my office supervisor, he was very affirming, and wanted to be helpful. He seemed to feel that I could, or would, adjust to this new environment I was now working in, over time, but I felt so turned off toward it, virtually from the beginning, that I could not see that happening. I NEEDED SOMETHING, AND SOMEWHERE, WITH HEART to it, FOR ME to be able to thrive and be happy, as I had been while working on the nursing floor. I deeply needed something in my life that felt optimistic, pouring its positivity into me, since I still felt so drained, and depleted, emotionally, from my heartache in the Air Force, followed by my heartbreak with my son's father, Jim, the divorce from him, and my struggles as a single mother with a baby to care for, all alone, 24/7, and then my transferring custody of our baby, Jay, to Jim and his new wife, Linnea, after helping my son to transfer his attachment, especially to this new mother, so that he would not be traumatized by my eventual absence, from his upbringing and life. These things gave all of them a brighter, happier, future, as they each either got what they wanted or needed, but I felt like it had left me with nothing, for myself, in my own life now. I did what was best in the situation, but it was hardest on me. Jim got a loving, new, wife. Linnea got the man that I was still in love with, who did not love me, and my son, as her own baby, now. Jay got a two-parent home, with his father, and a wonderful step-mother, giving him a greatly improved opportunity to have the fullest and happiest life, possible, for himself, as compared to what he would have been exposed to and affected by in what my life was and would end up being like. (All of the subjects listed in this paragraph were each described in detail, in previous posts, in this Blog. Please refer to those, for alot of background information, on each of these issues.)

What I got was a divorce, from the man that I had loved more than anyone else, in my life, that I did because Jim made it so completely, and continually, clear that he did not love me, or want me, as his wife. I got an amazing step-mother for my son, who would lovingly raise him, as her very own, that he would someday tell me (earlier this year, as an almost-38-year-old man now) is the mother that he remembers, knows, and loves (which is as he should feel, toward Linnea, given the situation of his upbringing). What I got was the peace of mind, from knowing that Jay would have much better of EVERYTHING, with the two of them, than I could EVER have given him, with me, and my limited resources, which I wanted for him, because I loved my son, and I wanted the best for him that I could get for him; even if that wasn't going to be ME. All that was what I had to show for the situation. It was lonely, and loveless; hurtful, and hard; and now, my ability to make a living to simply care for myself, since I was all that I had left, was sliding down a slippery slope, and just like it had been with so many things in my life that I so deeply wished had been different, than what they were, I had no way to stop it. I was so despondent, about it, that the office manager, who I had talked to about this new job at the hospital not being a good fit, for who I am as a person, set up a session, for me to go and speak with one of the hospital psychiatrists on staff. This man, hearing all my pain, and my difficulty in dealing with it, took no chances, especially since it was in my employee-patient record that I had been brought, by an ambulance, to the ER at our hospital, recently, from mixing pills with alcohol. When I made the statement to him, actually referring to the office job that I now had, at the hospital, that "I don't want to be here!", he had me committed to a mental hospital, for the first time in my life. Given no choice in the matter, I was taken by a female associate, who was present during our talk, to the Nebraska Psychiatric Institute, by that evening, where I was given supper, after I arrived. I sat alone, and ate, having no idea what to expect. Although I thought this was rather ridiculous, I was in alot of emotional pain, from how things had gone for me, in my life, especially recently, so I understood why he went to such an extreme, with me, in this situation. It was what it was.

That first night, I was sharing a room with another female who did not have much to say to me and was discharged soon after this. On a subsequent night, as I slept alone in that room, now, I was roused by a bright light, and thought that perhaps it was morning. Instead, as I wakened, I saw a male attendant, holding a flashlight, which he was shining in my eyes, in the otherwise dark room. Smiling at him wanly, in my sleepy state, I asked him why he was doing that. As he smiled back at me, with a compassionate expression, on his face, he replied he was checking to see if I was asleep, so that he could chart, about that, on me. Waking me up, to see if I was asleep, seemed a little crazy, to me, so I said, as I gave him an amused grin then, "Would you please state, on my chart, that I was sleeping just fine until someone woke me up by shining a flashlight in my face?" Chuckling a bit, he answered that he would do that, and I turned over in bed, and went back to sleep. I was here. This had happened. I knew that the intent, excessive or not, was to help me, and I was just going to be myself and let this thing unfold. I knew that I wasn't crazy. I also knew that I was very damaged, by so much mistreatment by people, in my life, that my heart was broken, as a result of all that, and that I was very, very, very sad. If any of these people could help, mend my completely broken heart, then that was something that I certainly needed someone to help me with. God knows, I had not ever found a way to do that.

Since I liked to learn new things, and I was also a trained medical person, myself, this was an interesting opportunity, for me to see what this type of patient care environment was like. I felt like I had given other people, from my son, Jay, to Jim and Linnea, to the patients I had cared for, all that I had to give, and I was worn out from the emotional toll it all took on me and worn down from not having nearly as much poured into me, from others, as I had been pouring out for them. I had given all that I had to give and, out of my self-discipline, even more, and being taken care of, by others, even if it was in a mental hospital, felt like I was finally being carried, and cared for, in other people's arms, for a little while, now. I was not there very long, but I do recall walking to a nearby store on a patient field trip, while I was admitted to NPI, and feeling strange somehow during that, to be back out in the traffic, noise, and indifference of the world at large, again, then, after experiencing the comforting cocoon, of being kept away from all of that, in NPI, for that brief time. The sins, of this world, in myself, and in others, had so sucked the life out of me that, when I felt the harsh reality of that with my tender heart, again that day, there was a part of me that actually was not sure that I COULD handle that again, on my own, since I was about to be discharged. I was not sure that I was up to such a daunting task, now, based on the Return On Investment, I had experienced, from my loving, and caring for, others which ended up leaving me not only with nothing, in my own everyday life, but worse off, than before I had opened my heart up to these people who had caused me so much hurt and harm.

Feeling more than a little like Alice in Wonderland while I was there at NPI, I interacted with the other patients there very circumspectly, when socializing was required of us. Everything, about our behavior, including our interactions with others there, was charted on. What we did and we didn't do; said and didn't say; ate and didn't eat; et cetera. I was good with people, which is the height of irony given that my personal relationships were so fraught with failure. So, interacting with the staff and the other patients came easily, to me, even with the self-consciousness I felt about being there because I had been Committed, which is a scary sounding situation, in itself. It was a fascinating place. I had taken care of all ages and types of patients, except for mental patients, of which I was now one, so seeing this type of medical practice, up close, was a new and interesting thing, to me. Especially when the peer votes were cast. Patients were required to come together, as part of the treatment, for group sessions. During that time each one of us was discussed, with the others, openly, in this setting, as facilitated by a staff doctor, as to how these others each thought we were doing, socially, behaviorally, or attitudinally, based on their individual interactions with and observations of us. Then, each of the patients is asked to cast their vote on whether they each felt that so and so was ready to be discharged, based on their own interactions with and observations of so and so, in this setting. I am smiling a bit, as I type about this memory, because it was so charmingly bizarre! In a group, of perhaps 6 - 8 patients, with one or two staff members, facilitating these sessions, there was the full spectrum of every kind of mental malady that could be imagined. There were the antisocial types, paranoid types, even delusional types of patients all in this group, among others. I felt sane, at least, whatever else was wrong with me, just from comparing myself to some of what I was seeing in the other patients, as well as from feeling that this was a crazy way to be evaluated, as a mental patient! To sit in such a group session, as this, as I did, and listen to each one, casting their vote, as to whether they personally thought that each one of these others was sane enough, to rejoin and reengage with society, now, outside of the hospital walls, had seemed to me to be a bit bizarre.

In my case, somehow these people all assessed me as being more than ready, to go back out there, which at that point demonstrated more faith in my ability to handle it than I felt like I had, at that time. One of the patients was convinced that he was literally Jesus Christ, reincarnated, and he even voted that I was ready, to go back out, in this fallen world, which had crucified the actual Jesus Christ, after He gave all that He had, to it, as its response to Him, for that. I didn't have any illusions left now, that this often irrational, selfish, and destructive world was going to treat me any better than it had Him. The Bible assured me that it would not. I was not a person who was in any way out of touch with reality. I was never medicated, for any mental conditions, and there is no worldly treatment for a broken heart, which is what I had, and have, to this day. The closest thing it offers, as a healing factor, is love, shared between us and other people, or pets, et cetera, which is very effective, when it is real, and reciprocated, and righteous. I never really experienced that love growing up in my family, or in my romantic or marital relationships, though, leaving me having no earthly idea what that looked like, or how to find, and engage in, such love with other people. Besides my relationship with the Lord, the deepest, truest mutual love, that I have ever experienced, on this planet, was with my Cockatiel, CeeBee, which is a precious and miraculous story that I plan to share with you here, in some upcoming Blog post.

The fact that the other patients at NPI were polled about one another's ability to interact and to cope out in the world was both bemusing and fascinating to me. In no way does my saying this imply that I was in any way disrespectful toward any of these other people. I interacted with the guy who believed that he was Jesus Christ, there, as respectfully as I did with everyone else. I have a very empathetic heart, toward those who act decently and those who are doing the best that they can, in this life. Those who do not think that I am this way, or that do not see that side of me, are those who have earned my scorn, or, outrage, for how they have mistreated me, or others, in some way that is grievous to me. So, to my thinking, that is on them, not on me, and it is certainly their loss, with me! I cannot recall exactly how long I was at NPI, now. It seems to me it may have been a week. When I was about to be discharged, I asked that male attendant, when he awakened me once again with the flashlight in my face at night, what was wrong with me exactly; at least, as far as any official diagnosis. He said that I had "an adjustment disorder, with depressed mood". Not sure, of the meaning, of psychological terms, then, I replied, "So, I have Depression?"  He answered, "No. Depression is an actual illness, all on its own, and you do not have that diagnosis."  "I don't understand, what my diagnosis means, then."  Looking at me, with that wonderfully, and all too rare, compassionate look, of his, he responded,  "What it means, in simple terms, is that you are  'feeling blue',  now, but, over time, you will get over it".

I'm 63, now, as I type this Blog post, and I am still waiting, for that day to come. I have learned to be as happy as possible, living with a broken heart, as I am, throughout my life; primarily by knowing and praising the Lord and the fullness of that relationship with Him including counting my blessings on a daily basis. I also seek out the things that make me laugh, as much, and as deeply, as possible. I spent most of the day, yesterday, watching a marathon airing of "Animals Unscripted" videos from The Pet Collective on the TBD TV network, because that type of thing does me so much good, in my spirit, as I laugh over and over and over, during that, and am so touched, by the antics of the animals! In addition, I eat as healthy as possible most, but not all, of the time, and try to take care of myself in a holistic way. I do good deeds for others, as I find opportunity, and have the resources needed for that, as well, so that I feel able to give that, to them, without throwing my own life completely out of balance from going overboard with that. I enjoy helping others, especially those who are appreciative, of that, and respectful toward me. Having a wide variety of hobbies and interests also helps to uplift me, in life, such as enjoying music, in several different ways, or reading a good book. Feeding and caring for animals both outdoors, in the wild, as well as when I have had pets always helps my frame of mind, too. To be completely candid about my 'What Makes Me Happier' List, I would have to include the act of pleasuring myself, but that is not limited to 'sexually'. This could be something as simple as eating dark chocolate or taking a long, lavender-scented, bubblebath whenever some form of tension builds up, in me, and is undermining my mood, or overall health, in some way. Due to my being celibate, for decades, now, and having no other sexual outlet, while being a sexual creature by nature, there has to be a release of that tension in my body, at some point. I was shocked, frankly, that aging in no way diminished my sexual urges or expressiveness! I have some physical limitations now, which I have to adapt to and work around, but the smoldering sensuality, and the sexual passion, in me at least, have remained unchanged! This is the list, of things that have helped me have a happier frame of mind most, thought not all, of the time.

After my discharge from NPI, because the work environment, in that hospital office, had felt so toxic to me, I was transferred to the Insurance and Adjustments department in another area of the medical center which was much quieter and more behind the scenes, and only had a staff of two other women in it, for me to deal with, instead of the half dozen or so that worked in the other, bustling, office area. It was better at first, but they decided to be catty and cause trouble with their gossip when Steve, the Head of the ER Department, came over, to this smaller, and more isolated, office I worked in, now, to see how I was doing, out of care and concern for me, and to wish me a happy birthday. He had done my pre-employment physical for my job hire at the hospital (reference my 9-11-19 post titled "My Caring For Others, & Killing Someone") and we had been friends ever since, which both of us needed, at that time in each of our lives, but it was never more than that, between the two of us. I appreciated and admired him, and Steve was concerned for, and very helpful to, me, in ways that sometimes made me feel that he was the closest thing I ever had in my life to the father that I never really actively had in my life, but had needed, so desperately, from my own present-but-emotionally-absent dad. Steve was the one that informed me that I could get the Laparoscopic Tubal Ligation done for free, as one of my employee health benefits, when I told him how much I wanted to be permanently sterilized after the different but heartbreaking outcomes of both my unplanned pregnancies. At that time the procedure was $1,200.00, I believe. As a Nurse's Aide, I had no way to pay for that on my small salary, so this information that Steve gave me was a real blessing to me. He knew that I had been through alot, so when I mentioned to him in conversation, one day, that my birthday was also coming up, he took note of that, and stopped in, to my new office, to be caring, and supportive. Because he was a married but separated man at that time, these two other office women tried to spin this visit to me, by him, into something that it wasn't and never had been.

As a result of that, he blamed me, for the problems their gossip caused him, since he was in the (long) process of reconciling with his wife, as the gossip spread through the hospital staff from the both, but one in particular, of the women, in this second office, that I was working in. Hurt that he turned on me over it, and devastated that now I had lost the man whom I viewed as a surrogate father to me, emotionally speaking, I became bitter over that. So, I left this job, and the hospital, altogether, soon after that, due to the relational breakdown between me and these two bitches, after that, which rendered me unable and unwilling to work with them, now, and the fact that, adding insult to injury, this prominent, and powerful, doctor was always very outwardly cold, even hostile, toward me, after that happened, although he had come there, to that office, to see me, and I couldn't control the bad behavior of these two co-workers of mine. They were determined to be troublemakers, to me, when that was the last thing that I needed or could cope with at the time. It flooded me with those all-too-familiar feelings of vulnerability, unfairness, hurt, and anger which went all the way back to my earliest childhood, and through my entire life, especially from my mother being like that, toward me. I did not need that, at all!

So when I became a Go Go dancer just after that and I was asked there what my stage name was going to be (which was highly recommended to us for our personal safety) I said "Stevie", which was from Steve, this doctor's first name. Since that situation with Steve, on my birthday, had caused the end of this deeply meaningful friendship, in my life, and led to my leaving, this hospital, that I had so loved, and now, to this huge career change, that name just seemed like the natural bridge, between these two worlds, as I made this significant transition in my career path, now. However, when I told him about my using his first name, as the basis for my dancer alias, Stevie, when I saw him at some point, later on, he actually threatened to sue me over it, which was such a stupid statement, for him to make, that I laughed, at that. I was bitter, about him ending our friendship when I was not to blame for the situation that caused him to do that, and at this point I was also cynical, about the fact that this man, who had always been such a good friend to me, and was so caring toward me was, now, being this self-protective; and that he was even threatening me, over my innocuous use of the stage name, Stevie, which no one would ever even connect, to him, at all! The music of Stevie Nicks, Stevie Wonder, and Stevie Ray Vaughan was all played, in these nightclubs, when I was a dancer, so I knew that no one would ever link this doctor to my dancer name unless I had made a point to do that, by telling someone, which I never did, for almost four decades, until I just explained that here, now. For me, it just felt like I was taking a parting shot, at an unfair situation, which had left me in more pain, when I did not need that! It was just my way of mitigating my deep hurt over it all by this type of 'thumbing my nose' at Steve, because I was indignant, due to how he had treated me. 

It pissed me off!

My accumulated anger at people, for how they had treated me, became the main energy that I drew on to fuel my ability to even become 'Stevie', on stage, and to do that job. It was the alter ego, of what I had been, as Debby; as a caregiver. My nature is to nurture, but, because I was so burned out and brokenhearted from that, it was both a much-needed relief and a surprising source of healing, for me, physically and emotionally, as I switched gears, now, in my life, and career, and focused on, and even amplified, this opposite side of me, this alter ego, this public persona, which became ME more and more as I 'grew into it' over the years that I worked as a dancer. The name became my own, early on, after I took it as my stage name, quickly ceasing to remind me of the ex-father-figure doctor, Steve, whom it came from, originally, as it became my own name, now, with new experiences and memories, attached to it, as time went on, and my own unique identity, involving it, became solidified. Over time, I even went by that name in my private life, because it was who I was, even to myself, by then, with my last two of my four husbands calling me 'Stevie', in our relationship, with one another. It was just who I was, now, who I had become, and it was a REAL RELIEF to me, to be able to NOT be identified with my childhood name, in my relationships with most people, anymore, and all of the negativity, and the pain, that name represented to me, in my thoughts about it, and my emotional responses  to it. The Bible is filled with stories about peoples' names being changed, in order to better or further define and even facilitate their destiny and to represent the significant changes in who they were (to become). One of the most redeeming accounts was of Jacob in Genesis 32:24-30 and Genesis 35:10. What I needed, at this point, was real redemption from the pain of the past. I needed a fresh start; a new life. Marelisa Fabrega has an excellent Blog post about all the aspects to this, which I recommend that you read, titled "How to Create an Alter Ego (and Why You Should Want To). The link for her Blog post is: https://daringtolivefully.com/alter-ego.

While I had not intentionally set out to become a dancer, my path had seemed destined to go there, even from the time I was a little girl. Enthralled by Gypsy Rose Lee from my seeing the movie about her when it aired on TV, I had done some of those type of routines, that she had done, when I was a teenager alone in my room. Back then our neighbor once told my mother that she had caught her brother, who was considerably older than me, watching me, from his darkened room in their house, so as not to be detected as being a voyeur, and while I initially had felt very ill at ease about that, it had also given me a strange kind of thrill; that a guy had found something, about ME, in my pubescent struggle, to express my blooming womanhood, worth watching, even captivating to him! Better still, it was an aloof form of appreciation of my femininity; from a distance. It didn't have that sweaty, sleazy, feel, like it had, to me, when my Uncle Jim had pulled me onto his and Aunt Ginny's bed, that one time, and put his hands on my body, in a lecherous way, before I fled that room, and him. The 'window-watcher' was still creepy, but it was also affirming, while not being accosting, of me, which had given me some newfound sense of female empowerment. HE was at a distance, from me; DISTANCE being the operative word. I felt empowered, ALOT, while I was a dancer; that sense of control over my own body, and sexuality, while bouncers, if nothing else, kept men away from me, where they couldn't directly touch me . . . or take me. It was a taunt, a tease, and a triumph, for me.

People working in the field of psychology, like Dr. Phil, have often expressed real surprise that those working as exotic dancers have described feeling an empowerment, through this line of work, which is very gratifying to us in many ways. These mental health professionals seem to stereotype this job as actually being particularly victimizing of women. Speaking first hand, as  a female, I can say that this is not the case for many women, including myself. While we have many motivations, for becoming dancers, some positive, some negative, the empowerment is for us a very healing feeling. This is because of the one fact, the one truth, that counselors do not seem to grasp, very well, which is: Simply being born as female, on this fallen planet, and living our lives having a vagina, creates opportunity, and motive, for a great number of men to victimize us, in a whole range of ways. We don't have to become dancers, or even prostitutes, for boys and men to determinedly seek ways to satisfy their desires at our expense. From our dads leaving us emotionally starved for male affirmation, because we grew up without proper, healthy, forms of that being shown toward us, by them, while our self-esteem was developing under their roof, along with our bodies, for 18 formative years, to an uncle, touching our pure, prepubescent, bodies, because we aren't protected, by the adults in the family, that knew this man was like this, but were more concerned with the perception of family honor than keeping the daughters in their care safe, the high school boyfriend trying to get you into the back seat of his parked car, and if he does, could get you pregnant, while he just gets off, to the rapists, who just take us against our will in spite of our fighting against it, because they are physically stronger than we are, to the rest (of the long laundry list) of lustful ways males seek to satisfy themselves, at the expense of females, much of the time, we are NOT victimized, for being a helpless child, for being a divorcee, or promiscuous, or for being an exotic dancer, or being a prostitute, or for any labels, on us, despite the stereotypes that may accompany these things, that we are, or become, in our life. We are VICTIMIZED simply BECAUSE we are FEMALE! This is ALL that it takes, for THAT TO HAPPEN, to us, and IMPACT OUR LIVES, and HURT us, and HARM us, and sometimes even BREAK US, as human beings. That. is. all. it. takes. BEING FEMALE, in this life on this Earth. NOTHING ELSE! In my own life, it, long ago, quit shocking me, anymore, that so many men either victimized me or attempted to victimize me. To this day, what REALLY SURPRISES ME are the very few times that I encounter men that DO NOT try to take advantage of me in some form or fashion. That list is VERY SMALL . . . .

When I had briefly been a stripper, in Biloxi, in 1981, I never really 'danced'. I walked around the stage, and slowly took my clothes off, in what was supposed to be tantalizing teases, for the customers, while bending over and doing other suggestive posturing. (I learned watching what the other girls did there, which wasn't much, as far as the stage show went.) There was music, as background to my motions, but the emphasis was on the undressing, there; not on any real dancing, per se. I only worked there for a very short time, perhaps a week or two, at the very most, but I doubt it was even that long since I left as soon as I finally figured out that this employer pimped the girls, into prostitution. It would be many years, even decades, later, before I would do that, and even then I take full responsibility, though not all the blame, that I ever did that at all, and for reasons of my own, which weren't very good ones. That's another story for another time which I plan to cover in a future post when I write about that chapter of my life story in this Blog. Back in Biloxi, which I am speaking of, now, in referencing the short introduction to my being an exotic stage performer, black feather boa from New Orleans and all, I would never have considered doing that for one moment, because I was in my mid-20s, was completely in love with a young Air Force lieutenant whom I was staying with at the time, and I still believed in some silly guarantee, I felt Disney movies had subliminally promised, to me, that I would, absolutely, have my 'Happily Ever After' romantic relationship in my real life. That was what I believed then. That was where my focus was. That was where my heart was. (This other chapter of my life is described in much more detail, in my Blog post from 7-24-19, titled "More On The One Man That I Would Love Forever: Ending Up In Omaha, & Married".)

Because of that first experience I had, of working in that strip joint in Biloxi, Mississippi, I never wanted to work in such a place as that was, again! So how did I end up dancing, in nightclubs, as a GO GO dancer, in the Omaha, Nebraska area for much of two decades, after that? I truly think it was inevitable, as in 'Destiny', for me, though I did not realize that, at the time. Life just kind of unfolds into what it is actually going to be for each of us while we are often thinking, or hoping, or planning that it will be something else entirely. It is what it is. So, since my Certified Nursing Assistant job had left me with lower back problems which waxed and waned between improvement and pain, my back continued to simply go out at unpredictable and inconvenient times. When that happened, I couldn't do alot, and desperate to get it to correct itself, again, I took to lying flat on the floor of my apartment, when it was out, which seemed to help it, some. One day, I called a feisty, fiery-red-headed, friend of mine, on the phone, who had been in my CNA class, at school, and told her about my back injury, and employment situation, since she would be able to commiserate with me, about how this had just ended my career, in that field that we both so loved working in. I told her how I had worked in a manufacturing plant making elasticized hosiery yarns, in Hickory, North Carolina. I had joined the military, but that had not gone well for me, and ended in discharge. I had been a homemaker, twice already, in fact, as well as a mother, but I was divorced now, and had transferred custody of my toddler, to place him in a stable situation for his own sake. I had been an outstanding Nursing Assistant. Then the back injury from my doing that work made it increasingly impossible for me to perform my duties, causing my work load to have to be put onto others, on top of their own, which wasn't fair to them, leading me to decide to leave the field so they could replace me with a CNA that could do all that was required of them in that job now. My two separate attempts at desk jobs  at the hospital, after that, had not been a good fit for me. With all the interpersonal negativity, and toxic drama, that had gone on in those two different offices there, I didn't want to try that, anywhere, again, if I could help it. After telling my friend all of this, I ended with "I need a job! But I don't know what to do, now," to which she had replied, "I'll be right over, and we'll figure this thing out." Unlocking the apartment door so she could get in, I lay back down on the floor where I had just been trying to get my throbbing back to realign itself, to get some relief, now.

She brought the Help Wanted ads from the newspaper with her, for me. Back then, there was no internet for doing job searches. Most jobs were either found in these Want Ads, or through networking (word of mouth; job leads from people you knew or talked to) or simply applying in person, to places of interest, that then hired you. While I continued to lay flat, on the floor, she read the various job ads to me and we discussed the viability of each one of them. One of the main concerns was that most employers paid every two weeks and two weeks back, meaning that once I would be hired by them it would be about a month before I would ever see my first paycheck! I had been living at poverty level, as it was, although I had been working fulltime at the hospital. So, I didn't have any savings. Being alone, on my own, I had the regular monthly bills coming in for rent, utilities, food, and so on, which needed to be kept current. I had a bad back now, and when it acted up, the pain of it affected my being able to walk, stand, bend, lift, and other things. It was a real liability for me because it could affect my job performance, and my attendance at work, and most employers were very strict about those things, especially in evaluating new hires, who were usually given a probation period, to prove themselves before they were considered to be permanent hires. I wasn't at all sure how much of this I was up to now. I felt completely discouraged; but, undaunted, my friend was determined that there was definitely a job out there, for me, that I could do, so she continued reading the Job Ads to me, saying finally, "Here's one! Dancers needed. Good money, plus tips. No experience needed!"

As I lay there, I responded, "What kind of dancers?" She said, "It says, 'Razzle Dazzle'. Their address is just across the river, over in Council Bluffs. They hire on the spot! I think it's one of those 'Strip Clubs'." As she looked up at me, rather matter-of-factly, from over the newspaper she was holding and reading, I raised my head up, off the floor, and reacted by saying to her, emphatically, "I could NEVER do that!" Of course, I had my reasons, for saying that, because of my experience as a Stripper at the bar in Biloxi, but I had not mentioned that, in describing my past employment to her, so she just took my response as my being too shy or shocked to even consider that so, grabbing me by the hand, she pulled me up off the floor, with a strong, quick, motion, which shockingly put my back into alignment, again. As I said to her, "You just fixed my back, when you did that!" she pulled me toward the door, with an 'I won't take no for an answer' attitude, saying to me, "WE are going to go over there, NOW, together, and JUST LOOK, and see what we think. It won't hurt, to just check it out, and see . . . . " All the way to her car, across the bridge into Iowa, and up to the door of the nightclub I kept protesting and resisting this but she was determined. She made a good point that this job hired on the spot, would pay me faster, than any 'ordinary' job, I could get, and had tips, as well, which I would have for daily expenses right away. If they hired me. She was right about all of this, but I still DID NOT WANT to GO IN there! It was still light outside as we drove over there, and as she literally pulled me, up to the entrance door, I kept trying to keep the door closed, to not go in. She finally got the door open, and was pulling me through it while I tried to grasp the outside door frame, so she couldn't, but she was stronger. We stood just inside the door, in this dark room, and as my eyes tried to adjust to it, after just being outside in the sunlight, I heard her boldly announce to somebody standing nearby us, there, "SHE wants a JOB!", meaning me.

I will continue this story, about this chapter of my life, in another post, as there is so much still to tell, about this new adventure I was suddenly starting, and this post is already quite lengthy. This post has described some, but not all, of the events that led to my leaving my employment at the hospital, and how, through and because of my feisty friend, that dragged me over to the Go Go bar, that day, literally against my will, I started a whole new career, that became a new favorite, for me. I will begin there, and go into much more detail, about it, in an upcoming post.