Surviving Hate

The Zoom call ended. I stumbled away from my desk in a daze. Walking toward the dark hall of my studio apartment, I collapsed. Curled up on the floor, I began shaking. It was hard to breathe. I closed my eyes and tried to shrink into the smallest possible shape. The conversation with my manager minutes before replayed in my head. She needed me to step up, to make up for the time I'd been away. I wanted to. I also knew I couldn't. I had barely been at work last year. How could I make up for that?

I hadn't planned on being so absent; it had just worked out that way. First, I took a sabbatical. Nothing wrong with that. This was a perk for being with the company for so many years. I had earned it. I hadn't expected my sabbatical to end with the realization that I wanted to divorce my husband. Nobody plans for that.

I took leave to handle the divorce. It was a lot to process. I had to move out, get the house ready to sell, and figure out what I even want out of life. Who knew that when I finally had time to take care of myself, I'd uncover my gender identity? Not me. So, at the end of the year, I scheduled gender affirming surgery and took an extra week off around the holidays for the recovery.

Now it was January. We'd just come back online after the holiday break. I'd had the surgery, which was good. While in recovery, my eight-month-old kitten became sick and died, which was not good.

I was in no state to rally my team and get us focused for the year ahead. I wanted to, but my reaction to that meeting with my manager showed I could not. I was a collapsing star. I had nothing to give. The idea of trying to power through the pain and get to work sent me spiraling.

This was not my first time having panic attacks because of work. Last time, I didn't know what a panic attack was, so I suffered longer than I should have. My mental health had declined immensely.

This time, I knew trying to fight against the panic was not going to work. Having a job that left me feeling suicidal on top of everything else I was experiencing was not going to help. On the floor, crying, I accepted I needed to quit.

Within a week, I was unemployed. Too messed up to even consider looking for other work. I had no real goals other than to survive.

Surviving took all the energy I had. Just eating and walking the dog left me exhausted. I was becoming one of those people my dad had always looked down on. One of the people my mother spoke of with disgust. I was unemployed and unable to work; therefore, I was lazy, selfish, and worthless.

This realization almost ended me. Who was I if I was not actively adding value to the world? Did I deserve to be alive?

I wasn't sure.

With the help of my therapist, I spent my days exploring the concept of worth. Every week, she'd remind me I was a "human being, not a human doing." Slowly, I began to accept this. Being was all I was capable of, anyway. Existing.

Maybe that was enough? Maybe it was enough that I was taking time to heal my mind? We spent months working through painful memories and recognized the ways my parents had taught me to doubt myself and my value.

Slowly, my brain began to heal. I learned to think compassionately toward the parts of me that felt worthless. I began to accept my imperfection. I started to believe I didn't need to be perfect —I just needed to be myself.

Now, years later, I watch the government act on the painful lies I deprogrammed from. Slashing programs to support the vulnerable. Attacking communities of people doing their best to survive generations of trauma and hate. Prioritizing wealth over compassion. These people in power either never learned what I learned or refuse to accept it.

Everyone has inherent worth. Every person has value.

I'm thankful I learned the truth. I'm thankful I didn't let hate destroy me. My survival means I can help others survive. Together, we can heal our minds so the lies of hate cannot destroy us.