Tuesday, 27 September 2016

“I wish you had a job” says my 10 year old son this morning.

“I wish you had a job” says my 10 year old son this morning. 

Now, his reason for wanting me to have a job is a little different to mine … his reason is that he’d then have to go to our neighbour, who he really likes and is a childminder, while I was at work.

My reply was that I wished I did too.  In fact, it’s something that I find myself thinking about with regularity.  How nice it would be to not be at the mercy of the DWP.  How good it would feel to be productive again.  I even often find myself looking through the job sites.

But then I come down out of cloud cuckoo land and reality strikes. 

I honestly can’t see how I could do a job.

My mind doesn’t function the way it once did, so all my high-pressured admin and office experience, my ability to work independently, is a non-starter.

And my body can barely make it to the doctors, chemist and back, with taxi both ways and several sit down rests along the way, let alone do multiple back to back hours of even the lightest work.

Damn it, I’ve only managed to cook four ‘take it out the box and stick it in the oven’ meals in the last 2.5 weeks, all cleaning and laundry is backed up to a point it’ll take me a week of good health to clear it, and I’ve slept more than I’ve been awake in longer than that.  That’s the fallout from a (simple) wedding and a (at home) birthday in quick succession.  Or just a bad flare ... there isn't always a reason.

You tell me what employer out there will take on someone who hasn’t been in the workplace for 15yrs, has varying degrees of mobility issues, no energy, constant pain, anxiety and panic attacks when under even a mild amount of pressure, and can’t guarantee, from one hour to the next, let alone day or week, whether she’d even make it into work, let alone manage anything once there.


I wish I had a job too …