Diary Blog Entry: The Job, The Memory, The Me

Diary Blog Entry: The Job, The Memory, The Me

Part One

I’ve been thinking about that last charity shop — the one I went to town on, the one I called a terrible organisation, the one I swore broke me. And yes, it was chaotic. I didn’t imagine that. But today something shifted.

I realised I don’t actually know my whole memory.

I don’t remember the way other people remember.

I don’t store things.

I don’t retain instructions.

I learn by watching — always have.

If no one shows me, I don’t learn it.

If no one stays with me, I can’t hold it.

And suddenly I’m seeing that job differently.

It wasn’t just a bad place to work.

It was the first place where they left me alone with a system I could never work.

They dropped me in it.

Expected me to remember things I can’t remember.

Expected me to follow instructions I can’t retain.

Expected me to be someone I’ve never been able to be.

No wonder I fought it.

No wonder I burned out.

No wonder I hated it.

I thought it was the job.

I thought it was the people.

I thought it was the chaos.

But it was also me — the way my brain works, the way I learn, the way I need support that I didn’t get.

And then there’s the false expectation.

I thought it would be like the original charity shop — the one before, the one that rocked me, the one that set the template in my head.

But it wasn’t.

Not even close.

And because she left me alone, I put her in a category.

And once someone is in a category with me, that’s it.

The job was doomed.

I was doomed.

I didn’t know that about myself then.

I do now.

And of course, because my mind never stays in one lane, I digressed mid voice note and recognised a stranger I’d seen that morning.

That constant ND thing — recognising people I don’t know, forgetting people I do, memory flickering like a faulty lightbulb.

My memory isn’t working well today.

But maybe that’s why I’m finally seeing it clearly.

It wasn’t just the job.

It was the loneliness of being left to cope.

The perimenopause fog.

The burnout.

The expectation to perform a version of competence I never had the tools for.

Hindsight is a funny thing.

Standing still long enough to look back is a funny thing.

It’s terrible and brilliant at the same time.

And today I finally see it:

I didn’t fail the job.

The job failed me.