I can’t believe I’m doing this… but I am. This is part of Chapter 2 from my book – which will be out as long as everything goes according to plan on September 9th.
I’m working through the final edits and then it needs to be formatted for paperback, hardcover, e-book and scripted for audio – idk about you but I had no idea how many steps stood between “I’m going to write a book” and “here it is.”
I am so proud of the book, but also, as uncool as it is to say, myself.
I have processed a lot of trauma, core wounds and hard-to-face facts about myself while writing this book. It was the push I needed to finally go to therapy, something I’ve been doing bi-weekly (or… more with emergency sessions lol) for the last 7 months.
My hope for the book is that you feel seen, just as I have finally seen myself through it’s pages.
Keep reading, and then learn more about it here.
Deep breath. Here we go.
– CHAPTER 2 –
Roaming Charges
The text hit like a slap. I was in Arizona, sweating through my swimsuit, and apparently sabotaging my entire career before it even started.
I knew I shouldn’t have left. I knew this was going to happen.
My inner mean girl was having a field day.
Inner mean girl: Well. That’s what you get. You’re selfish.
She was ruthless. She was me… but also, not. Confusing, but bear with me. Listen, I knew she wasn’t real (or even right), but damn she was loud. And it was hard to ignore “loud.” My inner mean girl got her unwavering confidence from years of girl drama, passive-aggressive eye rolls, and being called rude or way too sensitive.
She had an arsenal of zingers, all lifted from the comments people probably don’t remember making like, “You always do this.”
To me, they felt like a Sims Plumbob that exposed all my faults for everyone to see…and judge.
And yeah, I had to Google what the green floating diamond above the Sims are called for this book. Are you already learning things from me? Look at us go.
Okay back to her.
She hadn’t always been so overbearing, but back then her voice was everywhere.
Look, I know it’s early to be introducing a whole fictional frenemy. But trust me, she sticks around.
And if you can’t relate to this fictional frenemy in your brain? I’m jealous. Truly.
But if you’re reading this, I’m willing to bet you have an inner mean girl too. Your own worst critic. The voice in your head that tells you you’re too fat, too old, too dumb, too slow, too late… too much (see what I did there?).
So yeah, my inner mean girl is going to show up time and time again in this book because that’s how she shows up in my brain. Welcome. She’s a bitch. We hate her.
Okay, back to the story about how I got a phone call that made me question all my life choices up to that point.
I looked down at my phone in disbelief. The weight of it suddenly felt more like a brick than an iPhone. The same SMS came through every time I turned it off airplane mode:
Racking up daily roaming charges just so I could be rejected from miles away. Loved that for me.
I pressed my forehead against the windowpane, felt the warm glass, and got distracted for a moment. Even the glass was warm there. I hadn’t felt cold since stepping out of the air-conditioned plane a few days earlier.
That short, long-distance conversation left me ridiculously sweaty, and my chest was tight. Butterflies pounded in my stomach. Apparently their wings were made of concrete. I just wanted to jump in the pool and cool off. Instead, I tapped the blue and white envelope in the top left corner of my screen and wrote a frantic, but hopefully still professionally coded, email to the union.
To summarize: I got rejected and responded with a 12-paragraph thesis reeking of desperation.
I sat on the bed in silence, the muscles in my calves firing – clench, release, clench, release – as if I could burn off the static in my head through my legs if I just squeezed fast enough. Why had I decided to take a vacation? Why hadn’t I waited at home for that call? I knew I should have stayed home. I’d told my mom it was a bad idea.
*Ding*
*Ding*
Two new emails hit my inbox and I scanned the previews quickly so I could either avoid them for four to six business days (bad news) or open them right away (good news).
Omg. omg. Omg. omg. Okay. Ah. Be cool.
It was official. I had an interview for a full-time teaching position. The news felt too big to keep inside: I had to tell everyone. Nothing ever seemed real until I told as many people as possible. Buzzing, I typed a quick message to my parents and brother and tapped the arrow. Satisfied by the woosh, I swiped back to my inbox, but my hands started shaking, the initial excitement suddenly replaced by fear.
What chance did I have after being the girl who had called the union?
Inner mean girl: Literally zero, narc.
I found the staff directory, scanned the list and felt my stomach lurch. My thoughts got jumbled – wait, what?
Vice-Principal: Stephanie Bianchi.
Stephanie was a family friend. Like, “learned to drive stick in her car” family friend. My dad was best friends with her husband. She was the very person I had asked about canceling my vacation in case I got an interview, and her response was why I booked myself on the flight to visit my friend.
“You can’t put your life on hold because you might get an interview. If they want you, they’ll make it work.”
Okay, calling the union? Minus one point.
Knowing the VP? Plus five.
Things were starting to look a little better for me. I exhaled slowly. Maybe all wasn’t lost.
I spent the day prepping for the interview and trying to pick out a presentable outfit to wear from my suitcase of vacation clothes. I was nervous, excited, and wanted to skip ahead so I could just get the whole thing over with.
That night, I lay in the unfamiliar bed, ceiling fan spinning circles above me, unable to sleep. I glanced at the clock: 2am. Another hour had passed. I wiggled each finger as I counted – eight hours to go.
I sucked at sleeping in new places on a good night, let alone with a life altering interview looming over me. I couldn’t get my brain to shut up. At 4am, I gave up and opened Bumble, a dating app, on my phone.
I hated online dating. It was so boring to have the same conversation over and over with strangers who I’d never end up with anyways. But, as much as I hated it, I hated the idea of dying alone even more. Online dating was my best bet.
Talking to guys at the gym? Terrifying. Lingering eye contact at run club? Not working. Getting introduced by someone? Yeah, right. All my friends were already dating, and all their friends were already dating, too.
I swiped through the profiles as they popped up, eyebrows furrowing – there were certainly a lot more guys in cowboy hats than I remembered from my last swipe-a-thon. I paused on one profile and noticed the distance away from me was in miles. Oh. Duh. It was showing me guys near me. In Arizona.
I shut down the app and went back to counting backwards from 100.
No way I’d move for a guy.
Eek. There you have it.
My book is raw, honest, and (in my opinion) funny. From friendship breakups, broken hearts, falling in love and burning down my business – I’m going through it all, and sharing the word for word receipts I kept along the way.
Click here to get on the waitlist.
Mariah
