what does resentment teach us?

you have to be your own biggest advocate

“If everyone around you is the problem, maybe you're the problem.”

Has there ever been a more astute observation?

This week that phrase knocked at my mind as I ignored it. Instead, I moaned about the lampshade company that canceled my order and cursed a furniture company for bringing the top half of a sofa and not the bottom. In my creative life, I complained about taking on so many unpaid commitments (reader, yes it was me who had agreed to them).

And then on Friday, when I woke up and my phone wouldn't charge, and what should have been a 15-minute stop at the Apple Store, turned into a five-hour appointment and a 1200 GBP bill (if you saw me sobbing in the Edinburgh Genius Bar in a fabulous coat, no, you didn't), I decided that the world was out to get me.

And surely, it couldn’t be my fault. Everyone was against me!

The next day, Saturday, I spent stewing. I was angry. I was resentful. I was furious. And then I was heartbroken. How could I have abandoned myself?

Because what is the real cost of unpaid and low paid work? It’s more than the money not earned—it’s the opportunity cost of time. Time to do other things, yes, but also the time to rest, to be bored, to be empty of a to-do list, to be still enough for the next great idea to arrive.

What I know to be true is that a breakdown, or a full sob session in the Apple Store, doesn’t just happen out of nowhere.

It builds bit by bit—and in this case, the piling up of weeks of saying yes to things when I should have said no. All of the things I did for other people blocked me from doing the things that energize me—case in point, this newsletter hasn’t been touched in months.

The irony here is that in addition to freelance writing, I work as a talent manager for an amazing group of women where I am the Iron Lady against unpaid work.

I will advocate until I'm blue in the face to get my talent paid (with real money, not gifted products because that doesn't pay anyone's groceries) and get brands on contracts that protect my talent’s time, IP, and ideas. I sweat the fine print for others but I don't do it for myself.

by.jasminkaila

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At least until now.

I am owning my part in this. It’s my fault—and my responsibility.

Did my counterparts do anything wrong? No, they took the terms I offered. People treat you how you let them. And it's time for me to guard my time and energy.

I wish I could say this is a new story. It’s not.

I’ve been here before. When I was living in New York, I gave my life to my job, dated people who didn’t respect me, and didn't write a word. I did not advocate for myself. My life didn’t have even a semblance of balance. Simply put, I didn’t have a spine.

swood.writes

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I felt all the icky feelings—anger, despair, disappointment—but I didn’t take any action.

Instead, I would pay $40 to go scream in a room of crowded women. We never spoke to each other but I always wondered what brought the others to that class. What were their unlived dreams? What creation hadn't been created?

Instead of taking action (other than trying to scream it out), I let all of these feelings build up and then I had a big quit. I quit my job in finance, I quit New York City, and I quit drinking. And I blamed everyone else for all of it. It had to be the job, it had to be the city, it had to be the way everyone was socializing.

It was dramatic, and drastic, and now, with time, I wonder what would have happened if I had stood up for myself. If I had listened earlier, I could have adjusted course. I could have helped myself.

And luckily now, I'm much more attuned.

I use the whisper of resentment to be a warning sign, a “Check Engine” light. Recalibrate. By pulling my energy back in, I don't need to shut down.

So this Sunday, I made a plan. I started clawing my energy back in, declining opportunities, and getting clear on how I wanted to move through the world.

To be clear, I know that lots of creative work is done on exchange. And there have been opportunities that haven’t paid a ton that have transformed my life.

As I move forward, I will bear this all in mind, while respecting myself to be selective—saying no to the things that aren’t right so I can say a whole-bodied yes to the things that are.

So it’s all to say, resentment can be good. It is a screaming, screeching signal.

STOP! You are giving too much of yourself to other people.

And all of the icky feelings are useful because they tell you when something is wrong.

The trick is to listen to them.