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I work 80 hours a week. That’s right—16 hour shifts, an average of one day off a month, and a constantly rotating schedule that has left me in the last six months feeling often that my life is not under my control. I live in a constant state of exhaustion, dehydration, and chronic pain that I haven’t been able to get to the doctor to find the cause of. On multiple occasions as an absolute zombie on my fourth 16-hour day in a row, hands shaking holding my coffee (the only thing that keeps the physical exhaustion at bay) I have walked down the street towards the T and genuinely considered stepping out into traffic. I’m not suicidal—but the thought is always there. “If I die, this will be over. I don’t have to do this anymore.”
How does someone get to that point at 19 years of age?
Don’t get me wrong—I chose this life, for a variety of reasons. I could still be back home living with my parents attending the local college working as a manager at a clothing store. I chose to move here with my boyfriend so we could start our life together and he could follow his dreams and go to the school of his choice. I knew from the beginning that moving to one of the most expensive cities in the country and choosing to take at least a year off from school meant that I would have to be the breadwinner. I knew that it meant long days and mental breakdowns, and I was fully ready to take that on. I had no idea a year and a half ago when I committed to my boyfriend to move with him just how hard it would be. Most people physically could not do what I do. I don’t mean that as a braggart—some days I can’t even do what I do. 8 am to midnight, five shifts a week plus a shift at one of my jobs, at least the sixth if not the seventh, is not something I would wish on anyone else. My morning job is at a spa in a luxury hotel as a receptionist (which isn’t a difficult job physically, but can be very stressful and take an emotional toll—more on that later). In the evenings I work at a grocery store in the heart of the city that’s always bustling. The combination of cashiering, working product, and taking and breaking apart the truck until midnight is very physically taxing. I often go home with cuts and bruises, only to get up five hours later to start it it all over again.
Don’t get me wrong—my life is fulfilling. I would rather be here doing this than be back home for a plethora of reasons. But in the fall, I started to feel really lost and alone. It’s hard to make friends as an adult, especially in a city where people are known to be less than friendly. Even the friends that I did have felt far away and out of reach because they either lived far away, or I didn’t feel comfortable reaching out to them when I was lonely. My boyfriend and I worked on nearly opposite schedules, so most of the time we only saw each other in the few short hours we were in bed together at night.
October 3rd, 2018, 1500 Marriott hotel workers walked off the job on strike. We knew it would be coming—we just weren’t sure when. I reported to work that morning to sirens, bullhorns, drumming, and screaming out in front of the hotel. I intend to write a tell-all from inside the strike at some point, but it has to wait for now for a myriad of reasons. The important things to know:
Only unionized workers at the hotel went on strike. That means the rest of us non-union members were expected to report to work. Workers rights concerning strikes only apply to union members.
The hotels were very amicable about the strike. We all were happy to let the union members fight the good fight. If they crossed the line, we welcomed them with open arms. If they chose to stay on strike, we treated them fairly and with respect, no matter how they treated us.
The union workers at my specific hotel (it varies from location to location— hotel staff votes on which departments to unionize) are housekeeping, our food and beverage staff, door greeters, and half of our front desk staff.
The union workers rallied around the phrase: “One job should be enough." They were not fighting for better working conditions, contrary to some media stories that were spread. Every five years, the union renegotiates their contract with Marriott. This strike was a tool to push for a raise, lifetime benefits, and to get rid of Make a Green Choice.
Union staff before the strike were making $21.45 an hour, and bartenders were making that plus tips.
Working at the spa, I listened to union workers drumming and screaming and blowing air horns for eight hours a day. I walked into work each day past people screaming “shame on you” in my face—(more people who work for the union than actual hotel workers who were on strike). The first few weeks of the strike, I worked 18-hour days. I would open the spa, stay to clean rooms, and then stay to serve until 12 or 2 am, whenever they stopped needing me.
There was a night I worked until 2 am at the hotel and then went to work at 5 am to take the morning truck at my second job. My nerves were shot. I was running on nothing.
Six hours into my eight hour shift, my general manager stopped me and asked me how I was. I smiled and said “I’m exhausted, but I’m here.”
He says, “You’re exhausted?”
“Yes.” I reply. “I worked until 2 am at the hotel last night.”
He looks at me, looks at my face, looks me in the eyes, and says, “Oh, that’s not good. Get some coffee and wake yourself up.”
He didn’t care about me—he doesn’t care about most of his employees.
I was hinging my happiness on other people, which, if you’ve done it, you know is a mistake.
My favorite boss was Jules. He was the one who had trained me, who was patient with me, who I asked all my questions, and who helped me navigate a lot of difficult situations at the store. No matter what happened at the store, as long as Jules was there, it was going to be okay. But one night I came down from doing doors to catch the tail end of the announcement that Jules would be leaving our store in a week.
The rug had been pulled out from under my feet. Just weeks after the end of the 45-day strike and now this? I went out and scream-cried into the void in the pouring rain out by the dumpster. This was it. Nobody else was going to be able to be responsible for my happiness.
For some people, it's a snap. For others, it's a realization one morning. For me, it felt like someone had dumped a bucket of cold water over my head. I was being so dragged down by work and the lack of balance and honest malnutrition I was experiencing that I lost sight of the ability to make myself happy.
I realized very quickly that something needed to change. This was no way to live. I worked out a way to change my availability at both jobs so I could have a set day off (I still don't always get it). I also worked out a way to make sure my boyfriend and I had at least one set night a week we could spend together, even if we went home. I started opening up to my friends about the fact that I felt depressed and alone, and they were right there to support me. They listen to me, they check up on me, and if they're ever too far away to spend time with me they'll call me. I started looking for a cheaper apartment for us to move to when our lease is up, and I've started working with a staffing agency to find me a job that pays enough I don't have to work two. I took a look at my practically non-existent five-year plan and realized I needed to start investing to accomplish the entrepreneurial things I want to do. And here soon, I’m hoping to have things figured out enough that I’ll be able to return to school.
It’s so easy to get caught up in the drag of everyday life. It is so easy to feel like nothing is under your control. And for me, for a long time, it wasn’t. I had to work very hard and make myself a valuable employee to be able to renegotiate my availability to be something that works for me. When we first moved here, we were POOR and in debt. For the longest time it’s been about catching up. It’s been about two work uniforms and barely resting. It took weeks of pining for literally anything else to make me realize that I have to take control of my situation because nobody else is going to do it for me. And I was (and still am) struggling with a laziness complex. I can work two full time jobs and if I don’t manage to get the laundry done I feel awful about it for a week. It’s hard to come around and realize that all you can do is all you can do. I was putting too much physical and emotional strain on my body, and it was making me miserable.
I’m not any good at self-care. I tend to always put the other people in my life ahead of me, and I’m only confrontational when I’m in immediate danger. But I’m happy, for the first time in months. I still have chronic pain—it gets better sometimes and worse other times. I still have issues that need to be addressed and I’m hoping to go back to therapy so I can finish healing from my trauma. I know there’s a long road ahead of me to where I want to be, but I also know I’m never going to stop working for it. It is so hard to overcome the things that so desperately want to drag you down. And you can’t always do it on your own.
I urge you, if you are struggling—reach out to those in your life and try to take their advice. Some of my best advice has come from my coworkers and friends who can all see how much I’m struggling right now. I found love in people I didn’t know cared about me. You can’t control what happens to you, but you can control what you do about it. It’s hard—but you don’t have to do it alone.
About the Creator
Iris
Writer - Musician - Businesswoman - Astronaut
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