Tbh, both of my main jobs had some serious suck involved, and not the fun kind
Nurse’s assistant and bouncer.
The work in nursing was very fulfilling in a lot of ways, but I’ve had ever body fluid there is on me, been peed and pooped on on purpose, hit, cursed, and dealt with all kinds of horror on every level. Part of my PTSD comes from that job.
Another part comes from bouncing. I worked multiple places, but some of those were LGBTQ spaces, in the 90s, in the south. The level of violence was disgusting. I had people try to kill me, my coworkers, and customers. I damn near killed a couple of people trying to prevent the assholes from hurting others.
However, like nursing, there was still plenty of satisfaction and fulfillment in doing the work, even when it wasn’t at LGBTQ spaces. I got a lot of fulfillment bouncing at strip clubs, and not in the sexual way. Strippers deal with a lot of bullshit, and being part of keeping them from the worst of that felt very good. A lot of those ladies (and gentlemen, male strippers deal with some heavy harassment too) burn out fast because of the misogyny and the customers that think the rules don’t apply to them. It was nice to be able to show them that there are people that can treat them with respect and decency without wanting to get in their pants.
Now, if you want to talk about the worst of the bad parts, I worked in nursing homes the first part of my years doing that. One in particular was on what’s called a skilled unit, where the patients run high to dementia and severe disability. That’s where the worst of the worst happened. The other facilities I worked in, I would rotate between units, but at this specific place, it was always on that skilled unit.
Just wall to wall misery. Every patient lost in their own heads, or locked in a body that couldn’t move, but still conscious and hurting. And you can’t really help them. They aren’t going to get better, they aren’t going to go home, they’re just stuck there until they die.
Then, while trying to make their lives less bad, the administration is full of shit, cutting corners, treating staff like dirt, making decisions that make life worse for the patients too. Just some of the worst people I ever had in charge at any job.
I sometimes look back on all of that and wonder how I lasted as long as I did without cracking up inside. I made it long enough that my body broke before my mind fell apart. I’m not sure how, and I came damn close pretty much yearly sometimes, even after I moved to home health care. I would ride the edge of burning out and falling apart, and it was only the fact that I could do other things that would keep me from falling over.
I could take a week off here and there, rely on side gigs to keep me afloat long enough to recover a little. I had hobbies and friends. It kept me going, mostly
Tbh, both of my main jobs had some serious suck involved, and not the fun kind
Nurse’s assistant and bouncer.
The work in nursing was very fulfilling in a lot of ways, but I’ve had ever body fluid there is on me, been peed and pooped on on purpose, hit, cursed, and dealt with all kinds of horror on every level. Part of my PTSD comes from that job.
Another part comes from bouncing. I worked multiple places, but some of those were LGBTQ spaces, in the 90s, in the south. The level of violence was disgusting. I had people try to kill me, my coworkers, and customers. I damn near killed a couple of people trying to prevent the assholes from hurting others.
However, like nursing, there was still plenty of satisfaction and fulfillment in doing the work, even when it wasn’t at LGBTQ spaces. I got a lot of fulfillment bouncing at strip clubs, and not in the sexual way. Strippers deal with a lot of bullshit, and being part of keeping them from the worst of that felt very good. A lot of those ladies (and gentlemen, male strippers deal with some heavy harassment too) burn out fast because of the misogyny and the customers that think the rules don’t apply to them. It was nice to be able to show them that there are people that can treat them with respect and decency without wanting to get in their pants.
Now, if you want to talk about the worst of the bad parts, I worked in nursing homes the first part of my years doing that. One in particular was on what’s called a skilled unit, where the patients run high to dementia and severe disability. That’s where the worst of the worst happened. The other facilities I worked in, I would rotate between units, but at this specific place, it was always on that skilled unit.
Just wall to wall misery. Every patient lost in their own heads, or locked in a body that couldn’t move, but still conscious and hurting. And you can’t really help them. They aren’t going to get better, they aren’t going to go home, they’re just stuck there until they die.
Then, while trying to make their lives less bad, the administration is full of shit, cutting corners, treating staff like dirt, making decisions that make life worse for the patients too. Just some of the worst people I ever had in charge at any job.
I sometimes look back on all of that and wonder how I lasted as long as I did without cracking up inside. I made it long enough that my body broke before my mind fell apart. I’m not sure how, and I came damn close pretty much yearly sometimes, even after I moved to home health care. I would ride the edge of burning out and falling apart, and it was only the fact that I could do other things that would keep me from falling over.
I could take a week off here and there, rely on side gigs to keep me afloat long enough to recover a little. I had hobbies and friends. It kept me going, mostly