Your Neuroverse

The sun is shining, and the firewood crackles softly as it burns—a sound that has always brought me comfort. I’m savoring my last cup of coffee for the day, though it’s a bit late for it. But indulging in these small joys, like drinking coffee without worrying about bedtime or early mornings, feels like a luxury. These days, I stretch my coffee habit to around 2 PM instead of my usual cutoff at noon.

Believe it or not, I had a job interview today. Honestly, I can’t even remember when I applied. It must have been one of those anxious, restless evenings when I felt utterly lost, overwhelmed by the uncertainty of how I’d provide for myself and you, my babies. I searched desperately for jobs that matched the one skill I felt confident about—my command of the English language. Teaching seemed like a natural choice, especially after earning my TEFL certification, but for reasons I still can’t quite explain, I couldn’t bring myself to pursue it. Maybe it’s a mental block I need to work through. For now, I craved structure: a team, support, clear direction, and a routine.

On a whim, I clicked “apply instantly” on any job posting that seemed remotely suitable. It felt like I was doing something—anything—to regain control, even if just for a moment. It helped me sleep that night, knowing I’d made some effort instead of remaining stuck, frozen in fear.

Weeks later, I got a message on Viber. The job required above-average English skills, and they wanted me to take a quick test. “Sure,” I thought, “why not?” It only took ten minutes to complete, despite some interruptions from you two. Then, silence. For two weeks, I heard nothing. I occasionally wondered how I’d done. Was my grammar flawed? What good was that TEFL certificate if I couldn’t even ace a test like this? But then the recruiter reached out again, asking if I’d completed the test. A wave of panic hit me—had I submitted it incorrectly? My tendency for small errors resurfaced, but thankfully, she found it. Relief washed over me.

Next came a video interview request. At first, I was mortified. Seeing myself on video makes me cringe—my voice sounds strange, my mannerisms feel awkward. “Is that really me?” I wondered. “No wonder people don’t like me.” But I did it. With nothing left to lose, I fixed my hair, applied makeup, and donned a black turtleneck for a polished, professional look. It took eight attempts, each one slightly better than the last. Repeating my credentials—my degree from the National Technical University of Oil and Gas, my work experience as a Data Analyst, Photographer, and Digital Media Specialist, my time in graduate school—gradually reminded me of all I’d accomplished. I spoke about my fluency in three languages, my adaptability, and my value as a team member. Each attempt boosted my confidence. “Wow,” I thought. “I’ve done so much.” And that didn’t even include the countless unspoken achievements—doing all of this while raising children, navigating mental health struggles, and enduring challenging relationships.

If nothing else, this interview process felt like a message from the Universe: “Don’t despair. You are capable, intelligent, driven, and creative. You’ve been through a lot, and you deserve a break. Everything will be okay.”

Then came the salary question—a moment I usually dread. Striking the balance between asking for too much or too little feels impossible. This time, with a bit of research and help from ChatGPT, I crafted a professional response and asked for what I believed I was worth. For once, I didn’t undersell myself.

Six days later, they invited me to an in-person interview. I’m not pinning all my hopes on it, but I’m grateful for the opportunity. It reminded me of who I am: someone who loves learning, exploring, and understanding the world. Someone who isn’t afraid of new experiences and boldly asks, “What if it works?” instead of fearing failure.

I’m not entirely back to my old self. Part of me—the naive, hopeful part that believed in miracles and good fortune—has been fractured by the weight of reality. I’m slowly picking up the pieces and mending them, embracing the philosophy of Kintsugi: repairing the cracks with gold to celebrate imperfection. In my brokenness, I’m rediscovering beauty and strength.

I miss you both so much. Perhaps much of this won’t make sense to you now. I only hope you’ll never have to endure the same hardships. But life is long, and it can be both cruel and kind. I pray the lessons I’ve learned can guide you if you ever need them.

With all my love,
Mom