I’m twenty-six, and my wife keeps telling me I have a problem I’m unwilling to accept. She reminds me each time I resign, or get sacked. She says it’s not normal that the longest I’ve managed to stay in a job is six months, and shes right. Sometimes I last a month, sometimes two weeks, sometimes I dont make it to the end of the probation. Ive worked all sortsmaintenance, cleaning, sweeping pavements, scrubbing toilets, shifting boxes in warehouses. Each start feels promising, but within days the strain settles, weighing heavy in both body and mind.
Its not just exhaustionits shame. I only finished Year Eleven. I never went back to school. The moment Im handed a hi-vis vest, a broom, or a mop, I feel out of place. I watch my colleaguesresigned, quietly getting on with itand deep inside, I tell myself, this cant be my life. Soon I start showing up late, slacking off, searching for excuses not to be there. Until the inevitable happensIm called into the office, told not to return.
My wife doesnt get it. Shes been at the local shop for four years. The pays meagre, but steady. Every month she knows precisely what shell earn. When I come home, jobless again, she looks at me with frustration and fatigue. She says, Its not the job, its you. You cant handle anything. I retort that these jobs arent for me, Im made for something else, meant for more than scrubbing toilets forever.
Thats when she really loses her temper. She urges me to finish school, learn something, get qualified. No one will hire me for something else if I dont even have a certificate. I promise I will, but months pass and I never enrol. Theres always some excuseno money, no time, Ill do it later. The truth is, Im scared. Afraid of going back to school as an adult, sitting beside younger ones, feeling left behind.
At home, this argument is routine now. We go round and round the same issues. She says I live in dreams, speak with flair, but do nothing. I tell her shes settled, accepted mere survival rather than living. Sometimes we shout. Sometimes, we dont speak for days. I go out searching for work, CV creased in my pocket, only to return disappointed when they say, Well let you know.
The worst part is, I genuinely dream. Dream of having a business of my own, of depending on no one, of not being ashamed by my uniform. Dream of rising early for something thats mine, not for someone elses orders. But dreams dont pay rent or put food on the table, and she reminds me of that daily.
Do I really have a problem I refuse to admit? Or am I simply entitled to hope for something greater?
