I did not feel suicidal or psychotic. I did not get strung out on heroin, walk around downtown Berkeley yelling at garbage cans, or act outwardly crazy in any way. I simply stopped, the way a watch stops when the battery dies.
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quitting
When it was time for me to leave, Ruby ran up to her teacher and said, “Mrs. Thomas, can my mom stay until snack?”
“Sure…but I don’t know if she has time. She might have to get to work.” Very diplomatic, that Mrs. Thomas.
“Oh, she doesn’t have to go to work,” Ruby beamed mischievously. “My mommy doesn’t have a job!”
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I was a 37-year-old mother of three* and somehow, my kids, my marriage, and my career were all thriving. Then, one sunny Saturday in the spring of 2009, while driving to Target to buy diapers, I broke down. Not my car. Me.
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