Tricia St John
I went to school and did the necessary. When your mother is a teacher there is an added pressure placed on you not to disappoint. Disappoint in this context can mean several things. Don’t be a dunce. Coz how could you possibly be stupid if your mother is a teacher? Don’t be disrespectful to your teachers or disruptive in class. Coz how could you possibly?
Like if your mother, the big teacher that she is, can’t teach her own children. And for the love of Pete, don’t talk to boys anywhere along the road to and from. Because trust me, before you reach home, your mother will know that you were talking to some pissin-tail lil boy or some nasty, dirty man at the side of the road. Your only option? Read everything you can put your hands on. Thankful that said mother developed in you from small a love for reading.
Practice keeping your opinions to yourself, especially in relation to other adults, like, for example, your teachers (got into a lot of trouble there), and learn your schoolwork. So, I did the necessary. I learnt my schoolwork. Sometimes now, I wonder why I even bothered.
In 2004, after surviving domestic violence, I lost out on the one thing I’d wanted to dedicate my life to. Working in the TTPS. What hurt most about accepting this loss was that I’d already started training with them, so it wasn’t like I had tried and failed or not tried at all. I was left to do the only sensible thing. To reprogram myself. I had to find a way to keep sane, get my children to adulthood, and provide for all our needs along the way.
Sounds easy, right? I mean, anybody can do that. Better yet, according to the older heads, ‘you come from good stock’. I went back to school. Mind you, nobody with children, let alone four of them, should go back to school. Any and all things school-related should be accomplished before one commences with the production of babies. Mainly because, on top of helping them with their schoolwork and assignments, you have to make sure you complete yours.
No lecturer wants to hear you couldn’t study for exams coz your child/children were sick, or you felt so overwhelmed you’d spent the week leading up to exams functioning on autopilot. You’re going to get an F and instructions to do it over. Fortunately for me, or maybe unfortunately, not knowing how to quit takes a toll on one’s mental health. It’s the strongest silent lesson I learnt from my mother.
And I’m not saying she never gave up; I just never saw it. So, I decided, in reprogramming myself, that I would get as many courses and certificates as I could manage added to my resume. I added some accomplishments in there too, just for good measure.
Recently, I discovered my love for all things security-related. I went back to school again and completed a one-year certificate course in Security Administration & Management. Intrigued, I decided I wanted to learn more in the same field, and I am currently enrolled to begin my degree in the next couple of weeks.
My issue? I have bills, right, just like everybody else. Being a disabled person has not exempted me. Yet no one wants to hire me. Prospective employers conduct interviews and act impressed with my resume, the way I conduct myself, and the way I answer their questions. They promise to call. Some of them don’t, and the ones who do fumble over their reasons why I wasn’t chosen or say the final decision wasn’t up to them.
Because I realised early on how uncomfortable people are with my so-called disability, I would always say upfront before going to interviews, that as a survivor of domestic violence, I lost my left forearm and two fingers on my right hand. The responses varied. Oftentimes I was told that I should still come in, most likely because they did not want to be accused of discrimination. Some of them have a whole speech about fair chances, but then I’m still not given the opportunity, and their excuses are, for the most part, senseless.
What people don’t seem to get is that it is cruel, whether by mistake or design, to invite someone to an interview, give them hope, make them photocopy all their documents and attach photos, and then turn them away. There is an expense involved in this, and in getting one’s COC (Cerificate of Character), which is necessary for all job applications. No expense is small when you are unemployed.
So, some days I sit and wonder why I bothered. Why do I still bother? What’s the point of being disabled and educated? Or educated and disabled? Whichever way you say it or see it, there’s still the same distress, disappointment, and mental brokenness attached. Should have been a damn duck!
Tricia St John is a survivour, author, and motivational speaker.
