In October of 2016, I was laid off. I wasn’t surprised by the lay off; work had been dwindling for months. My last two months there, they had me doing the one task I explicitly said I desired not to do (make phone calls to strangers) almost exclusively. I was surprised by how powerful my feelings of self-hatred and worthlessness were. My self-esteem hadn’t been particularly robust before being let go from my first position in the legal field, but I hadn’t anticipated it being completely knocked off its feet by it.

It was an interesting job, one I started out really liking, and one I took to explore law as a possible career path. But it wasn’t a job I was particularly attached to – no job I’ve ever had has been. My failure to find a vocation that used my skills and interests for the betterment of my corner of the world was a source of shame; that I had become stuck in this cycle of taking whatever I could get just to survive “until I figured my life out” was one major reason for my already limping sense of self-worth. Despite the ubiquity of stories about the damage being laid off can do to your confidence, I didn’t think losing a job I didn’t identify with would make me feel so bad.

It turned out that I would have over seven months to learn that it wasn’t losing that job that caused me and my sense of well-being to tank; it was looking for a new one as a disabled person. I require some accommodations – both in terms of equipment and schedule-wise so I can make it to appointments – and I got the vibe from almost all companies I interviewed at that this would be “unduly burdensome,” a phrase in the Americans with Disabilities Act that basically gets employers off the hook for having to make “too many” adjustments to make their workplaces accessible to people with disabilities. The ADA prevents compulsory disclosure of a disability, but most employers will not accommodate without good reason. At least not the ones I felt I would be able to work at.

More potential employers are asking questions thinly veiled as ‘screening’ for those with disabilities. During one interview, I was required to take a personality assessment – as an applicant, not even an employee. Many of the questions felt borderline discriminatory:

“I call in sick to work often.”

“I have personal needs I place ahead of the needs of others.”

“I am very concerned about work-life balance.”

One interviewer read a list of job duties verbatim from their posting and then asked, to quote another part of the ADA exactly, can you do each of these “with or without accommodation.” Asking what that particular employer’s definition of “accommodation” was would sound like “no, I cannot do all of these things without help,” even if I am genuinely asking for clarification since “accommodation” is in the eye of the employer, not what the applicant may need. The truth was I could not perform the tasks of most positions I had any shot of getting without accommodation since the tasks often required sitting for eight hours every day, so I would need the accommodation of an adjustable desk.

In another interview, I asked about that possibility, since I saw ergonomic desks around their office. “We totally allow people to bring their own equipment if they want,” the interviewer said. At the time of that interview, the kind of adjustable desk I would need cost over $300. Sick people and disabled people – in case this wasn’t obvious yet – are usually poor, especially in a for-profit healthcare system like ours.

Granted, I also struggle deeply with vocational direction, how my skills and interests could possibly be financially viable in today’s tech-driven, human-shunning market, and the panicky sense that I am running out of time to figure things out and have a fulfilling work life.

But having a disability that precludes me from sitting for long periods of time without serious pain, as well as one that impacts emotion regulation and social functioning, makes me feel entirely shut out of the working world. I’ve never understood the dream of sipping umbrella drinks on a beach all day, not having to work. I want to work. I want to give whatever it is I may have to the world. But apparently, if I can’t sit at a desk for eight hours, lift heavy things, or read between the social lines, the world doesn’t want me – especially if I can’t code, fix computers, or create billion-dollar advertising or data-collection campaigns. It’s almost like not being able to program is itself a disability.

After two months of unemployment and the deepening despair that’s familiar to those who’ve been labeled capitalism’s surplus, I found a temp job so mindless I couldn’t believe a university would allow human beings to do it (scanning medical documents at the state university’s medical center and naming them all day every day). There was no way to accommodate a standing desk and I didn’t have health insurance, so I couldn’t afford to go to the doctor and get a prescription (or hire a lawyer to prove that my employer was violating the ADA left and right).

I took bathrooms breaks every hour just so I could stand up and get the feeling back in my feet. A co-worker reported my “lack of productivity” to my supervisor. When he didn’t seem to care that sitting so long every day caused pain so bad it blurred my sight and made me nauseous, I put in my two weeks. Note, I kept getting assignment emails after my last day, even after I hadn’t been in the office for almost a week. This might have been more dehumanizing.

The silver lining is not that “I figured out what to do with my life and am now finally on that path” nor is it even that “I got a much better job.” I did find a full-time position as a document clerk at a law firm where I earn more than I ever have (which isn’t saying much, really, especially given the skyrocketing rents and cost of living in my city).

But the real silver lining is that I learned emotional skills I will need in order to figure out my career path, advocate for myself, and keep my head up in a culture that persists in seeing disabled people as less deserving of everything, from safety to love, simply because they maybe can’t produce as much as able-bodied people.

It took someone telling me I wasn’t worth it (for what else is a layoff but “you’re not valuable enough for us to figure out how to pay as we struggle with our budget”?) to get me to learn how to value myself. I hadn’t seen how essential that is to finding work I love, am good at, and can make a contribution by doing. I’m still walking fully into the confidence that even I, as a multi-disabled person, have something to give, but I wouldn’t have taken the first step without that boot out my former employer’s door.

About the Author: Megan Wildhood is a creative writer in Seattle, WA. Her work, which centers on social justice, marginalized voices, and hope for healing, has appeared in The Atlantic, The Sun, and America Magazine, among other publications. Long Division, her first book, was released by Finishing Line Press in September 2017 and she’s currently working on a novel. You can learn more at meganwildhood.com.

Updated 5/8/2018: Megan reports that after 10 weekly career coach phone sessions along with some homework from those sessions, she is now pursuing a career in psychology and has landed her dream job. Another example of how suddenly and unexpectedly, people’s lives can turn around, even when accompanied by physical challenges!