I have a big announcement: as of July 1st, I will no longer be an associate professor of English at Ohio Wesleyan University.
I have opted to take the early retirement package offered by the university as a measure to reduce the faculty size (in hopes of not laying off tenured and tenure-track faculty members).
It was a complicated decision, involving consultations with family members, a financial advisor, and my primary doctor. (The disability insurance company also had to be consulted by the university's head of HR.)
And I'm having complicated feelings about it.
On the one hand, it's kind of a relief not to worry about whether I should be trying to gear up to go back to work, trying to figure out if my body could withstand 15 weeks of teaching without breaking down again. My attempts at various projects at home have made it quite clear that I cannot make a commitment to 15 weeks of anything, much less the physically and emotionally and mentally demanding job of teaching college students. By taking early retirement, I can just focus on resting and healing now.
But it's also kind of sad. I miss teaching so very much. So much it's an ache in my heart. In the past two years of being on sick leave, I have been envisioning my return to the classroom, and it was always a happy vision, even when I knew I wasn't ready yet. I always saw myself returning to teaching because I love it.
It's scary, too. Leaving my tenured job means not just leaving THIS job, but leaving ALL of academia, the whole thing. There is no going back, and there is no getting hired by another institution. So leaving this job feels a bit like stepping off a cliff.
There is no going back.
But maybe it's less like stepping off a cliff, and more like... becoming something else.
There are quiet moments of hope, almost excitement, about what the future might bring. About the life I could build if/when I recover my health. About the fun things I could do with my knowledge and expertise, sharing them with people and helping them see the amazing world that opened to me in my studies. Maybe I could take up my writing projects again; maybe I could start new ones.
I know how lucky I am--to have a supportive family, to be able to take this step, to have tools that will help me deal with the fear and anxiety that such a change brings. I am deciding to make room for joy, as well, and hope and excitement.
I'm sure I will be processing this change, getting used to what it means, for months to come. After all, transformation takes time.
Wishing you peace in the midst of change,
Karen
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