Hey, It's Me and Yes, I'm Crying In An Amazon Van... Again

Dear Reader, 

 It's the middle of March and I have been working as a Delivery Associate for Amazon since December 20th. I've gone from being the last one to return to the station, to well, not being the last one. I'm not that much faster, it's just that there are new people who have been hired and I am no longer the slowest. Winter was rough. I literally picked the darkest, coldest, and most awful weather to drive and walk in to start. I've gotten stuck in multiple driveways and only one time did I need help getting out (I had gotten so deep in the snow, the owner of the driveway ended up using an entire bag of salt and a shovel to help me out). Having grown up in the country, with a 1/4 mile long dirt driveway that was rarely plowed in the winter, the need for help was embarrassing. In my third week of delivering, I was sent to an area that was congested, with no driveways, no shoulders, two lanes of traffic, and plenty of roads that started going east and west, then switched to north and south. That was the first time that my anxiety took hold of me and refused to let go. 

 Then, on one of my days off, I noticed another Amazon truck stop in a lane of traffic with his hazard lights on, jump out of the van, deliver the package and then pull off. Everyone had to drive around him. It was a busy road. I looked at my husband and with total shock on my face, said "You mean, we can do that?" My dear hubby had no idea what I was talking about, so I pointed to the Amazon van that was pulling away and explained that I had spent the last three weeks trying to stay out of the way of traffic, sometimes making one delivery take 10 minutes instead of 3, and this driver, this driver just took up space. With no apologies, he took up space to do his job. 

 My world was changed. 

 My eating disorder recovery includes me getting comfortable with taking up various kinds of space. This job has allowed me to practice taking up physical space and inconveniencing people in order to do my job. I've gotten so good at it, giving a big friendly smile and a shrug as people honk loudly. Singing a little song as I get swear words thrown at me. Of course, that isn't everyone's reaction. Most people are patient because they know I'm just doing my job and they just drive around me and go about their day. 

 Practicing taking up space has been challenging. I still catch myself apologizing when someone has to wait for me. It's a different way of living, in recovery. Having and sharing opinions, taking up physical space, setting and enforcing boundaries, trusting my intuition, and having human needs. I will have to say that this job doesn't make it easy to have human needs. I hear a lot of my fellow drivers saying that they don't take breaks, they don't eat until they get off of work, and they try not to drink a lot because then they will have to stop and use the bathroom. I often tell myself, out loud if needed, that I am allowed to take up space. I am allowed to have needs. Living in recovery is more important than any job.  Of course, it's easier to say than to feel.  Especially when my needs cause my employer to scramble to get my work done. That experience was super hard... 

  I had spent 3 hours the day before delivering to apartments. First floor, second floor, third floor. Over and over again. After about an hour of climbing stairs, I cried in the van at the thought of doing another flight of stairs. After two hours, my legs felt like jello. It was almost like I had been drinking only I didn't get the warm, relaxed feeling that goes along with it. As I climbed another flight, I thought "I'm going to die. No, you're not. You are brave. You are strong. You can do hard things. I'm going to die." At one point, my breathing was so heavy, I wondered what it must sound like in the apartments. I mean, if I could hear them, I'm sure they could hear me. Those deliveries were exhausting and painful, but I got them done.

  The very next day, I got off on the same exit and started making deliveries in the same area as yesterday. No. There's no way they would put me in the apartment complexes again. I could barely walk today and it would be impossible to do stairs. I was rotating Advil and Tylenol and was still in so much pain. Please, please, please let the Amazon gods have mercy on me by not putting me in the apartment complexes again. Please. But, they did and after my 15th flight of stairs I had to call dispatch and tell them that I couldn't finish my route. Their response was super calm and they told me the steps (almost like they had come across this situation before). As I waited for a driver to come get my packages, I broke down and cried. Could I have just sucked it up and pushed through the pain? Was the pain really that bad? I was going to have to go to urgent care, take a drug test, and get x-rays. What if my pain was dismissed because there was nothing visibly wrong. What if my body was just making it all up? 

  When you spend your childhood being shown that there are acceptable ways to take up space, needs that are taken care and others that are too much, you spend your adult life adjusting who you are to keep everyone happy. Everyone but yourself. To fit in. To feel worthy of love. It's the only thing I knew. Correction. It's what I knew before. I know differently now. It's hard. It takes practice. It takes support and care from others. It requires me to live in a vulnerable space and that in itself is frightening. Good thing I have people who love me, who show up over and over again to remind me that I am worth taking every bit of space I want and need. Imperfections and awesomeness. Quietly. Loudly. Fully human.

  Now, it's time to move on.  I've learned a lot about myself and reached several goals while working as a Delivery Associate for Amazon but it wasn't the best fit for me or for my family.  

 Be extra kind to all delivery drivers.  Their job is ridiculously hard and doesn't really leave room for them to be fully human.

Be kind to yourself.  

So kind, that your kindness spills over on to other people.

Love,

Wendy