In the summer of 1994, I was slumped over my desk, exhausted, nerves rattled, and feeling desperate. I sat up and looked around the “walls” of my cubicle, which were covered in beautiful images of visual art and the outdoors, and tried to momentarily escape the depressive thoughts that enveloped my existence. I summoned the strength to walk a half mile to my father’s office and confessed, through tears, the dark feelings and thoughts swirling through me. My father’s eyes teared up; he hugged me tightly and then called my mother and asked that we all meet for lunch. 

“Within a week, I was on antidepressants and in therapy to treat my clinical depressive episode, brought on by working in a job that I hated.”

Within a week, I was on antidepressants and in therapy to treat my clinical depressive episode, brought on by working in a job that I hated. I was working as a reporter and copy editor for a local business paper and it was not a good fit. I was an artsy, idealistic 24-year-old who wrote arts and human interest articles as a journalism student. I was excited to land a job just after graduating at a small, locally run business newspaper — but after a few months, I found myself mostly uninterested and unfulfilled. I ignored my unhappiness and decided to stick it out and stay for at least one year. By the end of that year, I had lost interest in my life, had no appetite, had sleeping issues, and vacillated from incredibly anxious to numb.

I resigned in September 1994 and by Thanksgiving, I began to turn a corner, and the depression began to lift. As I peeled potatoes for our Thanksgiving meal that year, my father asked me if I had a 5-year plan. The question upset me, and I felt defensive and replied that I didn’t believe in 5-year plans. My father then shared his own: He would be semi-retired and traveling more with my Mom. Unfortunately, this didn’t come to fruition — he was diagnosed with stage 4 non-smoker’s lung cancer in January 1995 and died May 28, 1995. He was 59 when he died and never had a chance to retire. I was only 24 when he died, and it was incredibly destabilizing and traumatic. 

After his death, I became determined never to work “for the man” again. I viewed it as a recipe for stress, depression, and confinement. I also decided that working endlessly just to retire was a fool’s dream because I may not even live long enough to make it to retirement. I found the capitalistic system of acquiring wealth and possessions empty and pointless. I had an aversion to feeling boxed into a career that would stifle my creative spirit and force me to conform in ways I couldn’t live with. I was never motivated by making money or striving for status with big cars and a big house — that mindset actually repulsed me and it still does. I’ve always had fantasies and dreams of living in a utopia where the only currency is love, kindness, and peace, and everyone just barters for services and goods. I even researched and visited some alternative living communities in Australia and Israel, but realized that lifestyle is much more difficult to pull off in the United States.

“I’ve always had fantasies and dreams of living in a utopia where the only currency is love, kindness, and peace, and everyone just barters for services and goods.”

After leaving the newspaper, I embarked on a freelance writing career (before the Internet boom), and I worked part-time as a special education instructional assistant. Yet, I discovered that my quest for being independent and unconfined was a struggle financially and emotionally. I still suffered with stress and anxiety, and I felt like I was trapped in the wrong society or culture. In my early 30s, I was accepted into a Marriage and Family Therapy (MFT) program with an emphasis in art therapy — but I dropped out when I realized I would be $200,000 in debt. So, I began substitute teaching and landed a full-time job working with severely disabled adult special education students. I enrolled in a teaching credential program. Within 2 years, I was injured on the job and ended up on disability. I had a physical injury, but I also fell into a horrible clinical depression that lasted for months. I dropped out of my credential program, and I felt lost.

I knew I was good with children, so I worked as a nanny for nearly 10 years, convinced I couldn’t handle the stress of a mainstream job. The last family I worked for was an uber wealthy trust fund couple. I remember doing their grocery shopping, following an exhaustive list of very specific and expensive items, and I thought to myself: What am I doing? I don’t want to run errands for rich people and watch their children for the rest of my life. After being laid off from my job, I sunk into another clinical depression and desperately wanted to leave the Bay Area. My brother, who lived on the beautiful Central Coast of California, offered me a room in his home, and I made the move. I was 44, and my perspective began to shift — I decided it was time to “work for the man,” as I reflected on my desire for a stable income, medical insurance, and, yes, retirement income. I was way behind in that area, based on my decision to turn my back on the establishment and I became frightened about having no future safety net. I was a single woman, never married with no children, and I had no illusions that a man would save me.

“I knew I was good with children, so I worked as a nanny for nearly 10 years, convinced I couldn’t handle the stress of a mainstream job.”

I returned to special education teaching in 2015 because I knew it would feed my soul and provide a stable income with benefits and retirement. My profession is dynamic, rewarding, and always challenging. I have worked with students with various developmental delays, autism, cerebral palsy, chromosomal disorders, visual and hearing impairments, emotional disturbance, and mental illness. I’m passionate about advocating for my students and love finding creative ways to reach them and improve their lives.

I didn’t think of teaching as “working for the man,” but I was wrong — navigating through educational bureaucracy has proven to be frustrating, confining, and often painful.  Unfortunately, special education is filled with overworked and underpaid professionals. The demands put on teachers are unsustainable, and often administrators don’t understand the daily struggles of my work. Turnover is high because of dysfunctional management, lack of consistent protocol, and many teachers sustain physical injuries from students who struggle with behavior issues. In my career, I have been injured often: two concussions, a pelvic contusion, bites, scratches, and hits. Working in my profession requires me to often be in a hyper-vigilant state, which causes unhealthy, elevated cortisol levels in my body. So, I am mindful about setting boundaries that allow for balance in my life. I won’t allow the system to take all of my life energy and leave me depleted.

“I won’t allow the system to take all of my life energy and leave me depleted.”

I am currently experiencing both physical and mental symptoms of burnout from my profession. Can I continue on this path for another 10 years just so I can receive a decent pension after the age of 64? There are days when I want to leave teaching, but my love for the students prevails. I still feel called to work with these students because they offer an abundance of wisdom, love, and authenticity.

So, “working for the man” has proven to be challenging for me. At 54, I face the realization that I’m only four years from reaching 59, the age of my father when he died, and the prospect of reaching “retirement age” looms. Lately, I find myself reflecting on the 5-year plan conversation with my father, and instead of sadness, it fills me with warmth and gratitude. My father taught me about values, ethics, and morality, but the 5-year plan conversation enlightened me about the preciousness and impermanence of life.

“I am finding ways to thrive in a flawed system with creativity and idealism to help improve students’ lives.”

My attitude towards “working for the man” remains intact. I would work as an independent contractor or freelancer if I could make a decent living. My attitude only shifted as I aged because I needed good, affordable health insurance, and I was faced with more complicated taxes as an independent contractor. The reality is that being an independent thinker and embarking on a creative career is incredibly difficult in the United States. Our society creates roadblocks and complications for those of us who embrace a creative life.

I have made peace with “working for the man” for the time being because working with special education students allows me to use my “outside the box” thinking skills. I am finding ways to thrive in a flawed system with creativity and idealism to help improve students’ lives. I am still open to finding alternative professional routes and plan to embrace a full-time creative career in the future. The creativity keeps flowing, and someday I plan to share it outside of the confines of “working for the man.”

Stefanie Vallejo Monahan is a special education teacher in San Luis Obispo County, CA. She has a BA in Journalism and a MA in Special Education. She enjoys spending time in nature, travel, organic foods and creative endeavors. She is the proud aunt of 6 nieces and 3 nephews.