Just a Bus Driver

Just a Bus Driver

🌼 Date: Wednesday, August 19, 2026

⚡ Energy: Chapter-closing energy

💔 Status: Desk cleaned out, boundaries set

🥲 Outlook: Tina 2.0 is no longer living to work

Today I closed a chapter of my life.

I put in my resignation as driver trainer.

I cleaned out my desk.

I cleared out my work station.

And seeing the last five years of my life sitting there in boxes and bags was sad.

There is really no other way to say it.

Sad.

Because I gave that role a lot.

The past five years of my life.

My time.

My energy.

My blood.

My sweat.

My tears.

My patience.

My problem-solving brain.

My early mornings.

My late days.

My lunch breaks.

My evenings.

My soul.

And now, I am officially just a bus driver.

Just.

That word is funny, isn’t it?

Because being a bus driver is not small.

It is not easy.

It is not “just” anything.

But compared to the role I had been living inside, it feels like a demotion.

And also maybe a rescue.

For the past year, while I was out fighting for my life, the company kept going.

Because that is what companies do.

They keep going.

Cancer does not stop the buses.

Cancer does not pause the schedules.

Cancer does not freeze the drama, the decisions, the paperwork, the emails, the training, the complaints, the missing pieces, or the daily chaos.

The world keeps spinning.

Work keeps working.

And while I was out being cut open, poisoned, burned, stretched, deflated, refilled, wrapped in compression, stabbed with hormone shots, and trying to learn how to live in this body again, work continued without me.

That realization did something to me.

Because for years, I was the yes person.

I said yes because I thought they needed me.

I said yes because I thought if I did not do it, something would fall apart.

I said yes because that is what I did.

I showed up.

I covered.

I fixed.

I trained.

I answered.

I pushed through.

I only called in sick if I had pneumonia.

And even then, let’s be honest, I probably considered going in.

If I had a doctor appointment, I would work my morning shift, go to the appointment midday, then come back and cover the afternoon shift.

Because that is who I was.

Work first.

Everything else squeezed in around it.

Home got what was left.

Casey got what was left.

The puppies got what was left.

I got what was left.

And sometimes there was nothing left.

Then cancer happened.

And when you look into the eyes of death, your priorities get shaken up like a martini.

Not stirred.

Shaken.

Hard.

Violently.

With no little umbrella.

And watching those priorities settle over the past few months has been interesting.

Everything I used to think was so important is not sitting at the top of the list anymore.

Not even close.

The long days.

The stress.

The drama.

The constant pressure.

The feeling that I had to carry things because I was the one who knew how.

The rush I used to get from being needed.

The identity I had wrapped around that job.

Cancer changed all of that.

I used to get a rush out of my work.

I loved being good at it.

I loved knowing the answers.

I loved training people.

I loved making things make sense.

I loved helping new drivers gain confidence.

I loved being part of something that mattered.

And it did matter.

It still does.

But somewhere along the way, the job started taking more than it gave back.

And cancer made that impossible to ignore.

There were promises broken while I was gone.

There were decisions made.

Some by them.

Some by me.

And one of the biggest decisions was mine:

I am coming back as just a bus driver.

Gone are the eleven-hour days.

Gone is the extra responsibility.

Gone is the stress and the drama.

Gone is spending more time with my work family than I spend at home with my husband and puppies.

Gone is handing over every usable piece of myself and calling it dedication.

Tina 2.0 does not live like that.

Not anymore.

I am using my PTO now.

I am using my vacation days now.

I am not saving every ounce of myself for a job while my actual life waits patiently in the background.

Because it really is true.

Life is short.

Tomorrow is not promised.

And there were days during this cancer battle when I was not sure if I would get a tomorrow.

That changes a person.

It should.

I am no longer living to work.

Tina 2.0 is working for health insurance.

That is it.

Health insurance to help pay for my upcoming surgery, appointments, medications, scans, follow-ups, and whatever other medical nonsense Cancerland decides to toss into my calendar.

That is the purpose now.

Not identity.

Not validation.

Not proving my worth.

Not being the yes person.

Not being the person who absorbs the pressure.

Not being the person who keeps giving until there is nothing left.

Just health insurance.

A paycheck.

A route.

A beginning and an end to the workday.

And then home.

Home to Casey.

Home to the puppies.

Home to the life I fought like hell to keep.

I am cutting as much stress and drama out of my life as I can.

Not because stress caused my cancer.

Not because stress automatically makes cancer come back.

But because my body has been through enough.

My nervous system has been through enough.

My heart has been through enough.

My peace matters now.

My healing matters now.

My energy matters now.

And I am not volunteering any of it for unnecessary chaos.

No thank you.

Denied.

Hard pass.

Today was emotional, but not in the way I expected.

There were no big tears.

No dramatic breakdown.

No movie-scene farewell.

I just went in, laid down my boundaries, cleaned everything off my wall and desk, packed up the pieces of that chapter, and walked away.

Two hours.

Five years in boxes and bags.

And then dinner afterward.

With cheesecake.

Because apparently that is how Tiny Tina closes a chapter.

Boundaries first.

Cheesecake second.

I do not know exactly what comes next.

Maybe I drive until my exchange surgery.

Maybe something else opens up.

Maybe the universe is still rearranging the furniture.

Maybe Casey gets into the office full time and everything shifts again.

Maybe Tina 2.0 keeps surprising me.

But I do know this:

I am not going backward.

Even if I return to the bus yard, I am not returning as the same woman.

I am returning with scars.

With boundaries.

With a bullshit filter.

With a different body.

With different priorities.

With a different understanding of what my life is worth.

I may be just a bus driver now.

But I am also a woman who survived cancer.

A woman who cleaned out the desk.

A woman who chose peace.

A woman who finally stopped confusing being needed with being valued.

A woman who is learning that closing a chapter can hurt and still be the right thing.

So here I am.

Desk cleared.

Wall empty.

Trainer chapter closed.

Bus driver chapter reopened, for now.

Tina 2.0 clocking in only for what serves the life she fought to keep.

And if anyone needs me after work?

I will be at home.

Where I should have been spending more of myself all along.

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💗 Tina –
One Badass Day at a Time