It’s self-employment and it appears to be propping up the economy.

Here in Canada, the figures for April defied all forecasts that predicted another 50,000 jobs would be lost. Instead, something entirely different happened. There was a gain of 35,900 positions last month keeping the national unemployment rate from rising above its current level of 8 percent. (For those of you in the U.S., where the population is 10 times the size of Canada, multiply those numbers by 10 for a comparable figure — i.e. the 539,000 jobs last month in the U.S.)

But here’s the thing. Statistics Canada noted that the net increase was driven exclusively by a rise in self-employment, and as the Wall Street Journal reported, this is “a somewhat slippery category that cautions against reading too much into the report.”

The numbers signal that many have given up entirely on finding work as a salaried employee in a crushing job market. Others are defiantly taking charge of their own destiny, choosing to never again put themselves in the position of their fate being decided by some VP in a corner office.

Still, I wonder what the other numbers are – the numbers representing the income self-employed people are now living on. No question, some will be flourishing, embracing a new-found freedom and reaping the rewards, financial and otherwise. However, I expect there are many more starting out in fledgling enterprises that are scraping by with about as much as they’d be receiving on UI, or less. Or even drawing on savings to finance their self-employment.

This gives an entirely different spin to the story.

Please don’t misunderstand, I don’t in any way cast a negative light on anyone starting their own business. I think it’s an incredible testament to spirit and initiative and I wish anyone starting out the success they’re hoping for.

I thought about it seriously when I lost my job 6 months ago. As a writer in the ad industry, freelance is a familiar option for those between full-time gigs, and many choose it exclusively because of the freedom it offers. It also demands an iron financial stomach, able to withstand feast and famine, not always in equal measure. And I admit I’m lacking the courage and temperament to brave that kind of uncertainty, especially as a single mom. Plus, I did it back when I was a journalist when my children were young, and a freelance journalist’s income is, in a word, pathetic. So I have a lot of respect for anyone setting out on their own.

But back to the numbers. If all those who have traded salaried positions for self-employment reached or exceeded their level of previous income, this is fantastic news. Over-the-top good news. We’d be getting a work force of self-satisfied and accomplished innovators. That would be good for the world.

But if the financial criminals who brought the economy to its knees have now created a new sub-economy of self-employed people running shoe-string endeavors scraping by from one month to the next, then that’s not good news. It means they won in the end by having taken the money and run – and keeping it from those doing real work.

Now, if you are someone who is making it work, and have successfully turned your back on working for the man, I know there would be lots here who would love to hear how it’s going for you.

Share your story. Tell us what’s worked, what hasn’t. Tell us if you’re making the same kind of income as before, and if not, how you’re handling it. One thing about this recession: it’s brought the unemployed, the self-employed, and the under-employed out of the closet and into a place we can learn from one another.

Yesterday I invited readers to share the sacrifices they’ve made following job loss. What they’ve had to give up in the face of some harsh economic truths. Certainly, 2009 was the year many of us took a look in the mirror and asked, what do we really need.

Reader dbvanhorn put it very well: “…there’s so much crap we’re told we can’t live without, until we do.”

At the other end of the spectrum are the intangibles. Those things we give up that have nothing to do with the stuff we buy, but the stuff that defines who we are inside.

Tina wrote, “The biggest thing I feel I’ve given up, or maybe “lost” is a better word, is my sense of what’s “normal”. Me…a stay at home mom??? Crazy. But here I am. Me…not traveling all over the place bring home the paycheck??? Crazy. But here I am. Me…not the working powerhouse my kids have always known? Crazy, crazy, crazy. It’s not awful, and I enjoy the time with my family. We laugh together more then ever. But it is a big adjustment and has re-calibrated the image of the me I once knew.”

But back to the crap, as db calls it. I thought I’d do a tally based on the comments in yesterday’s post. It’s hardly statistically valid and completely unscientific but herewith are the numbers. There was a lot of response to the post and I simply counted up all the occasions the different items were mentioned by different people.

It’s a bit of snapshot on what becomes expendable when we’re forced to make cut-backs. Some of it is truly expendable – like Netflix. Some of it isn’t expendable at all – like medical insurance – which makes me mad as hell. But as you see right off, eating out tops the list by a long shot. I suppose that’s exactly why restaurateurs everywhere are anxiously awaiting what is usually the industry’s busiest day of the year, Mother’s Day arriving this Sunday. Uh, sorry owners, mine will be spent right at home.

The Fired For Now Totally Unscientific Tally of Sacrifice

So I’m giving up my privacy. My sense of self-containment. My freedom to act, behave and express in any way I want at any time of day or night — well, within the limits my family will accept. It’s certainly not as big a change as others have had to make, and it’s probably radical in the view of some others.

What adjustment have you had to make? I thought I’d open up the question here to all. What does the new economy look like from your specific reality — and specifically what have you had to give up?

It sometimes helps us all to share – just like mom said.

In the past month, I’ve been preparing my house to take in a renter in my basement. And it seems lately every evening and weekend is being spent clearing out over 20 years of living and getting it reading for the next 10. That’s a lot of clearing out to do. And a lot of visits to Home Depot.

This is part of my adjusting to the recession. Adjusting to living on less money. Adjusting to losing a job and finding a new one at a lower salary. Adjusting to the knowledge that even being employed again doesn’t translate into secure employment. Adjusting to uncertainty.

Back in Februrary I wrote about reaching a very difficult decision — the decision to sell my house and downsize. (See Foreclosing On Myself.)

I met with real estate agents. I learned the value of my home and did the math on what I could afford in order to decrease my carrying costs. I spent a few weekends traipsing around to open houses in condos and smaller houses in neighbourhoods far from mine to learn what my money could buy for the numbers to come out right.

God, it was very discouraging. Depressingly discouraging. Discouraging enough to think about options.

Back when I wrote about the decision to sell, several people responded to my first post asking if I’d consider taking in a renter or tenant. The idea was so foreign to me. I never entertained the notion. It didn’t fit my previous perception of middle-class comfort and attainment.

Plus, I don’t have a self-contained basement apartment. Anyone living in my basement would have to share my kitchen.

Share my kitchen? Live with someone else? Ask my 21-year-old daughter/university student to live with someone else? Clear out a shelf in my fridge, in my cupboards? Welcome someone into my home and live with them…kind of?

Because that’s what it is when there is no locked door between you and the person you never met who’s now occupying floor space where you live.

But the more I let the idea slosh around in my brain, and in my heart, the more I began warming up to the idea.

Strictly speaking math-wise, the option of taking in a renter was becoming even more attractive. Reducing my mortgage by moving to a less expensive property or staying put with some rental income would net me the same decrease in my monthly bills.

But the deciding factor that made the rational light-bulb in my brain go off was the fact that I’d had the good timing to lock into a variable rate mortgage at prime minus a half. I asked myself – and then some others – wouldn’t it make better financial and investment sense to take advantage of paying 1.75 percent on my current home versus paying 3.75 or 4 percent on a new mortgage — and still have the better investment?

So here I am. Painting. Fixing. Cleaning. Tossing. Culling. Fluffing.

Last weekend I took my record collection – as in LPs – to a second-hand record shop. I walked out with 200 bucks for a collection I never listen to any more, but couldn’t bear to part with. Till now. The digital age won my internal sentimental battle.

Things are now ready enough that I just went up on Craigslist with an ad for “Large basement room & private bath in great home”. And tonight I meet the first prospective tenant. I’m nervous. I’m scared. I’m worried. This kind of situation depends on fit.

Just like in a job. People in the workplace talk about fit all the time. But this fit is surely as important, or more. I still have mixed feelings and can’t predict what this will really be like. What it will feel like. But I’m resolved to go through with it to find out.

I find it really interesting that I am now making changes I no longer feel awkward about. A year ago I would never have guessed I’d be making this kind of move, this decision. But what I’m pleased about is that now, I’m telling people about it without any shame or self-consciousness. I’m not worried what anyone thinks of the fact that I’m making this important lifestyle change to adjust to a new economic reality.

The journey of the past few months has brought about significant changes in me. I’ve learned what’s important to me and what I value most.

At least till I find someone to move in — maybe then it’ll all change!

Her post below hits on a topic I think a lot of us will identify with — why you may not want to be best friends with the people you used to work for.

Like me, she’s leery of using her real name for fear of burning bridges in the working world. So from here on, let her be known as DWF.
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

It’s not you. It’s me.
by DWF

Hi. I used to work for your company. Maybe you’re not the one who started the company, but you’re one of the folks in charge – you’re a vice president or a group manager or a partner; you’re not planning on going anywhere for awhile. Though I wasn’t one of the people in charge, I wasn’t planning on going anywhere, either.

But then I got laid off. And right now, I just don’t think that we can be friends.

Don’t misunderstand me – I’m 99 percent certain that my layoff had nothing at all to do with you. I’m not blaming you for my current joblessness. There are no hard feelings toward you about that at all. But I need to distance myself from you, at least until I’m back on my feet again. Maybe longer.

You may not realize just how devastating it is to lose your job – I know I didn’t, until this happened to me. I’d been through several layoffs before, but I was always on the “safe” side. I was the one who returned from lunch to see the empty cubicle, who stood idly by feeling terrible as a soon-to-be-ex-colleague tried to pack up his box and get out of the office without too many stares. After a few days, I’d get back into the groove of the job, feeling lucky for still having one.

This time, I wasn’t so lucky. And it hurt. A lot. I discovered that it doesn’t matter whether you love your job, hate your job, or are just putting in time. Abruptly losing it means a lot more than just losing your income. You lose your schedule. You even lose your identity. You can become incredibly depressed over no longer having a job that you sometimes weren’t even sure you liked when you had it. And no matter how hard you wish it weren’t so, you lose the relationships that you had with the people who still work there.

If we used to work together, and now we don’t, even if it wasn’t your fault, I need you to understand. Please don’t be offended if I defriend you on Facebook or if I send a short response to the chipper “Just thought I’d see how you were doing” messages you send me through LinkedIn.

Sometimes you’re just trying to be encouraging, but the truth is, I feel burned by the company where you still work. I feel vulnerable. I’d rather not share too much about what I’m doing now.

Maybe we don’t talk about work at all, but your status pops up on my Facebook home page, and I can’t tell you how it makes me feel to see you chatting about the company softball game or, worse, complaining about how much work you have right now. It makes me feel like I went through a tremendously bad breakup, and even though I’m not yet over it, I have to hear from you about how my former partner is happily moving on with someone new.

So, former colleagues, it’s really not you. It’s me. I liked working with you. I enjoyed talking to you. I might even miss you. But you know how it is with a breakup – sometimes we just need some time apart in order to heal.

I don’t hate you. But I can’t really hang out with you right now, either.

You don’t need to have big bucks to pay for media. You don’t have to rely on some editor somewhere to judge your letter as print-worthy. You just have to lay put on a shirt and take to the streets. Herewith, Part 2 of Merchandising the Recession with some more entertaining entries.

Click here Merchandising the recession Part 1for

So when I lost my job, I felt a deep sense of shame in telling them the news. I felt like I had failed them. I wasn’t the parent they could be proud of. No child boasts about a parent who spends their days at home in sweat pants, on the phone and net in between reruns of Law and Order or the latest episode of Ellen. I was an outcast, no longer wanted by the working world.

I knew it wasn’t rational. But often what our heads know and our hearts feel are miles apart.

As a parent, you feel your role is to have all the answers. We’re supposed to be strong, omnipotent, heal all hurts and provide all the opportunities. But in a society in which our value is so tied up in our work, when that world gives us our walking papers we feel our value to all, including our children, crashes to earth at the speed of light.

It’s hard to know what my children really thought when they learned I’d lost my job. They said the right, reassuring things.

My eldest said, “Shit, that sucks Mom. But you know you’ll be fine.”

My middle son said, “Hey Mom, you always land on your feet.”

I’ve been a single mom for a lot of my children’s growing up, so it’s not surprising that my two eldest, two boys in their early 20s, were quick to reassure. When moms parent on their own, boys can tend to assume a bit of a protective stance as they get older.

But I really didn’t know if this was all manufactured reassurance, them doing what they thought was right, while perhaps inside they were feeling fear, worry and, perhaps even worse, disappointment or even embarrassment. Things they wouldn’t dare share.

I had a clearer sense when my youngest, my daughter, learned the news. Now in her first year of university, she, too, wears her heart on her sleeve and often her reactions are not guided by a sense of how she should behave but simply what she feels and thinks in any given moment.

When she heard the news she simply blurted out, “What the f**k Mom? That’s terrible!”

Out of the mouths of babes and a 20-year-old.

Since then, they’ve watched as I’ve managed the phases of joblessness and uncertainty. From shell-shocked to panic to resignation to determination. And not always in a straight line.

I’ve always been honest with my children, even when life gets messy or complicated. I’ve tried to find the balance between sharing enough information without burdening or scaring them with too much.

I’ve always tried to respect my children as individuals, separate from me. I’ve tried to recognize that they are not simply extensions of my own existence on this planet, but they are complete beings in their own right.

And this week I couldn’t have gotten a better affirmation that I’ve done an okay job of it all.
It came in the form of an email from my daughter. She’d written me to share something. The email came at 12:44 a.m., still early by her nocturnal clock.

She had just finished speaking with a friend whose parents were planning to sell their house after her friend’s mother lost her job. And apparently she had told her friend about my blog, thinking her friend’s mom may like to read it.

Now, my children all know I’ve been writing this blog since last November, but it’s certainly not high on their reading lists. But this latest piece of news about a friend of hers prompted my daughter to go online and read some of her own mom’s musings.

She came across a post I wrote about three weeks ago titled “Beyond Compare: How I stopped comparing myself to others and began feeling happy right where I was”.

And in her email, she wrote:

“I read the whole thing and I just wanted to say I’m so happy for you. Obviously I know you’ve been going through a lot of changes recently, but I was not aware of the depth of the change in the way you’ve been thinking about these things, and I think it’s really fucking awesome you’ve been able to let a lot of that weight go, that comes with the constant worry of self or others’ approval. Who the fuck cares what they think?”

“So that’s all, I’m really happy you have a job that means a lot more to you now, regardless of if the pay is lower, because that is what is important! And I was just happy to read that. Go mum!”

As I read her words, my eyes instantly teared up. I felt a sense of love and acceptance. I felt that my child saw me for who I was, not simply as her parent.

And I saw something else. I saw that although I’ve been through a lot, her seeing me go through this wasn’t an awful thing, but actually, in some ways, it was a gift.

Without doubt, life’s going to give my children their own reversals of fortune and emotional upheavals. Who better to provide a great example of working through them to the other side?

And there’s one more thing I saw: what makes a child proud of a parent may not always be what you think.

However, I did contact CBC directly and yesterday I received a reply. Here’s what I was told when I asked about the claim they’d made:

That was our mistake. The episode you heard was a repeat and after it first aired we learned our mistake. We promptly aired a correction and now, doh, we played the same one again. You are right, there is no connection with Walmart.

So there you have it. For the time being, the aisles of vintage clothing and recycled housewares are safe from the threat of a box-store takeover.

Now, that doesn’t mean Value Village comes out clean in this. I’m actually glad CBC made the mistake of broadcasting that misinformation again because it drove me to find out that Value Village is not a nonprofit — contrary to what I’d believed for years.

Rather, it’s owned by Savers, a 200+ for-profit American chain that is in turn owned by the private equity investment firm of Freeman Spogli and Company.

And just because some investment firms have indeed been getting hand-outs, that doesn’t make them a charity.

Mystery solved.

P.S. Jeff Smail, Regional Director of Value Village, has posted a reply explaining his company’s position in the previous post. Read his comments here.

And second, the forum will stay up. The developer who helped me mount it has made a very generous offer to reduce his fee dramatically in exchange for adspace. So let me give him a shout-out here.

His name is Yoav Givati and his company is called Chalk It Out. He does web consulting and development including building sites, widgets, desktop apps, database development, blogs  — just about anything you need, he’ll do it. He’s great to work with, never gets tired of my questions, is very reasonably-priced, and he believes in the cause. Yoav — thank you!

As for the forum itself,  it’s here to stay and will soon have all the muscle it needs to keep the spammers at bay. So go ahead and use it. Connect with others  who are going through the same thing you are. Get or give advice, cry on someone’s shoulder, find some comraderie, rant in a way your friends may not want to hear anymore.

What gets old out there never gets old here.