Digging in the Dirt

July 6th, 2005

Everyone holds stress differently. Some people grit their teeth, others eat nonstop. Some people stop eating. Me? I hold it in my bowels. Why, God, why? I’ve been sick for four days. Good GAWD, it’s miserable. I know that’s so not what you or anyone else wants to hear, but it’s the miserable, gutwrenching truth.

This move is killing me. It’s not even the logistics, although thinking about the sheer volume of shit to do is enough to send me to the bathroom for forty more rounds of cheek-clenching excitement.

It’s the fact that, per usual, I’m channeling all of my anxiety and tortured soul-baring misery into…my job.

I have a sick, twisted love/hate relationship with my job. With any job I’ve ever had, really. I wasn’t really ever that ambitious as a kid – I wasn’t competitive in school, and I wasn’t the best student, although I did okay, I suppose. The point of school was to blend in – find some way to NOT be the center of attention, by strategically avoiding the positions of best or worst. 3.0 was the way to go.

When I got my first job, I was strangely awakened and determined to make up for lost time – all those days of laziness, not completing my schoolwork on time and sleeping late instead of studying. Yes, I was going to erase those years of lazy geekdom by excelling at my chosen profession! The problem is, my profession was never what I truly loved to do, as I’ve discussed, but I guess it really didn’t matter in a lot of ways.

I succeeded, for sure. I got every job I’ve ever tried for, and did so well at previous gigs that I’ve never been able to successfully quit without a major bid to keep me. I left my last job to work for a client of my current agency – a taboo move that I pioneered. I’ve always been secretly and illogically proud of that fact – but the thing is, I did it by outworking everyone. I might not be the smartest person in the room, but I would outwork anyone else around me, that’s for sure. I made myself available at every turn – every evening, weekend and holiday, I was armed and ready with a slew of emails, plans and projects ready to go. And the deep-down truth is, the reason I do all of this is because I live in fear of losing my job, even when objectively I know that possibility is incredibly remote. I live in fear of disappointing people – of not maintaining my status quo as the middle-ground girl who does it all and works the hardest.

And now, I’ve done it again. I’ve told work that I’m moving, and that I would be willing to stay. They agreed to ‘make it work.’ Fact is, the money, job and salary would be one major adjustment that we wouldn’t have to deal with, which in many ways would be a pleasure. For the most part, they seem pleased, but anxious. I think they’re concerned that I’m going to have difficulty completing the job, since I’ll need to be remote, is my best guess. Or maybe I’m being a paranoid moron who thinks everything is all about me. I see what they’re saying. There will be no more face to face meetings, and I’ll miss critical hallway conversations that might lead to advancement or worse, even sticking around in my current or any role.

I’m sick over it. Terrified that instead of going out on top that I will fade into obscurity, and leave on a bad, or worse, invisible note. I don’t know what I’m trying to prove to myself. I already did everything I set out to do, so why am I so afraid of dropping out of this race?

Sometimes I think that losing my job would be the best thing for me, since I would actually learn that maybe the world won’t come crashing down and that life would go on, and I would survive – thrive, even. That I don’t have to be the hardest worker to make it in this world. That having a life is okay, and pushing back on an employer for something critical, or even mildly important to my personal life is beyond acceptable. I tell myself all the time that this is the truth, but I don’t believe it, even though I say I do.

Now, I’m going to a new place, with the same job, and the same anxiety, only it’s more justified than ever. There are jobless, qualified, local people who want my job. And it’s making me sick, and I’m not sure it’s worth it. Then I think about the salary and benefits and material comfort it could bring, and I feel like I have to hold on to it, for my own sanity, yet I feel those very things are the golden handcuffs that chain me to a life of perpetual insanity.

And you’re thinking, “WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO YOURSELF? Be POOR, woman! BE POOR!” I know that’s what you’re thinking. It’s what I’d be thinking, too.

But I can’t disappoint them. For some reason, I feel compelled to make it more about them – who ‘them’ really is, is beyond me – than me. Clearly, I’m codependent and not well – I can’t imagine not being overworked and stressed and playing the role of hardest worker. It’s what I do. And I haven’t smartened up to the fact that I am a willing participant and being totally taken advantage of.

Yes, sometimes I think losing my job would be the healthiest thing for me.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to run to the bathroom.

Entry Filed under: Nuttin'