Confrontation : Synonyms: battle, combat, competition, conflict, contest, contention, dogfight, duel, face-off, grapple, match, rivalry, strife, struggle, tug-of-war, war, warfare
Just confronting the word gives me the jitters. Odd, after growing up in an alcoholic household where the fighting never seemed to end and moving on to an alcoholic marriage where it was everyday fact. Now I find that a raised voice sets my every nerve on edge in anticipation of a scolding, that I almost expect every reprimand - no matter how mild or well meant - to be followed by a blow. Tension takes hold and a swarm of butterflies invade my belly, every instinct for self preservation comes fully alert and I have to grip something real and physical to keep from running. The doctor calls me into his office and I go lead-footed only to face no more threatening a question than where is the latest end of day report or would I like a half day on Friday. Despite these small reprieves and rewards, Nana's woodshed voice is never far away and it rarely if ever occurs to me that something good might happen behind a closed door.
I am quite capable of temper, of yelling, of threatening, of digging in until the cows come home, of biting sarcasm and a nasty turn of phrase when I think it's called for - but only when it constitutes self defense. The idea of initiating a conflict turns me cold and cowardly. I rationalize it all, of course, telling myself that acceptance is a better and saner path, that I need to change rather than try and change someone else, but it's mostly window dressing, designed to keep reality at arms length.
My friend Tricia likes to remind me that confrontation can be a positive force - a candid exchange of ideas in pursuit of solutions, that it need not be hostile or antagonistic. Honesty and directness can be tools in the search for better understanding and empathy, all of which I have no doubt is true, provided I can stay on the sidelines. I detest the cowardly side of my nature, the side that shrugs its shoulders and swallows the anger, allowing it to smoke and smolder until it turns into a three alarm fire, out of control and burning everything in its path. I hate the side of my nature that wants to remain a victim and I despise not being able to fight back without putting my job in jeopardy - but there it is. Today I asked a question and was impatiently lectured on change resistance and adaptability, on being a team player, of learning to go with the flow. I have come to a point where I feel excluded and invisible and it was only a question. Nothing more than fear of overdue bills kept me from quitting on the spot and that's not a good enough reason to stay. Honesty would have led to my being fired - may still yet.
When I am given the news that paychecks are to be delayed - again - my fists curl up, my belly knots and my throat closes against the urge to scream. The morning is filled with apologies although no explanation is offered and the depression and anger I feel begin to turn into a seething, vindictive rage. I have always thought of the workplace as a kind of contract in good faith - it's my obligation to show up on time and do the work to the best of my ability. It's my employer's obligation to compensate me fairly and when promised. A violation on either side is a breach of trust. I would expect no slack if I were to routinely and cavalierly dishonor this contract but it seems to have turned into a one way street - I am supposed to accept this news objectively and make do. If, as the old rape joke goes, it can't be helped, then lie back and enjoy it.
Not this time, I finally decide and with my heart pounding, I head for the doctor's office. I explain that I am not prepared to be humiliated and borrow money or beg catfood again. Neither am I willing to put one more dime on my credit card to cover up payroll's incompetence. So, I say, I will go the grocery store as planned and write a check which I fully expect to bounce and if it does, I will demand that the practice pay the overdraft charge. If they refuse, I tell him, he may expect my notice. This is met with a glare than turns to a so-be-it look when he realizes that this time I will stand my ground. You feel targeted, he tells me. No, I answer, I just work in an office that's being targeted. He reminds me that this latest screw up was across the board and that all employees were affected. The checks are cut in the other office, I reply, and by yesterday afternoon they had checks, not in the bank as promised, but at least in their hands, and they had time to go to the bank and cash them. There's a difference between being paid a little later on the right day and being paid a day late. With all due respect, if you work there you get inconvenienced. If you work here, you get penalized.
He is cool to me the rest of the day but I don't apologize and I don't back down. Remarkably, I have provoked a confrontation and survived. I wonder if I will remember this feeling the next time.
Just confronting the word gives me the jitters. Odd, after growing up in an alcoholic household where the fighting never seemed to end and moving on to an alcoholic marriage where it was everyday fact. Now I find that a raised voice sets my every nerve on edge in anticipation of a scolding, that I almost expect every reprimand - no matter how mild or well meant - to be followed by a blow. Tension takes hold and a swarm of butterflies invade my belly, every instinct for self preservation comes fully alert and I have to grip something real and physical to keep from running. The doctor calls me into his office and I go lead-footed only to face no more threatening a question than where is the latest end of day report or would I like a half day on Friday. Despite these small reprieves and rewards, Nana's woodshed voice is never far away and it rarely if ever occurs to me that something good might happen behind a closed door.
I am quite capable of temper, of yelling, of threatening, of digging in until the cows come home, of biting sarcasm and a nasty turn of phrase when I think it's called for - but only when it constitutes self defense. The idea of initiating a conflict turns me cold and cowardly. I rationalize it all, of course, telling myself that acceptance is a better and saner path, that I need to change rather than try and change someone else, but it's mostly window dressing, designed to keep reality at arms length.
My friend Tricia likes to remind me that confrontation can be a positive force - a candid exchange of ideas in pursuit of solutions, that it need not be hostile or antagonistic. Honesty and directness can be tools in the search for better understanding and empathy, all of which I have no doubt is true, provided I can stay on the sidelines. I detest the cowardly side of my nature, the side that shrugs its shoulders and swallows the anger, allowing it to smoke and smolder until it turns into a three alarm fire, out of control and burning everything in its path. I hate the side of my nature that wants to remain a victim and I despise not being able to fight back without putting my job in jeopardy - but there it is. Today I asked a question and was impatiently lectured on change resistance and adaptability, on being a team player, of learning to go with the flow. I have come to a point where I feel excluded and invisible and it was only a question. Nothing more than fear of overdue bills kept me from quitting on the spot and that's not a good enough reason to stay. Honesty would have led to my being fired - may still yet.
When I am given the news that paychecks are to be delayed - again - my fists curl up, my belly knots and my throat closes against the urge to scream. The morning is filled with apologies although no explanation is offered and the depression and anger I feel begin to turn into a seething, vindictive rage. I have always thought of the workplace as a kind of contract in good faith - it's my obligation to show up on time and do the work to the best of my ability. It's my employer's obligation to compensate me fairly and when promised. A violation on either side is a breach of trust. I would expect no slack if I were to routinely and cavalierly dishonor this contract but it seems to have turned into a one way street - I am supposed to accept this news objectively and make do. If, as the old rape joke goes, it can't be helped, then lie back and enjoy it.
Not this time, I finally decide and with my heart pounding, I head for the doctor's office. I explain that I am not prepared to be humiliated and borrow money or beg catfood again. Neither am I willing to put one more dime on my credit card to cover up payroll's incompetence. So, I say, I will go the grocery store as planned and write a check which I fully expect to bounce and if it does, I will demand that the practice pay the overdraft charge. If they refuse, I tell him, he may expect my notice. This is met with a glare than turns to a so-be-it look when he realizes that this time I will stand my ground. You feel targeted, he tells me. No, I answer, I just work in an office that's being targeted. He reminds me that this latest screw up was across the board and that all employees were affected. The checks are cut in the other office, I reply, and by yesterday afternoon they had checks, not in the bank as promised, but at least in their hands, and they had time to go to the bank and cash them. There's a difference between being paid a little later on the right day and being paid a day late. With all due respect, if you work there you get inconvenienced. If you work here, you get penalized.
He is cool to me the rest of the day but I don't apologize and I don't back down. Remarkably, I have provoked a confrontation and survived. I wonder if I will remember this feeling the next time.
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