I Just Work Here

With all due respect, doctor, I said, not having a clue where this stand your grounded-ness was coming from, Last time I followed your orders about something non-medical, I got reamed and you didn't stand up. I'm not about to repeat that mistake.

He blinked and lowered his glasses, looking at me as if I'd lost my mind and was looking forward to being out of work. I don't mean to be insubordinate, I added, but what you're telling me directly contradicts the instructions I already have and I'm not risking another reprimand.

It was, of course, not a real conversation, just lines I should have spoken and didn't.

The day before, I had - under protest and pointing out that it was contrary to procedure, an objection that was impatiently waved off - followed an order he had given me. My aquiescence had resulted in a lengthy and sharply worded lecture that had stung me deeply and the wound was still fresh, aching with resentment and bitterness. I felt I had been unjustly accused and unfairly punished and thought I might choke on my own fury. It was a trap of my own making, built and reinforced in childhood, founded on the absolute powerlessness of a child at the mercy of an adult world. It has become a driving need to excel in hopes of avoiding mistakes. Perfection, I tell myself a hundred times a day, is an unattainable goal - my best is all I have to offer - but when I fall short through no fault of my own, when I hear disappointment, impatience, or anger in the voices of those I work for, the very ones who have put me between the rock and the hard place, my every instinct is to lash out and defend myself. Instead, I swallow hard and promise to do better - the effort this takes leaves me crushed and so angry I can barely contain the urge to pack my things and quit on the spot. I despise my fear of unemployment.

I've lost the sense of belonging in my job, of mattering or making a difference. There are constant reminders that I could be replaced by someone younger, smarter, more pliable, better trained. My work remains intact but my spirit is damaged. Against this husband and wife partnership, even when they disagree, collide, overrule each other and issue conflicting orders, I feel that child's powerlessness. It doesn't seem to matter much that we are caught in the crossfire - whichever way we turn will be wrong.

My mind and intellect tell me to let go, to not waste time on foolish slights and workplace inequities. My fragile side tells me it's wasted time and effort. All sides remind me that I just work here.