Neuroses, neuroses

I cried at work today.

I made it through the staff meeting, which was a step up from last time, when I burst into tears in the first half hour and had to hide in the bathroom for fifteen minutes, during which time my phone rang, repeatedly, and disturbed everyone left behind in the board room...sigh.

But the precipitating events were not so dissimilar, in that I ended up locked in a death grip over an item on the agenda barely worth discussing - a tendency that I’m really trying to work on, though it’s proving surprisingly difficult. Note to self: When in staff meetings SHUT UP, for the love of god, shut up.

Inevitably, my stance on whatever issue will lead to a charming coworker vaulting personal attacks in my direction (or spreading rumors about me, or silently hating with a glowering wrath for over a year...it depends on the workplace, I guess). The coworker here is the master of jarring, unwarranted personal attacks - including the memorable, “It’s not all about you!” launched at a manager when he mentioned bathroom etiquette.

I’ve been on the receiving end of such declarations - that I’d like to initiate volunteer programs solely in order to pass off my most hated duties to vulnerable community members, that I’m trying to make our clients' lives more difficult through my choice in art supply cupboard, that I’m thoughtless and obstinate and she can’t understand why, exactly, I’m making things so difficult. Kid stuff, really.

Today, it was nothing much worse - a prolonged discussion over a discontinued games tournament, and then, “you’re so controlling. You just need to pick over every single little detail and micromanage everything. Why can’t you just...” I tuned out at this point, and the details are fuzzy. But the take home title of Micromanaging Control Monster Who Impedes Meeting Progress was certainly received.

The meeting ended shortly thereafter.

Less than two minutes later, in a well-lit office with a large glass window and an opened door, I burst into messy tears without warning as I tried to unplug my laptop. ...Stupid laptop.

And the nerve she hit was this: I’m a perfectionist, I’m a keener, I’m an over-achiever, I’m a bright-eyed bushy-tailed whippersnapper who everybody wants to punch in the nose. I type too hard, and too fast, and when everyone takes on one work assignment, I like to take on three. (It’s hard to tell these things about be, sometimes - especially since my greatest achievement to date has been dropping out of university - but trust me on this one, it’s true.)

Just like the obsessive compulsive person who’s hands, though raw with soap burn, will never feel clean, my over-achievement disorder stems from a feeling of the opposite - inadequacy. I’m constantly terrified of failure, of being perceived as lazy, or of simply being kicked to the curb because ‘well, we collectively decided that we don’t like you, and we don’t want you, and we don’t need you. So, get out.’ The assumption of this inevitability colours every situation in my life. (...Why? I blame Society.)

To make matters so very much worse, I’m aware of all this, as well as my tendency to piss others off through my efforts to compensate - which means I often find myself stuck between a neurotic rock and hard place, terrified by seemingly inevitable rejection no matter what I do. Speak up in meetings? Shut up and be quiet? I generally fall back on my do-gooder default, secure in my belief that at least, if I do the work of seven people in one, I’ll have a list of concrete achievements to stack up against the hate.

And so, when my colleague bestowed me with the title of Micromanaging Control Monster Who Impedes Meeting Progress, it struck a very large, open nerve - the one that tells me to speed up, and then simultaneously yells ‘slow down!’ Because, when you’re an overachiever, the very worst thing people can think is that you want Control.

(Control over self and my own neuroses? Yes. Control over others perception of me, in that I’m desperate for them to like me but somewhat convinced that they never will? Yes. Control over the independent actions, desires, and generalized lives of those around me, in that I want to influence them in any way that doesn’t directly pertain to me? No, not so much.)

Because micromanagers also take on more than their fair share, but that's about taking power away from others: “I don’t trust you to do this task, or I don’t like how you’re doing it, so I’m going to do this myself.” It’s about inserting personal preferences and standards into situations that have nothing to do with you - insisting that a work room be painted yellow because it’s your favourite colour, even when all your coworkers voted on green. (That’s not a real example, but this one is - at my previous workplace, every recipe used by our cooks for use in the drop-in centre had to be tailored to the taste preferences of our executive director, who did not even work in that building or ever eat the food. She blacklisted vegetables. THAT’s micromanaging.)

But MY over-achieving...it’s not about that, at all. I don’t want more power. Really, I’d like less power. In an ideal world, I’d have no power, and just a clearly defined check-list saying exactly what I have to do to keep my job, not be hated, and qualify as a decent person, and then I could mark off my list and be happy and be done.

And if I bring up a suggestion or an idea, or I offer my thoughts and opinions, it’s not an effort to take choice or power away from somebody else - because I want them to speak up, too. I want their opinions, and ideas, and unique efforts, precisely because they’re different from my own - because that takes the pressure off of me! I’ll drive myself nuts trying to do everything that can possibly be done - a little help, or even a dose of healthy competition...these are the things I want and crave.

The last thing I want for any coworker to think of me is that I want to usurp their ideas, or silence them, or to squash their laborious fruits into a sad, embittered pulp...none of that sounds good, to me. Because, really, in all that I do...I just want people to like me.

(And especially if I like them, which, really I do. And I like my job. And at work, well, we’re supposed to be a Team, and we rely on each other, and we comfort one another when our clients inevitably die, or have seizures, or yell at us, or throw bowls full of mustard flying across the floor... It’s important that my coworkers know I’m not an obsessive controlling psychopath.)

...Call me crazy, but that’s just the way I feel.