Seventeen days ago, I began working at my new store location. I was not looking for a new assignment, but I was glad to have a safe place to land. My store, my home, my kumbaya ceased to exist and I was relieved to receive an opportunity with the same company. I am a salaried employee, so working more than 40 hours/week does not increase my wages. No one has forced me, no one has even suggested that I work more than 40 hours/week, but I have. I’ve been working a lot, way more than I should and add onto that, my extended commute time…needless to say, I’m tired.
I am a person of passion. Some choose to call me a perfectionist, but I beg to differ. I believe if something is worth doing, it’s worth doing well. I am not a “good enough” type of person. I am more of a “I may have run out of time, but this is what I want to do” type of person. If I see an opportunity for improvement, I’ll make it happen, even at the cost of working more than 40 hours/week. I truly believe that the extra effort will pay off, eventually.
The problem with me working so many hours, is not only am I wearing myself out, I believe that my intentions are not being recognized by my team. I worry that they do not understand my drive and may misinterpret my directive. This forces me to work faster, to achieve my goals in less time, but all it really does is wear me out more quickly. I worry too much about what other think of me and at the same time, do not ask people what they think of me, I just assume it to be the worse. In doing so, I create a viscous circle of self-doubt and self-deprecation.
I am a creature of habit. I have lived most of my life in the same home and I have no intention of leaving, unless forced to. I enjoy the comfort of certainty, everything has its place, and it being in its place brings me peace. When doing office work, I find great comfort in being able to run like a well-oiled machine. If I reach for something and it is not there, it’s like a broken cog in the machine, it hinders my progress. The slight hiccup, for most folks is imperceptible, but for me, it can cause a change reaction that leads to a minor breakdown. I never said I was sane.
Besides being highly organized, tending to my plants brings me peace. During the summer, Groovy Gail’s Garden is my solace. Year round, my house plants bring me great joy and peace. Unlike having a pet, I do not need to rush home to tend to their needs. They quietly await my arrival and require minimal care. I have a watering schedule for them that I write down and stick to. They seem to thrive, as I do with this slight sense of certainty. I have one plant that was a broken piece I saved from an outside plant I purchased this past summer. I brought it inside, placed it in water so it could root. Once transferred to a pot of soil, it has done well, but it appeared to be lonely.
I have a variety of plants in another pot of soil. These plants were sent to me when my father passed, by my cousin Red. They have lived together harmoniously for 8 years in the same pot I placed them in once they outgrew the decorative pot, they arrived in. To be frugal, I carefully removed one of those plants, with its roots intact, and carefully transferred it to the pot with the plant I saved from outside. I knew it would take time for it acclimate itself, but it has not been doing well. Sadly, it’s been drooping and many of its leaves have yellowed. It does not appear to be happy in its new home and I fear I have doomed it to a slow, painful death.
When I share with folks about the long hours, I’ve been keeping at my new store location, how I’m hoping to become acclimated more quickly, the usual response is, “Rome wasn’t built in a day.” The last time this was said to me, I finally broke down and said, “I miss my home.” Most everyone who knows me, also knows that I am a creature of habit and I avoid change. I’ll do it, when forced to, like my store closing, but it is painful for me. That breakdown has led to more subsequent breakdowns and I finally realized that the reason I’ve been working so much, is a coping mechanism. In my desperate attempt to become familiar with my new surroundings, I’ve been slowly punishing myself. I’ve been working and working and working some more, until I barely see straight, in hopes of feeling like I belong. I want to go home, but home is no longer there. I want to feel like I belong, but as always, I stick out like a sore thumb.
Yesterday, when I arrived home after going to a work meeting on my day off, I saw how sad my transplanted house plant looked. I realized, that plant was me. I’ve been transplanted and I am not adjusting to my new pot of soil. I am drooping, my leaves are yellowing and no amount of care will save those yellowed leaves. They cannot be revived, they cannot thrive, they will not survive the move, those leaves are dead. I shared all this new found realizations with my therapist. As always, he acts as a sounding board, he doesn’t tell me what to do, but he helps me to hear myself. What I heard, was that I felt lost, very, very, lost.
Shortly after our appointment ended, my brother called me. I tried to tell him about another one of my coping mechanisms, my search for new window shades. I told him, in great detail, about my fruitless search on the internet for the shades. In his way, he tried to help me, but all he managed to do was make me feel worse. He just wasn’t hearing me, as I described my frustration at how expensive everything was and I wasn’t willing to press the button on an order when I had no sense of certainty on what I was ordering. What if the measurement I take is off? What does the material truly look like, feel like? I wasn’t about to spend more money than I had hoped to, on something that possibly wouldn’t fit.
I continued to explain that I wasn’t having some sort of window treatment emergency. I had decided that I want to take one of my curtain shades to a brick-and-mortar store and speak to a real person, see the real product, and make an educated decision. This would take time, but I had time and I was going to use that time to make a purchase I would be happy with. Mind you, this majority of this conversation occurred as I cried. My frustration about this matter, was overwhelming and once again, I felt lost.
While talking to my brother, while crying, I looked up at my withered plant and decided that maybe if I trim off the yellowed leaves, removed the dead matter, it would have a better chance at surviving. I grabbed a pair of scissors and snipped away the yellowed leaves, sniffling as I operated on my struggling patient. My focus, as always, on caring for this struggling plant, gave me peace. She still drooped, but looked a little healthier with only the green leaves remaining. I dug my finger into its soil, there was enough moisture, so it was time to let her rest, me too. I headed up to bed, all worn out, something I had done to myself, simply because I don’t do well with change.
I slept well enough and since I am not scheduled to begin till noon today, I didn’t set my alarm clock. I actually slept in till 6am. I never said I was sane. There was a little bit of nature light to guide my way, as the sun was beginning to rise, a sure sign of an approaching spring. I opened the shade in my bedroom to give the plant that lives there, an opportunity to receive the full glory of an approaching sunny day. I made my way to the kitchen for a cup of coffee and then headed to my home office, just like I do every day, with certainty. I looked at my patient, she wasn’t upright, but maybe looked a little healthier? With my finger, I tested the soil’s moisture, seemed sufficient. I decided to turn the pot to give it a different perspective, this room is a haven for plants with all its windows. Maybe a new exposure would coax it into an upright position. Maybe that, and a little time, she will acclimate to her new home, feel less lost, and thrive…me too.
#thelieswechoosetolivewith
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