TheBanyanTree: A Life Lesson - Work

Tue Apr 15 12:56:36 PDT 2003

Mom married my father when she discovered she was pregnant.  She was sixteen when I was born, only a child herself.  Perhaps she saw marriage as a vehicle to get away from her alcoholic father's rages and beatings.  But motherhood was much more demanding than Mom thought it would be.  She must have been frustrated and bitter.  While her friends were going to dances, socializing and having fun, she was stuck at home with a child.  

Her own violent temper revealed her resentment.  Home was not a safe place for me.  As far back as I can remember, when I made minor mistakes like getting my clothes dirty or walking into the house with my shoes on, she beat me, pulled my hair and slapped my face.  Sometimes I feared for my life.  Mom expected me to be perfect.

Dad wasn't around much as he was a shift worker at the local pulp mill.  There were four children in the family and the youngest always got all of his attention.  He loved babies, but didn't know how to relate to older children.

Throughout my childhood, I tried to earn my parents' love.  I excelled at school and demanded perfection from myself.  If I made a mistake, it wasn't sufficient to cross out or erase the error; I needed to rewrite the entire page.  I brought home excellent grades - not straight A's, mind you, but A's and B's.

I was always excited at report card time.  Good grades meant I had value; I was worthwhile and deserving of love.  I had proof to show my parents.  'Look Mom.  Look Dad.  See my good report card.  Do you love me now?'   But Dad didn't know how to give praise; I felt disappointed when he pointed to the B's and asked me why they weren't A's.  And no matter what my marks were, Mom continued to brutalize me.  When I graduated from high school and left home, I believed I was a mistake.  I just didn't measure up.

Later, at work, I continued to try to prove myself and felt the same responsibility toward a job as if I was company owner.  Although I was an adult, old messages controlled my life.  'Try harder.  Excel.  Be perfect.'  I did all of those things.  As my parents had, I continued to expect perfection from myself.  Doing a good job allowed me to feel as if I had worth.  My work became a large part of my identity.  When I made an error, I suffered for days.  I punished me, just as my mother had punished me.  Consciously, I knew I was harming myself but I seemed unable to stop.

Six years ago, a new Corporation with great aspirations and not enough staff hired me.  For the first two years I worked as Assistant to the Vice President, and put in huge amounts of overtime in order to keep the work up-to-date.  By the end of every day, I felt as if I had run a marathon, but I prided myself on my ability to manage my extremely heavy workload.  'See me now.  Am I good enough?'

After two years, I was exhausted and short-tempered.  I found it hard to concentrate.  There was little left of 'me' to give to my husband and daughter.  Most of my energy went into my job.  When the opportunity arose, I transferred to the accounting department.  An ember of resentment ignited in the pit of my stomach as I watched the Corporation put three full-time people in the position I left behind. 

For the first six months, I was thrilled with my new job.  However, the Corporation took on some additional projects and my workload doubled.  This time, I determined, I would ask for help. This was a huge step; as a child, I learned not to need anyone and to only count on myself.

"Now that we've taken on these new projects, there is too much work for one person; I need help," I told my boss.  "I'm not prepared to work a lot of overtime like I did in my previous position." 

"We think you can handle it, Pat.  We won't be hiring anyone," he said.

The smoldering in the pit of my stomach flared.  'They just don't care how I feel.  They don't take me seriously.' 

Nevertheless, I accepted the challenge.  Again, I ran all day as I tried to keep up to an impossible workload.  I couldn't control myself.  Somehow, I was reliving my childhood role.  And just as my parents didn't value me, the Corporation did not appreciate my efforts.  Work sapped all of my energy.  I had trouble sleeping; I was irritable and tired all the time.  Something needed to change.  

I asked to job-share and surprisingly, the Corporation agreed.  I continued to push myself very hard while I waited for them to hire someone.  Nothing happened.  Finally, after ten months I advised my boss I planned to seek other employment.  Immediately, the Corporation advertised the job-share position and hired Mary two months later.  It took a full year for the job share to be implemented.

But it wasn't smooth sailing. By now, I was in full-fledged burnout and should have taken medical leave.  Instead, I soldiered on.  The Corporation gave Mary three weeks of instant holidays in the first two months.  On her first day of work, she presented me with a calendar and told me when I would be filling in for her.  The fire inside my stomach burned hotter.

I was to work three days a week and Mary, two.  Although I wrote her a training manual, she didn't read it and she was slow to catch on.  Again, I worked like a whirlwind as I tried to do 90% of the workload in 60% of the time.  Finally, I advised my supervisor there were problems with Mary's productivity.  He did not address the issue. 

Recently, after another indication I was not valued, I erupted like a volcano, swore at my boss and walked out.  I'd had enough.  I'm on medical leave now for 'burnout from excessive demands.'  Currently, Mary is working full time and the Corporation has given her a full time assistant because she couldn't handle the workload.

This is my opportunity to learn.  I am at fault for not setting limits on myself and on the Corporation.  I was unable to control my compulsion to keep an unreasonable workload up-to-date (at the expense of my health), and I didn't know how to respond when management ignored my repeated claims that the workload was too heavy.

For six years, I slaved for the Corporation; I sought recognition.  The same way I sought approval from my parents.  Like my parents, my employer did not value me, and continually took advantage of my work ethic.  

I didn't get the love I needed as a child, but I can stop trying to earn it now.  It's up to me to love myself enough to set limits on how much of myself I am willing to give to a job and on what I will accept from others.  

I'm almost fifty years old.  It's time to stop trying so hard. This incident taught me that I don't need to prove myself to anyone.  I am a good person and an excellent worker; I am entitled to respect and consideration.

I'm good enough just the way I am.  

Pat Martin

April 2003

-------------- next part --------------
An HTML attachment was scrubbed...
URL: <http://lists.remsset.com/pipermail/thebanyantree-remsset.com/attachments/20030415/422d4d05/attachment.htm>