On dealing with unkind people and how to not be one.
This week at work, I felt like a dartboard. It seemed like even the most patient and kind of people came barreling towards me, one after another, with verbal attacks and accusations using hurtful words as swords. I work in a complex field with a mix of customer service, sales, team management, finances, and what can often turn into therapy for my clients. I fix things. I am not sure if mercury was in retrograde or if there was a full moon, but it seemed like I could not catch a break. Finally, Friday arrived. After a massage and some tacos, I felt a tiny bit better and ready to release some of that negative energy.
As I sit here, still decompressing, I started to think about how we all walk around throwing negative energy darts at one another as if it were a game with no consequences. Why do we spew frustrated word vomit at people who often aren't even the problem? Here is the truth. We are all selfish to an extent. We want to feel heard and validated. Sometimes we want it so much that we are willing to hurt an innocent bystander. Is it constructive? No. Will it make us feel any better? Maybe, maybe not.
When I first started this job, it used to take a lot more than a massage and some good tacos to turn my mood around. I would come home and cry, feel intense anxiety, and dread getting up the next day to deal with it all over again. I have had to learn not to soak up too much of other people's energy to preserve my own. I have also learned when to put my one remaining foot down and not allow others to disrespect me. Come into my office, have a seat, tell me your problems, and get it off your chest. I will listen and do what I can to resolve them. But do not attempt to turn the tables and make me feel unqualified as a disabled woman in a position of power because I will send you right back out the door in a most professional way.
As a customer and a human, I make a conscious effort to understand that mistakes happen, there is often much more going on behind the scenes than we realize, and my bad day does not have to turn into everyone else's bad day. Sometimes it's best to go home and tell it to a plate of nachos and a bottle of wine rather than the cashier at the gas station.