I have a friend who recently made a job jump into a new position and was an absolute wreck over it. She moved from comfortable low paying job, to a higher profile, higher paying position. Almost immediately she was crying “Foul!” and asking her old boss if she could come back. She hated the new people, the new responsibilities and the fact she knew so little. She came home miserable and went to work miserable. It even started to affect her health. I kept comforting her, telling her that it takes about six months before we get our sea legs in a new position, and how eventually she will look back on this time and laugh at how frazzled she was.
How is it that we can dispense sensible advise to others, but have such a hard time following it ourselves?
I am on day three of my new position and I vacillate from being chill to being on the absolute verge of tears. I am a schizophrenic without my meds. One moment I am sighing in the ease of the extra income, and the next I have a hatred for the job, the company, the people that is stronger than the fury of a she-devil. I am a head trauma patient relearning how to write the simplest letter of the alphabet and it’s still taking me twenty minutes.
Because I don’t have faith in me. Wait, let me retract that. I have enormous faith in me. Just not when I need it. Like now.
Most of the problem is me. I know that. I should be comforting myself in the same manner I comforted my friend. “It’s been less than a week.” I should be reminding myself. But what I tell others for comfort and how I tell me? — two entirely different venues. Do as I say, not as I do. I’m terrified of looking stupid to outside peers. I’m paranoid enough to think that some think my promotion wasn’t deserving. That’s actually not entirely paranoia. I do know of a couple of miscreants who have muttered that amongst themselves, which ironically puffs me up enough to send out a telepathic “Fuck You.” to their miserable little asses.
I can’t help battling the idea that I just might not be as qualified as everyone seems to think I am. I am the Emperor, and I’m terrified my subjects know I am naked. I’ve actually pushed the weight of the new title so hard on my shoulders that I was physically tweaked for about two days. My reminder is? My promotion wasn’t to be King of the World. Lay off a bit perhaps? Ya think?
I came across the email that my Director sent out to personnel in the company. It’s pretty standard. States how long I’ve been here, what I have done to get where I am, etc. But my throat went dry when it mentions the dollar amount of goods I am in charge of. Holy crap! Nevertheless I realize I hadn’t sent him a thank you; both for the promotion and the nice introduction. He responds back, with perfect timing;
“It was well deserved. I have complete faith in your abilities to do the job.”
Well I guess if he does, so should I.