August 5, 1999

I carry around a lot of anger that nobody knows about. I worked at a place where I was led to believe that our job--what we did every day, who it was that we were helping--was the most important focus of everyone's existence. They were wrong. They lied to me. It was their own political, self-gratifying, power-hungry agenda that drove these people, not their love for what they do. I got caught in a typhoon of gossip and jealousy, of harsh judgments and cruelty. I feel like I'm still trying to swim to the surface, and I left this job quite some time ago. I had confidence in my ability to do my job in a coltish kind of way. I didn't have a lot of experience, but I had good instincts and I had drive. Sometimes, in the course of my job, I made mistakes and poor choices, but those mistakes were born out of good intentions--never maliciousness or lack of interest in my duties. I was naive enough to think that because I wanted to do well I would be given that chance. My "boss"--angry, lonely, insecure--and my "mentor"--gossiping, unmotivated--were intolerant of my inability to do everything their way. While I was grateful for their guidance, and listened carefully to what they said, I did not always do my job their way. In fact, sometimes, I did exactly the opposite of what they suggested. It depended on the situation and on their advice. After a while, my independence became unacceptable to them. I began to drown. For the first time, I understood the term "office politics". I am a person who is unable to be fake. I wear my emotions on my sleeve. If you are an angry, screaming, shrew and if you say horribly abusive things to me, I will not be able to eat lunch with you. I will not stop in your office every morning to say hello. If you tell people my business, I will not come to you with my problems, even if it is your job to mentor me. If you belittle me in front of others, if you threaten me in private and deny it in public, I will not even be able to look at you, much less make chit-chat with you over today's flavor of donuts. I am unable to kiss ass. Others are, and I give them credit for it. It makes me sick to think of my last six months at that job. Anger rises up inside of me and I want to yell at these people and claw at their tight, pinched faces. I am absolutely horrified that they treat people the way I was treated and that they are still in charge, are still getting up and eating breakfast and going to that place and getting paid. They are still considered professionals. After I escaped, my enthusiasm for my career was permanently damaged. Was I as talented as I had been told I was, as I used to believe I was? Was I able to do this job? Is everyone as unprofessional as these people are? Somewhere down inside me, I knew I just had a bad experience, that I needed to find a place where doing your job is more important than whose tiny ego you stroke. My story has a happy ending, as I am now in a place where the environment is the exact opposite of that at the other job. I am motivated and confident again. I work with positive, agenda-free people, and because they are so genuine, I am more willing to take their advice and eat lunch with them. I stop in to say hello in the morning. I discuss donuts. I am happy. Why, then, does the shadow of that awful place still hang over me? Why am I still so angry with the cast of characters who dragged me under, who treated me like I was inadequate, who helped me to drown in a sea of self-doubt? I don't want my experience at one place to ruin my career. I am back on track. But there is a little brown blip in my happiness, a little dark stain that tells me I may fail again. I want it to go away. But I am still angry. Wanna be notified when I update? Send mail and thou shalt receive!