WITH BATED BREATH (and whispering humbleness)
I never really had a good relationship with my boss. I wanted it and tried to get there with her, but we were either too similar or too opposite, I'm really not sure. I've never had a strained relationship with a superior and it was, I told myself, a lesson I needed to work through.
Oddly, toward the end of our relationship, she did seem to invest in me. She was curious about who I was and the things and people in my life. It felt strange and I was resistant to open up. I was on the phone one day with her while sitting in my car and it just hit me that I had to find a way to make my exit. I didn't have the courage to get the words out. I couldn't swallow the overwhelming anxiety fast enough, but I did finally accept the solution to a lot of my problems.
I called my best friend and sobbed in that parking lot. Telling her what she already knew-- I had to jump, but I wasn't ready. She reassured me and supported me and helped me get my breath back to a steady rhythm and I wiped my face and went back into work like nothing had happened.
There were a few more of those conversations and as I opened up to my boss about what I was feeling, I started feeling her support for the first time ever. She was actually on my team and she knew that I was better off not being on hers. In the conversation where I finally pushed out the words, "I've decided to exit the business" (such a cute corporate way to quit, right?) I took a deep breath and waited for what was next. The exit strategy was worked out, support was offered and I was freed.
Except for the dread to have to tell everyone else.
I knew who was going to cheer. Would be disappointed. Would feel abandoned. Would worry. And, I thought I had a pretty solid list of people who would tell me all the reasons I just made the biggest mistake of my life.
One person was on the very top of that list-- my father.
I made it through all the others. Each and every one made me stronger either by their unwavering support or by be having to walk them through how I got there. I'm sure some of them held back a little (and good for them! Concern and care are one thing, naysayers are another), but each interaction filled my confidence tank a little higher. I was doing the right thing and everyone knew it.
I put in a 30 day notice at work and worked every single minute of it. Do you want to know when I told my father? Twenty-three days later. In the home stretch. When there was no turning back. The anxiety I carried around for over a month about having this talk was crushing. I put everyone else in my family (he was literally the last to know) in a terrible position keeping the secret, but they were complicit in it based on history.
I am 32 years old and have somehow figured out how to keep myself alive for a solid decade without any help from him or anyone else and yet I couldn't tell him that I made the best decision for MY life because I didn't want him to get mad or disapprove, but most importantly, be disappointed. In preparation for the dreaded conversation, I had practiced it in my head, memorized a long list of things that I had tried or I had done or that I had prepared for, all the facts. And, if I had been having it in person, I might have provided charts and graphs to further illustrate my argument for my life.
The deadline inched closer and I finally got the courage. I hit the button and held my breath.
After allowing him to drone on for no less than 10 minutes about his first experience with candied bacon, there was a pause and I made my move. "Dad, I actually need to talk to you about something," I started. I went on to tell him that I put in my notice at work. That next week would be my last week. I had taken it as far as I could. I didn't see a future. I set myself up to be OK for a while. When I was done rattling, I closed my eyes and braced myself for him to say, "You've got a good head on your shoulders and you made the right decision."
My jaw dropped and the wind was sucked out of me. He had changed history and chose the right path. I choked back tears of relief and let him go on (and on) about all of the things he thought and some of the things he wished I had done differently, but I only needed to hear, "you're going to be OK. You'll figure it out."
Even our worst critics can be our biggest fans. But, you have to be prepared to kick them out of the theater if it comes down to it. And, I was. Fully prepared to accept that for this act and maybe a few after, he wouldn't be allowed to watch the show.
Until this fear of my father took over that month of my life, I had no idea just how hard I sought his approval. But, on day 23, I had to accept that I might never get it and that, ultimately, my own was the most important. Letting go and understanding that was one of the most powerful lessons yet.
Now inching my way to the 60-day mark of this new venture, the critics are showing up more and more, some people I anticipated haven't shown up at all, others have settled in to their front row seats. I notice it all, but when the curtain closes, it's just me up there and I am, without a doubt, my worst critic, but also, my newest, biggest fan.
Oddly, toward the end of our relationship, she did seem to invest in me. She was curious about who I was and the things and people in my life. It felt strange and I was resistant to open up. I was on the phone one day with her while sitting in my car and it just hit me that I had to find a way to make my exit. I didn't have the courage to get the words out. I couldn't swallow the overwhelming anxiety fast enough, but I did finally accept the solution to a lot of my problems.
I called my best friend and sobbed in that parking lot. Telling her what she already knew-- I had to jump, but I wasn't ready. She reassured me and supported me and helped me get my breath back to a steady rhythm and I wiped my face and went back into work like nothing had happened.
There were a few more of those conversations and as I opened up to my boss about what I was feeling, I started feeling her support for the first time ever. She was actually on my team and she knew that I was better off not being on hers. In the conversation where I finally pushed out the words, "I've decided to exit the business" (such a cute corporate way to quit, right?) I took a deep breath and waited for what was next. The exit strategy was worked out, support was offered and I was freed.
Except for the dread to have to tell everyone else.
I knew who was going to cheer. Would be disappointed. Would feel abandoned. Would worry. And, I thought I had a pretty solid list of people who would tell me all the reasons I just made the biggest mistake of my life.
One person was on the very top of that list-- my father.
I made it through all the others. Each and every one made me stronger either by their unwavering support or by be having to walk them through how I got there. I'm sure some of them held back a little (and good for them! Concern and care are one thing, naysayers are another), but each interaction filled my confidence tank a little higher. I was doing the right thing and everyone knew it.
I put in a 30 day notice at work and worked every single minute of it. Do you want to know when I told my father? Twenty-three days later. In the home stretch. When there was no turning back. The anxiety I carried around for over a month about having this talk was crushing. I put everyone else in my family (he was literally the last to know) in a terrible position keeping the secret, but they were complicit in it based on history.
I am 32 years old and have somehow figured out how to keep myself alive for a solid decade without any help from him or anyone else and yet I couldn't tell him that I made the best decision for MY life because I didn't want him to get mad or disapprove, but most importantly, be disappointed. In preparation for the dreaded conversation, I had practiced it in my head, memorized a long list of things that I had tried or I had done or that I had prepared for, all the facts. And, if I had been having it in person, I might have provided charts and graphs to further illustrate my argument for my life.
The deadline inched closer and I finally got the courage. I hit the button and held my breath.
After allowing him to drone on for no less than 10 minutes about his first experience with candied bacon, there was a pause and I made my move. "Dad, I actually need to talk to you about something," I started. I went on to tell him that I put in my notice at work. That next week would be my last week. I had taken it as far as I could. I didn't see a future. I set myself up to be OK for a while. When I was done rattling, I closed my eyes and braced myself for him to say, "You've got a good head on your shoulders and you made the right decision."
My jaw dropped and the wind was sucked out of me. He had changed history and chose the right path. I choked back tears of relief and let him go on (and on) about all of the things he thought and some of the things he wished I had done differently, but I only needed to hear, "you're going to be OK. You'll figure it out."
Even our worst critics can be our biggest fans. But, you have to be prepared to kick them out of the theater if it comes down to it. And, I was. Fully prepared to accept that for this act and maybe a few after, he wouldn't be allowed to watch the show.
Until this fear of my father took over that month of my life, I had no idea just how hard I sought his approval. But, on day 23, I had to accept that I might never get it and that, ultimately, my own was the most important. Letting go and understanding that was one of the most powerful lessons yet.
Now inching my way to the 60-day mark of this new venture, the critics are showing up more and more, some people I anticipated haven't shown up at all, others have settled in to their front row seats. I notice it all, but when the curtain closes, it's just me up there and I am, without a doubt, my worst critic, but also, my newest, biggest fan.
Comments
Post a Comment