And Here We Go Again

Recently, I sat down with my employer and faced a long list of accusations:

I'm difficult to work with.

People across my job lodge complaints about me. Constantly.

I am combatant and have a terrible attitude.

The minute I saw where the conversation was going, my brain set into panic mode: Oh please no. Not again.

Once I had a nice mentor who worded it more gently, "You state your opinions like a man," he said. And, as I am not a man, that is unacceptable. An unapologetically opinionated person who asks lots of questions and doesn't take "no" for an answer and doesn't put up with bull is a problem.

And as much as I want to blame all of these woes on a male-dominated culture and workforce who expects female employees to be polite, apologetic and say, "yes sir," I can't. Not just because I work in a female-dominated office.

I can't because it's not the first time I've heard these complaints.

You're different.

You're weird.

We don't like you.

And suddenly I'm 7, and I'm hiding in a tire at recess because the girls in my class don't like me again, and I don't know why. My hair is too big that day. I said the wrong thing to the popular girl. I'm just not like them.

And I'm 9 and it's happening again. And at 11. And at 12. The late night prank calls. The notes asking me please, don't try to sit with them anymore. The whispers. The knowing. I'm not acceptable.

Then I just stopped looking for acceptance. But never really stopped wanting it anyway.

So now. At 30. At 30 and finally in a spot where I felt like I was really doing well. Not without personality conflicts, but working through them. Dealing with them directly and honestly. Trying -- really, really trying to be helpful. To learn a new language in a new industry. To help my department change it's reputation. To be service-oriented. To say "yes". To try to find a way to get it done.

And here I am again. Being told that yes, my work is good. But I am not. Who I am is not good.

I'm different.

I'm weird.

They don't like me.

It's hard, at this point, to not feel holistically, deeply flawed. To feel, somehow, unfixable.

I've been crying out lately to the God I know loves all my little flawed bits and begging. Begging. Fix me. Make me whatever it is they want. Because I can't see it. I can't see what's wrong. I'm hiding in the tire, and I don't know why.

And I keep hearing him being reassuring and reminding me, "I brought you here. You're right where I want you to be."

And I'm trying to escape the feeling that I was brought here to fail. That it's the lesson I'm supposed to learn.

I'm still trying. Know that I am trying.