Human beings are, by nature, curious beings; analyzing, probing, exploring. I am, perhaps, an exception to the rule in that I am in a constant state of over-analysis. And, because of this, every now and then, I cross the line from introspective, to a more aggressive form of all out ass-probing.
This has been that kind of week.
Usually, when I enter into this particular circle of hell, I emerge battered and singed, but better for the experience. I have, in years past, found myself performing an inventory of those in my life, and have walked away from relationships which were in some way lacking. The decision to purchase a home of my own was brought about through one of my periods of self-evaluation.
Most of the time, whatever the outcome, I can walk away feeling clean once the deed is done. I can walk away from ‘friends’ or sign on the dotted line without difficulty because…
I feel like I’m in control.
This time, however, my metamorphosis has been less than that of a butterfly emerging from the cocoon.
I feel unfulfilled.
Worse.
I feel lost.
Those who know me at all will attest to my willingness to step up to the plate, express and opinion, and back it up. I usually have no problem in standing up for myself, and have even less difficulty in standing up for someone else.
Which, actually, as it turns out, is part of my problem.
For example…Last year, when the company I work for was screwing with me, and I was passed over for a promotion to a job for which I had previously been hand-picked, and had been training for more than a year…I did nothing. Well, nothing but bitch and moan, that is. However, a month later, when the same thing happened to a co-worker, I was enraged, and took action. Of course, I found myself standing alone, again, and the fury eventually died down.
Again…when out at a nightclub with a gal friend of mine, a stunner who always has a huge smile upon her face, I watched a man towards whom she had expressed no attraction attempt to browbeat the will out of her, and get her to cough up her phone number: “How can I contact you? What’s your last name? Are you in the book? No, really, what’s your home number?” After about ten minutes of listening to her say politely “I’m sorry, I can’t get calls at work. If you want my last name you’ll have to try and guess it. No, thank you, I don’t feel like dancing right now.” I turned around, and in attack posture, screamed “Damn! Can’t you get the friggin hint? She doesn’t want to give you her phone number! She DOES NOT pick up men in bars!” Suddenly, dazed, the guy spun around on his heels and made a mad dash for his by then hysterical buddies, watching from across the bar.
They didn’t send anyone else over to take a shot at her.
Come to think of it, my protective streak runs all the way back to my childhood when my over-protective, hyper-serious thinking made me the girl from whom everyone sought advice. My sister, however, was the one who got the party invitations.
And now…
Just last week, something happened that made me sit up straight and take notice of what I’ve allowed myself, as of late, to become. It was a small thing, really, but it was the way in which I handled the situation which has made me so uncomfortable with myself, for I realize, it is becoming a habit.
Last week, while waiting in line at Wal Mart to return a ceramic heater, I allowed a woman to cut in line ahead of me.
It started off innocently enough. The line was crooked and had meandered into the main walkway when, after repeated “excuse me”s, I had attempted to move the line back up against a wall to make way for those leaving the register. A few minutes later, a couple of women walked up and stood beside me. As the line progressed, I noticed that the women persisted in standing alongside me, and after a few more inchings forward, I heard one of the women say, “Don’t let her jump ahead of you.” I turned and said, “Pardon me?” to which I heard, “Oh. I was talking to her.” We continued to move forward in the line, my mind racing…
Had I been the one to jump in line?
Didn’t I just watch them walk up after me? Wait! Am I sure that I actually saw these two women walk up to the line?
No! I was there first. I knew I was.
So, wearing my shiny new passive-aggressive attitude, I stuck. Every step they took, I took one too. If they tried to inch ahead, I inched ahead. Then, as the moment of truth approached, I found myself pulling a full-on con job…on myself.
It’s not really worth it…
Hey, if they can live with their rudeness, I certainly can live with it…
Let them have their moment, it’s likely one of only a few they’ll ever have…
I’ll just screw with them…and then let them have the register when the time comes. I’ll make them sweat it out…
I’m not going to lose any sleep over this…
And then, we were at the front of the line, and with two registers in front of us, I secretly hoped that both would come available at the same time so that they would ‘learn a lesson’ about how playing unfairly doesn’t really win in the end.
But, no.
I stood there and waited while they stepped ahead to the first available register, and was still standing there when they walked away; No doubt proud of themselves for having not allowed the pushy gal with the designer bag to get a leg up on them.
I felt a terrible sinking feeling. And, so, I continued to con myself.
Well, if they really believed that it was I who had rudely skipped ahead in line, then it was a simple misunderstanding.
Really, it just wasn’t worth the hassle.
The truth is, I knew that they had skipped, whether they knew it or not. And, I allowed it to happen.
…Just as I’ve allowed Cingular Wireless to push me into another month of charges by telling me that the problems with my service would be addressed.
…Just as I’ve allowed my roofer to get by with inferior work because, after all, he’s just a small, little, family-owned company. I don’t want to ruin their Christmas.
…Just as I allowed the p.c. bullies to make me uncomfortable with saying “Merry Christmas” when ringing the Salvation Army bell last week.
Being a doormat is becoming a none-too-welcome part of my everyday life.
And I don’t like it one damned bit!
I would never allow a friend to sit by and take crap off of someone else. I would never respect a person who constantly allowed others to walk all over them. So…how in the hell did I become the anti-me?!
I’ll tell you how: One day…one little indignity at a time.
My willingness to compromise in order to maintain harmony has zapped my energy, and worse yet, my self-esteem. I know, I know…no one can take your self-esteem if you don’t hand it over to them. Yeah. I know. But, that’s where it gets tricky, for all it takes is for you to let someone get the best of you… just one time, and the self-doubt begins to set in.
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.
And, I’ll be the first to say…
Shame on me.
So, now begins the hard work of getting back to a place where I feel comfortable with myself. …getting back to a place where I value myself more than just anybody else I pass on the street.
It’s a bit scary, and I’ll likely piss off a few people along the way, but it has to be done, because…
Damn!
I don’t even recognize myself anymore.
And I do not like the person I see in the mirror each morning.