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Abstract

at are foundational to American culture. Work is a never-ending competition with your co-workers where no one wins. Most people who become bosses aren’t great leaders. They are but power-hungry oafs looking to climb the corporate ladder. These things combined create a culture that values individualism and apathy.Personally, I never fell into the trap of pulling others down to make myself look better. I was outspoken about issues and defended myself. I wasn’t a rat who would tell on my co-workers for every mistake they made. I believed that if I wanted to get ahead, it would be through my work ethic and effort. This mentality isn’t conducive when you’re surrounded by corporate climbers and bullies who never left the high school hallways.<h1 id="73f7">After</h1>When I left my last job, I was unemployed for 6 months. I applied for unemployment, but getting it after quitting isn’t easy. I made notes of my experience and fought the initial determination of being ineligible. I ended up winning my case. I won because I was able to prove that I was in a hostile work environment and I had no choice but to quit. It was comforting to know that I wasn’t crazy. What I had experienced wasn’t normal and my feelings were justified. After being gaslit every day, finally hearing that was a relief.In my 6 months of freedom, the hard part came when I had to apply for jobs. It’s hard to put words to what I felt at the time. The visceral fear I felt with the thought of ending up in a similar situation was palpable. I couldn’t do it again. Unemployment is a drop in the bucket to what my bills were. The stress of that coupled with the fear of experiencing a traumatic case of deja-vu was paralyzing.I didn’t leave the couch for 6 months. Netflix and Hulu were my lifelines. I let my bills get behind, my credit score dropped, and my house was a mess. I told myself that when the unemployment runs out I’ll do DoorDash. If I still haven’t found a bearable job, not in the service industry, or management, then gig jobs it is. My experiences emotionally and mentally impacted me so much that I destroyed my financial future for many years to come.<h1 id="4ab4">Now</h1>After those 6 months of being in a metaphorical coma, I finally found a job. It’s in a field that I love. A job I’d never thought I’d be able to have without a college degree. I was convinced that without one, I’d be stuck in retail hell for the rest of my life. Despite my doubts and fears, my time had come. I have amazing benefits like a pension, paid parental leave, twice-a-year pay increases, bonuses, and the best he

Options

alth insurance I’ve ever had.Transitioning from the service industry to white-collar work can be quite a culture shock. It was more of a culture shock than when I moved from the East Coast to the Midwest. (IYKYK). I’m used to the go, go, go work, never stopping until you clock out. Moving to a slower, more self-paced, less supervised atmosphere is a bit of an adjustment.Working nonstop, doing more than what I get paid for, and crying in walk-ins became second nature to me. Taking breaks, personal time, working at a healthy pace, and having time to breathe are all foreign concepts. Now, I have all of those things and it fills me with anxiety. I often find myself stressing and second-guessing myself because I don’t think I’m doing enough. I’ve asked for more work with the sound of “If you can lean, you can clean” reverberating through my brain.I was having a minor issue. I hesitated to bring it up because in the past, bringing up problems has never done me any good. Often, it hurt me more than it helped. It’s early in the job and I didn’t want to make waves so soon. The topic came up in conversation, I paused as I contemplated how the results of being honest could play out. Feelings of doubt, fear, and concern flooded my mind. It was a trigger. Though It was never indicated that these people were anything like those in my past, I was still riddled with anxiety about what would come next. After much back and forth in my mind, I finally opened up.I’m heard. I’m seen. The issue is addressed and everything is fine. It wasn’t an outcome I’m accustomed to. Before, I’d been told that it was not that serious or that it was my fault. It’s a breath of fresh air. Though it was refreshing, I still think I’d have a tough time doing it again.I could be brainwashed by the capitalist machine that’s wired to trick us into working harder than really necessary. As such, I’ve done a lot since I started. I’ve received a lot of praise, thanks, and compliments. All of which catch me off guard. My hard work has often gone unnoticed. Now, it’s being acknowledged. Praise is common here, and it’s leaving me quite perplexed.“What you did is truly amazing and had a lot of impact…” he said. I sat crisscrossed in my chair feeling aghast as the words I seldom heard flowed from the speaker of my phone. I apprehensively responded, “thank you.” He went on and the only response I could muster was an endless stream of thank you’s.<h1 id="e0d2">Next</h1>I don’t know.I should probably go back to therapy.</article></body>

The Perplexity of Praise: Life After Workplace Trauma

Existing in a Healthy Work Environment Has Left Me Feeling Lost

To be lost is as legitimate a part of your process as being found.” — Alex Ebert

Before

“You really need to do better…” he profoundly proclaimed as I sat at my desk with tear-filled eyes. It wasn’t uncommon for me to cry at work. I cried multiple times a week. I cried at my desk, in the freezer, in the bathroom, and in the parking lot.

In the words of Dr. Taylor Alison Swift, I think I’ve seen this film before, and I didn’t like the ending.

It would be the last thing he said to me.

I walked out that day and never went back. It would be the second time I’ve felt so afflicted that giving any notice felt like a superfluous chore. Working in the service industry, I’ve seen my share of mistreatment by bosses, co-workers, and customers alike.

Changing jobs meant a change of scenery. The experiences though were often analogous to the last. The meaningless write-ups were a power play wielded by insecure “leaders” who would rather make you sign a form than address the issues at hand. The “constructive feedback” is always filled with malicious intentions. Asking for accommodations for my ADHD only led to more discriminatory practices.

Though the circumstances were fraught with misery, I still felt an insatiable need to get ahead. When I tried, the goalposts would move when going for promotions. I would only push myself harder, only to see people with less experience get ahead.

I was the workplace scapegoat. I got screamed at by management in front of wide-eyed patrons for rinsing a blender. I won’t even touch on the mistreatment I was expected to impose on my employees when I became the boss. Being put in a position where you have to fight your morals to keep your job can be soul-crushing. The impact of this has ripped through every aspect of my life.

There are many far worse instances than I’ve stated so far. This is a blog, not a novel, so I’ll keep it at that. It’s safe to say that receiving praise or thanks wasn’t a common occurrence.

Workplace culture in the United States is like no other. We live to work, not work to live. Moving up means more money and power; two things that are foundational to American culture. Work is a never-ending competition with your co-workers where no one wins. Most people who become bosses aren’t great leaders. They are but power-hungry oafs looking to climb the corporate ladder. These things combined create a culture that values individualism and apathy.

Personally, I never fell into the trap of pulling others down to make myself look better. I was outspoken about issues and defended myself. I wasn’t a rat who would tell on my co-workers for every mistake they made. I believed that if I wanted to get ahead, it would be through my work ethic and effort. This mentality isn’t conducive when you’re surrounded by corporate climbers and bullies who never left the high school hallways.

After

When I left my last job, I was unemployed for 6 months. I applied for unemployment, but getting it after quitting isn’t easy. I made notes of my experience and fought the initial determination of being ineligible. I ended up winning my case. I won because I was able to prove that I was in a hostile work environment and I had no choice but to quit. It was comforting to know that I wasn’t crazy. What I had experienced wasn’t normal and my feelings were justified. After being gaslit every day, finally hearing that was a relief.

In my 6 months of freedom, the hard part came when I had to apply for jobs. It’s hard to put words to what I felt at the time. The visceral fear I felt with the thought of ending up in a similar situation was palpable. I couldn’t do it again. Unemployment is a drop in the bucket to what my bills were. The stress of that coupled with the fear of experiencing a traumatic case of deja-vu was paralyzing.

I didn’t leave the couch for 6 months. Netflix and Hulu were my lifelines. I let my bills get behind, my credit score dropped, and my house was a mess. I told myself that when the unemployment runs out I’ll do DoorDash. If I still haven’t found a bearable job, not in the service industry, or management, then gig jobs it is. My experiences emotionally and mentally impacted me so much that I destroyed my financial future for many years to come.

Now

After those 6 months of being in a metaphorical coma, I finally found a job. It’s in a field that I love. A job I’d never thought I’d be able to have without a college degree. I was convinced that without one, I’d be stuck in retail hell for the rest of my life. Despite my doubts and fears, my time had come. I have amazing benefits like a pension, paid parental leave, twice-a-year pay increases, bonuses, and the best health insurance I’ve ever had.

Transitioning from the service industry to white-collar work can be quite a culture shock. It was more of a culture shock than when I moved from the East Coast to the Midwest. (IYKYK). I’m used to the go, go, go work, never stopping until you clock out. Moving to a slower, more self-paced, less supervised atmosphere is a bit of an adjustment.

Working nonstop, doing more than what I get paid for, and crying in walk-ins became second nature to me. Taking breaks, personal time, working at a healthy pace, and having time to breathe are all foreign concepts. Now, I have all of those things and it fills me with anxiety. I often find myself stressing and second-guessing myself because I don’t think I’m doing enough. I’ve asked for more work with the sound of “If you can lean, you can clean” reverberating through my brain.

I was having a minor issue. I hesitated to bring it up because in the past, bringing up problems has never done me any good. Often, it hurt me more than it helped. It’s early in the job and I didn’t want to make waves so soon. The topic came up in conversation, I paused as I contemplated how the results of being honest could play out. Feelings of doubt, fear, and concern flooded my mind. It was a trigger. Though It was never indicated that these people were anything like those in my past, I was still riddled with anxiety about what would come next. After much back and forth in my mind, I finally opened up.

I’m heard. I’m seen. The issue is addressed and everything is fine. It wasn’t an outcome I’m accustomed to. Before, I’d been told that it was not that serious or that it was my fault. It’s a breath of fresh air. Though it was refreshing, I still think I’d have a tough time doing it again.

I could be brainwashed by the capitalist machine that’s wired to trick us into working harder than really necessary. As such, I’ve done a lot since I started. I’ve received a lot of praise, thanks, and compliments. All of which catch me off guard. My hard work has often gone unnoticed. Now, it’s being acknowledged. Praise is common here, and it’s leaving me quite perplexed.

“What you did is truly amazing and had a lot of impact…” he said. I sat crisscrossed in my chair feeling aghast as the words I seldom heard flowed from the speaker of my phone. I apprehensively responded, “thank you.” He went on and the only response I could muster was an endless stream of thank you’s.

I don’t know.

I should probably go back to therapy.