My Brains are Not Made Out of Mashed Potatoes. Or, Why We Need Encouragement

I got a job a few weeks ago working for a small publishing press not far from my town. The editor got my name and contact info from a former employer of mine and he emailed me, asking if I wanted a job as an office assistant. I wasn’t really in need of a job, but I figured, What the heck? I don’t want my degree to have been a complete waste of time, right? So I took it.

The job has been going OK. It mostly consists of me packaging mail for him and putting together spreadsheets on the computer. Decent stuff. It’s a little awkward, though, because I’m his only employee, so we I have to work alone together all day and we’re both rather dweeby. It’s almost comical, if I stop and think about it: two introverts forced to spend entire days in a room together. We both sit there, on opposite ends of the room, plugging away silently at our keyboards and begrudging the other for having physical presence — for having bodies that make sounds and need to be fed. I know that he resents my being there, even though he invited me to work for him: I can hear it in his sighs when I ask him for the third time whether the “No Signature Required” stickers go on parcels being sent to P. O. Boxes: Oh-god-why-do-you-have-to-be-a-living-organism?

All that’s fine, though, except for one tiny thing: my boss hasn’t told me once, in the five weeks that I’ve been working there, that I’m doing a good job.

He hasn’t outright told me I suck, either, but I get the distinct vibe that he regrets having hired me. I’m pretty sure he thinks my brains are made out of mashed potatoes. To be honest, sometimes I’m pretty sure my brains are made out of mashed potatoes, but I’m allowed to be hard on myself because I can always counter my self-criticisms with “Well, at least you have really fabulous legs that look great in tights and can recite the entire Lord’s prayer in Latin. Th–that’s pretty rad.”

I’ve been feeling incredibly disheartened by the lack of encouragement, though. I’m starting to wonder if I would have done the world a favour by refusing to be born. I’ve thought about telling my boss that if he fires me I won’t cry or anything.

But my boss left for overseas last week, leaving me and one of his business partners in charge while he’s away. I’ve had lots of time to myself, which is awesome, and other times I work with his 64-year-old friend Dennis. Dennis is really nice. He answers all my questions patiently, and chuckles and tells me that my mistakes are no big deal. It’s a huge relief to be around someone who doesn’t resent my need for oxygen and toilets.

The other day, when Dennis was sorting the mail that I’d packaged in order to send it off, I told him to let me know if I’d done anything wrong and I’d fix it pronto.

“Don’t worry,” he said with a reassuring smile. “You’re doing a good job.”

I smiled. Then I had to turn away and get some more bubble wrap for the package I was working on so he couldn’t see that I was almost crying. I was doing a good job? Really? I felt relief billow up inside my chest. I wasn’t a complete disappointment. I was doing something right.

Nothing has meant more to me in the last few weeks than those five words.

* * * *

I’ve learned in the last few weeks how dependent I am on other people’s affirmation. I yearn for words of encouragement. I ache to hear that I’m valuable, worthwhile, helpful. Otherwise I start getting stupid.

I should probably learn to be less dependent on these things, but it still would be nice to get affirmation every once in a while.

And if I need these things, chances are so do the people around me.

I’ve decided I need to make an effort to tell my friends and family that they’re doing a good job at whatever they’re doing. Because they are. They’re good parents, good friends, good siblings.

And I need to tell Ben that he’s doing a great job as a husband, too. He is. Even when he’s not doing a spectacular job, he’s doing well. He’s enough. I can’t ever let him doubt that.

Maybe I need to tell my boss he’s doing a good job, too. Who knows?

Maybe you might want to tell your spouse (and your parents and your kids and your friends) that they’re doing a good job, too. Maybe they’re like me and they need some affirmation, because they worry that they’re so incompetent and nuts that the world would have been better off if they’d never been born. And that’s no good.

So tell ’em, man. Tell ’em now. I don’t care how you do it, just let them know that their efforts don’t go unnoticed. You might change everything for them.

Photo courtesy of BookMama.

Tagged as: boss and employees, encouragement in marriage