Bad Day at the Office

My coworker kinda sucks sometimes

You know those days. When your client is dead silent during the meeting, or your boss has given some cutting and vague feedback like “improve your communication”. When your coworker didn’t meet the deadline, and now you have to work late. The days when you silently rage and vow to to retire on a private island, or at the very least, take a long vacation. They give you a pit in your stomach, a sense of existential dread that clouds the rest of the day or even week.

I’ve had some doozies myself. Some of my worst days include being fired from school leadership, clients being mean enough to bring me to tears, and higher ups blaming me for losing millions of dollars. Those are seamy stories best meant for long dinners though, so I won’t be divulging them publicly. (There is a very necessary exposé on education reform waiting to be written, but I lack the passion to do it. Bringing others down isn’t what fuels my writing. If you’re writing it though, DM me, I’ve got thoughts.)

No, the bad day I want to share with you is, at the time of writing, today. I’m the type to draft and redraft, so by the time you read this, these words won’t be flying out of my fingers with the urgency of a desperate woman. (In fact, I’m getting around to publishing this TWO vacations later.) That said, it doesn’t lessen the intensity of today.

So, back to your bad days at the office. How do you move past the ick? We have a variety of ways to process stress and anger, but nearly all of them share one common factor: getting out of the situation. Maybe you vent to a coworker, take a walk, shut the laptop early. You drink, or binge watch TV, or do an intense workout. What you don’t do is go to the offending boss/coworker/client and say, “Hey, do you want to hang out side by side, maybe you on my lap, for the next 6 hours?”

Unless said offender is your 3 year old, and your primary role is to give care all day. Welcome to my life.

One of my roles is to keep our family regulated with food, water, and sleep. Ki Jae was a no-napper today which meant a lot of screaming. I started with soothing him. After an hour of soothing, I moved on to consequences. After I didn’t have the heart to actually deal out consequences, I gave up. He will be cranky this afternoon, and we’ll probably have to leave a much-anticipated party early because of it. Our whole family, at the whims of this little tyrant. (Reader, we survived the party. I feed my kids sugar like some people chug iced coffee. Never too young to learn how to use stimulants to power through.)

What I want to press into here is why it’s hard. For that entire screaming hour, it was just me in the house, listening to him rage. I could not turn on music or take a walk. Instead, I had to press in closer. Hold him and soothe him. Because, after he quiets down, he will ask for food. A snuggle. A book to be read. He will expect the same level of love and care that he always receives in our home. Also, at 3, he doesn’t care that “Mama couldn’t get the tax document list done today because of you”. Just like your boss expects you to keep turning in high-quality work after they dogged you and made you feel small.

So, let’s take a closer look at this work situation.

Job Requirements

• Lack of desire to do anything by yourself - or ability to release that desire instantly

• Ability to meet a high-pressure situation with self-regulation immediately, without any other adult to assist

• Ability to forgive, releasing any resentment - or ability to process resentment independently from its source, which never asked to be born in the first place

Two things are true here: I definitely wanted kids. And. It’s still really hard. I’m not trying to dissuade you from having them or make you think I regret my decision. I’m trying to tell you why so many moms in your life are drinking too much, have a quietly sad and desperate look in their eyes, and are so emotionally ragged all the time. The job requirements are impossible. A toxic culture exacerbates them.

A Toxic Work Environment, aka Gaslighting

During the day, some full-time caregivers are telling ourselves we don’t need time alone, we are bad mothers for resenting our kids, we don’t really care if they hit us. In other words, we feed a toxic and nearly abusive dynamic. When we look to social media for reassurance, it tells us we should be even more gentler, more forgiving, calmer. It says the problem is us, and we’re not trying hard enough. In other words, if you don’t want your kid to hit you, YOU should be better at calming your emotions and redirecting your kid’s anger.

What I’m saying now reminds me of this work exchange:

Higher up: This was one of the most important contracts in our organization, and you messed it up.

Me: If it was so important, it should have been staffed with veteran employees, not two brand new people, and one part-timer fresh from maternity leave. I asked for more support repeatedly, and I didn’t get it.

Higher up: You are still responsible.

Me: …no, I’m not.

I rejected that work narrative then, and I reject the “it’s all on you” parenting narrative on social media now.

If you look at all their posts, these accounts are thoughtful and contain some wisdom, so I’m not here just to dog them. However, I’m showing them in this order, one at a time, to simulate what I see when I scroll on my phone. Don’t do this, do this better, don’t do this either. It’s a lot of feedback from people who aren’t even helping me clean the kitchen or serve snacks.

Lunch Break

When I was a teacher, I ate standing up in the cafeteria while monitoring, or while frantically adjusting my plans midday. As a consultant, I often ate while conducting business, internal or external. Now, I have to earn my meal. Long, loud days like today leave me so frazzled that I wind up eating single pieces of bread or other things that require no effort.

Also, after you wipe someone else’s poop, it’s really hard to eat chili, yellow curry, or any sort of mushy leftover that might be green or yellow or brown. Classify this as an occupational hazard. This is why many of us are living on handfuls of Goldfish crackers.

Compensation

I once texted a friend, “Name me an institution that runs without the unpaid labor of women. I’LL WAIT.” She never did reply to that one.

Sometimes, my compensation is affirmation. The other day, Ki Jae said, “You’re the best mama for teaching me to put egg on my toast.” Right?! I couldn’t let this kid go through life without knowing that fried eggs belong on bread. He knows I’m doing him a solid here. Sometimes my compensation is self-given. It’s a small treat like a coffee out, or a larger one, like a new piece of clothing.

Never is my labor paid, or recognized by society beyond the standard “I don’t see how you do it”, or “I could never”. If you’re motivated by achieving goals, being recognized by your company, or bonuses, this isn’t your gig. It’s the ultimate behind-the-scenes role. For every man that recently attended our church’s mens retreat, there is a woman *still* catching up on all the camping laundry. Every time James comes up with a new idea at work, it’s because he isn’t using his intellectual capability on sorting clothes by size, texting the pediatrician, or tracking our daily spending. My role is to support everyone else in the family so that they can go out into the world with a strong foundation. It’s the most honorable thing I’ve ever done, and I hope my family reaps these benefits for generations. And I wouldn’t say no to monetary compensation for it either.

When Andrew Yang ran for president on the idea of a universal basic income, I was incredulous. At the time, I was fully employed and bringing home plenty. Now that I’ve been out of the paid workforce for two years, he looks like a genius. Yang 2024? Ok, that’s my only political statement for the year.

Professional Development

The bad days can feel bleak. They’re isolating and produce feelings of inadequacy. Most days are average though, and some days are magic. I don’t have words for the delight in Maya’s eyes when she says she loves spending time with me, or for Ki Jae’s soft, sweet, “Yank you Mama” (since he can’t say “th” yet) when I prepare a meal. The tears that sometimes come to my eyes when I realize what a consistent, sturdy, loving childhood I’m providing.

I don’t want to not acknowledge the good. But this post is for those of us who are ready to admit that sometimes it’s bad too. When we can move beyond pretending we love every second, or pushing down our feelings to hide them, that’s when we are truly better people and role models.

I had a bad day, one where I really didn’t like my kid or my situation. I didn’t use an Instagram script or cope perfectly or immediately regulate all my negative feelings. What I did do, and what I am explicitly giving you permission to do, is accept that it wasn’t my best work, understand that my best work isn’t even possible all the time, and show compassion to myself.

You’re doing better than you think you are. Besides, your 3yo coworker kinda sucks sometimes.

PS: To keep it REAL real, an anecdote from last Thursday. I was in a standoff with one kid, and I called James and hysterically asked “WHERE ARE YOU” because it was 3:57, and he’s supposed to be home at 4:00. Lest you think that I am some sort of mature, self-aware parent. I mean, I am. About 30% of the time.