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I spent most of Saturday hung over, intermittently going over to the yoga studio I work for, signing folks in for class, laying on the couch and then signing people in again.
When I finally got home for good I laid in bed with my computer and eventually went to sleep. For 12 hours.
Needless to say, I was up at 6:45 am.
My body felt creaky and my stomach, cramp-y. I was convinced I had colon cancer.
But I proceeded to make some eggs, coffee and a berry-mango smoothy. I cleaned our old-fashioned sink reluctantly, followed by our dirt-speckled window sills. They are white now.
While the thought of calmly reading crossed my mind coupled with the thought of driving to my favorite yoga class that I could actually be on time for this morning, I did something wholly unproductive instead.
I stewed and re-played painful memories of the last year at my job. I wrote mock emails to managers and directors in what I thought was a compassionate tone. And I did this with good intentions. I wanted them to know what was happening under their noses. I wanted some form of justice. And as I read and re-read these emails something didn't feel right.
Yes, I wanted justice. But I also wanted recognition. And this is pride. This is arrogance.
Sure, should the director know about the favoritism and all the under-the-bus throwing going on? Sure. But this is not the best way to go about it and the truth is he probably already knows. My complaints will, at most, make me seem exactly what I am. Prideful. And, at worst, a tattle-tale.
After an hour and some change, I've done nothing with my morning but stew in my thoughts, in my pride and in my pain with little to no results. Those emails will just sit in the draft folder of my gmail account until I rediscover them again in a year's time when none of it will matter any more.
Maybe some day I'll be in a more centered and balanced position. And I'll be able to tell these folks from a more calm and less judgmental place just how hurt and undervalued I felt.
When I finally got home for good I laid in bed with my computer and eventually went to sleep. For 12 hours.
Needless to say, I was up at 6:45 am.
My body felt creaky and my stomach, cramp-y. I was convinced I had colon cancer.
But I proceeded to make some eggs, coffee and a berry-mango smoothy. I cleaned our old-fashioned sink reluctantly, followed by our dirt-speckled window sills. They are white now.
While the thought of calmly reading crossed my mind coupled with the thought of driving to my favorite yoga class that I could actually be on time for this morning, I did something wholly unproductive instead.
I stewed and re-played painful memories of the last year at my job. I wrote mock emails to managers and directors in what I thought was a compassionate tone. And I did this with good intentions. I wanted them to know what was happening under their noses. I wanted some form of justice. And as I read and re-read these emails something didn't feel right.
Yes, I wanted justice. But I also wanted recognition. And this is pride. This is arrogance.
Sure, should the director know about the favoritism and all the under-the-bus throwing going on? Sure. But this is not the best way to go about it and the truth is he probably already knows. My complaints will, at most, make me seem exactly what I am. Prideful. And, at worst, a tattle-tale.
After an hour and some change, I've done nothing with my morning but stew in my thoughts, in my pride and in my pain with little to no results. Those emails will just sit in the draft folder of my gmail account until I rediscover them again in a year's time when none of it will matter any more.
Maybe some day I'll be in a more centered and balanced position. And I'll be able to tell these folks from a more calm and less judgmental place just how hurt and undervalued I felt.
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