It Isn't All About You

Last week, one of my coworkers seemed off.  She wasn't as care-free as usual.  She was short with me, and her tone was subdued. 

So me being me, I figured she was mad at me. 

Later in the week, I got a chance to talk to her.  Turns out, she's having a hard time at home. Her mood had nothing to do with me.  Or work.  Or anything in my control at all. 

And here I went and wasted hours immersed in self-centered worry. 

I say it a lot: I'm a control freak.  Just when I think I'm getting better, it's apparent that I have a long way to go.  I still believe that every damn problem is mine to own, worry about, and fix, even when it's not my place. 

Reader, my anxiety is through the roof lately.  I'm having a hard time going about my days, knowing other countries are at war. Feeling helpless about it makes the control freak in me extra-active.  I think subconsciously, I'm trying to make things "better" every way that I can. 

The irony here is that I couldn't even make things better for my coworker, because when she needed a friend, I made her problem all about me. 

As I sit here looking out my window at the naked trees of our forest, I'm making a little oath to myself.  Maybe it'll help you too.  I'm promising to give others the benefit of the doubt.  That no matter their outward appearance or the conditions, they could use love.  That their feelings about me are irrelevant in me showing them love. 

And that I need to chill out on making myself the center of everyone's universe. 

With that, I'm off to bed.  Wishing you a wonderful week.  I'll see you next Monday. -Em

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