My Misery Is Miserabler Than Your Misery

First off, infinite thanks for the incredible outpouring of love and support you all gave me on Monday’s post.  I knew you guys would be awesome about it, but I can’t begin to tell you how much all your kind words and encouragement mean to me.

I, lover of run-on sentences, TMI, and endless rambling, can’t find enough words to express my love for you all.  So you know it’s like way huge.  🙂

An update:  The husband and I are going to a counselor this week to discuss local support group options, and talking to his primary care physician about a potential fibro specialist who may be able to give us some better tips on coping. Plus we talked/cried/hugged it out, so things are on the path to getting better.

That all said, here’s today’s post:

Don’t Mind Me While I Momentarily Become an Annoying Tween…

Monday’s post had me entering the office Monday  morning with a particularly stormy outlook.  Having spent the weekend dwelling on a post that summed up weeks of anger and sadness and worry and stress, I’d finally begun to realize—really realize—that my husband wasn’t going to “get better” and this was going to be our life going forward.

Having this hit me left me like one big raw nerve.

I’ve gotten pretty good at laughing off my coworker’s Eeyore attitudes.  It’s the only way you can get through spending 8 hours a day with people without having their shoddy mindsets bring you down.

But this Monday, I wasn’t in the mood for any of it.  Oh, was I not in the mood for it…

So when my coworkers began their usual grumbling and groaning about all the petty hassles of being a downtrodden secretary (My printer isn’t working!  I’m only getting a 55-minute lunch break instead of my full hour!), something in my brain snapped.  Not just a little snap, but an Acme-fireworks-KERPLOOEY!, the mess of which wound up on mostly my personal Facebook page.

You know how much you hate it when people passive-aggressively type-vomit their frustrations on their FB pages as though you give a crap?  Yeah, even the most panda-hatted of us are subject to that in weak moments…

It wasn’t pretty.

Perhaps the clearest example of this was this lovely status update:

Dear shitty office workplace vibe: I’m rubber; you’re glue. Everything you bitch & moan about bounces off me and makes me want to say SHUT THE FUCK UP YOUR LIFE IS EASY PUT ON YOUR BIG GIRL PANTS. </rant>

Classy, huh?  The kind of thing you’d expect from someone fluent in personal branding, social media dos and don’ts, and the basics of being a 30-year-old grownup?

Yeah, I thought so.

The Truth About Troubles

Two Tylenol, two Aleve, three cups of coffee, two generous snifters of Buffalo Trace, and one very long call with my mommy (thanks, Mom!) later, I’ve come to I realize a few things about the way I need to approach this whole “my problems vs. your problems” mentality: It’s the totally wrong way to approach life.

Yes, it is frustrating to see the people around losing their heads over stapler jams when you’ve just come to realize your husband will always be sick.  But, turning into a resentful “my shit is shittier than your shit” judgment-a-holic won’t do anyone any good.  And it certainly isn’t very Cordelian.

So, in a calmer state of mind and rationality, I have come to realize the following:

You have no idea what the people around you are secretly dealing with.

Personally, I think many of the bitch-and-moan issues at my workplace are a matter largely of people needing to put on their big girl pants.  Some things are just so stupidly unimportant there’s no use getting yourself in a twist over them.  (See below.)

But, that said, who am I to judge?

I of all people know what it’s like to struggle with things (my husband’s illness, my own issues) in secret and put up an “everything is normal” front.  Maybe something else is going on behind the scenes.  Or maybe some people simply are just chronic whiners.  Either way, it’s not my place to say.  And it’s certainly pointless to get upset over it.

None of this petty shit matters.

Two days after my own personal meltdown, I can look at the silly hassles that normally make me a grumpypants (like, a-hem, complaining coworkers) and say “Seriously?  This is what I’ve been getting so upset over?  This is a negative on the scale of importance.”

I’ve noticed that the people I happen to know have the most on their plates (sick loved ones of their own, family problems, money trouble, overwhelming schedules) tend to be the ones that roll the best with whatever punches are thrown their way and laugh off stupid inconveniences with a sense of humor I can only envy.  I need to learn to be more like them.  I can’t get mad over someone taking small things out of proportion, because that in itself is taking a small thing out of proportion.

No one can say their shit is shittier than someone else’s.

Because no one is living anyone else’s life.  We’ve all got things that are weighing on our minds.  There are always going to be people much worse off and much better off than we are.

All we can do is live this one life we’ve been given, with as much grace and humor as possible, and leave other people to do the same with theirs.

(Holy mother, I’ve been deep and solemn the past couple days.  Back to your usually-scheduled Railing Against the System shortly…)


Image: Flickr

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