No.
That's the simple answer.
I'd rather know NOW whatever you have to say to me.
Not in 30 minutes and certainly NOT in 3 hour's time when I will have worked myself up into an anxious frenzy.
For the love of God, don't give me ample time to torture myself.
Because I will instantly go to the WORST case scenarious and I will beat myself up about them so that by the time you actually see me, I'm a blithering, shaking, sweating mess.
It all kicked off with an email from my new boss - "Sally".
Just a line in the subject heading "Hi - can we please have a quick catch up at 8:30? I will meet you in the Swan [meeting] Room"
In my mind and heart - COMPLETE PANIC.
It seems like a very reasonable request, right? It seems fine "a quick catch up". She's even said 'please' in her request. Very polite.
But things like this scare me. I hate things like this.
Why do we need to go to a meeting room? I'm convinced it's so she can yell at me away from prying ears.
It's probably only going to be a "telling off" and a quick meeting to 'help' me 'get back on track' but there is a foreboding in the base of my stomach and I haven't stopped shaking since the recived the email.
It's 10:00am now. We're meeting in 2 hours.
I have 2 hours where my mind will run absolutley mad with crazy scenarious. Beheadings, whippings, taking everything I love away from me - intense pain. Darkness. Punishment.
Why does my mind do this to me?
Any logical person would get the email, shrug and continue on with their day. They would in fact give it such little thought that they'd need the calendar reminder a few moments before the meeting to just jog their memory.
Not me. I've been staring at the digital time on the bottom right-hand corner of my computer screen for well over an hour.
Words are my love language and unfortunately, they are also my weakness. They are how to inflict the most damage to me. I would rather be shot out of a canon than spoken to.
Words really, really hurt me. They make deep cuts on my soul and they ache for weeks and months afterwards.
I don't want to go to this meeting, you guys. I want to go home.
That's the simple answer.
I'd rather know NOW whatever you have to say to me.
Not in 30 minutes and certainly NOT in 3 hour's time when I will have worked myself up into an anxious frenzy.
For the love of God, don't give me ample time to torture myself.
Because I will instantly go to the WORST case scenarious and I will beat myself up about them so that by the time you actually see me, I'm a blithering, shaking, sweating mess.
It all kicked off with an email from my new boss - "Sally".
Just a line in the subject heading "Hi - can we please have a quick catch up at 8:30? I will meet you in the Swan [meeting] Room"
In my mind and heart - COMPLETE PANIC.
It seems like a very reasonable request, right? It seems fine "a quick catch up". She's even said 'please' in her request. Very polite.
But things like this scare me. I hate things like this.
Why do we need to go to a meeting room? I'm convinced it's so she can yell at me away from prying ears.
It's probably only going to be a "telling off" and a quick meeting to 'help' me 'get back on track' but there is a foreboding in the base of my stomach and I haven't stopped shaking since the recived the email.
It's 10:00am now. We're meeting in 2 hours.
I have 2 hours where my mind will run absolutley mad with crazy scenarious. Beheadings, whippings, taking everything I love away from me - intense pain. Darkness. Punishment.
Why does my mind do this to me?
Any logical person would get the email, shrug and continue on with their day. They would in fact give it such little thought that they'd need the calendar reminder a few moments before the meeting to just jog their memory.
Not me. I've been staring at the digital time on the bottom right-hand corner of my computer screen for well over an hour.
Words are my love language and unfortunately, they are also my weakness. They are how to inflict the most damage to me. I would rather be shot out of a canon than spoken to.
Words really, really hurt me. They make deep cuts on my soul and they ache for weeks and months afterwards.
I don't want to go to this meeting, you guys. I want to go home.
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