It’s a testament to the power of trauma therapy that I no longer look to my workplace for ego nourishment. This was not always the case. Throughout my working life, I’d often get hung up on earning praise for being a conscientious and capable employee. I call this condition “Report Card Syndrome.” As someone who earned very good grades throughout her childhood, a huge portion of my self esteem rested on those quarterly moments when my teachers and parents would take notice of my academic success. In elementary school, our achievement was graded on a 1-5 scale, while our effort was rated accordingly: H for high, S for satisfactory, and L for low. That dopamine rush I’d feel anytime I opened my report card to find its insides festooned with “1H” was a high I kept chasing well into adulthood.

In hindsight, I think it’s sad that I so dearly craved those sporadic bursts of attention. And it didn’t set me up well for the future. Eventually I had to learn that work isn’t school. There is no “1H,” just promotions and raises. For many years, I mistook moving into a management role as a pathway to attaining a greater sense of self worth. Haha! Can you imagine? I actually believed that rising in the ranks would help me feel better about myself. Because as we all know, everyone loves their manager. 

Here’s the thing – I do tend to work hard at whatever job I’m doing, because I take pride in quality output. For whatever reason, I get both kicks and a sense of calm from focusing on a task and following it to thorough completion. It doesn’t matter if it’s shelving books, wrapping hunks of cheese, folding t-shirts, or calling through a phone list, I dig the sensation I get from gettin’ shit done. And I don’t see any harm in that. Being productive doesn’t define me as a person, it just makes the daily task of earning a living a little more satisfying (especially if it makes a shift go by faster).

My problem was that I also worked hard because I deeply longed for external validation from employers and coworkers. And that had more to do with the void of self-compassion in my soul resulting from years of trauma. It’s a hole that no amount of “great job building that spreadsheet” can fill.

I’m much kinder to myself these days. I’ve found a pleasant job where I get along fine with my coworkers, I handle my tasks competently, and then I clock out at the end of the day and think about other things. There are only two types of work that actually matter to my soul: childrearing and writing, both of which I do at home. The day job is for income, not a sense of self-worth. If someone happens to throw a 1H my way when I’m on the clock, that’s a nice surprise. But an unspoken 3S is just fine, too.