On Being the Office Jerk

Every office environment has its challenges. There are always colleagues who see the world differently from you. There are always situations that require extra work hours to address. Nothing is ever perfect.

Knowing that, in recent years I’ve worked hard to be the cheerful guy in whatever office I work in, the one who always smiles, never talks badly about others and always keeps a can-do attitude.

But when my OCD runs hot, I become the guy I don’t want to be — the office jerk.

And so it has been lately. That’s how I feel, anyway.

Mood music:

I’ve been short tempered recently and my ideas don’t come out the way I intend them to. I sit by my laptop for 16 hours a day, hoping beyond hope that I can somehow control the world as long as I don’t step away. When critical feedback comes in, I take it personally. By not stepping away, I get exhausted, which makes me even more prickly.

In recent weeks at work we’ve had some big challenges to address. The challenges come with the job and in the end, we thrive on the challenges. The team has impressed the hell out of me, and that has made me want to contribute to the work all the harder.

So I did. I’d like to think I did some good. But I can’t help but think that I was a jerk in the process.

So I’m re-evaluating how I went about things.

One thing I’ve learned over the years is that colleagues work hard to get it right and do well by their colleagues. No one sets out to be difficult, but in the heat of a deadline, it’s hard to avoid — especially when everyone cares so much about getting it right.

When I was an editor for a local daily newspaper, I saw enemies around every corner. From my perspective everyone was out to block my progress and throw me under the bus. But all the while, I was overbearing, standing over people who were trying to do their jobs and yelling across rooms. There’s a lot of that in newsrooms, so I got away with the behavior. But I know I made life miserable for other people and blamed everyone but myself when things went wrong.

When I started to get a grip on my OCD, I vowed never to be that guy again. For the most part, I think I’ve been successful. But in the last two months, I worry that I haven’t managed as well as I should. So it’s time for me to take stock and right myself.

I love what I do for work. I’m very fortunate to have this career. It’s been a huge blessing. I’ve made dear friends along the way and I’m constantly in awe of current colleagues.

I’ve forgotten the good parts in recent weeks because I stopped taking care of myself and started forgetting everything I’ve learned about being the blessing.

That brand of madness ends here.

If I’ve been difficult to colleagues of late, I apologize and thank them for their patience. The same goes for family who has to put up with my meltdowns at home.

My recalibration is under way.

Bill The Cat leaning on a lever

A Benevolent Dictatorship

My kids learned a new term this weekend: benevolent dictatorship. It’s Erin’s way of describing the way of the household. We’re the parents, we make the rules and the boys don’t get to move the goal posts around. For the sake of Erin’s sanity and my own OCD management, it’s become necessary that the children understand this.

Mood music:

Kids will be kids. Our boys leave their dirty clothes all over the floor and Lego pieces are in just about every room waiting to be stepped on. They have the uncanny ability to sweep the kitchen floor without catching a single speck of dirt and the living room furniture is always at some weird angle. They don’t do this stuff to be mean. Any parent will tell you similar stories.

But my OCD is rubbed raw these days as I adjust to a new job and the resulting changes it brings to the family dynamic. I come home and pick up all the messes they make. I can’t help myself. Seeing chaos in the form of messy rooms makes my mind chaotic, which brings on a craving for order that makes me run myself ragged.

It’s not good for me and it’s not good for Erin, who then ends up having to take care of three kids instead of two, as I revert to an angst-filled teenager in my moments of OCD overdrive.

So we had a family meeting this weekend and laid down the law. We increased their chores lists and told them their allowance will get docked every time they protest having to pull their weight. But we softened the blow by giving them both a raise. All in all, they took it well. They even seemed eager to get on with it. But we know the blowback is inevitable. They are just kids, after all.

I’ve never been particularly good at enforcing the rules. I don’t like to yell at the children, and I often choose the path of least shouting as a result. But I do it at my peril.

Lately, I’m realizing that I can’t be the passive parent anymore, because it leads to me cleaning up every bit of destruction in the kids’ wake and they don’t learn the value of being on the hook for certain responsibilities. If I let them be irresponsible, I’m doing them more of a disservice then when I have to raise my voice. And I’m learning that the yelling isn’t necessarily a disservice.

That’s become part of my education in OCD management: learning how to be a hard-ass without being an asshole.

If I can master it, I’ll be in better mental health. Erin will be in better mental health. And the kids will grow up to be men who have the discipline and thick skin to make their dreams come true.

Or so I hope.

Duncan, Sean, Bill