Letter to My Younger Self

In 2005 one of my best friends recommended that I take over her job when she moved to another city.  She was a legal secretary for a prominent lawyer at a reputable firm.  My friend had worked for this attorney for seven plus years, longer than many had worked for him.  He could be high strung and had high expectations.  My friend met and exceeded them. They were close, and he hated to lose her.

While I was ever mindful of attempting to fill her shoes, to his credit, he never compared me to her, never slipped and called me by her name.  Nevertheless, I never felt that I lived up to her example.  I was certain I would fail and leave disaster in my wake.  I became obsessive compulsive.  I checked and double checked my work.  I still met deadlines (mostly), but would work myself to death, obsessing over details, hunting for errors, etc.  I worked late; I went in early; I worked weekends; I checked my email from home; eventually, I worked remotely when I wasn't at the office.  In short, I was miserable. I couldn't eat; I couldn't sleep; I chain smoked.  I cried many, many mornings before work and many, many mornings at work, closed in a back room.  I repeatedly begged my husband to let me quit. For the next five and a half years, it went on like this: I went on and off antidepressant medication. I went to therapy. I prayed. I cried.  I was certain I'd fail; yet I hadn't. I didn't.

In fact, I was relied upon.  I had a good eye. I learned a lot about the work I was doing because I obsessed over it.  But I was never at peace. When I was on medication, things were better.  When I went off medication, as I'd have to do about once a year, I was terrified the anxiety and OCD would return, and it would. It did.  My husband begged me to find perspective, but I never could. 

I eventually left that job and have had others with varying degrees of responsibility. I've discovered that when I felt challenged, all of my insecurities came roaring to the surface.  As an adult child of alcoholics, I felt that nothing I did was ever good enough, that I had to be perfect, and I felt that I could only screw things up.

In light of those discoveries, here are a few things I would like to say to my younger self:

In the words of a friend, "They can't take away your birthday." Basically, your life is your own.  It is not the work you do.  If you were not well parented and not given that safe place to turn, to know that you were loved and that ultimately things will be ok, know that God is that parent, that safe place for you; God loves you unconditionally.  He has walked with you through all of your trials, and you are still here to tell of them.  Furthermore, ask yourself a couple of questions when you find yourself getting worked up over things:  Will any of this matter in five years?  Will it matter in one?  Also, will this be something that will even register in your consciousness on your death bed? Life is precious and short.  Don't waste it making yourself miserable.  There are trials enough not of your own making which lie ahead.