“Hey boss, I’m not a four year old. I have a memory”

Attention Conservation Notice: Rehearsing what I need to say to someone in meatspace.

You know I feel shafted. You know that I have been shafted. So often last man standing. “Broken” (and yes, there’s catastrophising and self-pity in that, and also a lot of truth. You know this.)

What you perhaps don’t know, don’t understand – after all I didn’t clock it till tonight, when talking with a dear friend – is this; the tactic of placating, of making promises you almost certainly cannot keep, is immensely destructive.

A four-year-old, even an eight-year-old, to choose two ages completely at random, can be fobbed off. They’ll probably forget the promise.

Adults? Not so much.

And every time you promise this stuff, and then don’t deliver it – every time you promise stuff that you almost certainly can’t deliver – you harm your credibility.

I don’t think you’re doing it intentionally. I think you would (will, if I have the guts to say this to you) be mortified. But the intentionality isn’t the thing that matters here. My sanity and health is.

So it goes.

What next?

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About dwighttowers

Below the surface...
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