Cindy

Droog

Read Cindy's bio and previous columns

April 14, 2008

New Mom, New Job – Perfect Match or Management Horror Show?

I’ve been promoted and I’m scared to death.

It’s not that I haven’t supervised people before. I have. I’m not afraid to work hard to help others realize their potential. In fact, I love it. Giving direction and advice and mentoring? All things I’ve enjoyed in the past. I’m also not afraid to do the difficult things, like fire someone. Unfortunately, I’ve done that, too.

But I have done none of those things since having my kids. I’m different now, and my work style is different, too. Will being a manager fit the new me?

For one thing, I have managed to let go of my perfectionism. Before having kids, I could spend hours, even days, writing one brochure. One time, a 12-page web site took me nearly a month to perfect. It was for a broker of antique wartime weapons. And it wasn’t because I wanted my client to be happy so he wouldn’t shoot me. 

Today, I don’t have time for that kind of stress. I’d crank that bad boy out in a day; remind myself that 94 percent is technically still an “A” grade; and move on. To help with my occasional relapses, I even keep a printout of a great blog post I once read in my top desk drawer. It’s called “Perfectionists are Losers.”

Amen!

Now that I’m not such a stickler with my own work, how can I be with everyone else’s? I probably won’t, and we’ll see if that flies.

Second, my tolerance for workplace drama has significantly declined.  Before, when I was copied on e-mails about someone’s lack of performance, and then on the reply, and then on the rebuttal, and then on the countercharge, and then on the final defense, I got a secret satisfaction from it.

I’d read the e-mails the second they showed up in my inbox. I reveled in the wonder of what might be said next.

Apparently, I had a lot of time on my hands.

Today, I file these e-mails in some folder, and at the end of the day, I open only the most recent. Then, I ask myself: “Do I really need to do anything here?” If the answer is “no,” I sigh in relief, and go back to work. If the answer is “yes,” I make a few phone calls. Then sigh in relief. Then go back to work.

I fix it if I can, ignore it if I can’t. Just like that broken zipper on my son’s spring coat. Can’t fix it. So I pretend it’s fine and throw a zipped vest under it. Problem solved. Call it lazy. I call it efficient genius.

I am worried that now, people are going to expect more involvement. They’ll want my two cents. I guess I’ll start by offering one cent. But I sincerely hope to never work my way up to two.

Finally, the “old me” happily picked up the slack for others. For example, I was very understanding when a former employee was devastated by her long-time roommate’s profession of lesbianism. She wanted to take a few days off in the middle of a large campaign, and I said yes. Seriously.

And I worked about 25 extra hours that week in her stead.

Today, I need every hour at home that I can get. I’d be more likely to tell that same person to get over it. That last year, I found out I was pregnant, discovered that my oldest son had asthma and allergies so we had to get rid of our beloved dog, and learned that my father had cancer. All in the same day.

Know what I did the next day? I went to work. So I guess I’ll see you tomorrow – at 8 a.m. sharp!

I don’t think I’m harsher these days. In fact, I’m mushier than ever. I just a have new definition of what a disaster is. What work-life balance is. And what moving up the corporate ladder – with joy and without regret – can mean.

© 2008 North Star Writers Group. May not be republished without permission.

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