The Wrong Sort of Compliment
I have always wanted a trophy. To me, it’s a symbol of achieving something special in a world where I’m not great at sports, debate, or any other activities that typically give trophies. So, when work started giving an employee of the month award as a trophy, I have wanted to earn it. I take pride in my work and try to do the best job I can, even though I’m a low rung on the totem pole and thus not in the group typically receiving the award.
Needless to say, I was very excited when my department head announced this morning that she had created awards for everyone for this month, to honor the work we’ve done over three months of quarantine. Everyone looked thrilled, and as she went down the list alphabetically, I couldn’t wait until she got to “Ellie” and told everyone what I had earned. I even had my finger on the screenshot button so I could remember the moment forever in a picture showing me it was worth it even with the hardships I’ve been having at work.
But when she finally got to me, she said that the award I earned was called “Hyper Helper.”
I nearly missed the explanation that it was meant to compliment me on my eagerness to jump into projects and help people wherever my help is needed. I was too busy being stunned, then remembering I was on camera and my department head said she was specifically looking for people’s reactions, and I pasted on a fake smile as soon as I could think of it.
The fake smile didn’t last very long, and soon, I was heading on an unpleasant trip down memory lane to every time I’ve been called “too much,” which stems from the fact that my brain goes a mile a minute. I generally have at least one song, two story ideas, and several video game strategies in my head at any given moment, and I feel most content when I am multitasking with a variety of activities, especially since I am on a medication that makes my brain go very fast (a side effect I’m willing to put up with especially since it means I have an easier time chasing the negative thoughts away). I’ve spent years of my life learning how to whittle this chaos down into something acceptable to others.
For months, I’ve been having a problem doing this at work. Because I have room for so much to go on in my head at any given time, I have a very hard time doing nothing, and when I run out of tasks to do at work, I can’t do any of my usual things like playing video games, reading books, watching YouTube videos or Netflix shows, or listening to music to calm myself down. Furthermore, I know that the more bored I am, especially over time, the easier it is for negative thoughts to enter my head.
Being bored at work - where I’m sitting there for 8 hours a day, sometimes with only one hour of actual work - means I’m desperate, and when I get desperate, I ask for more to do. It’s a pattern I’ve had across school, jobs, and more. My dad, an HR professional, told me that this was a way to make myself useful to my colleagues while alleviating my boredom - killing two birds with one stone. I agreed, and have gotten myself involved with several other things since that have helped me feel less bored.
During the process of asking for more work, I made sure to not ask too often, loudly, or annoyingly. I paid so much attention to my tone and the words I used, making sure that they wouldn’t come off as needy or begging even if that was how I was feeling on the inside. After all, work is no place for OCD, and I’ve known that my entire life.
I interpret this “award” to mean that I’m not doing as good as I thought here.
It brings me back to a friend I had during the years of my childhood that were ruled by obsessions, where I had so much trouble fitting in that I was willing to be friends with anyone who would accept me back. I knew a girl named Dee (name changed) who was extremely hyper and annoyed everyone around her, and even me sometimes, but I was desperate, and I tried to see the person under all the intense enthusiasm. I stayed friends with her for years, even though my mom couldn’t stand the way she yelled “Ellie’s mom! Ellie’s mom! Ellie’s mom!” to get her attention, and I don’t have any memories of her that don’t involve repetitive, rapidfire talking for hours on end.
All of those memories went through my head on that Zoom call, as I focused on clapping for other people’s awards. Why couldn’t I be the one known as calm in a crisis? It’s probably because I get stressed on high-stress projects, and even if I get the work done well and on time, my anxiety kicks in. Another award was for bringing happiness, something I like to think I do when I stock the snack area, donate books, and share fun collectibles with my teammates.
Other names included balancing projects well, doing things quickly, and balancing real life with work. I would have loved something like that. I would have loved to be known as just a helper, and if they wanted to do alliteration with another word beginning with H, I could see “happy” applying - after all, I do a much better job of faking happiness when I know I have to do it in advance.
But the title I earned is “Hyper Helper,” and I have to use the background representing the “award” for the next month on all of my team Zoom calls. I hope that seeing it repeatedly over the next few weeks will help me get over at least some of my sensitivity, but I’m afraid all it’ll do is remind me that I failed, once again, to be normal. For now, all I can picture is my childhood friend yelling “Ellie’s mom! Ellie’s mom! Ellie’s mom!” A friendless girl doing things so annoying that no one wanted to be around her unless they were forced. Is that how my coworkers see me?
I’m ashamed for my mom to read this, and perhaps picture that in her head. I’m ashamed to show my face around my colleagues and even though I’m pretty sure I’m the only one reading this deeply into my “award,” I feel like this is just another blow in the fight I’ve been having to make my work more tolerable. For today, I managed to not cry about it, and during the quarantine, I am in the wonderful position where if I’m bored at work, I can entertain myself with no one watching.
I’m also working with my parents to figure out something to do when I’m back in the office, where I don’t have to beg for more work and never receive any. I don’t know exactly what it’ll look like, but I have some ideas I’d like to explore. After all, I do have a lot of interests that occupy space in my head that I can put to good use. I hope I can figure out a rock-solid plan, because even with my germaphobia, my worst fear about going back to Chicago is going back to being bored for 7-8 hours a day, 5 days a week.
I wish there was a way to be more open about this at the workplace, to be honest with people about why I can’t be bored like this, to explain the probably-strange behavior of asking for more work multiple times when I know many people who are feeling overworked. But I feel I can’t be honest, so in the meantime, I’ll grit my teeth and pretend it’s a smile whenever I have to use the colorful background, and hope for a time when my job better matches my speed and focus.
Ellie, a writer new to the Chicago area, was diagnosed with OCD at age 3. She hopes to educate others about her condition and end the stigma against mental illness.