In this world, confidence is vital. Not just confidence in your own abilities, but also confidence in how you communicate and how you face the world.
This reminds me of two songs from old musicals. The first being Have Confidence In Yourself (Oliver Twist) and the second being Whistle a Happy Tune (The King and I).
There may well be others, and with reason – can you imagine how far any of us would get in this kind of civilization without confidence? How far would one get without friends and contacts, and the ability to communicate well with them?
Well I started to blog about this issue, but it’s a truly difficult one, so I’m hesitating. The problem with confidence, ‘fitting in’ and generally being normal (this topic was recently discussed by Goldfish on her blog)… well, the problem with that is, if you don’t feel able to get along as smoothly as others do, (for instance I’m profoundly hard of hearing), your confidence takes a dive. It takes a dive nearly every day. And when your confidence has banged its nose on the ocean floor often enough, you can end up with panic disorder and agoraphobia. After which everything gets still harder!
How do you contemplate a job in an office, supermarket, shop or anywhere else when you’re not even sure you can face the interview? Well you can go to the doctor for help, but how do you (a) make the appointment? (b) get there? (c) cope with the very claustrophobic waiting room? Particularly if it’s the kind of waiting room where you wait to hear your name being called.
Actually I’ve been through that in the past. I was starting to get stressed out at work, so I went to the doctor and said I was worried. She said “oh – what are you going to do about it?”
The problem with that was that I wasn’t really able to talk to people about something that I was finding increasingly difficult to handle. I didn’t feel able to say all the right things, ask for all the right things (even if I knew what they were – what I REALLY wanted was never to have to darken their doors again) … and on top of all that, how to avoid the inevitable hearing complications. Perhaps I had left it a bit late to ask for help, but there is no ‘right time’ as people won’t take you seriously till they see you actually disintegrating in front of their eyes. And then they panic.
My immediate superior was terrified I was going to turn round and say it was the work that made me ill. When I said to him the work was not the problem, he was so relieved that I had to smile. It was never about the work. It was never about him either.
Around this time (it’s all blurred in my memory now), I had gone to the doctor to see what she said. (All this happened ten years ago)! She said she would refer me to a cognitive therapist, but as they were booked up (the rest of Scotland was cracking up as well, presumably) I wouldn’t get to see this person for six months. Meanwhile, what was I going to do about the job situation, asked the doctor solicitously? I said well I might feel a little better if I moved my desk somewhere quieter (even though I knew there was nowhere – the office was packed out like a sardine tin). She said good, come back next week and tell me how you’re getting on.
Well, next week, I was well along in my little nervous breakdown, thank you very much. I couldn’t even face my mother. I was at her house, and every time she came into a room I was in, I smiled politely, sidled out, and went somewhere else. Eventually she found me lying on the spare bed, gazing at the ceiling.
I sat up and started to slink away again, but she stopped me – in tears. She knew something was badly wrong. I said I had to go to the doctor’s that afternoon and wasn’t sure I wanted to go. She said I must keep my appointment and get this sorted out.
Even more upset, I toddled along the road rather as though I was drunk – in fits and starts, hiding behind lamp posts every time a car went past. I felt completely dizzy – the sky spun around and the cement seemed gritty beneath my feet. It loomed at me.
I got most of the way to the Health Centre and then got stuck outside the small shops just across the road from it. There were cars parked outside, and a man waiting in one of them, looking at me. I couldn’t force myself past him – it was like trying to get a nervous horse to pass a large flapping scarecrow. I just couldn’t. (Ever since then I’ve had a special sympathy for skittish horses). Eventually I turned round and went home.
Now, every time I hear someone say “we ought to make people pay for not keeping their appointments and wasting everybody’s time”, I cringe. I don’t want to live in this unforgiving kind of world. I’m not hinting that I’m going to jump off a bridge or something revolting like that – I just sometimes feel like saying “enough! Stop the world! I want to get off.”
But I can’t.
So.
Next step is to bolster my flagging confidence. For we are nowhere without it.
I whistle a happy tune
And ev’ry single time
The happiness in the tune
Convinces me that I’m not afraid
Make believe you’re brave
And the trick will take you far
You may be as brave
As you make believe you are…
Sorry, I’ve just realized – I can’t whistle either. Kind of stuck now :-).
Edit Feb 2008: Comments to this post when it was hosted by Blogigo:
Pacian wrote at Jul 21, 2006 at 12:07:
Hum instead!
I haven’t had it quite as bad as you, but I sympathise with much of what you wrote. It would be nice if confidence came in pill form. Although I’d probably be too timid to ask for a prescription.
Diddums wrote at Jul 21, 2006 at 12:57:
And that’s the real problem, isn’t it :-). Maybe we should try Ally McBeal’s trick – her imaginary backing group.