Are these communication styles or barriers?

How do you manage a negative perspective crashing against the worst possible interpretation?


Here is the context:

In an email, I asked a clarifying question about my role

It was met with an accusation of unethical bias

An offensive and incorrect interpretation of my query

Plus my query was never actually replied to


This type of response in a professional relationship proved to be very frustrating indeed

Wading through the connotations and denotations to get to the bare bone facts to perform my job, proved distracting

Can I be that pc, to avoid the negative wording that this person seems to need and thys access the response that I require to do my job?

His way of communicating smashes straight into mine.  I am blunt and prefer honesty.

 I expect that at least from my managers and especially clear guidelines on how to perform my role effectively

A manager who judges how on track you are by how fiercely you respond to the allegations seems slightly idiotic to me

Is that really professional or good enough? Not to me, not if they want to engage my opinion or even form of effective communication with me

My team leader suggests that I have a gag at the ready for the team upcoming team meeting

He predicts a rousing discussion as the email offensive writing style of the manager carries through into their oral skills or lack thereof

We shall see how much of their “communication” style that I can accept before biting back





The bad and the good …

Of all the awful possibilities, what’s the worst possible thing that could happen to you today? Now, what about the best?

Worst Case Scenario

I step out of my house.  In my left had is a case filled with the items that I could stuff in there in the few moments that I was given.  I am not even sure what I grabbed but there were clothes (a full set? underwear?), jewelry (at least I got all my Pandora), books (but no where enough of them) and some of the ornaments that I have collected over my life.  It isn’t much, not for 47 years on this planet and I am not even sure why I bought into the instructions.  I mean who listens to a little green being?

It had all started after a lousy night sleep, filled with nightmares that had no definition but left me reaching for the light and my baseball bat, while shuddering in the hangover impacts of fear and adrenaline.  I look over to hubby and see hes sleeping like a baby.  Whatever was stalking my night was apparently only affecting me.  Even my cat was relaxed in a full out stretch.

After hubby left for work, I tried once more to capture some peaceful sleep.  It did not go well and when I turned over in preparation of getting up I saw this green shape out of the corner of my eye.  It coalesced into some sort of humanoid form but I kept blinking and rubbing my eyes.  I was sure that this”it” was a figment of my sleep deprivation.

I “heard” instructions in my mind.  Not like a thought or a voice, I just use the word “heard” because I am trying to make what I was seeing and experiencing understandable in human terms.  MY terms.  Yet another thing that was not working for me this day.  I just followed what was said. I mean am I really going to argue with myself or whatever the heck that thing was?  I might even be still asleep and experiencing a walking dream state.

So, as I said, I stepped outside my door.  I clearly heard a warning telling me not to look back at my home.   Just keep putting one foot in front of the other.  I didn’t believe them.  I mean who believes a little green being? Who believes they are even seeing a little green being and aren’t simply delusional?  Furthermore, where was I even going with my life in a case? How would I explain what I was doing to hubby? So I turned to back inside and try to hide the evidence of my psychosis.

I can not believe what I see, or rather what I don’t see.  My home is just gone.  I can see the concrete floor marking what stood there only seconds before.  But that is all that there is, everything else is all gone.  There is no evidence of it being dragged away or even the damage that lifting it straight up in the air would have caused.  There is just nothing.

I can not believe what I have lost.  And then it hits me, the case I am still clutching is the worst case I could have because it does not contain my beloved cat.  I realise that I am in shock but why didn’t I pack my cat?  And I realise how insane that sounds, who would pack their cat into a case? How do I even think of these things?  Why didn’t I pack my photographs or my wallet?  Why did I leave my house?

I realise there is so much more lost than just the structure of my home.  I mourn the loss of the contents.  Those objects that hold the memories of the past and remind me when I look at them and touch.  In those moments its like I touch the past that they come from.  I am transported back to that time.  Now my home is transported and there is nothing to mark how or where?

Where are my turtles?  Where is my cat?  Where is my two storey house?  It can not just disappear, can it?  Was it even really there?  How did my turning around make it disappear?  I thought aliens took people not houses and animals?  This is the worst day of my life.


Best Case Scenario

I get up in time to prepare for my outing.  It will be the first time in months that I will attempt to visit the Mall and furthermore to do it alone. No steadying hubby to distract the crowd from me and me from them.  I had a specific objective to attend the annual retired Pandora sale.  I normally went on Boxing Day to make sure I had the greatest chance to score a bargain.  But this year I just never did.  Now it was the last day of the sale.  If I wanted anything I had to go today.

I got up bright and early.  I managed the shower without too much wear on my injured ankle.  Some days, in the grip of depression, I was barely able to perform self cares so this day was already going well.  I set off in my car, aware that the high winds would push my Toyota Echo all over the road. But where in the past I would have used the weather as an excuse to stay home today I was undeterred.

I did have a second reason to make the drive, that provided even stronger motivation.  Hubby had left his lunch in the fridge.  In a ten hour plus working day, the chances of his making enough time to actually be able to leave his work and get some lunch was minimal.  I could do my shop and then drop his lunch in to him at work.  I had made the sandwiches last night and they were still in the fridge.  I could actually do something that would benefit Hubby and make me feel useful to him for once.

I made it into the Mall and gratefully it was scarcely populated.  I was able to easily navigate my way to the Pandora shop.  There were whole spaces that had no people walking through them, and some shops had no one browsing in them.  There were two women trying on the rings in the sale. It was lovely, they were buying each other Christmas and birthday gifts, making sure that they chose the rings they really loved by selecting them each themselves.

I knew instantly what I wanted.  There was a ring that I could not resist, especially at the reduced sale price.  I liked the lattice design and it was light to wear.  I was going to wear it alone on my right pinkie finger but it sits really nicely with another Pandora ring on my left hand.



The second charm was an enamel red scooter that reminded me of the scooters that I used to ride.  I owned two that were very similar to the one depicted on the charm.  It is a great memory reminder.


Authentic Genuine Pandora Silver Red Enamel Scooter Dangle Charm 791140EN42


This is the perfect day because I undertook self care, including rubbing lotion onto my very dry legs.  I was able to drive my car alone and where I intended to go to.  I went into the Mall with no panic attack and make small talk with the shop assistant.  I was decisive in what I purchased. Even better, I was able to help my Hubby.  I came home to my cats and to slip back into the world of my writing.  It really was the perfect day.

Author Note: These two stories are a mixture of fact and fiction.