I Quit, and I'm Proud of It

I was ready to assume the top position of an all-volunteer organization that I’ve been a part of for over five years.  I love the individuals in the group, I love the purpose of the group, and I love being associated with the group.  I was really looking forward to doing my part to help for the next few years in order attempt to give back to the organization what it has given to me.   It has offered me support, community involvement, guidance, and camaraderie.  It has been nothing short of a lifesaver when each of my children were born, and our lives are basically centered around this group and its activities each and every month. 

But, literally in the last three weeks, it became painfully clear to me that I was unable to effectively communicate with one member of the group.  I would have had to work very closely with this person, so—in order to save my sanity—I quit.  I really quit.  Just like that, with an email goodbye, I told the executive board that I changed my mind, that I couldn’t take the position, that I was simply unable to do it.   I left the other board members to fill the hole I’d dug, and I just walked away.

Granted, this is not without much contemplation, tears, long conversations with my best friends, sisters, husband and parents (I'm such a baby), and a mediation meeting involving all parties.  It was not an easy decision by any means, but, in the end, it was my decision, and I’m glad I made it. 

I'm glad I made it because now I will not feel anxious at each board meeting and group meeting I would have to organize and facilitate when this person was present.  I will not have to walk on eggshells when I am around her, and I will not have to take a deep breath and think extra hard before I open my mouth to speak to her.  I will not have to pray for strength and restraint not to fight back the urge to yell and scream and shake some sense into this person; I will no longer feel the Irish fire in my arms that wants me to turn around and really let one fly a time or two.  Or three or four.

I will not have to act like I really like her or be nice to her just because, if I were in this top position, it wouldn't be appropriate for me to act like a total jerk to one person and be nice to all of the other people.  Now that I'm not in this position, I can do what I want and not worry a bit. If I want to, I can say hello; if I don't, I won't. If I want to be around her, I will. If not, I'll steer clear.

I de-friended her on Facebook. Oooooooooohhhhhh.

I removed her from my Outlook Express address book.  Ouch.

I deleted her from my subscription list for my blog.  Chi-cah.  Gone.

She's not on Twitter, but if she tries to follow me, I'm going to--you got it--block her.  Yessir. How ya like me now?

In my little world, I like this kind of power.  I think I might make a habit of quitting.  It actually feels pretty good after all.

This is an original DC Metro Moms post.

When Amy's not secretly deleting people from her world, she's trying to take deep breaths and not quit her job as mom, wife, daughter, sister, teacher, housecleaner, entertainer, nurse, cook, swim coach, chauffeur, vet, gardener, and travel agent over at teachmama.