I am in a BDSM relationship…with my job.

And as of August 12, 2017, this affair has been going on for 18 years.

It started out innocent enough.  In fact, in the beginning, it was quite fun.  I was the marketing manager at a mall, and a lot of weird sh*t happened there.  Being that my ultimate dream was to someday become a bona fide writer, this “sh*t” was pure gold.  My book was going to write itself!

However, like many modern-day romances, the mall and I started off hot and heavy, but then our relationship began to fizzle as we transitioned into our “comfort zone”.  I stopped wearing makeup and started shaving my legs less and less, while the mall stopped calling as much and didn’t feel the need to hold in its bodily functions anymore.

Despite this inevitable migration towards stability, there was an illicit side to our relationship that continued throughout the years, inflicting both pleasure and pain to both my mind and my body, forcing me to ask the unavoidable question…

Why do I keep going back for more?   

B is for Bondage

I am bound to my job.  I have been from the start.  After all, I knew early on that this wasn’t just going to be a job, it was going to be my career.

And so, I immersed myself in it, learning everything I could.  Before long, I became quite good at it.

And I also became quite dependable.

Being that I was the only one in the office without a spouse or children, I was the one who filled in whenever and wherever necessary, so someone else didn’t have to.  I was the one who worked late or came in early…so someone else didn’t have to.  I worked weekends, went to meetings, sat on conference calls, attended after-hour events…so someone else didn’t have to.

It’s okay, do what you’ve gotta do.  Tracy will take care of it.  She’s not married.  She doesn’t have kids.  

What they were really saying was, Tracy doesn’t have a life.

Honestly, as the years passed, I started to believe this BS myself.  I didn’t have a life, or at least, one as valuable as those who were married with children.  My purpose in life was solely to exist for other people, putting them ahead of my own needs and my own well-being.  Good old, steadfast, reliable, Tracy.  She’s single.  She doesn’t have a family of her own.  She doesn’t really matter.

Therefore, I remained tethered to my job, and whenever I tried to move away, if only for a little while, I’d be pulled right back.  I was Michael Corleone in the Godfather Part III, only with better hair…

Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in.

D is for Discipline

My relationship with my job is my longest standing one to date.  It’s not only what I know most about, it’s also what I know best.

I am very restrained when it comes to my job.  I can withstand any kind of relevant pain or circumstance, without even flinching.  (Okay, maybe I flinched a little when I was dressed like a squirrel and beaten down by an unruly parade mob.)   However, my tolerance level for my job is still much higher than any other aspect in my life, including personal relationships, soy, the Kardashians, and bad drivers.

Speaking of personal relationships, I used to think I was sacrificing romance for my career.  I’m not entirely sure why I thought this.  It’s not like I’m curing cancer or anything.  I’m a freaking marketing manager at a mall, for god’s sake!  I deal with disgruntled Santa’s, angry retailers and a**hole customers all day long.  But, I think I used the “sacrifice“ as an excuse to sabotage the thing I desired most, and yet, was most afraid of.

For a while, I tried to combine both my work and my relationships, (aka, the office romance), so absolutely everything in my life was in one place.  In retrospect, if you can avoid this strategy, I highly recommend it.

Reader’s Note: Don’t sh*t where you eat.  It’s as unappetizing as it sounds and can leave one hell of a stain.

Last year, when the stress of my job hit a climax, I became robotic.  I would wake up at 4:00 am, be in the office by 6:30 am, mechanically work through the day at an unusually high pace, get home at 8:00 pm or later, be in bed by 10:00 pm, only to lie awake all night worrying about either what I had to do or what I didn’t get done.

And rinse and repeat.  Back in the office by 6:30 am.

I did this for an entire year, only to receive an alarming wake-up call in December notifying me that my life was passing me by.

I forgot to get married!  I forgot to have kids!  I forgot to write my book!  And now it’s too late!  I’m over forty, after all.  My life is over.

On the plus side, I did put on one hell of a show at my mall’s grand opening event, the absolute pinnacle of my career, which then begged the question…

What now?

SM is for Sadomasochism

For those unfamiliar with the term, (like I was until this blog post), sadomasochism is giving or receiving pleasure from acts involving the receipt or infliction of pain or humiliation.  This also pretty much sums up the job description of a mall marketing manager.

Pain and humiliation.  I’ve experienced both at times…for 18 years. 

Dear God, send me an intervention. 

Once upon a time, I enjoyed the pain.  Mascot bashings.  Holiday shenanigans.  Events gone astray.  (Way astray!)  What was there not to like about my job???  It was never the same day twice and the story material was outstanding.

Yet, as the industry changed and I was required to perform more and more “duties as assigned” to an ever-evolving world filled with increasingly aggressive, opinionated, dissatisfied patrons, I stopped reveling in the pain and became immune to it.  I accepted the agony of defeat by, ironically, not feeling anything at all anymore.

There was a time when I really did love my job – it was absolutely everything to me.  Yet, when I received that fateful December wake-up call, the voice on the other end cautioned me:

Your job will never love you back.

What a know-it-all.

The voice also reminded me that I currently have 1,489 days of unused vacation, personal and sick time on the books.  That’s 37 weeks and 189 days for anyone who is counting.

An Affair to Remember

A little over two years ago, I had a fling….behind my job’s back.  Scandal! 

I started writing again, something I always loved doing, but hadn’t done much of for years.

First the affair was a couple of days a month.  Then it was a few days a week.  And soon, it was everyday.

This turned out to be the true wake-up call because, after a while, I started to feel again, only this time, I was feeling joy and happiness, as opposed to the pure stress from my job.  I was passionate about something again and it redirected my focus, which presented me with some much needed balance in my daily life.

I was in love. 

This love affair with writing has continued to present day, and even resulted in the birth of a blog by the name of Forty Tales.

And that’s how Tracy got her groove back…despite being a white woman who can’t dance.

My writing reminded me that there was still so much to do and, there was still time.  If I really wanted more, I could achieve it.  All I needed to do was try…and relax.

Today, my job and I have a strictly platonic, LWB relationship…

LWB = Life. Work. Balance.

My job and I get along just fine, as long as I allow myself to take advantage of this balance that I had been craving for so long.  Through this retraining of my soul, I’ve realized that despite taking more time off, not working crazy hours, and not being as available to others, I can still do a good job at my job, which is what really matters.  I still care about my job, but it is no longer everything.

And that’s okay.

So Happy 18-Year Anniversary to me!  Here’s to my best year yet, as I balance life, love, laughter…and work…one promising day at a time.

And She Lived Hopefully Ever After.