Who's that nervous lady in the corner? Well, um...that's me.

The best part of my week was by far the realization that we are now fully staffed at work, I no longer have to deal with the interviewing process, and there is hope that I may be able to resume my usual work duties sometime in the near future. The downside is that my anxiety about being competent enough, smart enough, experienced enough and self-assured enough (ha!) to do my job is freshly peaked as I face two strangers who (in my mind) wonder how a frizzy-haired, squawky-voiced, skinny little twenty-something (actually I'm a thirty-something who dyes her grey hairs) came to be their supervisor.

I am a moderately nervous, self-doubting person at baseline. I work pretty hard at whatever I do and I don't seek praise. This has made me a favorable employee for past supervisors (I actually had a supervisor once highlight my "lack of whining" on a performance evaluation), but it helped me none when I found myself in the position of supervising other people. I kept hoping that my dedication to my work would simply inspire other people to do the same and that I wouldn't have to actually address icky issues like "tardiness", "incomplete documentation", and "not showing up due to consuming too many Jello shots". Well, I was wrong, and every time I had to face such issues, I would shore up my confidence, remind myself that I was capable of dealing with this stuff and try to tackle it without too much hemming, hawing and "I'm so sorry to have to say this but...". And I would survive it, but I wouldn't like it.

And now I am having to face my anxiety again as I train new employees and establish myself as their knowledgeable supervisor. "What if they think that I'm really high-strung and nervous?" I asked my husband the other day. "Well...you are." he replied. This did not make me feel better. "But you're still really good at what you do, and they'll come to see that."

My struggle to hold onto my confidence will undoubtedly continue and I will foolishly look for artificial ways to make myself look official (like the ill-fitting pantsuit I wore last week that so looked like something a pre-teen stole out of her mother's closet). I can only hope that at some point I will settle down and relax about how others perceive my intelligence and abilities. It's not as though as I'll be any less frizzy-haired or squawky-voiced when I'm in my fifties. If I can hold the nervousness in check, though, I just might make it.