No, I didn't actually cry in the bathroom, but that is only because of an iron will. And I wasn't sure - for most of the afternoon - whether I wanted to cry or needed to throw up.
I'm on my second week of a new job. Yesterday was a calamity. I felt like I was doing everything wrong, creating more work for me and/or someone else, and doing most things 2 or 3 times. Objectively, I know that nearly everyone has a day like this at a new job. You not only have to do the work you've been assigned, but you have to remember the names of co-workers, who sits where, where the copier is and how to negotiate delicate office issues. (For instance, if the next department over has treats out, can you snag one?)
Objectively, I knew I wasn't in danger of losing my job. Objectively, I know that my co-workers are more than happy to answer questions and help out.
But we are not talking objectively. We are talking about that part of the brain that is planning a crying jag in the bathroom: Can I get there without breaking down? Should I use a bathroom on another floor to minimize exposure to my immediate co-workers? How long can I stay in there?
I muddled through.
Part of this was my own fault: I was treating everything on my desk as if it were an emergency. As I do not work in a field hospital or trauma center, this is clearly not true. So, I told myself this morning that I needed to slow down. "Right" is almost always better than "fast."
I also asked God to give me a bit of a break. And He answered: the program I need to use has been down most of the day. I took advantage by cleaning my desk, storing a bunch of stuff that the previous cubicle owner believed to be important but was rather meaningless to me, and am studying.
That God for answered prayers. I'll hold on to my allotted crying jag for another time.