Avoiding Crisis

when sticking needles in my eyes sounds like fun

with one comment

I dislike confrontation. No. Actually, I more than dislike it. I hate it. I despise it. I detest it. And therefore, I avoid it at all costs. But it’s not like I avoid it because I want to (though I do want to), but for the good of my mental health and sanity I am forced to. That, and because I’m completely paralyzed by it.

I’m that person who when someone bumps into me knocking me to the ground gets up and apologizes profusely, even if it wasn’t my fault. I’m that person who, instead of dealing with and or confronting something, would much rather internalize my thoughts and feelings letting them brew and fester. I’m that person who tries to quash any tense situation as quickly as possible by any means necessary so as to not allow it to escalate, even if it means making myself out to be the bad guy. Anything so that it will go away. The “it” being that awful jittery, edgy, anxious feeling I get in my bones when anything remotely close to confrontation comes my way.

Okay, so this is all true, but now I feel like I need to disclose that one time when I was 8 1/2 months pregnant I totally lost it and screamed and cursed at some poor schmuck in a Marshall’s parking lot when he blocked me in. Yeah, somehow all that estrogen running through my system made me very confrontational. Yup. He moved that car as fast as anyone could possibly move a car. But that’s not really me, that’s just estrogen enhanced me.

Generally, I avoid anything even slightly confrontational. I’ve always known this about myself. And I know that this isn’t really late-breaking, earth shattering or even remotely unique. A lot of people avoid confrontation. (And of course there ar also those individuals who are always looking for a fight.) There are all types. I just happen to be the former.

Something happened today to remind me of just how painful confrontation is for me and how ill equipped I am to deal with it.

Brace yourselves…it’s a biggie.

We fired our maid this morning. Yes, you read that correctly I write “maid.” Yes, we have full-time maid that works Monday to Friday. We also have a gardener/pool guy that comes once a week and a dog walker that comes daily. I know, you hate me. It’s okay, you’re allowed. I’d hate myself too if I was you. I’d even hate myself if I was me living in the United States. I have it easy when it comes to managing my house.

Okay so before you go jumping to all kinds of conclusions and being judgmental and stuff, let me explain. I’m not wealthy by any stretch of the imagination. We live comfortably, but that’s only because we don’t live in the United States. We live in Argentina. Which, by the way, was kind enough to have a catastrophic economic collapse several years back which made it, for us US dollar earning types, very affordable.

So, the whole maid thing. Here in Argentina, among the upper and middle classes, it’s common to have someone work for you full time. I know people who have an entire staff in their homes – maids, cooks, nannies, gardeners. I’m not going to apologize for having a maid nor am I going to expect you to understand this. I still take care of my kids, I cook and I even clean and do laundry on the weekends.

Okay, so now that I’ve got that out of the way.

Back to what happened today and why I HATE confrontation.

As I was saying, we fired our maid today. Our live-in maid. The one who lives in our home during the week and occupies the bedroom off the kitchen. The one that has worked for us for almost 2 years. The one who is the sister of the gardener I employed when we lived in Peru. The one we sought out when we arrived in order to give her a better job and better opportunity. The one we treated like family, like our own kin. Yeah, that one. We fired her.

Okay. Okay. We didn’t fire her. There was no we involved in the actually firing. My husband fired her. (that evil bastard!) I didn’t have anything to do with it. Sure I had a lot to do with the part where we concluded she needed to go, but I didn’t actually do the firing. As I already said, I don’t do confrontation. Firing someone is confrontational. I’m a wimp. I ran out of my house as fast as my two kids could move and whisked them off to school just before she was to arrive this morning.

And here is how it went (since I know you’re all just dying to know). We had decided to fire her last week, but being the nice people that we are, we decided that it would be best to wait until today (Monday), as opposed to doing it on Thursday and ruining her Easter holiday weekend. That was nice of us wasn’t it? So while she had a relaxing weekend I spent my weekend completely stressed out at the idea of firing her. I was an anxious, stressed out, high strung mess. Interesting how it works out that way isn’t it? Even more interesting is that when my husband told her this morning that we would no longer be needed her services, she had absolutely no reaction, none at all. All she said was “bueno.” I’m still a nervous, edgy, guilt ridden mess. Which is probably why I’m writing about this in the hope of getting all this nervous energy out. It doesn’t seem to be working though. Maybe I’ll go for a run.

I really do hate confrontation. I’d rather stick needles in my eyes.


Written by nicolemarie

April 9, 2007 at 8:54 pm

Posted in Argentina, personal

One Response

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  1. crisis can’t always be avoided !

    Evoreal Team

    June 3, 2007 at 12:30 pm

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