Suspicious minds

We had an away day at work recently.

Sigh.

The very phrase strikes fear. No matter where I've worked, they are the kind of thing that I look forward to with rather less enthusiasm than I reserve for my smear test.

It’s the ‘fun’ activities, the sneaky feeling that everyone else in the room knows a lot more than I do about their jobs, and the having to make slightly awkward small talk with scary-big-boss while simultaneously trying to work out how the flipping hot water dispenser works.

(As an aside, I’m still convinced this ability to get the hot water from the kettle type thing with its inexplicably complicated push button type opening is some sort of ongoing test within our working lives which will one day separate the truly capable from the utterly, utterly hopeless and we will be pay graded on our hot water prowess. Or lack thereof.)

And, with the addition of MS, there is the constant extra struggle to concentrate and contribute without slurring, stumbling or giving the vacant thousand yard stare. Always a good one to bring out at 3pm when scary-big-boss asks you a fundamental question which could determine your entire working future at this organisation.

Anyway, as it happened, it wasn’t bad at all. The fun activities were actually fun and we had the benefit of a truly inspirational speaker, Dave Heeley – or Blind Dave as he is known. Find out about his incredible achievements.

I also had the extra surprise of being given an award for my work. I’ll quickly add that this is not a post to brag. This is a post examining my unexpected reaction to this very pleasant surprise.

This is to wonder why my immediate thought was: “They’ve only given it me because I’m disabled and they feel sorry for me.”

And it’s not just the award. In self-doubting moments, I also wonder if I only got my job because I was helping up some kind of inclusion representation on their employee database.

When did I start becoming so suspicious? Or self-doubting? Is this what 12+ years of MS has done? How much disability prejudice have I internalised without being aware of it?

It’s a dangerous route to go down because it means that I’m not separating the ME from the MS. And yes, I’m aware that – for larger or smaller, depending on the day – MS and I do have some kind of parasitic symbiotic relationship, but I don’t want it to become the relationship that completely defines me.

So I’m trying my best to kick down the nagging voice of doubt and instead accept the recognition on face value. Perhaps it’s not pity, perhaps it’s actually that I’m not really terrible at my job.

Even though I will never work out the secret hot water pay and grading challenge.

:: Suspicious minds by Elvis Presley