For the Ego, winning isn’t enough. It has to do it with flying colors and undeniable pride and merit.
Two weeks ago, during a sales-team training call, I learned I’d been the quarter’s top performer in my coffee-machine sales job, beating the runner-up by 33 sales. I was surprised but also kinda, of course…, my mental right hand dusting the left shoulder of my imaginary blazer.
The manager congratulated me and her promise to send me a little something by mail made me excited and proud. Unique.
Next came the key part of the call: mystery shopper results. The company sends people posing as regular shoppers who’re really there to rate our performance. These “mystery shoppers” conduct a thorough evaluation following a specific questionnaire. Only scores north of 80% are a pass – but my Ego wouldn’t accept less than 98%, because someone else with that score a few months back was made an example of excellent work.
The first two reports came in: 96% and 92%. The second advisor was disappointed. Mine followed: 84%.
I wasn’t disappointed – I was ashamed. My smile froze and I took an eager-beaver, concentrated stance, taking notes and nodding.
Nothing to worry about, the manager said: the report specified the area needing improvement which, in her words, was “easy to fix.” I’d get the full report to get the full picture.
When I finally got it the day before yesterday, I went directly to the numbers in red. I swallowed. Had I really done and said that? On the final page, a picture of the “area assessed” explained everything: they hadn’t reviewed me, but the brand’s boutique, located on a different floor.
I breathed.
I emailed my supervisor: he needed to tell the manager that it wasn’t me who’d been assessed.
A day later, when he hadn’t replied but emailed me about something else, I asked him, aiming to sound casual: had he heard anything about the mystery shopper report? He hadn’t but “don’t worry,” he wrote, “you would’ve done wonderfully!”
Then I noticed something else in the report that proved it wasn’t me. I was about to, once again, email my supervisor when I woke up from the trance.
What was I doing? Insisting, insisting, like a dog with a bone. For what? To prove that I wasn’t that mediocre – a lowly 84%? Who in me was making me behave that way?
You guessed it: the Ghost of Need to Prove (one of the Ego’s cronies).
This time I smiled and closed the company’s email app.
When has letting go of the need to prove has brought you peace?
Love,
Carolina
Carolina Perez Sanz 