I’m toward the end of an interview process for a role I wasn’t looking for, but that regardless of the outcome, I’m super glad I went for. It’s been the most transparent and thoughtful hiring process I’ve ever been a part of.

But I am me, and even the most transparent and excellent hiring process one can experience is bound to cause a little stress. Knowing I would have an interview on Friday morning, I scheduled some time with my partner Thursday night for pizza and a pep talk. Time for him to coddle me and remind me that I’m awesome. It was explicit. The planned activity was: eat pizza and say nice things to Cami to get her pumped up for her interview.

When it was time to start, I think I even said something to the effect of, “It’s time to say nice things to me to make me feel good about myself before my interview tomorrow.”

Anyone who has told you I’m subtle is very much mistaken.

I leaned forward to rest my forehead on his shoulder and that complete piece of fucking shit actually had the gall to say that I am good at interviews.

It must have been pretty evident on my face that I was actively calculating whether this was grounds for a small but righteous rage spiral before I remembered that I am bad at receiving compliments. We both took a moment.

He said I’m good at interviews. But my English-to-Cami translation tool was clearly on the fritz, because what came through was some version of, “Get over yourself. Why are you acting like this. Gahhhhhhh. You’re already good at interviews.”

Which is not what he said. At all. But it is apparently what my nervous system heard.

This is one of those walk-away moments. It hurts to see someone so damaged that they immediately assume they’re being attacked. I’ve tried to look at my own reactions the way I’d look at someone else’s, to figure out what to do with them. My reaction to myself is a mirror of how I’ve been received, perceived, and treated.

It was a slow realization of just how ridiculous this was. The understanding comes in waves. First embarrassment. Then tenderness. Then the urge to apologize to a man who was literally complimenting me while holding pizza.

I thought I’d get to something deeply scarred and funny here instead of just deeply scarred.

Because nothing says “I’m healing” quite like scheduling a pep talk, demanding praise on a timetable, and then almost starting a fight because someone delivered it efficiently.

Progress is weird like that.