To the man who kept the password

My boss made me write a manual explaining everything I do. Then he fired me for being a few minutes late. This week's letter is from a man who, um... who kept the password. I'd seen it coming and password-protected the file. Two weeks later they called. Nobody could open it. I said no, I wouldn't give them the password. My friend says they paid for that work and I'm being petty. I think if they could afford to lose me, they can afford to figure it out. Here's the bit I don't understand. I hated that job. I would never go back. And I keep hoping they'll call again.

Why? Oh, I, I like this one. And thank you for, um, for being so straight about that last bit, 'cause that's the bit most people would just... leave out. I'm Sia. I'm a psychotherapist. And this is Why We Took It Personally.

A quick note. This is a conversation, not therapy. I only know what's in the letter, so take what's useful and leave the rest. The letter is retold and voiced, and some details are changed to preserve anonymity.

So here's what I think, and, and I'll explain it, obviously. I don't think you're waiting for them to need the file. I think you're waiting for them to say you mattered. And a phone call about a password, um... it just, it can't say that. So, um, let me say what I think is actually going on, 'cause it's not really about a file. Getting fired isn't just losing a job, obviously. It's being told, in one go, you don't matter here, we can do without you. And that, that lands somewhere much older than work. It lands on the bit of us that's always a little bit worried we're replaceable.

And think about the manual for a second. You were asked to write down everything you know, like, everything that made you, you, at that job, so that someone else could do it. That's a strange thing to be asked, isn't it? It's being asked to make yourself replaceable. With your own hands. So when something like that happens to us, we do this very human thing. We, um, we turn it round. Something was done to me, and I can't stand how small that feels, so I find a way to be the one doing something. I was dropped, so now I'm the one who holds on. I was made to wait for their decision, so now they can wait for mine.

And it works, a bit. It does. It takes the sting out. But it also means the people who hurt you are still the ones who get to decide how you feel about yourself... 'cause you're still, just, waiting for their call. I imagine that call felt good, like, for a second it must've felt really good, two weeks after they showed you the door and there they are on the phone and they can't, they can't manage without you, and I mean, who wouldn't enjoy that? Obviously there's a bit of you going "ha", of course there is. But I think there's something sadder sitting underneath it. Being needed isn't the same as being valued.

They needed a password, y'know, they didn't, um, they didn't ring 'cause they missed you, and I wonder if that's the, the painful bit, 'cause the call sort of looks like the thank you you never got... and it isn't one. We all know someone like this, the person everyone rings when the printer's jammed or the spreadsheet's broken, and, and nobody thinks to ask them to the pub. They're useful, everyone says so, and useful is, like, it's just a very lonely thing to be if it's all you are. Sometimes people in my practice say something like, um, "I was the one who knew where everything was", and they say it with this, this real pride, and then, like, a second later it's "and nobody ever once said thank you".

Same breath. Both things. So the password is, I think, the one bit of the ending that's still yours. They decided when you left. You get to decide when they're done. And I mean, most of us do some version of this, don't we? You get dumped and you just, you keep their jumper. You leave the group chat but you don't really leave it, you go quiet, so there's still a door only you can open. I hear a version of this quite a lot, actually. Someone's left a job, or a marriage, and they'll say, um, "I just wanted to be the one who said when it was over".

Not to win, they're very clear about that, obviously. Just to have a say. Your friend might be right that it's petty. I, I think it's also something else. Being dismissed takes away your say, and, and we try to get a little bit of it back. Which brings me to your actual question. Why you keep hoping they'll ring. I wonder if it's this. As long as they need the password it's, um, it's not quite over. You've got your freedom, you'd never go back, you said so, and you've also got this little line that still runs to them, and every time the phone might ring it sort of says you still matter there.

And if they stop needing you, then it really is over. They figured it out, they moved on, and you're, like, just someone who used to work there. It's a hard thing to want, isn't it, both at once, to be free of them and to still matter to them. But I think it's very human. We do it with exes, obviously, with old friends, with the family we moved away from. I don't want you back. I just want you to, to keep wanting me a bit. And people tell me, almost embarrassed, y'know, "I keep checking if my old boss has looked at my LinkedIn". And I don't think that's silly at all.

I think it's the same little line, just, still running. So what do you do with that? I'm not gonna tell you to send the password or not, that's between you and them, and the who-owns-what side of it isn't really my department. But I'd be curious about the waiting. The hoping. 'Cause, I mean, the call can't give you what you're after. They'll ring about the file. They're not gonna ring to say, um, "we were wrong about you, you were really good at this". And I mean, people say this to me in all sorts of ways, but it's often something like, "I didn't want them to need me, I wanted them to miss me".

And I think that's the call you're actually waiting for. So maybe the question isn't how to make them ring. Maybe it's, um, who else could tell you that you were good at it. Including you. And, um, if you're listening to this and thinking, well, I've never locked anyone out of anything... I'd, I'd still be curious, 'cause I think most of us have a version of this somewhere. It might be the ex you don't really want back, but you'd quite like them to, like, struggle a bit without you. The old job where you secretly hope it all fell apart after you left. The friend you stopped calling, just to see if they'd notice.

In all of those, someone else is still holding the verdict on what we're worth. And we're, sort of, waiting for them to hand it back. And I think the useful bit isn't to stop wanting it, obviously, that's just not how people work. It's to notice it. To notice when being needed starts to feel like the same thing as being loved, 'cause they're, they're not the same. And to notice which person we keep waiting to hear it from. It's usually the one least likely to say it. Oh, and, and one more thing. A password keeps them out. It also keeps you in, a bit, y'know... and I think you deserve to be out of there for good.

And, um, if something keeps coming back in your own life, just... just write to me, I'll, I'll answer it on the show, y'know, the way I answered this one. And I always change the details, so no one will know it's from you. you can Email me your question at letters, at, Sia Bartrum, dot com. And, um, you'll find the address in the description. I'm Sia. This is Why We Took It Personally. And I'll talk to you next week.