"All she ever talks about is crap."
I'd trusted this person with how I was feeling, what my world was like, what my innermost thoughts were. Now, months and several revelations later, as I lingered by the grate which allowed conversation from the kitchen to be transmitted to the upstairs, I heard those words. Betrayal, like a double-serrated knife, pierced my insides and then twirled them into a hot knot of confusion and doubt.
I was sixteen.
I found myself thinking about that moment lately - as circumstances surrounding my work situation have been changing, and there is more focus on the mechanics of what we do instead of the good that we can do - which leads to things taking twice, three, even four times as long as they could. Suddenly, everything I write is being scrutinized because somebody I never met had something to prove to a superior. The totally reactionary and unnecessary "100% quality review" process is extremely subjective and it's extended beyond grammatical and punctuation errors. And the whole time, the end client waits while we argue over semicolons and commas, whether to include this phrase or not, even whether to give a client the requested benefit or not. That same sense of betrayal is there, rising higher and higher in my psyche. Gut-wrenching. Suddenly what I've been doing all along - and I was told by this same person for years that it was high quality work - isn't good enough.
The result is an incredible sense of sadness, of fatigue, of a lack of motivation, a growing dread of going to work, even physical symptoms like joint ache, muscular pain, and headaches. My subconscious mind has my body convinced that my job site is not a safe place for me anymore. I wonder how many more in my section are feeling the same thing to one degree or another. My sympathy for our clients with work-stress-related psychological problems has multiplied. With nobody to consult who can effect change, nobody to talk to about these feelings except the catch-all provision, "You can always talk to Employee Assistance," there is nowhere to turn; I feel trapped. Guilty too - since I get the message, "You should be glad you even HAVE a job."
Yeah, unemployment sucks. But there are worse things.
Even my recovery tools - skills I've learned in my new lifestyle of growth and rigorous honesty - seem inadequate to deal with this situation. Being honest and telling the truth could get me in trouble - not good in today's oppressive atmosphere of looking for ways to save salary dollars. Being grateful feels like shoving my head in the sand. Doing the next right thing ... well, I can't even do that if my judgment is going to be questioned. The only recovery tool I have that even comes close is acceptance: "sitting with the pain." "Accepting what is." Yes... yes, I suppose I could do that.
Perhaps the pain is worse because it hits me in one of those old scars. Perhaps it's just a natural and normal reaction to this kind of treatment.
I can accept that old scars just are. They will hurt and get deeper when they are re-wounded. They don't have to define who I am, though. I can still hold my head high because of the good I have done. I can continue to do the work that I was trained to do, I can continue to help the clients, and I can roll with the punches until the inevitable happens: the end clients will wonder what is taking so long and complain. And then the reactionary pendulum will swing in the other direction. I know that; I expect it.
Now, the trick is to get from here to there intact, the only way I know how. One day at a time.
I'd trusted this person with how I was feeling, what my world was like, what my innermost thoughts were. Now, months and several revelations later, as I lingered by the grate which allowed conversation from the kitchen to be transmitted to the upstairs, I heard those words. Betrayal, like a double-serrated knife, pierced my insides and then twirled them into a hot knot of confusion and doubt.
I was sixteen.
I found myself thinking about that moment lately - as circumstances surrounding my work situation have been changing, and there is more focus on the mechanics of what we do instead of the good that we can do - which leads to things taking twice, three, even four times as long as they could. Suddenly, everything I write is being scrutinized because somebody I never met had something to prove to a superior. The totally reactionary and unnecessary "100% quality review" process is extremely subjective and it's extended beyond grammatical and punctuation errors. And the whole time, the end client waits while we argue over semicolons and commas, whether to include this phrase or not, even whether to give a client the requested benefit or not. That same sense of betrayal is there, rising higher and higher in my psyche. Gut-wrenching. Suddenly what I've been doing all along - and I was told by this same person for years that it was high quality work - isn't good enough.
Yeah, unemployment sucks. But there are worse things.
Even my recovery tools - skills I've learned in my new lifestyle of growth and rigorous honesty - seem inadequate to deal with this situation. Being honest and telling the truth could get me in trouble - not good in today's oppressive atmosphere of looking for ways to save salary dollars. Being grateful feels like shoving my head in the sand. Doing the next right thing ... well, I can't even do that if my judgment is going to be questioned. The only recovery tool I have that even comes close is acceptance: "sitting with the pain." "Accepting what is." Yes... yes, I suppose I could do that.
Perhaps the pain is worse because it hits me in one of those old scars. Perhaps it's just a natural and normal reaction to this kind of treatment.
I can accept that old scars just are. They will hurt and get deeper when they are re-wounded. They don't have to define who I am, though. I can still hold my head high because of the good I have done. I can continue to do the work that I was trained to do, I can continue to help the clients, and I can roll with the punches until the inevitable happens: the end clients will wonder what is taking so long and complain. And then the reactionary pendulum will swing in the other direction. I know that; I expect it.
Now, the trick is to get from here to there intact, the only way I know how. One day at a time.
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