Ahhhh, another day unemployed on stress leave in the quiet uptown Harlow.
I made it out of bed for a few hours today. On the one hand, I feel I’ve achieved, but also Im also like, is this my life now? Getting out of bed is a stellar achievement?
The anxiety in my head arched right up again;
What have I done?
Where am I going to live after six weeks and eviction from “the Company” housing?
I am fucking forty-something. Am I still relevant? Do I have something to offer?
Can I find in the next six weeks a non-Company job?
Has Ms Fuckety Fuck-Face ruined my reputation? Could she? She could. Probably has.
Where am I going to live?
Yeah…. Fun. Am I right?
The hardest thing for me at this minute is I don’t have any answers. I have no security and feel pallidly vulnerable.
I hate it.
Ms FF has made me really doubt myself in so many ways over the past eighteen months.
I walked out mid-meeting; Ms FF was shaking with anger, giving me the A-Z that sending her an email that a deadline was unable to be achieved. In part due to the requirement to consult with a third party, also overworked and underappreciated who was under the hammer, competing priorities were unacceptable.
No joke, shaking. W.T.F. That set her off. That was my trigger; I realised at that moment when the walls closed that it was a trap.
Star Wars Dude = IT’S A TRAP
I believe F.F. wanted me to react, wanted me to do what I have dreamed, flip out, rant, rave and scream, and in the hearing of all our staff, exactly what I thought of her and the impact of her management style.
The walls closed in, I felt helplessness, with burning rage, I felt angry, with calm. But, mostly, I felt trapped, claustrophobically trapped. I was in this six by six office with the person who has made it their mission to move me out of a job I loved and that provides a roof over my head.
Eighteen months of a sustained and relentless workplace assault about my productivity, quality of work, gaslighting and referring to myself and other women employed at the Company as “Breeders” because we have children and sometimes incur family obligations that override the corporate.
At that moment, my brain broke. AGAIN I experienced workplace violence at the hands of a person who is meant to be the pinnicle of leadership at the Company; the only control was to excuse myself and walk past Ms FF and leave her office quietly. Although, as I said, we all think it’s going to be a bang, it was a whimper in my case.
It took every ounce of my self-control to leave that dangerous situation with dignity and my professionalism intact.
Yes, we know, NOBODY walks out on Ms FF. Nobody.
I am fucked. Three ways to Sunday.
I’ve six weeks to:
Repair my brain;
Find another job;
Find another house;
Pack up my existing home of three years;
Call my sister and fall on her and my brother in laws mercy if I become homeless and can’t find a job with housing in Harlow in the next six weeks
Fuck me, how the hell did I get here?
Surviving Harlow 