Category Archives: Returning to work

10 ways to deal with difficult people

31 Wednesday Jan 2024

Posted by in Parenting, Returning to work

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One of the problems with children is that just when you’ve buried some past trauma/shame nice and deep, they go through something similar and you have to dredge it all back up again and DEAL WITH IT LIKE AN ADULT.

Urg.

The Big Small moved to secondary school in September. Inevitably, that has meant new and changing friendships as the social structure flexes and settles.

It has therefore also meant some Girl Drama.

I am familiar with Girl Drama. It saddens and actually slightly surprises me that SO LITTLE has changed in the last 30 years in terms of social structures, cliques, frenemies, and bullying.

There is still all of the eye rolling, the ignoring, excluding, undermining and mean little jibes. There’s still the gathering into ‘sides’, with self-preserving peers inevitably following the strongest social force.

But I don’t know why it surprises me, because it’s not even like I’m remembering all this from 30 years ago…

The last time I was bullied, I was at work.

ALL of the above happened – like it was playing out in a classroom.

And I did everything wrong.

What’s really difficult is that under this sort of situation, it seems the Big Small has similar, wrong natural instincts. It’s painful to watch history repeat itself. And despite having decades of experience on her, I fear I’m STILL not the best person to help her navigate it.

When there is conflict, I automatically assume I’m the one in the wrong. However angry or wronged I feel, it is short-lived, and I go very quickly into appease mode. So does she. We show our juggulars, try and ingratiate ourselves, flatter, bribe, grovel. We’ll go to great lengths to try and gain sympathy to make it stop.

But the more submissive you are the more you annoy your aggressor, and the more you act the victim, the more you get treated like one.

What happened to me in the workplace has taken a really, really long time to get over. And the hardest bit has been to forgive myself.

The fact is that not only did I not handle it well, I didn’t behave well. And I’m ashamed of both. In fact this is the first time I’ve ever talked about it.

Looking back with kindness, as I am slowly learning to do, I was struggling with my increasingly toxic marriage, with postnatal depression that had re-triggered my OCD and other long-standing mental health issues, plus miscarriage and fertility problems and the physical ill-health that was causing them.

I was not dealing with any of it healthily or successfully.

It clearly affected my work, my reactions to people and situations – my personality. I was oversensitive, over-reactive, in constant fight, flight or freeze mode. I wasn’t thinking in straight lines, in long terms – or very much about others.

And I’m sure I was very, very annoying.

But here’s the thing I now know. I know I was never actually failing to deliver the core things I needed to, even if I was no longer a rising star. And I was never deliberately cruel or unkind to anyone.

I KNOW, now, that I did not deserve to be treated the way I was treated.

I think the worst moment was coming in on mat leave for a meeting, steeling myself and going up to say hi to one particular woman. She literally rolled her eyes at me, did not respond, and turned her back to talk loudly to someone else in full view of the whole office.

Regina George eat your heart out.

I thought I was going to pass out with the sheer awfulness of it (which says something about the place I was in). I couldn’t hear, or see, and everything burned static. It was so public, and so humiliating – it’s still excruciating to remember it. And when I managed to pluck up the courage to mention it to my manager, who had clearly seen and was aware, she smirked at me, and said it would probably blow over. It was clear they had discussed me.

It remained heavy weight over the rest of my mat leave, and an early death knell to my time there. She had more seniority, connections and social power than me, and I was restructured out not too long after – something I now consider a huge favour.

The trouble, I have learned, with being a victim, is that no victim is ever perfect. You sort of become complicit in your own bullying or abuse, by whatever it was that caused you to be chosen, by continuing to take it, by reacting badly to it, by trying to control when and how it happens.

So here are the things that I’m still trying to learn about how to deal with bullying and/or difficult people, and I’m trying my best to pass on to my kids.

10 WAYS TO DEAL WITH DIFFICULT PEOPLE – as an adult or a child:

1. Reflect

Bullying is NEVER your fault, but it’s worth stepping back to consider what’s happening, when, and why. Be honest with yourself – IS there something you should apologise for? Are there triggers for this person, or patterns that you can notice? Does the bullying happen when you’re talking about specific subjects, or using specific phrases, for instance? Are there things you can avoid, or ways to present information, so there’s less drama between you?

Just make sure you’re not compromising yourself. You’re figuring out how they operate and what they need from you so you rub along better – you’re not changing your whole personality for them.

2. Call it out

Try and call out problematic behaviour in the moment. It’s often useful to pretend you didn’t hear something, and ask someone to repeat it, or to pretend you didn’t understand, and ask them to explain it. If it’s openly unkind or awful, having to say it out loud again might make them rethink.

If they do say it again, be surprised. “Wow, okay” or “Wow, that was kind of mean/aggressive/extreme.” And follow this up with, “Are you okay?”. Turn it back to THEM to justify what they’re saying and why.

3. Stay calm

‘If you don’t react then they’ll get bored’ is trite bullying advice, but there’s something in it. If you’re not showing that you’re upset or angry, then you stay in control. Bullies are getting a dopamine hit from having power over you – take some of the pleasure out of it. And give them less material to use against you. Be factual, plain, emotionless, and concise.

If you need to, go full Grey Rock (scroll back to see previous blogs for more details on how to do this).

4. Have a direct, goal-oriented conversation

The next step is to have a direct conversation (I am still terrible at this). Get the person on their own, or take a friend with you to help. “Karen, I get the impression I’ve annoyed you. I didn’t mean to, and I want to set things right. Can you let me know what the problem is so we can fix it?”

Be armed with examples if they deny things. “Yesterday when I said X, you said X, and I just wanted to ask what that was about.” Sometimes, it can be helpful to keep a diary of the behaviour, partly so you know you’re not going mad.

If they do respond, be prepared to listen, and consider what they say. Be goal-orientated – it’s not about scoring points or righting wrongs, it’s about agreeing what each of you needs to do to interact more successfully in the future. “What can we do differently next time?”

5. Tell someone

However old you are, it’s so important not to go through bullying alone. If you have not been able to sort it out for yourself, it’s time to get someone else involved. That could be a parent, a teacher, a manager, or HR.

This is where it’s really useful to have that diary – make sure it includes dates and witnesses who were there at the time.

6. Remove yourself

If you are consistently having problems with someone, distance can help. If it’s possible, literally go off and do something else – with someone else. Some useful phrases:

“I don’t think this conversation is helpful, so I’m going to go.”

“Let’s come back to this later.”

“I need a bit of time out – I’ll see you later.”

“I said I’d hang with XX today – see you later.”

7. Find your tribe

Not everyone was made to be best friends, and that’s okay. Not everybody has to like you – that’s okay, too! And it doesn’t reflect badly on you if they don’t. Find your people – the ones that appreciate you when you’re all of your different yous – silly, grumpy, high and low. Lean into those alternative friendships.

8. BE YOU

Here’s the real secret to bullying. BE YOU.

If you’re less around someone, if you’re littler, quieter, feebler, if you’re in ‘victim mode’ around someone, then you’re not YOU. And that actually makes it easier to bully you.

Being you is your superpower. When you do it fully and unashamedly, it’s actually the thing that attracts people – and specifically YOUR KIND OF PEOPLE. And when you’re happy and fulfilled and doing your thing, the bullying affects you less, and often just drops away.

9. Try and understand

Bullying works in cycles. Happy people don’t bully others. So it might help to try and understand your bully, and that it’s definitely about them and not you. Maybe someone’s being mean to them elsewhere in their life. Maybe they have crippling anxiety or other mental health problems. Maybe they’re neurodiverse and just struggling to process the world.

You really don’t know what’s going on in other people’s lives, and putting the best possible spin on their motivations is probably a good starting point. There are very few evil people, but unfortunately there are lots and lots of sad and struggling ones.

I’m pretty sure my bully was going through her own trauma, which is why she had zero truck with mine or my failure to deal with it. And that’s why I wish her the best, now.

10. Break the cycle

You remember how it felt to be bullied. Now make sure you don’t do it to anyone else.

Not being mean isn’t actually very hard. You can set boundaries with annoying people, you can be firm, and you can totally avoid those who are clearly car crashes waiting to happen (the category I think I came under at this particular point in time). Just don’t throw more obstacles into their path, eh?

It’s also important you don’t WATCH it happen to anyone else without saying something to them, their bully, or someone in authority.

Finally, one of the best things you can do to break the cycle is to CHAMPION OTHER GIRLS/WOMEN, and encourage your daughters to do the same.

That means normalising celebrating each other’s successes, helping each other through our failures, forgiving each other our foibles – and boosting each other up instead of tearing each other down.

Because we’re not in the 90s and in Mean Girls. We HAVE to have learned something over the last 30 years (or 10 years in my case). And we have to pass it on…

We’re better than eye rolling and bitchiness.

And we’re better together.

Professional Wingwoman

04 Sunday Sep 2022

Posted by in Motherhood, Returning to work

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Side-kick Extraordinaire.

Back-up Babe.

These are the things that should really be on my CV, forget the official job titles and all of this I LEAD X, MANAGED Y, GENERATED Z BILLION POUNDS stuff.

I didn’t. But I helped other people do so, because THAT’S actually what I do best.

The fact is that I don’t have the personality, mental health, energy, logic, planning skills or capacity to deal with difficult problems/people that it takes to be a Head Of or Director (in my case of Communications).

I can be easily distracted from any goal by my pathological need to be liked, keep the peace and make everyone feel comfortable. I baulk at even slightly difficult conversations; become instantly overwhelmed by big pictures and even moderate responsibilities – and crumble under any sort of pressure or negativity.

But if you need someone to rely on, champion, support, commit, brainstorm creative ideas with and go above and beyond to deliver them with aplomb, mild irreverence and a bit of a twinkle – I’M YOUR WOMAN.

And it’s taken me a really, really long time to come to terms with that.

I have spent a long time berating myself – and being berated – for my lack of ambition.

Like so many women of my generation I was convinced I needed to earn my age, move up the ladder, manage bigger and bigger teams, develop my leadership skills, aim for the c-suite – SMASH THE GLASS CEILINGS.

(Whilst at the same time – obviously – still keeping on top of the washing, the cleaning, the gardening, the school admin, being an engaged and present parent, arranging the playdates/clubs/parties/doctorsandvetsappointments, keeping up successful friendships, maintaining grooming standards and shagging my partner like a porn star).

I know we THINK we’ve busted the ‘women can have it all’ myth already – but the thing is, we’ve really only just acknowledged it as an impossibility. We haven’t actually DEALT with it in any meaningful, relieving, way.

And I for one have still been internalising it. Maybe you have, too.

1980s/1990s feminism told me I should want The Career. It told me I should want to be Day to Night Business Barbie (the pink one pictured here who’s reversible skirt flips round to reveal a tutu overskirt and who had a spangly boob tube under her suit jacket).

I believed it.

And I believed the workplaces that wanted me to keep giving me promotions out of my comfort zone and do management courses and set professional goals and have a five year plan for advancement/world domination.

And I somehow didn’t process the memo/fax that 21st Century feminism evolved – and empowered me to be whatever damn kind of Barbie I wanted, on any given day, depending on my mood, and very much NOT depending on what other people expected of me. (Including slob-about-in-black-leggings-feeling-guilty-about-not-having-changed-the-beds-for-six-weeks-Barbie).

I have always been so proud of the women I’ve known moving up around me – but at the same time I have been angry with myself that I wasn’t doing the same – that I didn’t seem to have what it takes to go the route I thought I was supposed to WANT to go – even though I secretly knew – deep down – I didn’t.

But I think I’ve finally let that go.

It took a while. But now I’m here:

I like my job. I’m even good at it (some days).

I like doing the coalface work – doing the actual DOING. I don’t want to manage other people to do it in my stead.

I like the fact that if I do something wrong the buck ultimately stops with somebody else.

I like the fact that the very worst that can happen is that an article is a bit late or a press release doesn’t go out. No one dies! (That might actually be my favourite bit).

I like the fact I can put my work down and forget about it.

I like the fact I can take a lunch break, listen to the birds, do the school run, manage my household, read my book, write for myself.

I like the fact I have been the quiet supportive force behind some truly amazing women, delivering some very cool projects, on their way to some truly amazing places.

I like the fact my worth is no longer tied to my productivity.

I like the fact that I measure my success against my own happiness and not other people. (Or at least I try to).

I like the fact that I don’t feel like a failure anymore – like I’ve not achieved my potential. My potential was NEVER about being in a Boardroom, or running any sort of show. And that’s really, really, really okay.

Perhaps most of all, though, I like the fact I don’t have to wear a pink power suit and high heels and turn them round after work to do – shudder – NETWORKING.

A few weeks ago I wrote that I officially set us all free from having to achieve anything with our creativity. Well now I set us free from having to achieve Business Barbie-shaped success at work, too.

It’s bollocks.

You are enough.

You’re doing enough.

In fact, you’re doing GREAT.

xxxx

World Mental Health Day, Baby Loss Awareness Week, International Day of the Girl

08 Saturday Feb 2020

Posted by in Love and sex, mental health, Miscarriage, Motherhood, Parenting, Postnatal depression, Pregnancy, Returning to work

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So this week it was World Mental Health Day, Baby Loss Awareness Week, and International Day of the Girl.

For me these are all sort of related. And I’ve struggled to say one thing about any of them.

I think being a girl brings with it particular mental health challenges. I suppose they start with hormonal imbalances… and power imbalances. Expectations, from others and then from yourself. Pregnancy, pregnancy loss, baby loss, infertility, post birth PTSD, post natal depression, the whole-life upheaval of motherhood, shaped by both biology and society.

Life batters women’s bodies and minds and it’s supposed to be normal but when it’s you it’s not – and the thwarted expectation of normal is probably the hardest of them all. It feels like there’s a conspiracy of silence around being a girl, that minimises our pain, and leaves women very much isolated as a result.

We’re not supposed to tell anyone we’re pregnant until 3 months, becuase early miscarriage is just a thing that happens and should be gotten over, and God forbid it might make others uncomfortable.
We have to grieve our losses, appropriately, in private, at the correct volume, for the correct duration or we are unstable, hysterical, need to get over it now, have you considered taking up a new hobby?
We’re supposed to live with the pain of endometriosis because that’s normal and we should stop complaining when the decorators are in, it can’t be that bad.
We’re not allowed to address or even process a traumatic birth because at least the baby is healthy and that’s the main thing, isn’t it?
We can’t say how awful and hard and boring our new baby is because that’s ungrateful and some people would kill to be in your position, you know – you don’t deserve to be a mother.
We can’t share the thought the baby would be better off without us, in case they take it away.
We can’t say we are struggling – with motherhood, work, life, our marriages and relationships, with crippling loneliness and disconnection because that’s failure, other people are doing it all, look at the Facebook pictures.
We can’t talk about waking up in the middle of the night terrified the baby has stopped breathing, even when they’re 8, living the worst case scenario in our heads and fighting off crippling fear every waking moment of every single day – of which there are too many – in case the world thinks we’re mad, because maybe we are.

And those silences leave women alone in their heads. They leave women’s mental health untreated. They leave too many too normal things a taboo.

If there’s anything that I’ve learned about my own mental health, over the years but particularly recently, it’s that you need to be able to feel your feelings. They are not wrong. Ever. No one else should tell you how to feel, when, for how long, or how to express it.

Not feeling a feeling, suppressing it, denying it, trying to shape it to fit someone else’s expectations, replacing it with another feeling like anger instead of fear or sadness – turns it dark. And it will eat you up from the inside out.

We owe it to ourselves – and to each other – to come out of hiding. To say the things we’re afraid to think out loud. To share our pain, so it is heard and we are witnessed, and so that others can find comfort in the mirror of their own feelings.

I suppose really, that’s what this page has become about. It’s a bit about motherhood, sure. It’s a bit about mental health. It’s a bit about being a girl. But mostly it’s about truth. It’s about not being afraid anymore. And stepping out of the shadows.

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We need to talk about returning to work

02 Friday Sep 2016

Posted by in Motherhood, Parenting, Returning to work

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Return to work

This week’s report about the rise in discrimination in the workplace against new and expectant mothers comes as no surprise to me. It probably didn’t surprise you either.

Unfortunately, though, this is not just a simple matter of recognising injustice and redressing the balance. I’m afraid it’s far more complicated than that – and goes deep into the very fabric of our society – not to mention biology and psychology.

And that means we’re going to have to have some potentially awkward, and unnervingly contentious conversations.

Returning to the workplace after having children is HARD. Waaaay harder than I thought it was as going to be.

It’s hard for everyone. (It’s clearly hardest – as the report points out – for those in low-paid jobs on zero hours contracts forced to go back before they or their babies are ready).

I naively thought I’d slip back into my work shoes and carry on pretty much where I’d left off. I forgot that my feet – quite literally – grew an entire size during my pregnancy and didn’t shrink back down. (Yes this is a thing). Anyway, for whatever reason – those work shoes didn’t fit quite as they had done before.

The truth of the matter is that whatever your role, whatever your level, whatever your industry, when you return you are NOT the same employee that left. You can’t be – because you’re fundamentally not the same person in the same place.

That doesn’t, by any means, take away your talent, experience or expertise. It doesn’t necessarily make you any worse at your job – it can in fact make you better if you get the chance to be better – but it certainly makes you different. And amongst other things, we need to talk honestly about that difference.

We need to talk about the fact that return to workers have new priorities and commitments. They may not have the hours to throw in for that big pitch or urgent deadline. They may not be able travel anymore. They may have to drop everything at a moments notice for a sick dependent. Their job – shock horror – may no longer be the be-all and end-all of their lives.

We need to talk about the UK’s prevalent long hours culture, and the level of commitment employers require and reward. That unwritten expectation that people will go above and beyond if they want to go far – which basically precludes primary carers.

We need to talk about what we can’t change – like it being women who physically have the babies, and then the boobs to feed them. Making them often, ergo, the primary carer.

We need to talk about why since legislation came in to allow parents to share parental leave, so few families have taken this option.

We need to talk about the cost, quality, and availability of childcare.

We need to talk about the lack of funded support services for new and expectant parents.

We need to talk about school hours and holidays and how that’s supposed to fit in with the expectation parents will work 9am-5pm +

We need to talk about the army of unpaid grandparents taking up the care slack and plugging the gaps in the system – and what on earth you do if you don’t have any.

We need to talk about the lack of part time roles or job shares at all levels, and across all kinds of industries. We need to talk about why it is so hard to excel in part time work, and advance a career.

We need to talk about why and how females  – despite performing better than their male counterparts at school and university – face discrimination in the workplace even before they have children. Why they are paid and promoted less.

We need to talk about why girls are choosing subjects and careers that are ‘worth’ less and paid less than boys. (Why, for instance, having been instrumental in early computing, they are now under represented in the modern tech world).

We need to talk about the fact that in so many UK households the male still earns more than the female, making it financially sensible for her to make the career sacrifices for their family.

We need to talk about the reality that parenting is a choice which inherently involves sacrifices – of all kinds. That no one can have it all, and that ALL families have to juggle to find their balance – to keep all the balls in the air.

We have to talk about what some of those sacrifices really look like.

We need to talk about how much harder that balance is to achieve for single parent families. And why the majority of those single parents are women.

We need to talk about how such a big life change can change someone’s perspective, and with it their career aspirations. We need to talk about how that’s okay, too.

We need to talk about the impact sleep deprivation has on the cognitive functions, personal performance and even personalities of new (and old) parents.

We need to talk about the wider impact of parenthood on mums AND dads. We need to talk about hormones, postnatal depression and mental health.

We need to talk about why rearing children continues to be so undervalued in our society. We need to talk about attitudes to stay at home mums, to working mums, to mums on benefits, to young mums.

We need to talk about why as a society we SHOULD be collectively supporting the growth and development of the next generation – the workers (and carers!) of the future – by supporting their parents. (Because people clearly aren’t getting it).

We need to talk about the legislation and loopholes that are allowing – and indeed encouraging – employers to save money by avoiding their obligations to parents.

We need to talk about the fact that even organisations obeying the letter of the law still aren’t really supporting or empowering their female employees.

We need to talk about the fact that meeting maternity requirements can put small and even medium-sized enterprises under extreme pressure, and how that might be mitigated or subsidised.

Look, in short, this is not an easy subject. It IS quite an emotive one.

I certainly don’t have all the answers, but I do believe the very first and most important step towards solutions must be just to talk about it, full stop.

This week’s report gives us that opportunity. And I’d really love to hear about your experiences.

 

Mumonthenetheredge

I am Sue

22 Friday Jul 2016

Posted by in Humour, Motherhood, Returning to work

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IMG_2466.JPG Sue

It was the early 2000s, and her name was Sue. (It wasn’t).

She was somewhere in her mid-thirties, with young to middling offspring she would gush over at any given opportunity. She was always hovering somewhere between dishevelled and mutton-dressed-as-lamb, and alternated between brash and beleaguered. She laughed too much, contributed too little, and spent a lot of time talking about her age and her weight. (And other variously inappropriate personal – and occasionally gynaecological – details).

She liked to hark back to past projects and achievements, and seemed resistant to change – surprised by it, even. She may once have been good at her job, but the office largely humoured her and stuck her where she could do least damage. Like a mostly harmless but undeniably grating mascot.

Back then, in my early 20s, she didn’t impact on me very much. I may have felt fleetingly sorry for her, before dismissing her as irrelevant to my hard-working, hard-drinking, rather hard-nosed existence. She was alien. Other. Older.

She struck me, with some degree of hindsight, as a woman on the cusp. There was an unattractive air of desperation and disconnection – a whiff of lost, or loss, or something. There was something brittle about her, confused. Barely contained emotion framed by heavy-handed, clumping mascara.

And because it was clear to me she was in imminent danger of teetering over some invisible edge sooner or later, I steered well clear of the fallout.

I didn’t even recall Sue, if I’m honest, until today. Because I saw her for the first time in nigh on 14 years.

In the mirror.

Because, I realise –

I am Sue.

It happened this morning. I was trying desperately to find clothes suitable for a hot day in the office, and eventually squeezed into a circa 2010 New Look skirt slightly too small for my postpartum body (although my leftover ‘baby weight’ in now more accurately ‘toddler weight’) and teamed it with a ubiquitous black top. On which the toddler promptly, and inevitably, deposited toothpaste which wouldn’t scrub off with a bastarding baby wipe.

To make myself feel better about this I threw on a jazzy scarf and some ancient lipstick. As I did so I planned how I was going to regale my colleagues with amusing weekend tales of small people shenanigans (for the adult interaction, cheap laughs, and momentary validation). And I got a good look at myself in the mirror.

And there she was.

I am Sue.

The resemblance was uncanny – and unquestionable.

I am the slightly inane, slightly insane, slightly manic, slightly depressive, slightly irreverent, slightly irrelevant, under-achieving, over-sharing, out of phase and out of practice, middle aged, middle-of-the-road woman I pitied in passing when I first started my ‘career’.

Middle is in fact a very appropriate word. Because that’s what I spotted in Sue and recoiled from – that cusp, that in between – that displacement. Being neither one thing or another, and not enough of either.

Stuck in the middle with Sue.

Because now I too find myself somewhere in the middle, in between competent and incompetent, functional and dysfunctional, too much and too little, comic genius and crazed bag-lady, 1950s housewife and Melanie Griffith’s Working Girl, creative and random, young and old, thin and fat, mother and worker, professional and personal, good parent and bad parent, asleep and awake, me and – someone I don’t recognise.

Sue.

Now I’m the one that’s interjecting too loudly, crying too quickly, misjudging social/professional cues, getting sidelined, humoured, possibly even pitied. Definitely avoided. I’m the one with waning skills, conflicting priorities, impaired logic, bursts of absurdity. I’m the one slightly flailing, frequently self-deprecating, often bumbling, out of date, and out of sync.

At some point I stopped being one of the young office crowd, a whipper-snapper with oodles of potential  – and I became a part time and part mum-zombie, mid-level manager going nowhere fast, juggling children and work with a spectacular lack of multi-tasking skill, being fast outstripped by the younger, hungrier and better.

I am Sue.

And I’m as surprised about it as she was.

I’m not a exactly sure when Sue arrived, but I very much suspect motherhood was the catalyst. Little shits.

During this special time, some people find themselves – come into their own. Others find Sue.

If I could go back now, I’d be a lot kinder to Sue, because I’ve since walked a mile in her kitten heels, dragging whining children and double my original arse behind me. And I’d give my smug, superior, emotionally detached, well-rested, unburdened and unlined face a well deserved slap.

Now, I think Sue and I would be friends.

We’d probably go to the pub (after bedtime, obvs), giddily excited to put on our glad rags, get pissed on half a bottle of Chardonnay, guffaw in ever-increasing decibels, end up crying about the Disney alligator baby, dance on a few tables because life is too short, declare each other our best friend, and be home to snore at our exasperated spouses by 11.30.

(I personally would of course follow this up with days of social anxiety and personal shame, dissecting every word and move as I gradually and painfully recall them, ‘cos that’s how I roll. Sue probably does too).

I don’t know what actually happened to real Sue, who I think eventually got muscled out of the office, but I like to think that she went on to something better. That she found her feet again, her place outside the limbo of ‘in between’. That she got some proper rest and proper perspective. That she bought some new make-up. That she found appreciation for her humour, her experience, her post-traumatic share-response and her unique sense of fashion. That she shed the extra stone she always complained about. And that her kids grew up knowing how fiercely and stupidly she loved them.

I’d like to tell her I’m sorry for judging her. I’d like to tell her that I get it now. I’d like to tell her that I am Sue, too.

I would like to think that probably, at some point, every one of us has looked in the mirror and seen Sue – and marvelled at how she got there.

If you’ve ever had a Sue, or a Sue moment, if you’ve ever lost yourself in between – in the middle of life, priorities, pressures, if you’ve ever struggled with your role, your identity, your purpose, if you’ve ever looked up and suddenly realised you’re someone or somewhere you never thought you’d be – let me know.

Maybe it was motherhood that sent you to the edge, stuck in the middle, arrested your development. Maybe it was something different but equally wonderful/traumatic. Oh, maybe you’re not carrying the extra pounds, and maybe you’re still mostly competent at your job. Maybe you’re better dressed.

But if you’ve ever caught a glimpse of her, walking past a shop window, please channel your inner Tony Curtis and comment ‘I am Sue’ here or on Facebook.

I don’t need details if you don’t care to share them.  But this week I do sort of need to know it’s not just me.

And Sue.

Mumonthenetheredge

The girl who has it all

01 Tuesday Mar 2016

Posted by in Motherhood, Postnatal depression, Returning to work

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IMG_3330.JPGgirl

This is a blog about postnatal depression, the danger of comparisons, returning to work, and a girl who has it all.

We’ve all known one, at one stage or another.  If you’re honest, you probably know one now.  She’s that bit prettier than you.  A bit cleverer.  A bit thinner.  A bit more confident.  A bit more sorted.  A bit more successful.  A bit of a better mummy, perhaps, without all the shouting and threats.  A girl who has it all.

Personally, I’ve always made a point of making friends with these people.  Sure, at various stages of my life I’ve found myself in the unenviable role of ‘ugly sidekick mate’ or even found that I’m being used, which is always a fairly unpleasant experience.  But mostly I’ve found that I’m being inspired, that I’m learning, gaining energy and experience and expertise from some of the wonderful women I now count as my friends.

I’ve since heard that saying that ‘If you’re the XXist person in the room, you’re in the wrong room’.  I rather like it.  I certainly don’t worship perfection, but I do love being with folk who make me spark – even if I’m lit up only by their reflected glory!  I’ll take that and happily bask.

There is one girl who has it all who, unusually, is no longer my friend.  Her name (for the purposes of this blog) is Rachel, and we used to be colleagues and pretty good pals.  She’s gorgeous, brilliant, perfect boyfriend, blah blah blah.  She moved quickly up the ranks  because frankly she’s got an awesome strategic mind, and she’s just better at shit than I am.  And that was okay.  In fact, I was – and still am – kind of proud of her.  I was even prouder to be counted as her friend.

Postnatal changes

Rachel became my boss, and it worked well because we still sparked off each other.  And then I had my first baby and she had her career and we didn’t cross paths that much.  That’s when it changed, or I changed, or something.  Maybe it was different priorities.  Maybe it was my postnatal depression and the sleep deprivation, which fuddled my brain.  Going back to work I wasn’t as good as I was, and I didn’t have the hours anymore to throw in and make up for it.

Like so many return to work mums, I struggled to remember who I was in the workplace and how to fit it all in.  Suddenly I was easily overwhelmed, unfocused, and so, so tired.  Certainly too tired to chase the promotions that would have kept me Rachel’s peer.  I told myself that prioritising my child and staying part time (and low down) was the best thing for my family.  In hindsight it probably was.  I wanted to have another baby anyway, so why not get on with that?

So I tried to get on with my work and get pregnant to boot.  But life doesn’t often adhere to a schedule.  I’ll happily own I didn’t deal with my subsequent health issues and fertility struggles very well.

There is something of a statute of limitations on sympathy, especially in large traditional industries like mine, where it is easy to be anonymous.  Another number.  As I went in and out of hospital for various treatments it inevitably waned.  Rachel took a step back and left me to deal solely with my new line manager – someone ambitious and inexperienced.  As my only contact with the organisation, they played things by the book (to the excruciating letter), and all the good will, hard work, relationships and experience I’d built up counted for nothing.  I felt abandoned – particularly by Rachel.

Colleagues not friends

In the months of nastiness that followed, when my marriage nearly broke down, when I was being prodded and probed and scraped and inflated and doped up on hormone drugs, Rachel never ONCE asked me how I was doing.  I’ll be honest – that really, really hurt.  The girl who had it all didn’t need to have my crap dragging her down.  She was above me, not just in terms of hierarchy but above my messy life and pesky emotions.  I’d mistaken us for friends, and she made it super clear we were only ever colleagues.

As a newly over-emotional, and long-term passive aggressive type, it goes without saying I found this very hard to deal with, and it’s taken a long while to gain any perspective.  Just as I need other people to light me up, when I’m left alone I dim.  And for some reason this was the catalyst that threw me into one of my very darkest places.   

Looking back now, though, what did I really expect her to do?  What choice did she have but to follow procedure with my immediate boss?  Duh.  Perhaps I was too fragile to approach in a work setting.  And perhaps she had shit of her own to be dealing with, and I wasn’t there for her either.  When she did start to make personal overtures, I was too sad and too angry to be able to respond.  I see that now.  And what’s more, I also see that maybe to Rachel – to anyone on the outside – I was the girl who had it all.  

Having it all

I don’t think it ever feels like you have it all, you see.  Even if you’re the luckiest bugger in the whole world.  Most of the time, I remember to be really, really fucking grateful.  Eventually, I got my second baby, and that IS a miracle.  And I get to work part time to spend time with my babies, because I’m not the main breadwinner – and there’s some real luxury in that.

Sure, I don’t have a career.  But in reality I’m not even sure I want one – certainly not the one I essentially gave up on.  Perhaps I once defined myself too much by my work, but I liked being good at something.  So who the hell am I now?  It’s a question I think a lot of new mums find themselves asking.  Several years down the line I still don’t have an answer.

I certainly don’t want to repeat the mistake and become someone who defines themselves only by their children (not least because I think that’s a lot of pressure to put them under).  Half the time I’m not even that good at being a mother.  It’s not easy.  It’s not 100% gushy-wonderful either – anyone who says different is a bloody liar and you should cut them immediately from your acquaintance.  Happy families is fucking hard, HARD work.  And it’s difficult to feel thankful about it when you’re up to your elbows in poo.

Every day, motherhood continues to expose my latent (and brand shiny new!) mental health issues – as well as some personality traits and personal failings that frankly shame me.  I’m not as patient as I thought I was.  I’m not as quick, or decisive, or incisive.  I’m often at the mercy of the most intense emotions I’ve ever experienced – love, anger, grief, worry, guilt – that I struggle to contain, and then to remember why I’m feeling them in the first place.

I said to one wonderful women (who is a friend that definitely has it all in terms of positivity), that becoming a parent kind of broke me.  I’m not the contained, self-assured and poised person I once was.  I was worse.  She told me she thought it had actually set me free.

All that of course, made me a very different person to work with and be with.  (Hell, even I don’t recognise me sometimes).  Added to the monotony of the ongoing drama, it made me just too different from Rachel.

Comparisons and contrasts

So what why is it – given all the crappiness along the way – it was the experience of being dumped by a girl who had it all (whether this was reality or not) that so stuck in my craw?

I think the crux of the matter was the sheer contrast of her life to mine.  From being peers on a very similar trajectory our life paths suddenly diverged, and while she was the girl who had it all – despite everything I had – I FELT like the girl who had it all taken away.  

Her life was on track – mine was careening off the rails.  And it shouldn’t have been.  I should have been happy. I WAS happy about my baby, but I was also unhinged by being a mummy – and guilty about failing to love every second.  And then it all started to get almost farcically worse when I tried to be a mummy all over again.

Look, I don’t think any of my shit is any better, worse or stinkier than anyone else’s.  But after having children – when I should have felt how much I had gained – in reality I felt like I lost.

I lost a huge part of me, certainly my clarity and my sense of self.  That confidence and assurance that characterised Rachel was far, far out of my reach.  I lost my career, which at one point was very important to me, just as Rachel’s took off.  I then lost what was (to me) this important friendship.  Next I continued to lose control of not just my emotions and mental health but of my physical health as my body let me down, of my reproductive choices, my vision for my family, and very nearly my relationship as a result.  I felt like a victim of circumstance – and Rachel felt like a woman who would never be so weak as to let even circumstance make her a victim.

Obviously nothing is that simple, and nobody’s life is perfect.  Everyone you meet has problems and issues under the surface you know nothing about.  And yes, you might even be their girl who has it all.  

Maybe when one of YOUR ‘girls who has it all’ has a family, she’ll manage the whole thing effortlessly.  Maybe she’s already a Mummy and she seems able to continue with her life pretty much unchanged and unphased.  But maybe, just maybe, she’s finding it hard too.  Maybe she’s struggling to be grateful every day. Maybe she’ll find that the job suffers, or the relationship, or even the mind – like so many of us.  Maybe she’s come out the other side a little bit different.

And maybe, as my positive friend points out, maybe that difference isn’t worse.  Maybe it’s actually a little bit better.  

Today I’ve realised I’ve stopped comparing my life, my choices and myself to anyone else.  I don’t feel like a victim anymore.  I don’t feel like I’ve lost anything anymore, either.  Oh don’t get me wrong, I’m still not in any semblance of control, here.  I haven’t found myself or had some sort of epiphany (sounds exhausting and I’m still waaaaaay too knackered for that sort of thing).  But somewhere along the way I have finally found the power in what I’ve acquired.  

At last, I’m recognising not just my children as gifts, but also the change having them has wrought in me.

Crying at the 10 o’clock news

I did crack when I had children, but what was released in the process – awakened – I wouldn’t put back to sleep if I could.  I wouldn’t go back to being so absolute or so pragmatic – to being someone who didn’t regularly cry at the 10 o’clock news (and who rather despised those soft-headed enough to do so).  Yes I have plumbed new depths of despair and wretchedness, but I think I needed to do so in order to feel everything else.  On the other side of the same coin are the thundering swells of love and joy that have literally stopped my heart beating.  I have never known anything like it, and I wouldn’t give it up for the world.  

I AM better.  And now I can consciously CHOOSE to feel like a girl who has it all myself, even if the ‘all’ is not what I ever expected.  And you know what?  I think maybe I’m getting better every day.

Maybe I’m even stepping away from the (Nether) Edge.  

 

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