Head up, eyes open

I sat there without expression. Me and my sad eyes. I stared at them with sad eyes, straight at them. They smiled at me, and I lost their faces in the crowd as the flashbacks flooded my brain.

The afternoon sun lit her hair on fire, blinding me. I looked from smile to smile. She shuffled her papers. "Do you have anything else to say?"

Stand up for myself? Not exactly a strongpoint for the chronically victimised, even with training by a Narcissistic Father. Surely the evidence is clear? I was genuinely ill. It didn't affect my job. So why am I now being so thoughtlessly punished?

Thoughtless. That hardly seems strong enough to describe Bossman's decision to issue me a written warning for my sick leave. My contract ends with my project this summer.. many months before my written warning expires. Didn't he realise that? Didn't he know what he was doing when he signed that letter? Signing away my job opportunities all because I was sick "too much" this year.

You know what else was "too much" in 2011?

Being so terrified that I would have yet another early miscarriage, I stopped having sex.
Coming too close to a psychotic breakdown due to unsafe therapy.
Having both of my managers fight over my time.
Resigning from a job I loved in order to have time to see my new therapist.
Damaging my neck from the tension, causing severe and chronic migraines.
Welcoming a colleague back from maternity leave.
Hearing two more colleagues announce their pregnancies. Did I mention there are only 10 of us?
Working obscenely hard at the hardest thing I've done. Therapy.
Facing the Nameless Dread that is my lack of Real Parents.
Separating from my husband.
Separating from my friends.
Starting a masters in psychoanalysis.
Asking for help from the mental health service and being rejected.
Facing the very real prospect of divorcing the only person in the world completely committed to me, with all of the despair that comes with abandonment depression: unbearable psychological pain and intense suicidal thoughts.
Facing my Family and their same old drama of abuse and neglect, not two weeks later, alone.
Falling seriously ill and unable to access treatment of any kind: physical or mental health.

And isn't dissociation wonderful? Through my custom filter, all Bossman sees is: two severe migraines, 1 ENT infection, 1 severe depression, and 1 flu. That's all he sees, and that is "too much" for him. I try to make it simpler: "Infertility," I say, "Marriage breaking down." His broke down recently, surely he of all people would understand?

Apparently, familiarity breeds contempt. My high level of absences has put pressure on the department. Unlike my three colleagues who went on maternity leave after accruing more sick leave than me during their pregnancies. My pregnant colleagues have these magic 'Get Out of Disciplinary Hearings Free' cards, thanks to the Equality Act. And I, I don't even get infertility leave, because there is no such thing. The line separating my unacceptable absences from their acceptable absences is a blue one. On a stick. Validated by blood tests, 9 months of waiting, and 1 screaming, hungry baby.

My work in therapy paid off. I sat there calmly, taking this rejection in stride. I've been here before, in the principal's office. 11 years old, quiet and calm, as they looked down on me.

"I expect more from you, Eliza." The words slap my face. It stings the same as it stung back then: being punished by the people who were supposed to protect me. People who were supposed to provide me a safe place to work. I was punished for taking time to recover.

I was being punished for taking time to recover.
I was being punished for taking time to recover.
I was being punished for taking time to recover. As a child. And today, an adult.

I sat there, trusting them. Trusting them despite having been there before. Despite having been let down before by the Adults In Charge. I trusted them. And I still want to trust someone, trust anyone to know what they did was wrong. What the principal did was wrong. What Bossman decided was wrong.

I did everything I could do. I did enough.

Here is 2011 from a different perspective. My own.

I left my unsafe therapy.
I compromised my work arrangements to make time for therapy.
I sought medical help for my neck injury and migraines which are now well-managed.
I became my colleague's little boy's new best friend at a work party.
I cried at the news of my second colleague's pregnancy, and we became closer.
I made an authentic connection with my mom and learned to accept the limitations of our relationship.
I took some time out from my relationship to figure out what I wanted.
I discovered what I wanted.
I stood up for myself by stepping back from an unhealthy situation.
I learned how much I love psychoanalysis.
I made new friends.
I faced my fears of abandonment and let go of my relationship completely.
I put everything I learned in 2011 to practice when I visited my Parents for christmas: successfully maintaining my boundaries and preventing the normally unavoidable dissociative response.

I did it. I did it all, still delivered my work objectives and then some.

I did it.
I did it.
I did it.
I did it. Without your knowledge. Without your help.
I did it.

And 2012 begins with more discouragement. But still, I stretch. I stretch and I bend and it burns, but I am still here. Undervalued. Underestimated. But learning now what it feels like to still value yourself, even when others don't. This feels a lot like being a Real Adult. The kind of Real Adult that stands up to bullies, says what needs to be said, even if people don't want to hear it. Someone with boundaries, healthy ones. The kind of boundaries that keep me safe, even others hurt me.

And yes, I was more than a little shocked to receive a written warning. I was hurt. I am hurt, and I did precisely the right thing about it. I said so. I said, "It hurts," and I hurt.

I am disappointed in Bossman. I am disappointed in HR Representative. I may very well be disappointed in Bossman's manager, Directorman.

It's unfair. It hurts. But the more I fight to be me, the less alone I feel.

There is a kindness growing in me that is shaping up to be a Person. I see her sometimes as my Therapist, cheering me on with a chuckle and a smile. If she could have helped, she would have -- if only to sit there, the way I learned to sit there for others. The way I now sit there for myself.

I helped myself.

Therapist's gift, reprised:

After a while you learn the subtle difference
Between holding a hand and chaining a soul,

And you learn that love doesn’t mean leaning
And company doesn’t mean security,

And you begin to learn that kisses aren’t contracts
And presents aren’t promises,

And you begin to accept your defeats
With your head up and your eyes open

With the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child,
And you learn to build all your roads on today,

Because tomorrow’s ground is too uncertain for plans,
And futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight.

After a while you learn
That even sunshine burns if you get too much.

So you plant your own garden and decorate your own soul,
Instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.

And you learn that you really can endure...
That you really are strong,

And you really do have worth.
And you learn and learn...

With every goodbye you learn.

Thank you again for these immeasurable gifts. My losses add up to my lifetime, and I came to you know nothing of Trust. But now I see that Trust isn't a thing, it's a process that emerges between two people over time, making room for each other. Trust is space between two people, and to Trust someone, you must give them room.

You said you were proud of me that day.

I'm proud of me, too.