Seeuzin
29th August 2015, 12:46 PM
Journal 07:
Prologue:
"Starve the narcissist of their food, which is your life-energy."
Nothing is worth giving them another "bite."
The best time to learn is...now.
- - - - - - - -
It's been two+ weeks since I left work. It broke my heart. I took a lot of pride in being useful, contributing to a cause I felt like I could believe in.
In the final weeks, a lot of my coworkers were advising that I ask my boss for a raise. I didn't want one. "This job saved my life," I'd reply. "I feel useful and that's all I've wanted since I was a teenager. It doesn't matter to me if I'm paid $11 an hour - it's not about the money; it's about freedom from the constant self-shame; the gnawing sense of uselessness."
My dad - I am pleased to say - was the one who agreed with me. He is a business owner himself. "That's it," he said, and I could hear his smile in his voice. "Let it be based on merit. If he offers you a raise, accept it, but I admire you for your stance. And for working hard. You are MY daughter."
I figured I'd just kick ass at this for another year or two, then consider going back to school. No way I could let Dan down now! I felt a lot of pride that I was working, and not just doing what I "had to do," but truly caring and working skillfully.
As my boss used to say, "I know I can't get you to work [more and more] by offering you a raise, but you care about work; I can hit you in the pride."
* * * * *
Out of left field, and shortly after my coworkers encouraged me to ask for a raise, a string of increasingly demoralizing phone calls, emails, and texts from my boss (Dan) came in. The barrage almost erased the profound relief of no longer feeling like I wasn't worth living. (And yet, I didn't grasp the meaning of the phrase "gaslighting" enough for it to raise an alarm.)
* * * * *
Dan was "concerned" - he said he wanted me to see my doctor. Evidence for me being sick was scant, but at the start, I didn't become suspicious of his intentions. I assured him calmly, but the more evidence I gave, the less he claimed to trust my self-awareness. He even at one point compared me to a drunk driver.
I reassured him calmly. Five times, I set a firm boundary around my mental health: "This is between me and my doctor. She isn't worried. I'm here to work, and I'd even work for free..." (Since the beginning, I had been sneaking in around 3-5 hours a week of unpaid work, which, periodically, he'd found out about.)
He crossed every boundary, and wouldn't budge an inch. This is where it gets weird. A creepy sense of paternalism crept into his text. I started to feel overwhelmed by his oppressive energy. "Should I believe in myself?" "Can I trust my own sense of self, or even the sense of the doctors who say I'm in recovery?"
I finally called and left an angry message - attempt number Six, but in a sharply different tone - "Stop pathologizing me! This isn't cool - it is NOT okay!" I rallied clumsily, and choked out a final attempt to set a boundary through a fountain of tears; in only the way a person who's had their boundaries repeatedly broken - through years of being seen as an "easy mark" - can manage; still barely comprehending what was at issue.
But what followed next left me with twisted inside and numb.
Excoriation via email and text. Half of it with the token passive-aggressive fishing for "common ground" (a.k.a. the classic We can make this work, Accept my own energy and perspective as your own, and come back to work(!) - just with your tail down presumably deeper than you've ever had it.) Half of it...lies that built upon each other, increasing in complexity (and ability to confuse) with each and every salvo.
My eyes were wide open now, and I knew that writing again - to assure, to defend my right to work without harassment, or to find explanation and understanding - would only feed the aggression.
Therefore I made my exit. The final boundary, set in stone on August 12th and in a short-and-sweet email: I wouldn't be coming back. "I'm sorry," I closed, in a final attempt to ease his pain and reactivity. The apology seemed to have the opposite effect, almost seeming to be perceived as a weakness: he continued to apply pressure and to look for inroads to getting his "way" on multiple levels; in a meandering way, he demanded a few things and generally tried convincing me that leaving was a bad idea - (not for him, but of course, for me)...
Dejected and in a profound state of confusion, I went to see my doctor. I was already determined not to respond after turning in my work keys.
She was the first bright spot at the end of my tunnel.
She was profoundly proud of me. At one point, I asked if I could take some Risperdal.
"You can do what you feel you need to," came the reply, "but," - and she said this with an urgency - "don't go there too fast. Trust yourself."
Throughout the next two weeks of increasingly bizarre texts, emails, calls on my home and cell phone, and voice messages from my former boss, all trying to "hook" me back into work...I felt various kinds of despondent emotion, but mostly shock and quiet known only to myself. It wasn't until some time later - when the brain fog lifted and I felt the first sense that what I had done was a quietly deep and necessary thing - that I would remember something he had said from nearly the very beginning:
"I don't want you to gain self-esteem. If you do, you'll feel worth more, and you'll no longer be a good employee."
Laughter...uneasiness...forgetting it quickly.
But, yes, gaslighting. Things were finally began to make sense. The pieces were coming together. That evening, I finally slept without needing anything to help get me there...
- - - - - - - -
(Epilogue)
I don't want to get my former boss in trouble for discrimination.
I'm not even resentful for having worked so many hours without pay.
I just wanted to work.
And, now, I want him to stop. (The police are ready with a non-harrassment order, if he can't.)
With a bit more freedom each day, I've found myself growing, and a deeper sense of courage in helping others. A job will come. Maybe even that I could be an advocate?...
To Doctors S Habl and M Charles - I feel a gratitude that borders on devotion. "Down in the trenches" with every patient, with fearlessness and a humble wisdom...and the quiet and steadfast belief that every single person can fully recover.
Prologue:
"Starve the narcissist of their food, which is your life-energy."
Nothing is worth giving them another "bite."
The best time to learn is...now.
- - - - - - - -
It's been two+ weeks since I left work. It broke my heart. I took a lot of pride in being useful, contributing to a cause I felt like I could believe in.
In the final weeks, a lot of my coworkers were advising that I ask my boss for a raise. I didn't want one. "This job saved my life," I'd reply. "I feel useful and that's all I've wanted since I was a teenager. It doesn't matter to me if I'm paid $11 an hour - it's not about the money; it's about freedom from the constant self-shame; the gnawing sense of uselessness."
My dad - I am pleased to say - was the one who agreed with me. He is a business owner himself. "That's it," he said, and I could hear his smile in his voice. "Let it be based on merit. If he offers you a raise, accept it, but I admire you for your stance. And for working hard. You are MY daughter."
I figured I'd just kick ass at this for another year or two, then consider going back to school. No way I could let Dan down now! I felt a lot of pride that I was working, and not just doing what I "had to do," but truly caring and working skillfully.
As my boss used to say, "I know I can't get you to work [more and more] by offering you a raise, but you care about work; I can hit you in the pride."
* * * * *
Out of left field, and shortly after my coworkers encouraged me to ask for a raise, a string of increasingly demoralizing phone calls, emails, and texts from my boss (Dan) came in. The barrage almost erased the profound relief of no longer feeling like I wasn't worth living. (And yet, I didn't grasp the meaning of the phrase "gaslighting" enough for it to raise an alarm.)
* * * * *
Dan was "concerned" - he said he wanted me to see my doctor. Evidence for me being sick was scant, but at the start, I didn't become suspicious of his intentions. I assured him calmly, but the more evidence I gave, the less he claimed to trust my self-awareness. He even at one point compared me to a drunk driver.
I reassured him calmly. Five times, I set a firm boundary around my mental health: "This is between me and my doctor. She isn't worried. I'm here to work, and I'd even work for free..." (Since the beginning, I had been sneaking in around 3-5 hours a week of unpaid work, which, periodically, he'd found out about.)
He crossed every boundary, and wouldn't budge an inch. This is where it gets weird. A creepy sense of paternalism crept into his text. I started to feel overwhelmed by his oppressive energy. "Should I believe in myself?" "Can I trust my own sense of self, or even the sense of the doctors who say I'm in recovery?"
I finally called and left an angry message - attempt number Six, but in a sharply different tone - "Stop pathologizing me! This isn't cool - it is NOT okay!" I rallied clumsily, and choked out a final attempt to set a boundary through a fountain of tears; in only the way a person who's had their boundaries repeatedly broken - through years of being seen as an "easy mark" - can manage; still barely comprehending what was at issue.
But what followed next left me with twisted inside and numb.
Excoriation via email and text. Half of it with the token passive-aggressive fishing for "common ground" (a.k.a. the classic We can make this work, Accept my own energy and perspective as your own, and come back to work(!) - just with your tail down presumably deeper than you've ever had it.) Half of it...lies that built upon each other, increasing in complexity (and ability to confuse) with each and every salvo.
My eyes were wide open now, and I knew that writing again - to assure, to defend my right to work without harassment, or to find explanation and understanding - would only feed the aggression.
Therefore I made my exit. The final boundary, set in stone on August 12th and in a short-and-sweet email: I wouldn't be coming back. "I'm sorry," I closed, in a final attempt to ease his pain and reactivity. The apology seemed to have the opposite effect, almost seeming to be perceived as a weakness: he continued to apply pressure and to look for inroads to getting his "way" on multiple levels; in a meandering way, he demanded a few things and generally tried convincing me that leaving was a bad idea - (not for him, but of course, for me)...
Dejected and in a profound state of confusion, I went to see my doctor. I was already determined not to respond after turning in my work keys.
She was the first bright spot at the end of my tunnel.
She was profoundly proud of me. At one point, I asked if I could take some Risperdal.
"You can do what you feel you need to," came the reply, "but," - and she said this with an urgency - "don't go there too fast. Trust yourself."
Throughout the next two weeks of increasingly bizarre texts, emails, calls on my home and cell phone, and voice messages from my former boss, all trying to "hook" me back into work...I felt various kinds of despondent emotion, but mostly shock and quiet known only to myself. It wasn't until some time later - when the brain fog lifted and I felt the first sense that what I had done was a quietly deep and necessary thing - that I would remember something he had said from nearly the very beginning:
"I don't want you to gain self-esteem. If you do, you'll feel worth more, and you'll no longer be a good employee."
Laughter...uneasiness...forgetting it quickly.
But, yes, gaslighting. Things were finally began to make sense. The pieces were coming together. That evening, I finally slept without needing anything to help get me there...
- - - - - - - -
(Epilogue)
I don't want to get my former boss in trouble for discrimination.
I'm not even resentful for having worked so many hours without pay.
I just wanted to work.
And, now, I want him to stop. (The police are ready with a non-harrassment order, if he can't.)
With a bit more freedom each day, I've found myself growing, and a deeper sense of courage in helping others. A job will come. Maybe even that I could be an advocate?...
To Doctors S Habl and M Charles - I feel a gratitude that borders on devotion. "Down in the trenches" with every patient, with fearlessness and a humble wisdom...and the quiet and steadfast belief that every single person can fully recover.