"Well, thank you SO much for telling me how to manage my staff, Katharine. Of course you are such a good manager, aren't you? What a pity we can't all be as good a manager as you".
These words were uttered by Line Manager in September 2011. That very day, news had come through of a significant success for my organisation as a direct result of my work, and yet Line Manager had not said a single word to me about it. So at the end of a conversation about something completely different, I politely asked him if he had any comments to make.
Husband later asked me why I had bothered raising the topic. After all, Line Manager's total failure to offer me appropriate managerial support was nothing new. He had already spent 18 months engaging in a range of actions designed to undermine me and my work, including removing reports from my desk, going into my files to obtain photographs and documents without asking me, not passing on compliments about me from others, never EVER crediting me for my efforts, and regularly employing his favourite mode of communication - sarcasm - to "put me down".
Now here I was, experiencing the full brunt of Line Manager's sarcasm! Which, if it had been hissed sotto voce, he would probably have got away with. Yet again..
But this time something different happened.
On this occasion, Line Manager was completely unable to restrain himself.
Scarlet in the face, and with the veins standing out in stark relief on his neck, he shouted the phrases cited above whilst towering over me. I admit it - I was scared. I immediately turned and left his office; whereupon he followed me out into the main office and continued shouting at me.
I said: "I am not going to have an argument with you in the open office" and turning away from him, sat down at my hotdesk. I did this, because for a few terrifying seconds I thought Line Manager was about to hit me and at that point I would have done anything to diffuse the situation. Line Manager blustered for a few more seconds then (thankfully) stopped shouting. Thankfully, because at this point the office contained not only a number of other members of my department, but a new member of staff who had only started the previous day, and an 18 year old intern. Both of whom were looking (unsurprisingly) shocked and embarrassed.
It was this incident which finally tripped a switch in my brain.
The switch which said "enough".
Over a year has passed since that incident, and I am now walking through a new landscape. Because despite The Hierarchy's repeated assertions that everything can go back to how it was before, I know that things will never be the same again.
As part of the process of psychological recovery from the incident (relatively easy) and Anonymous Council's protracted, inadequate and damaging grievance procedures (horrendously difficult), I undertake a huge clear out of my office, throwing away several years' worth of redundant papers, reports and project files. And suddenly I come across a folder containing research for my ILM Certificate in Management (Level 5) which Anonymous Council paid for, back in the days when they presumably imagined that I had potential for development.
As part of this, I was required to seek feedback from senior officers, as well as staff I had managed. I flip through the senior officers' feedback and remember that every single one of them gave me the maximum score for the statement "she bases her approach to others around honesty and respect".
I start to feel a bit weepy.
I then read through the comments from the staff I had managed up until that ILM submission, as well as the completed questionnaires I have given to all subsequent assistants after they have finished working with me. And here are some of the comments I see:
- "Really enjoyed working with you, thanks Katharine for keeping me involved and busy"
- "I was really impressed by Katharine's style of managing. From our first meeting, she made me feel like I was part of her team and gave me plenty of responsibility while I was working with her".
- "I gave a score of 4/5 for 'acts within limits of their authority' because in some ways I didn't feel like she was my manager - I don't think that's necessarily a bad thing though, as I feel I worked harder knowing she trusted me to get on with the work"
- "I really enjoyed working for Katharine. I felt very supported and appreciated in the role".
- "Katharine was good at taking the time to help me understand new tasks and introducing me to other members of staff. She was very professional, organised and efficient".
- "Overall, a lovely boss!"
- "I cannot sum up all that I have learned. This was my first work experience, and what a great experience! Katharine has been very supportive and empowering and I am thankful to her for gradually letting me do more and more'.
- "I will certainly not find in the future such a dedicated and helpful and great manager as you".
As I leaf through the pages, I let the guard which I have erected for the past year slip for a little more. If the truth be told, I sit crying on my office carpet for 10 minutes before I finally manage to pull myself together. And I feel huge gratitude to all those former assistants of mine, who took the time to give me such detailed and generous feedback. Because they didn't have to. They had already left Anonymous Council's employ.
Then I think about Line Manager.
And I wonder what I, or anyone else on his team, would say about Line Manager if he were ever to ask us for honest and constructive feedback?
But he never has asked us.
So I don't suppose he will never know.
Thursday, 15 November 2012
Wednesday, 14 November 2012
How to Bring Out the Best in People
On Monday I post an entry on my Facebook page:
"I am at work. I do not want to be at work. I want to be back in ******" (the location of the play in which I have just appeared...)
My post seems to strike a chord with my fellow cast members, who during the course of the day post up a series of comments highlighting what they will most miss about the production.
- The performances themselves (well attended and well received)
- Their own particular props and costumes
- The staggeringly well designed set
- and - of course - the people!
For the past couple of months, I have been able to casually say "night!" to my colleagues at around 5pm, go home and have something to eat, and then hot-foot it to rehearsals where I have been able to enjoy long periods untroubled by thoughts of work. I haven't told a single co-worker of my newly regained passion for amateur dramatics, even those of whom I am very fond. I haven't told them because I have now learned the hard way that there is only one way to keep a secret.
Tell Absolutely No-one.
This doesn't apply to former co-workers naturally. One of the people I tell about the production is my organisation's former Chief Executive, now retired. And I feel enormously boosted when he comes along to see the play in the middle of its week-long run.
When the bullying campaign against me began escalating two years ago, Former Chief Executive had already been pensioned off, but we have always stayed in touch (not least because he is one of my referees). Obviously he could not intervene in any way with the unfolding and ghastly disciplinary processes, but throughout he provided a kindly listening ear and gave me helpful guidance on the way in which the organisation would be likely to respond. He is waiting for me outside the auditorium as I scuttle out to catch my train, and offers me a lift home.
He seems amazed at my confidence on-stage.
Sheesh. I am pretty bloody amazed at myself.
"I didn't know you could sing!" he says, cautiously navigating his way through the back streets of Anonymous Area of London. "I couldn't believe it when you came on right at the start and sang the song which opened the show."
Hmmm. This comment highlights the staggering and depressing contrast between the World of Work and my Secret Life Outside. I am probably only a fairly average singer. But by a stroke of great good fortune, I was given a part in a show which happened to feature a professional musician among the cast. And he had lots of ideas for things I could sing, and interesting ways to accompany me on his guitar, and the upshot was that our play almost turned into a musical !
And this is the kind of thing Professional Musician used to say to me when we were rehearsing:
"That's a bit high for you - I'll lower the key"
"Try dropping your shoulders"
"Oooh - that really suits your voice"
"Why don't you sing that as if you were singing it to yourself?"
"You're doing very well"
All very light touch and casual, and constantly focused on building and boosting my confidence. It is plain that if he were transplanted to an office environment, he would be an outstanding manager of staff. Not like my managers. No, no. Nothing like them at all !
And all the other people in the cast were supportive, and complimentary, and funny, and loving. And no-one did the kind of things the Jackals did to me at work. No-one took away and hid my script, made snide comments, excluded me from social occasions, lied about me, sneered at me, did impressions of me behind my back, shouted at me, bullied me, or undermined me.
Because everyone involved in the production was doing it for the sheer joy of it; and because everyone felt secure in their own considerable talents and abilities. So it was easy for us all to accept and respect each other.
God, no wonder I feel totally gutted it is all over.
Last night I logged onto the theatre website, and wrote down all the audition dates for next year's shows into my brand new 2013 diary. One always has to have something to look forward to.
"I am at work. I do not want to be at work. I want to be back in ******" (the location of the play in which I have just appeared...)
My post seems to strike a chord with my fellow cast members, who during the course of the day post up a series of comments highlighting what they will most miss about the production.
- The performances themselves (well attended and well received)
- Their own particular props and costumes
- The staggeringly well designed set
- and - of course - the people!
For the past couple of months, I have been able to casually say "night!" to my colleagues at around 5pm, go home and have something to eat, and then hot-foot it to rehearsals where I have been able to enjoy long periods untroubled by thoughts of work. I haven't told a single co-worker of my newly regained passion for amateur dramatics, even those of whom I am very fond. I haven't told them because I have now learned the hard way that there is only one way to keep a secret.
Tell Absolutely No-one.
This doesn't apply to former co-workers naturally. One of the people I tell about the production is my organisation's former Chief Executive, now retired. And I feel enormously boosted when he comes along to see the play in the middle of its week-long run.
When the bullying campaign against me began escalating two years ago, Former Chief Executive had already been pensioned off, but we have always stayed in touch (not least because he is one of my referees). Obviously he could not intervene in any way with the unfolding and ghastly disciplinary processes, but throughout he provided a kindly listening ear and gave me helpful guidance on the way in which the organisation would be likely to respond. He is waiting for me outside the auditorium as I scuttle out to catch my train, and offers me a lift home.
He seems amazed at my confidence on-stage.
Sheesh. I am pretty bloody amazed at myself.
"I didn't know you could sing!" he says, cautiously navigating his way through the back streets of Anonymous Area of London. "I couldn't believe it when you came on right at the start and sang the song which opened the show."
Hmmm. This comment highlights the staggering and depressing contrast between the World of Work and my Secret Life Outside. I am probably only a fairly average singer. But by a stroke of great good fortune, I was given a part in a show which happened to feature a professional musician among the cast. And he had lots of ideas for things I could sing, and interesting ways to accompany me on his guitar, and the upshot was that our play almost turned into a musical !
And this is the kind of thing Professional Musician used to say to me when we were rehearsing:
"That's a bit high for you - I'll lower the key"
"Try dropping your shoulders"
"Oooh - that really suits your voice"
"Why don't you sing that as if you were singing it to yourself?"
"You're doing very well"
All very light touch and casual, and constantly focused on building and boosting my confidence. It is plain that if he were transplanted to an office environment, he would be an outstanding manager of staff. Not like my managers. No, no. Nothing like them at all !
And all the other people in the cast were supportive, and complimentary, and funny, and loving. And no-one did the kind of things the Jackals did to me at work. No-one took away and hid my script, made snide comments, excluded me from social occasions, lied about me, sneered at me, did impressions of me behind my back, shouted at me, bullied me, or undermined me.
Because everyone involved in the production was doing it for the sheer joy of it; and because everyone felt secure in their own considerable talents and abilities. So it was easy for us all to accept and respect each other.
God, no wonder I feel totally gutted it is all over.
Last night I logged onto the theatre website, and wrote down all the audition dates for next year's shows into my brand new 2013 diary. One always has to have something to look forward to.
Tuesday, 13 November 2012
Stepford Employee Volunteers!
If I were to draw a pie chart of how I divide up my waking hours, I freely confess "work" would form a rather thinner slice than it used to. Scaling back from an insane 50 - 60 hours per week to my contractual 35 has left me feeling as though I am permanently on holiday. One day last week, I left work early to go and catch the 4.30pm showing of "Skyfall" and even though I had officially booked flexi time, I still felt vaguely uneasy throughout, and kept glancing behind me as though there was a Corporate Spy in the auditorium.
So when Line Manager sends out an email to my team seeking a volunteer, I am on the point of responding in my by-now-customary manner (Skim Read Then Instantly Consign to Oblivion) when I suddenly find my finger hovering over the delete key. I scroll back to the beginning of his email and read it through properly. He is seeking assistance with a specific and time-limited project; and the nature of the assistance is desk-bound, solitary, and therefore appears mind-numbingly tedious. Unsurprisingly, despite his urgent plea for help, no-one has yet responded.
I perform a rapid "pros and cons" assessment. There are only two pros as far as I can see, but they are weighty ones:
1. The project involves some liaison with Procurement. Not as ghastly as it sounds, because for some mysterious reason my organisation has managed to attract several personable, well-dressed, young male officers into this role. (Yes, Anonymous Council's Procurement Team is sexy).
2. If I volunteer, I will float about the Town Hall for a week or two being extremely busy, which means that when the project has finished I can disappear back to my satellite office for about 3 months before it occurs to anyone to question my commitment and dedication.
Frankly, it's a no brainer!
Within 11 minutes of receipt, I send Line Manager a polite email volunteering my services, which he receives and reads straight away. At this point it is 10.30am.
As the working day wears on, I check my emails periodically but no response pops up from Line Manager. Nothing, nada, zilch. In fact if a resounding silence can be said to emanate from a desktop computer, then the one emanating from mine is positively deafening...
I realise that my offer may have come as a slight surprise - nay, shock! - to Line Manager. After all, following his formal reprimand for bullying behaviour towards me, our relationship has been the teensiest bit strained. I am doubtless the very last person with whom he wants to undertake this project. But he needs a volunteer from our team, and I am the only one who seems to be putting their hand up. So he's in a wee bit of a pickle.
24 hours later, when I have forgotten all about my kind and generous offer, Line Manager emails me to "gratefully accept".
Yeah, right.
I make a start on the project a day later, reviewing dozens of documents and making notes, beavering away quietly by myself in a corner of the main Town Hall office.
And something completely unexpected happens.
I find myself very engrossed and interested in what I am doing.
It's been a loooong time since I felt this about my work. I stopped being interested in my work when it finally dawned on me that my employing organisation was headed up by bully boys who would stop at nothing to defend their way of life. And it's been so long since I enjoyed my work, I had forgotten what that feels like.
It actually feels quite good to go home after 8 hours work and know that one has fairly earned one's salary.
Yes, it feels pretty darn good.
I wonder how long this feeling is going to last.....?
So when Line Manager sends out an email to my team seeking a volunteer, I am on the point of responding in my by-now-customary manner (Skim Read Then Instantly Consign to Oblivion) when I suddenly find my finger hovering over the delete key. I scroll back to the beginning of his email and read it through properly. He is seeking assistance with a specific and time-limited project; and the nature of the assistance is desk-bound, solitary, and therefore appears mind-numbingly tedious. Unsurprisingly, despite his urgent plea for help, no-one has yet responded.
I perform a rapid "pros and cons" assessment. There are only two pros as far as I can see, but they are weighty ones:
1. The project involves some liaison with Procurement. Not as ghastly as it sounds, because for some mysterious reason my organisation has managed to attract several personable, well-dressed, young male officers into this role. (Yes, Anonymous Council's Procurement Team is sexy).
2. If I volunteer, I will float about the Town Hall for a week or two being extremely busy, which means that when the project has finished I can disappear back to my satellite office for about 3 months before it occurs to anyone to question my commitment and dedication.
Frankly, it's a no brainer!
Within 11 minutes of receipt, I send Line Manager a polite email volunteering my services, which he receives and reads straight away. At this point it is 10.30am.
As the working day wears on, I check my emails periodically but no response pops up from Line Manager. Nothing, nada, zilch. In fact if a resounding silence can be said to emanate from a desktop computer, then the one emanating from mine is positively deafening...
I realise that my offer may have come as a slight surprise - nay, shock! - to Line Manager. After all, following his formal reprimand for bullying behaviour towards me, our relationship has been the teensiest bit strained. I am doubtless the very last person with whom he wants to undertake this project. But he needs a volunteer from our team, and I am the only one who seems to be putting their hand up. So he's in a wee bit of a pickle.
24 hours later, when I have forgotten all about my kind and generous offer, Line Manager emails me to "gratefully accept".
Yeah, right.
I make a start on the project a day later, reviewing dozens of documents and making notes, beavering away quietly by myself in a corner of the main Town Hall office.
And something completely unexpected happens.
I find myself very engrossed and interested in what I am doing.
It's been a loooong time since I felt this about my work. I stopped being interested in my work when it finally dawned on me that my employing organisation was headed up by bully boys who would stop at nothing to defend their way of life. And it's been so long since I enjoyed my work, I had forgotten what that feels like.
It actually feels quite good to go home after 8 hours work and know that one has fairly earned one's salary.
Yes, it feels pretty darn good.
I wonder how long this feeling is going to last.....?
Tuesday, 6 November 2012
"Ring the Alarum Bell !"
Most people eventually learn to heed a warning.
I was knocked down by a car when I was 13, so to this day I never cross a road without looking both ways. I know that if I am about to pick up my hair irons, it is quite a good idea to look at where my hand is about to land before I do so. And that if I am planning to walk any distance, I need to give careful consideration to my choice of footwear..
But Spiteful Manager, despite being investigated for his bullying behaviour towards me back in March, still appears determined to do whatever he can to make my life unpleasant !
It's all a bit bonkers. And very very childish.
He emails several members of our department advising them that they need to deal with the things they still have in the "overflow" room, following our recent office move - otherwise said items will be disposed of. Which is fine, except that I am one of the people who still has things in the overflow room. Yet I am the only person who hasn't been sent the email.
Instead, Spiteful Manager stomps around the office, making repeated references to "she" and "her" (that's ME, folks!) accompanied by a few unflattering adjectives, and complaining that I haven't moved my things. One of his team says politely "why don't you just email Katharine and remind her?" and Spiteful Manager says "she got the first email a week ago, so she knows full well she has to move her things." He neglects to mention that everyone else has warranted a reminder...
Spiteful Manager then cannot resist saying "I am going to throw all HER stuff away, first thing Monday". Maternal Colleague points out that some of "her" stuff includes some extremely important records pertaining to a bid. "I don't care about that!" snaps Spiteful Manager. "I am going to throw the whole lot away".
How do I know all this, given that I have been spending 90% of my time in the sanctuary of my off-site office, far far away from horrible managerial specimens like the one I am describing....?
Because Spiteful Manager's own team loathe him so much, that not one, but three of them contact me individually; to warn me that he is on the rampage !!!
I dislike playing games. But on Friday, I do what I was always planning to do anyway - except that I wait until 5.30pm to do it. I go over to the Town Hall, having been advised by my numerous confidants that Spiteful Manager has now buggered off for the day. And I spend the next hour moving all my items into a place of safety, leaving only empty crates - their flaps gaping wide to reveal the delightful vacuums within.
I forget all about this episode until I happen to have a chat with one of Spiteful Manager's team late on Monday. "He was in a very bad mood this morning!" I am told. "The first thing he did was go into the overflow office. I think he was a bit pissed off that you had somehow managed to move your stuff after all".
I appreciate that in the great scheme of things, this is not an example of unmitigated tyranny, but it IS an excellent example of Spiteful Manager's immaturity and malice. And also an excellent example of why I am never able to relax and feel safe at work for one single second.
And here's another thing.
Spiteful Manager is paid over £70,000 to behave like this.
Blimey O'Reilly.
I was knocked down by a car when I was 13, so to this day I never cross a road without looking both ways. I know that if I am about to pick up my hair irons, it is quite a good idea to look at where my hand is about to land before I do so. And that if I am planning to walk any distance, I need to give careful consideration to my choice of footwear..
But Spiteful Manager, despite being investigated for his bullying behaviour towards me back in March, still appears determined to do whatever he can to make my life unpleasant !
It's all a bit bonkers. And very very childish.
He emails several members of our department advising them that they need to deal with the things they still have in the "overflow" room, following our recent office move - otherwise said items will be disposed of. Which is fine, except that I am one of the people who still has things in the overflow room. Yet I am the only person who hasn't been sent the email.
Instead, Spiteful Manager stomps around the office, making repeated references to "she" and "her" (that's ME, folks!) accompanied by a few unflattering adjectives, and complaining that I haven't moved my things. One of his team says politely "why don't you just email Katharine and remind her?" and Spiteful Manager says "she got the first email a week ago, so she knows full well she has to move her things." He neglects to mention that everyone else has warranted a reminder...
Spiteful Manager then cannot resist saying "I am going to throw all HER stuff away, first thing Monday". Maternal Colleague points out that some of "her" stuff includes some extremely important records pertaining to a bid. "I don't care about that!" snaps Spiteful Manager. "I am going to throw the whole lot away".
How do I know all this, given that I have been spending 90% of my time in the sanctuary of my off-site office, far far away from horrible managerial specimens like the one I am describing....?
Because Spiteful Manager's own team loathe him so much, that not one, but three of them contact me individually; to warn me that he is on the rampage !!!
I dislike playing games. But on Friday, I do what I was always planning to do anyway - except that I wait until 5.30pm to do it. I go over to the Town Hall, having been advised by my numerous confidants that Spiteful Manager has now buggered off for the day. And I spend the next hour moving all my items into a place of safety, leaving only empty crates - their flaps gaping wide to reveal the delightful vacuums within.
I forget all about this episode until I happen to have a chat with one of Spiteful Manager's team late on Monday. "He was in a very bad mood this morning!" I am told. "The first thing he did was go into the overflow office. I think he was a bit pissed off that you had somehow managed to move your stuff after all".
I appreciate that in the great scheme of things, this is not an example of unmitigated tyranny, but it IS an excellent example of Spiteful Manager's immaturity and malice. And also an excellent example of why I am never able to relax and feel safe at work for one single second.
And here's another thing.
Spiteful Manager is paid over £70,000 to behave like this.
Blimey O'Reilly.
Sunday, 4 November 2012
The Cat and the Canary
I exchange some bantering emails with the Director of another department, which concludes with him suggesting he takes me out to lunch. I am fully aware that I shall be expected to "sing" in exchange for my food (in other words, impart some juicy titbits of gossip about my Dear Little Department) - in fact, so explicit is this unspoken assumption that I sign my final email "Katharine aka The Canary".
I've suggested the cheap set lunch place around the corner from the Town Hall which he dismisses as being unworthy of my presence (remember, rumour - albeit totally unfounded - has me down as "quite posh"!). I respond by asking if it can be possible he is actually intending to take me to the only Michelin-starred restaurant in the Borough, but we end up walking to a decent Italian place instead.
Director X is a besuited gentleman of advancing years, created in the same mould as every other senior officer at Anonymous Council. By this I mean that he believes he has the right to do whatever he wants. He is part of an ingrained organisational culture which has no truck with icky things like "feelings" (eeeeeeeek). Director X is more charming and affable than most (hence my acceptance of his invitation) but although he chats away with apparent incaution about his days at college and how he met his wife; and although I sit and listen attentively and laugh at his jokes, I am still feeling inwardly watchful.
Suddenly he decides to tell me an anecdote about a senior female officer on his team (I mean, very senior. She is one of only two women at this level of seniority in Anonymous Council's entire workforce...)
Director X tells me that recently he commissioned a greetings card for his Directorate's senior management team. He chortles as he tells me that it featured a large bed containing six people, with their heads replaced by those of the senior management team. He tells me that his female manager is "very angry" about it. She has been pictured in bed with 5 men, and as a female manager who also happens to be the only non-white officer on the team, she is outraged. I imagine Director X is telling me the story expecting me to shake my head and sympathise with him over his female manager's ridiculous inability to take a joke.
Instead, I am sitting there toying idly with my excellent fegato whilst feeling increasingly uncomfortable.
"Well, I suppose if it was just an internal joke..." I offer.
Director X laughs.
"Not at all ! We sent the card out to lots of external people".
"Oh," I say.
"It was just a joke!" expostulates Director X. "It was completely harmless. She's taken it totally the wrong way. She's just got no sense of humour".
These seven words - which have haunted me periodically throughout my life - descend upon the table like rain through a broken roof. They bring with them a chilly atmosphere, and I feel some of the relaxed spirit go out of our lunchtime sojourn.
"Did you ask her before you did it?" I say. "I mean, did you call her in and tell her what you were suggesting, and show her the mock-up, and ask her if she minded....?"
Director X rolls his eyes.
"No, of course not. I didn't ask the men either. She's just being ridiculous. It was a harmless joke".
"But it's not a joke if it's upset her", I say.
And then I add "I can see her point of view".
Politely.
Director X shrugs, looking unimpressed, and calls for a third goldfish bowl of red wine before changing the subject. It's almost 2.30pm, and he doesn't look like he's planning to move in a hurry. If I was still a dedicated, loyal Council officer I would be picking up my bag and heading back to my desk for some very hard work....
But I'm not.
So I order another coffee.
After all, he's paying.
I've suggested the cheap set lunch place around the corner from the Town Hall which he dismisses as being unworthy of my presence (remember, rumour - albeit totally unfounded - has me down as "quite posh"!). I respond by asking if it can be possible he is actually intending to take me to the only Michelin-starred restaurant in the Borough, but we end up walking to a decent Italian place instead.
Director X is a besuited gentleman of advancing years, created in the same mould as every other senior officer at Anonymous Council. By this I mean that he believes he has the right to do whatever he wants. He is part of an ingrained organisational culture which has no truck with icky things like "feelings" (eeeeeeeek). Director X is more charming and affable than most (hence my acceptance of his invitation) but although he chats away with apparent incaution about his days at college and how he met his wife; and although I sit and listen attentively and laugh at his jokes, I am still feeling inwardly watchful.
Suddenly he decides to tell me an anecdote about a senior female officer on his team (I mean, very senior. She is one of only two women at this level of seniority in Anonymous Council's entire workforce...)
Director X tells me that recently he commissioned a greetings card for his Directorate's senior management team. He chortles as he tells me that it featured a large bed containing six people, with their heads replaced by those of the senior management team. He tells me that his female manager is "very angry" about it. She has been pictured in bed with 5 men, and as a female manager who also happens to be the only non-white officer on the team, she is outraged. I imagine Director X is telling me the story expecting me to shake my head and sympathise with him over his female manager's ridiculous inability to take a joke.
Instead, I am sitting there toying idly with my excellent fegato whilst feeling increasingly uncomfortable.
"Well, I suppose if it was just an internal joke..." I offer.
Director X laughs.
"Not at all ! We sent the card out to lots of external people".
"Oh," I say.
"It was just a joke!" expostulates Director X. "It was completely harmless. She's taken it totally the wrong way. She's just got no sense of humour".
These seven words - which have haunted me periodically throughout my life - descend upon the table like rain through a broken roof. They bring with them a chilly atmosphere, and I feel some of the relaxed spirit go out of our lunchtime sojourn.
"Did you ask her before you did it?" I say. "I mean, did you call her in and tell her what you were suggesting, and show her the mock-up, and ask her if she minded....?"
Director X rolls his eyes.
"No, of course not. I didn't ask the men either. She's just being ridiculous. It was a harmless joke".
"But it's not a joke if it's upset her", I say.
And then I add "I can see her point of view".
Politely.
Director X shrugs, looking unimpressed, and calls for a third goldfish bowl of red wine before changing the subject. It's almost 2.30pm, and he doesn't look like he's planning to move in a hurry. If I was still a dedicated, loyal Council officer I would be picking up my bag and heading back to my desk for some very hard work....
But I'm not.
So I order another coffee.
After all, he's paying.
Wednesday, 31 October 2012
The XX
I get an email from Stylish Female Colleague, thanking me for something I have done for her. She signs off with an "x". Stylish Female Colleague is impressively self-contained; indeed I would describe her as a "cool customer". "x" sign-offs are not her norm, so I:
a) notice this addition instantly, and
b) feel disproportionately grateful
My gratitude stems from the fact that for a very long time I was led to believe that no-one I worked with liked me, and that I was deeply unpopular. And trust me, if you are told this often enough, you start to believe it is true.
It's February 2012, and I have been on sick leave for almost four weeks.
The reason which my GP has kindly cited on my first sick note is "stress due to work-related bullying" (as he said at the time, having sat opposite me while I cried hysterically for half an hour, "I am going to write down something which may help you". Bless him.)
Although his subsequent sick notes refer only to 'work-related stress" he has indeed helpfully put the cat among the pigeons, as now The Hierarchy are all of a flurry to prove that I am a neurotic fantasist. My GP's sick notes have also given me the gift of space and time away from the workplace so that I can start to rebuild some resilience and re-assess my relationship to work.
I am starting to feel the teensiest bit better when The Postman Knocks...
When I open the envelope and withdraw a 'Get Well Soon" card from my colleagues, I feel as threatened as if one of The Jackals has just broken into my house and started stalking me down the hallway with a knife.
It looks as though the card has been initiated by Politician's Daughter, so I can only conclude that it is kindly meant on the whole. She has written the most prominent message and it seems genuine. There are friendly messages from colleagues - many a bit baffled, as they don't appear to know why I am off. And there are some significant coded messages from The Decent People, who know exactly why I am off (because, naturally, I am in regular communication with them....)
But there are three other messages on the card which make me feel sick. Literally.
Line Manager - who has done everything possible to discredit and undermine me - writes:
"Best wishes Katharine, hope to see you back soon".
Spiteful Manager - whose irrational hatred of me extends to persuading other colleagues not to speak to me - scrawls:
"Hope to see you soon and that you are getting better".
Finally Remora - about whom I am currently incapable of writing anything at all - has put:
"Get well soon! (Anonymous Borough) is not the same without you".
Looking at it now, I can see a degree of black humour in the fact that The Unholy Trinity were compelled to write something on my card, as otherwise it would have Looked Odd. I can just picture each of them hunched over the card while Politician's Daughter waited to pass it to the next person, wracking their brains in the effort to find something suitably anodyne and inoffensive to add; and yet absolutely determined not to say anything which might suggest friendly relations. (Thankfully they all decided to avoid adding an "x" like others have done - because that would be taking hypocrisy just a leetle too far....)
Then I start to think about "xx". Because I use it a lot too in texts and emails, and I suppose it is a type of shorthand, casually communicating to other people that I accept, like and respect them.
So now I am looking at the card again, 8 months down the line, and Golly, I see a lot of "xx"s in it which I didn't really notice at the time. Because all I saw was the 3 sentences above.
It's quite a nice card on the whole.
I'm quite glad I kept it now...
a) notice this addition instantly, and
b) feel disproportionately grateful
My gratitude stems from the fact that for a very long time I was led to believe that no-one I worked with liked me, and that I was deeply unpopular. And trust me, if you are told this often enough, you start to believe it is true.
It's February 2012, and I have been on sick leave for almost four weeks.
The reason which my GP has kindly cited on my first sick note is "stress due to work-related bullying" (as he said at the time, having sat opposite me while I cried hysterically for half an hour, "I am going to write down something which may help you". Bless him.)
Although his subsequent sick notes refer only to 'work-related stress" he has indeed helpfully put the cat among the pigeons, as now The Hierarchy are all of a flurry to prove that I am a neurotic fantasist. My GP's sick notes have also given me the gift of space and time away from the workplace so that I can start to rebuild some resilience and re-assess my relationship to work.
I am starting to feel the teensiest bit better when The Postman Knocks...
When I open the envelope and withdraw a 'Get Well Soon" card from my colleagues, I feel as threatened as if one of The Jackals has just broken into my house and started stalking me down the hallway with a knife.
It looks as though the card has been initiated by Politician's Daughter, so I can only conclude that it is kindly meant on the whole. She has written the most prominent message and it seems genuine. There are friendly messages from colleagues - many a bit baffled, as they don't appear to know why I am off. And there are some significant coded messages from The Decent People, who know exactly why I am off (because, naturally, I am in regular communication with them....)
But there are three other messages on the card which make me feel sick. Literally.
Line Manager - who has done everything possible to discredit and undermine me - writes:
"Best wishes Katharine, hope to see you back soon".
Spiteful Manager - whose irrational hatred of me extends to persuading other colleagues not to speak to me - scrawls:
"Hope to see you soon and that you are getting better".
Finally Remora - about whom I am currently incapable of writing anything at all - has put:
"Get well soon! (Anonymous Borough) is not the same without you".
Looking at it now, I can see a degree of black humour in the fact that The Unholy Trinity were compelled to write something on my card, as otherwise it would have Looked Odd. I can just picture each of them hunched over the card while Politician's Daughter waited to pass it to the next person, wracking their brains in the effort to find something suitably anodyne and inoffensive to add; and yet absolutely determined not to say anything which might suggest friendly relations. (Thankfully they all decided to avoid adding an "x" like others have done - because that would be taking hypocrisy just a leetle too far....)
Then I start to think about "xx". Because I use it a lot too in texts and emails, and I suppose it is a type of shorthand, casually communicating to other people that I accept, like and respect them.
So now I am looking at the card again, 8 months down the line, and Golly, I see a lot of "xx"s in it which I didn't really notice at the time. Because all I saw was the 3 sentences above.
It's quite a nice card on the whole.
I'm quite glad I kept it now...
Sunday, 28 October 2012
Once Upon A Time....
The amateur theatre company I have joined is populated by lots of impressive (and at first glance, slightly scary) women who seem to devote at least 3.5 waking hours each day to the furtherance of its existence. They are permanently on duty - in the box office, behind the bar, shepherding groups of children into pens, and growling at actors who are drinking coffee while wearing their costumes (a truly heinous crime, for which the penalty is instant death).
I have decided that I want to be one of these ladies ! I want to be a fully participating member, not just someone who fannies about on-stage wearing floaty numbers and waving a tambourine. So when I am "volunteered" to be the Raffle Ticket Seller at some of the Christmas Show performances, I say yes..
I have also volunteered to take part in the read through of a new play upon which the writer wants some feedback. So Sunday evening sees me squished into the portentously titled "Green Room" (more a Black Hole which smells faintly of damp) with eight other people, clutching a dog-eared script in my hand.
Astonishingly, given the topic which has been playing on my mind over the past year, the subject of this play is Workplace Bullying ! When I realise this, a spooky little frisson of identification raises the hairs on the back of my neck.
The writer is obviously talented with a great facility for witty dialogue, and many scenes make me and the other actors laugh aloud. And that is really what I start to struggle with - because as the read through progresses, I start to feel increasingly uncomfortable.
In the play, the beleaguered target of workplace bullies (a female high performer, whose managers are deeply threatened by her efficiency...) manages to rapidly collate a dossier of evidence which overturns the malicious allegations to which she is subjected, and to completely turn the tables on her tormentors. Of course, there is a large part of me shrieking "yes! yes! yeeeeees !!!" Meg Ryan-style as our hapless heroine achieves victory over the bullies, but there is an equally large part of me which finds this optimistic scenario stretching the bounds of credibility just a smidgen too far.
Maybe if I'd read this play a year ago, I would have believed in play titles like "Good Must Triumph", "Truth Will Out" and "Happy Ever After"....
But I'm all grown up now - like one of the ladies who run the theatre.
And these days I know that fairytales are just for children.
Tuesday, 23 October 2012
Unfinished Business...
I have a new technique for coping with the office environment ! Thanks to that blessed and life-saving invention FLEXI-TIME, I can schedule my visits to the Town Hall to ensure minimum interaction with The Others !!
Admittedly, this means that I tend to arrive as most people are leaving, but this is a Small Price To Pay.
I pop over late this afternoon, sidling into the main office at approximately 4.45pm, ready for a concerted "hit" on printing off some long documents and downloading several dozen location shots from the digital camera. Line Manager is just on the point of leaving. I manage a fairly relaxed-sounding "night, Line Manager" as he disappears into the gloaming of the corridor. I do pride myself on remaining punctiliously polite, even though - following my complaint about his bullying behaviour (upheld) - this person's efforts to discredit me on every level still resonate luridly in my brain.
As I switch on my hotdesk computer, I realise - rather too late - that the coast is not entirely clear. Spiteful Manager is still lurking, Gollum-like, in the corner. And - oh bugger it, I do not have The Ring about my person.
I am sorry to report that when it comes to Spiteful Manager; my pride, punctiliousness and politeness all leap screaming out of the window. He has never had any managerial authority over me, thank God; but this did not prevent him from playing a major role in the orchestrated ostracism to which I was subjected. This included phoning up my temporary assistant and trying to persuade him into some pathetically petty disloyalty towards me. A major misjudgement on Spiteful Manager's part as it happens, because my assistant - although pink with mortification on my behalf - had the decency to tell me all about it....
Line Manager and I have now entered into an uneasy truce, but at least he is polite to me these days. I mean, today he even sent me a courteous email saying (about my request for an ergonomically designed mouse-mat) "I will arrange that for you, Katharine". Lawks! This represents major progress !!
But Spiteful Manager has never been called to account for his behaviour, despite me submitting a formal complaint about it, so the upshot is that he and I have unfinished business.
This manifests itself thusly:
- Tonight, for over an hour, we are the only two people in the office.
- I walk between my desk and the printer about 12 times, passing his desk each time.
- Spiteful Manager does not look at me or speak to me.
- I do not look at Spiteful Manager, or speak to him.
- This is not excessively hard, as I am listening to back-to-back Kylie albums on my iPod.
Heigh ho.
Just another day at the office...
Admittedly, this means that I tend to arrive as most people are leaving, but this is a Small Price To Pay.
I pop over late this afternoon, sidling into the main office at approximately 4.45pm, ready for a concerted "hit" on printing off some long documents and downloading several dozen location shots from the digital camera. Line Manager is just on the point of leaving. I manage a fairly relaxed-sounding "night, Line Manager" as he disappears into the gloaming of the corridor. I do pride myself on remaining punctiliously polite, even though - following my complaint about his bullying behaviour (upheld) - this person's efforts to discredit me on every level still resonate luridly in my brain.
As I switch on my hotdesk computer, I realise - rather too late - that the coast is not entirely clear. Spiteful Manager is still lurking, Gollum-like, in the corner. And - oh bugger it, I do not have The Ring about my person.
I am sorry to report that when it comes to Spiteful Manager; my pride, punctiliousness and politeness all leap screaming out of the window. He has never had any managerial authority over me, thank God; but this did not prevent him from playing a major role in the orchestrated ostracism to which I was subjected. This included phoning up my temporary assistant and trying to persuade him into some pathetically petty disloyalty towards me. A major misjudgement on Spiteful Manager's part as it happens, because my assistant - although pink with mortification on my behalf - had the decency to tell me all about it....
Line Manager and I have now entered into an uneasy truce, but at least he is polite to me these days. I mean, today he even sent me a courteous email saying (about my request for an ergonomically designed mouse-mat) "I will arrange that for you, Katharine". Lawks! This represents major progress !!
But Spiteful Manager has never been called to account for his behaviour, despite me submitting a formal complaint about it, so the upshot is that he and I have unfinished business.
This manifests itself thusly:
- Tonight, for over an hour, we are the only two people in the office.
- I walk between my desk and the printer about 12 times, passing his desk each time.
- Spiteful Manager does not look at me or speak to me.
- I do not look at Spiteful Manager, or speak to him.
- This is not excessively hard, as I am listening to back-to-back Kylie albums on my iPod.
Heigh ho.
Just another day at the office...
Thursday, 18 October 2012
Fantastical Scenarios
I've been writing a report about our "Harassment at Work - Policy and Procedures Code" from the perspective of a complainant. I had intended to submit this to Corporate HR directly after the weekend, but I didn't realise how long it would take to commit the whole thing to paper.
Corporate HR has reluctantly been forced into telling me they will "welcome" my views, because back in the mists of time, in an unguarded moment of what she doubtless now sees as pure insanity, another HR Officer assured me that I could participate in the upcoming review of Anonymous Council's procedures !!
And now I am holding them to it.
But it is taking a long time, because I have over-estimated my ability to simply write down the facts without being affected by them. So every now and then I have to break off, and go and have a cup of coffee, or head out for a walk, or ring one of my friends.
Re-reading my Head of Department's "Investigative Report" for example. The one where he briefly buried in the middle of his damning indictment the more-than-slightly pertinent comment that Line Manager had admitted shouting at me in front of my colleagues; and then devoted the surrounding four pages to painting a fantastical scenario in which I was entirely to blame for what had happened !
I think you know the scenario I mean.....?
"A quiet Line Manager, noted for his hard work, people skills and courteous interactions, is sitting alone in his office, when a junior female colleague of 5'2" enters and inexplicably begins to speak to him so provokingly that the threatened Line Manager is forced to lose control and start shouting at her, simply in order to defend himself ! Continuing to feel deeply under attack, despite her having instantly about-turned and left his office, the poor victimised Line Manager then follows her out into the main office and continues to shout while towering over her, making her believe he is on the point of striking her. The junior female colleague then sits down silently at her desk, not because she is frightened, but because she is deliberately attempting to entrap the Line Manager into committing further offences...".
Yes. That scenario.
When I first read this report, in September 2011, I began shaking so badly my sister had to make me sit down. She's 7 years younger than me, but that afternoon I clung to her as if she was a psychiatric nurse. I'm re-reading that report now in my office, over a year later; and I'm not shaking, but I feel as sickened by my Head of Department's perfidious defence of my Line Manager as I did when I had my first disbelieving sight of it.
It's irrelevant that I finally succeeded in having his Report discounted (possibly because his scenario was regarded as too luridly fantastical even by my employing organisation's standards??), and it was agreed that the matter should be re-investigated by an officer outside the department. And I was lucky. They appointed someone who was committed to uncovering the truth, not protecting a bully's a***.
It's irrelevant, because I still feel sickened that someone for whom I worked devotedly for 11 years - responding to his queries at 7am and midnight, working evenings and weekends, taking on additional responsibilities and roles - could, without a second's thought, have taken the decision to throw me on the pyre...
My Head of Department has retired now. If he's doing what he always said he would, then he is sailing towards the Algarve right now, enjoying the generous pension which loyal membership of Anonymous Council's Bullyboys Club has earned him, oblivious to the damage and distress he has left in his wake.
I try not to hold resentments towards Head of Department. I try very hard not to think about him. Hell, I even went to his Council leaving do because he particularly asked me to go. But re-reading his "Investigative Report" brings it all up again; and yet again I am confronted with the fact that I am not altogether "over" what has happened.
And I think again about what he said to me at his leaving do, when I politely went over to say goodbye (I spent a bare hour at the party, and this was the only time I went near him). He was on his fourth - or possibly tenth - Rioja by then, and he took hold of my arm so that he could pull me close to him and whisper quietly in my ear so that no-one else could hear:
"I want to apologise for everything that happened to you".
???
I really AM polite you know. I am noted for being a very polite and restrained person. And I think he thought I would do what I always do - accept his apology and we would all be friends again. But this time I didn't.
I said: "You have no idea of the damage you have caused".
And he said again: "I'm sorry".
And I said: "I wish you a very happy retirement".
And then I walked away, got my coat, and left.
Corporate HR has reluctantly been forced into telling me they will "welcome" my views, because back in the mists of time, in an unguarded moment of what she doubtless now sees as pure insanity, another HR Officer assured me that I could participate in the upcoming review of Anonymous Council's procedures !!
And now I am holding them to it.
But it is taking a long time, because I have over-estimated my ability to simply write down the facts without being affected by them. So every now and then I have to break off, and go and have a cup of coffee, or head out for a walk, or ring one of my friends.
Re-reading my Head of Department's "Investigative Report" for example. The one where he briefly buried in the middle of his damning indictment the more-than-slightly pertinent comment that Line Manager had admitted shouting at me in front of my colleagues; and then devoted the surrounding four pages to painting a fantastical scenario in which I was entirely to blame for what had happened !
I think you know the scenario I mean.....?
"A quiet Line Manager, noted for his hard work, people skills and courteous interactions, is sitting alone in his office, when a junior female colleague of 5'2" enters and inexplicably begins to speak to him so provokingly that the threatened Line Manager is forced to lose control and start shouting at her, simply in order to defend himself ! Continuing to feel deeply under attack, despite her having instantly about-turned and left his office, the poor victimised Line Manager then follows her out into the main office and continues to shout while towering over her, making her believe he is on the point of striking her. The junior female colleague then sits down silently at her desk, not because she is frightened, but because she is deliberately attempting to entrap the Line Manager into committing further offences...".
Yes. That scenario.
When I first read this report, in September 2011, I began shaking so badly my sister had to make me sit down. She's 7 years younger than me, but that afternoon I clung to her as if she was a psychiatric nurse. I'm re-reading that report now in my office, over a year later; and I'm not shaking, but I feel as sickened by my Head of Department's perfidious defence of my Line Manager as I did when I had my first disbelieving sight of it.
It's irrelevant that I finally succeeded in having his Report discounted (possibly because his scenario was regarded as too luridly fantastical even by my employing organisation's standards??), and it was agreed that the matter should be re-investigated by an officer outside the department. And I was lucky. They appointed someone who was committed to uncovering the truth, not protecting a bully's a***.
It's irrelevant, because I still feel sickened that someone for whom I worked devotedly for 11 years - responding to his queries at 7am and midnight, working evenings and weekends, taking on additional responsibilities and roles - could, without a second's thought, have taken the decision to throw me on the pyre...
My Head of Department has retired now. If he's doing what he always said he would, then he is sailing towards the Algarve right now, enjoying the generous pension which loyal membership of Anonymous Council's Bullyboys Club has earned him, oblivious to the damage and distress he has left in his wake.
I try not to hold resentments towards Head of Department. I try very hard not to think about him. Hell, I even went to his Council leaving do because he particularly asked me to go. But re-reading his "Investigative Report" brings it all up again; and yet again I am confronted with the fact that I am not altogether "over" what has happened.
And I think again about what he said to me at his leaving do, when I politely went over to say goodbye (I spent a bare hour at the party, and this was the only time I went near him). He was on his fourth - or possibly tenth - Rioja by then, and he took hold of my arm so that he could pull me close to him and whisper quietly in my ear so that no-one else could hear:
"I want to apologise for everything that happened to you".
???
I really AM polite you know. I am noted for being a very polite and restrained person. And I think he thought I would do what I always do - accept his apology and we would all be friends again. But this time I didn't.
I said: "You have no idea of the damage you have caused".
And he said again: "I'm sorry".
And I said: "I wish you a very happy retirement".
And then I walked away, got my coat, and left.
Monday, 15 October 2012
Who I Really Am
I am on the phone to my husband (currently in Scotland) and I tell him that the reason I have just arrived home late is that my rehearsal took up rather more of my Sunday afternoon than I had envisaged.
Husband thinks I sound very happy.
"Oh I AM" I tell him. "I just love every moment I spend down at the theatre".
"That's great," says Husband warmly. "I am so pleased you've found something you enjoy doing".
And I hear myself say "I am almost grateful for what happened to me last year. Because otherwise I would never have found the theatre group".
Two years ago, after 11 years in the same post, I had become desperate for some new challenges. So I accepted an additional role on top of my own job and ended up working 50 - 60 hours a week.
No changes to my job title or salary of course !
Hmm.
Call me naive...
When Line Manager and Remora took particular exception to what they mistakenly saw as my "advancement", and individually and jointly embarked on their bullying campaign, I believed my hard work, loyalty and dedication to the organisation would protect me and ensure I received support.
Call me naive. Again.
But now I have realised I was looking in the wrong place for challenges. There are thousands of other challenges out there - and they have bugger all to do with work !!!
At the start of the rehearsal period, I am chatting with another actor in the play who also happens to be a very talented musican. He thinks we should have some songs in the play. "I sing a bit," I say. "I'd be willing to have a go". "OK," he says, in the casual manner of one to whom 'singing' holds no fears whatseover. "Sing something for me now".
Wha......?
I experience a sudden moment of pure terror. I wriggle and evade. I ask if we can find a private space where I can sing - but no! There are no spaces to be found.
"Well, here will do, won't it?" he says.
We are standing in a stairwell.
A stairwell.
With people on the landing above us, the landing below us, and actually pushing past us on the way up and down the stairs. He strums a few chords on his guitar, and launches into a song I have insanely told him that I know...
And I open my mouth to sing the first verse, and I sound awful and under-confident and embarrassed and scratchy; and I can see him looking at me with a kind of benign politeness. And I suddenly realise that I simply have to go for it, without worrying about what anyone else thinks. I just have to be myself.
So I start really singing in the stairwell - not brilliantly, but perfectly adequately. And I can feel all the terror dissipating, and by the end of the song I have actually started to enjoy myself. And the upshot of all this is that I am now singing some songs in our play. And oh my God - I never, ever imagined such a thing to be possible.
Every now and then in rehearsals I think of my meeting with Occupational Health Doctor. The one when I told her that being in workplace situations triggered chronic and disabling anxiety, and her response was to do everything in her power to prove that my anxiety was a) longstanding b) generalised and c) had bugger all to do with Anonymous Council's treatment of me.
And if I wasn't so determined to completely compartmentalise my life, and keep my precious newfound Leisure Time as far distant from Work as I possibly can; I might actually be tempted to invite Occupational Health Doctor to see the play !
And I might be tempted to break off mid-song and lean out into the teeny weeny bijou auditorium, fix her with a confident gaze and say "See, Occupational Health Doctor? This is what I am like away from work. Nerves? Anxiety? Locking myself in the toilet because I am too scared to walk into a room? Unable to open my mouth because I am so paralysed with panic....? Not on your nelly.
Because that person you met in your office?
That person who had lost her sense of self-worth?
That person whose confidence had been shattered ?
That wasn't me.
This is me".
Husband thinks I sound very happy.
"Oh I AM" I tell him. "I just love every moment I spend down at the theatre".
"That's great," says Husband warmly. "I am so pleased you've found something you enjoy doing".
And I hear myself say "I am almost grateful for what happened to me last year. Because otherwise I would never have found the theatre group".
Two years ago, after 11 years in the same post, I had become desperate for some new challenges. So I accepted an additional role on top of my own job and ended up working 50 - 60 hours a week.
No changes to my job title or salary of course !
Hmm.
Call me naive...
When Line Manager and Remora took particular exception to what they mistakenly saw as my "advancement", and individually and jointly embarked on their bullying campaign, I believed my hard work, loyalty and dedication to the organisation would protect me and ensure I received support.
Call me naive. Again.
But now I have realised I was looking in the wrong place for challenges. There are thousands of other challenges out there - and they have bugger all to do with work !!!
At the start of the rehearsal period, I am chatting with another actor in the play who also happens to be a very talented musican. He thinks we should have some songs in the play. "I sing a bit," I say. "I'd be willing to have a go". "OK," he says, in the casual manner of one to whom 'singing' holds no fears whatseover. "Sing something for me now".
Wha......?
I experience a sudden moment of pure terror. I wriggle and evade. I ask if we can find a private space where I can sing - but no! There are no spaces to be found.
"Well, here will do, won't it?" he says.
We are standing in a stairwell.
A stairwell.
With people on the landing above us, the landing below us, and actually pushing past us on the way up and down the stairs. He strums a few chords on his guitar, and launches into a song I have insanely told him that I know...
And I open my mouth to sing the first verse, and I sound awful and under-confident and embarrassed and scratchy; and I can see him looking at me with a kind of benign politeness. And I suddenly realise that I simply have to go for it, without worrying about what anyone else thinks. I just have to be myself.
So I start really singing in the stairwell - not brilliantly, but perfectly adequately. And I can feel all the terror dissipating, and by the end of the song I have actually started to enjoy myself. And the upshot of all this is that I am now singing some songs in our play. And oh my God - I never, ever imagined such a thing to be possible.
Every now and then in rehearsals I think of my meeting with Occupational Health Doctor. The one when I told her that being in workplace situations triggered chronic and disabling anxiety, and her response was to do everything in her power to prove that my anxiety was a) longstanding b) generalised and c) had bugger all to do with Anonymous Council's treatment of me.
And if I wasn't so determined to completely compartmentalise my life, and keep my precious newfound Leisure Time as far distant from Work as I possibly can; I might actually be tempted to invite Occupational Health Doctor to see the play !
And I might be tempted to break off mid-song and lean out into the teeny weeny bijou auditorium, fix her with a confident gaze and say "See, Occupational Health Doctor? This is what I am like away from work. Nerves? Anxiety? Locking myself in the toilet because I am too scared to walk into a room? Unable to open my mouth because I am so paralysed with panic....? Not on your nelly.
Because that person you met in your office?
That person who had lost her sense of self-worth?
That person whose confidence had been shattered ?
That wasn't me.
This is me".
Friday, 12 October 2012
Ironing out the Creases
Husband has headed off to Scotland to see his mother, so I have a whole weekend to myself !
Much as I adore him, I am feeling rather excited about this unexpected period of freedom - that is, until :
- the reality of two weeks' worth of ironing dawns on me....
- and I remember I have lots of catching up with sponsees to do
- and that rehearsals for the amateur drama production I am currently involved in are starting to hot up
So barely ten minutes after fantasising about spending the weekend lying on the sofa watching the entire Bourne trilogy end-to-end while eating meals mainly composed of chocolate; I realise that I am not going to have a moment to myself after all.
Oh bum.
But no matter how over-scheduled my weekend is turning out to be, there is one task I am determined to complete. I am going to write as dispassionate and as-neutral-as-I-can-make-it account of my first hand experiences of Anonymous Council's "Harassment at Work: Policy and Procedures Code".
How so? Well, because some months ago during one of my many ghastly and pointless meetings with Personnel - when I was trying to explain yet again the impact of their inadequate procedures upon my emotional well being and mental health - I was assured that I could contribute to the formal review of this Policy which was being conducted later in the year.
No matter that I never heard another word from Personnel !
No matter that by the time I chase it up for the second time, I am informed that the review is already well underway !!
No matter that when they finally respond, they make it clear that they are not in the slightest bit interested in my two penn'orth !!!
I tenaciously stick to my guns, politely ascertaining which officer in Corporate HR is overseeing the Review (about as tricky as finding out the truth about what really went on at the BBC in the 60's and 70's), and then I email said officer, courteously requesting that I be allowed to submit an anonymised account of my experiences.
I make it clear that I do not have any axes to grind (after all, I "won" my case, technically speaking) but that I have deep concerns about what happened to me; and that I do not want it to happen to any other member of staff. Ever again.
A tad optimistic, but hey - it's worth a try I feel. (Most people consider me a fairly resilient person, but if I could be driven to a Mental Health Episode when I asserted my right not to be bullied in the workplace, then I truly fear for my less resilient co-workers).
So now that HR has formally "invited" me to produce a report, they are jolly well going to get one. One in which I hope to make clear that there are one or two flaws in the current Policy. I shall point out that allowing "witnesses" to appear who did not actually see the events in question is perhaps a little iffy. I shall draw attention to the fact that six months between incident and Disciplinary hearing is perhaps a leetle too long. I shall highlight my concerns that despite documented evidence that I had been expressing my concerns about bullying behaviour for over 18 months, no-one did anything at all about it. And finally I shall recommend that they come up with a Policy which HR will actually be willing to endorse, rather than a Policy which HR actively discourages complainants from pursuing.
A policy which is about as crumpled, creased and crinkly as my pile of ironing.
So now I am heading home to pick up my script and head off on the train to rehearsals. And in my bag is a notebook in which I have already started to flesh out my report in draft.
There's a lot to do this weekend, but this is my priority.
Neatly pressed clothes?
Hmm.
Now I come to think of it, they are vastly over-rated...
Much as I adore him, I am feeling rather excited about this unexpected period of freedom - that is, until :
- the reality of two weeks' worth of ironing dawns on me....
- and I remember I have lots of catching up with sponsees to do
- and that rehearsals for the amateur drama production I am currently involved in are starting to hot up
So barely ten minutes after fantasising about spending the weekend lying on the sofa watching the entire Bourne trilogy end-to-end while eating meals mainly composed of chocolate; I realise that I am not going to have a moment to myself after all.
Oh bum.
But no matter how over-scheduled my weekend is turning out to be, there is one task I am determined to complete. I am going to write as dispassionate and as-neutral-as-I-can-make-it account of my first hand experiences of Anonymous Council's "Harassment at Work: Policy and Procedures Code".
How so? Well, because some months ago during one of my many ghastly and pointless meetings with Personnel - when I was trying to explain yet again the impact of their inadequate procedures upon my emotional well being and mental health - I was assured that I could contribute to the formal review of this Policy which was being conducted later in the year.
No matter that I never heard another word from Personnel !
No matter that by the time I chase it up for the second time, I am informed that the review is already well underway !!
No matter that when they finally respond, they make it clear that they are not in the slightest bit interested in my two penn'orth !!!
I tenaciously stick to my guns, politely ascertaining which officer in Corporate HR is overseeing the Review (about as tricky as finding out the truth about what really went on at the BBC in the 60's and 70's), and then I email said officer, courteously requesting that I be allowed to submit an anonymised account of my experiences.
I make it clear that I do not have any axes to grind (after all, I "won" my case, technically speaking) but that I have deep concerns about what happened to me; and that I do not want it to happen to any other member of staff. Ever again.
A tad optimistic, but hey - it's worth a try I feel. (Most people consider me a fairly resilient person, but if I could be driven to a Mental Health Episode when I asserted my right not to be bullied in the workplace, then I truly fear for my less resilient co-workers).
So now that HR has formally "invited" me to produce a report, they are jolly well going to get one. One in which I hope to make clear that there are one or two flaws in the current Policy. I shall point out that allowing "witnesses" to appear who did not actually see the events in question is perhaps a little iffy. I shall draw attention to the fact that six months between incident and Disciplinary hearing is perhaps a leetle too long. I shall highlight my concerns that despite documented evidence that I had been expressing my concerns about bullying behaviour for over 18 months, no-one did anything at all about it. And finally I shall recommend that they come up with a Policy which HR will actually be willing to endorse, rather than a Policy which HR actively discourages complainants from pursuing.
A policy which is about as crumpled, creased and crinkly as my pile of ironing.
So now I am heading home to pick up my script and head off on the train to rehearsals. And in my bag is a notebook in which I have already started to flesh out my report in draft.
There's a lot to do this weekend, but this is my priority.
Neatly pressed clothes?
Hmm.
Now I come to think of it, they are vastly over-rated...
Tuesday, 9 October 2012
Mother Knows Best
I spend the weekend with mum. I have only occasionally spoken to her about the events of the past year, because I don't want to upset her, but when she asks how things are going, I find it very hard to lie and say that everything is fine. So I offer up the odd cheering snippet - Line Manager has stopped being sarcastic! Spiteful Manager has had all his staff reallocated to other managers!! - and then spend a lot of time talking about all the other things I am doing to take my mind off the hours between 9am and 5pm.
And mum finds all this so interesting, that it is only on Sunday afternoon that she gets round to asking "how is that very strange woman you work with treating you?".
She means Remora (Ah! Remora. Thereby hangs a tale.....)
Now my mum has a very particular reason for asking about Remora. Because my mother's work life was also blighted by a very frightening female work colleague, whom I shall call Wendy (because that was, in fact, her name....)
Wendy was legendary in our household, because mum used to give a weekly recitation of her actions and sayings. It was Wendy who insidiously and systematically bullied my mother; yet who skilfully persuaded the Head of Department that she (Wendy, naturally) was the most saintly, helpful employee on her team. It was Wendy who for irrational reasons best known to herself "took against" another colleague of my mother's (a mild mannered chap, whom mum described as totally inoffensive) and terrorised him to the point of a nervous breakdown. It was Wendy who said once to my mother about this gentleman "I am going to get rid of him, just watch me". (She did. He resigned, and years later when my mother bumped into him, he was still having nightmares about the experience).
In our family, workplace sociopaths have always been known as Wendies (and my sincere apologies to all the non-sociopathic, lovely Wendies out there, but every family has its little foibles...).
So when mum says to me "how's that very strange woman you work with treating you?" she adds: "that Wendy?".
I have already gathered up my belongings in readiness for heading to the train station, but at this point, and despite having recently celebrated a Major Birthday, I suddenly feel the need for a little bit of mummy comfort and wisdom. So I put my bag down, and settle back onto the sofa in readiness for a Long Chat.
"Mum," I say. "I couldn't have another cup of tea, could I?"
And mum finds all this so interesting, that it is only on Sunday afternoon that she gets round to asking "how is that very strange woman you work with treating you?".
She means Remora (Ah! Remora. Thereby hangs a tale.....)
Now my mum has a very particular reason for asking about Remora. Because my mother's work life was also blighted by a very frightening female work colleague, whom I shall call Wendy (because that was, in fact, her name....)
Wendy was legendary in our household, because mum used to give a weekly recitation of her actions and sayings. It was Wendy who insidiously and systematically bullied my mother; yet who skilfully persuaded the Head of Department that she (Wendy, naturally) was the most saintly, helpful employee on her team. It was Wendy who for irrational reasons best known to herself "took against" another colleague of my mother's (a mild mannered chap, whom mum described as totally inoffensive) and terrorised him to the point of a nervous breakdown. It was Wendy who said once to my mother about this gentleman "I am going to get rid of him, just watch me". (She did. He resigned, and years later when my mother bumped into him, he was still having nightmares about the experience).
In our family, workplace sociopaths have always been known as Wendies (and my sincere apologies to all the non-sociopathic, lovely Wendies out there, but every family has its little foibles...).
So when mum says to me "how's that very strange woman you work with treating you?" she adds: "that Wendy?".
I have already gathered up my belongings in readiness for heading to the train station, but at this point, and despite having recently celebrated a Major Birthday, I suddenly feel the need for a little bit of mummy comfort and wisdom. So I put my bag down, and settle back onto the sofa in readiness for a Long Chat.
"Mum," I say. "I couldn't have another cup of tea, could I?"
Friday, 5 October 2012
A Touch Of Nerves
Anxiety is a weird thing. It is like a nagging injury which most of the time one lives with and hardly notices. But suddenly it flares up and reminds one that it is very much still there.
Last week I started feeling uncomfortably nervous, and after spending some time pondering on what the triggers could possibly be; I stopped trying to analyse it and just accepted it. Until The Obvious rose up and gave me a sharp slap in the chops.
Line Manager was due to return from leave.
These days, on the surface my relationship with Line Manager is all I have ever wanted. Because the welcome consequence of my complaint against him being upheld, is that Line Manager knows that he cannot treat me the way he used to and get away with it.
So now:
- he speaks to me quietly and politely
- he has stopped being sarcastic
- he prefaces his emails "Katharine" instead of launching into an abrupt directive
- he actually thanks me when I send him pieces of work ! (the first time this happened, I nearly had to go home early and have a little lie down to get over the shock)
- and all our interactions are pre-planned and very carefully controlled (meetings are pre-arranged, run according to an agenda, and it has been agreed that the door to the office will always be left open)
The first time I saw him this week, I managed to deploy that reliable old stand by: "hello Line Manager" (professional, courteous and unexceptional greeting). But I didn't ask him how his holiday went, or engage in any other dialogue. The second time I saw him was at a large meeting I regularly convene, when I was able to comfortably introduce him in front of the other 20 people present. But it was after the meeting had ended, and he approached me while I was standing on my own, that I felt gripped by sudden irrational panic.
Line Manager: "I'm sorry, but I am going to have to cancel our meeting this week".
Me: "That's fine".
Line Manager: "Perhaps we can reschedule?"
Me: "Yes of course, please email me some alternative dates".
Even I can see that this interaction is completely neutral and inoffensive. But ever since our post-grievance Mediation Session, when Line Manager betrayed that he was still full of rage about what had happened, I have felt extremely wary in his presence. During mediation, Line Manager expressed anger that I had "attacked" him by having the insolence to make a complaint about him !!! (this was just after he had got angry because I said I no longer trusted him). Naturally, I responded by quietly asking him how he thought I had felt when he followed me out of his office, shouting at me in front of my colleagues, but you know - I don't think he quite "got" what I was saying...
So when I speak to Line Manager now, I know that our polite interactions are only an illusion.
I know that I am standing opposite a very angry person.
And yes - that makes me feel very anxious indeed.
Last week I started feeling uncomfortably nervous, and after spending some time pondering on what the triggers could possibly be; I stopped trying to analyse it and just accepted it. Until The Obvious rose up and gave me a sharp slap in the chops.
Line Manager was due to return from leave.
These days, on the surface my relationship with Line Manager is all I have ever wanted. Because the welcome consequence of my complaint against him being upheld, is that Line Manager knows that he cannot treat me the way he used to and get away with it.
So now:
- he speaks to me quietly and politely
- he has stopped being sarcastic
- he prefaces his emails "Katharine" instead of launching into an abrupt directive
- he actually thanks me when I send him pieces of work ! (the first time this happened, I nearly had to go home early and have a little lie down to get over the shock)
- and all our interactions are pre-planned and very carefully controlled (meetings are pre-arranged, run according to an agenda, and it has been agreed that the door to the office will always be left open)
The first time I saw him this week, I managed to deploy that reliable old stand by: "hello Line Manager" (professional, courteous and unexceptional greeting). But I didn't ask him how his holiday went, or engage in any other dialogue. The second time I saw him was at a large meeting I regularly convene, when I was able to comfortably introduce him in front of the other 20 people present. But it was after the meeting had ended, and he approached me while I was standing on my own, that I felt gripped by sudden irrational panic.
Line Manager: "I'm sorry, but I am going to have to cancel our meeting this week".
Me: "That's fine".
Line Manager: "Perhaps we can reschedule?"
Me: "Yes of course, please email me some alternative dates".
Even I can see that this interaction is completely neutral and inoffensive. But ever since our post-grievance Mediation Session, when Line Manager betrayed that he was still full of rage about what had happened, I have felt extremely wary in his presence. During mediation, Line Manager expressed anger that I had "attacked" him by having the insolence to make a complaint about him !!! (this was just after he had got angry because I said I no longer trusted him). Naturally, I responded by quietly asking him how he thought I had felt when he followed me out of his office, shouting at me in front of my colleagues, but you know - I don't think he quite "got" what I was saying...
So when I speak to Line Manager now, I know that our polite interactions are only an illusion.
I know that I am standing opposite a very angry person.
And yes - that makes me feel very anxious indeed.
Tuesday, 2 October 2012
What to do with Anger...
"But I don't know what to do with my anger. What do you do with your anger?"
Oh God. One of the benefits of not having any children is that I never experience shiny, earnest little faces looking up at me and asking me questions on topics about which I do not have the foggiest. (I have been quite wary of children ever since my nephew patiently explained to me how a combustion engine worked. I think he was 6 at the time).
But now I am sitting opposite a young woman who has recently started coming to local Support Group meetings, and is labouring under the delusion that I have all the answers.
Which of course I don't.
I could say "oh - I never get angry any more!"
But that would be a lie.
So I sit there and ponder very seriously what I "do" with my anger.
Then I tell her I talk about it (to people I feel safe with). And I write about it. And that sometimes (but regrettably not often enough...) I pray about it. We talk about the benefits of walking and swimming and yoga; and about going to lots and lots of meetings. And we talk about how anger can be expressed safely and appropriately ie without shouting, swearing, slapping people, or smashing large items of unattractive crockery one lugged all the way back from Morocco in 1989 (this was pre-recovery, you understand....).
And she tells me all about the people she is very very angry with (mainly her ex-boyfriend), and I sit and listen. Calmly. Which is pretty much how I do most things these days.
But for a few minutes I drift into a reverie and muse upon how the "old me" would have responded to the behaviour of Line Manager, Spiteful Manager, and their little band of bullying cronies. "Robustly," I think I can safely say.
Mmmmmm. Yes. Robustly.
But these days I am a sober-minded public sector employee!
So I do not chuck the hole punch at Line Manager's head; twist Spiteful Manager's tie firmly until I hear a pleasing choking sound; or hang a sign above Whispering Corner saying "Here Be C***s". No, no, no ! Because this would be inadvisable and highly imprudent. Instead I do my best, on a daily basis, to conduct myself as professionally, politely and discreetly as I can. Which - given what has happened - is pretty miraculous, when I think of it. Perhaps those prayers are working after all....
I imagine those who contributed to the scenarios of the past year think platitudinously "it's all water under the bridge", "let bygones be bygones" and "let sleeping dogs lie" . Because they want to forget about it. So it's best to tell themselves that Katharine is getting over it - that she isn't angry any more.
But they are wrong.
I am.
It's just that I am very good at hiding it.
Oh God. One of the benefits of not having any children is that I never experience shiny, earnest little faces looking up at me and asking me questions on topics about which I do not have the foggiest. (I have been quite wary of children ever since my nephew patiently explained to me how a combustion engine worked. I think he was 6 at the time).
But now I am sitting opposite a young woman who has recently started coming to local Support Group meetings, and is labouring under the delusion that I have all the answers.
Which of course I don't.
I could say "oh - I never get angry any more!"
But that would be a lie.
So I sit there and ponder very seriously what I "do" with my anger.
Then I tell her I talk about it (to people I feel safe with). And I write about it. And that sometimes (but regrettably not often enough...) I pray about it. We talk about the benefits of walking and swimming and yoga; and about going to lots and lots of meetings. And we talk about how anger can be expressed safely and appropriately ie without shouting, swearing, slapping people, or smashing large items of unattractive crockery one lugged all the way back from Morocco in 1989 (this was pre-recovery, you understand....).
And she tells me all about the people she is very very angry with (mainly her ex-boyfriend), and I sit and listen. Calmly. Which is pretty much how I do most things these days.
But for a few minutes I drift into a reverie and muse upon how the "old me" would have responded to the behaviour of Line Manager, Spiteful Manager, and their little band of bullying cronies. "Robustly," I think I can safely say.
Mmmmmm. Yes. Robustly.
But these days I am a sober-minded public sector employee!
So I do not chuck the hole punch at Line Manager's head; twist Spiteful Manager's tie firmly until I hear a pleasing choking sound; or hang a sign above Whispering Corner saying "Here Be C***s". No, no, no ! Because this would be inadvisable and highly imprudent. Instead I do my best, on a daily basis, to conduct myself as professionally, politely and discreetly as I can. Which - given what has happened - is pretty miraculous, when I think of it. Perhaps those prayers are working after all....
I imagine those who contributed to the scenarios of the past year think platitudinously "it's all water under the bridge", "let bygones be bygones" and "let sleeping dogs lie" . Because they want to forget about it. So it's best to tell themselves that Katharine is getting over it - that she isn't angry any more.
But they are wrong.
I am.
It's just that I am very good at hiding it.
Monday, 1 October 2012
Rotten to the Core
It's been ages since I connected up with Teddy. She works for another Council department, but over the years we have had occasion to work together on some joint projects. She's kind, hardworking and totally committed to her job. In fact, her dedication is legendary. Bit like mine used to be....
Teddy emailed me a week ago suggesting that we meet for a quick coffee. Quick coffee? Pah! I spit on "quick coffee". As someone who is now embracing work/life balance to the max, I suggest we have lunch instead, and am delighted when Teddy immediately says yes.
So now we are flipping through the menu in a quiet local restaurant; and humming and ha-ing over whether to go for the fishcakes or the mackerel....
And Teddy says "how have things been?".
And I say "well, I have had a very bad year".
And Teddy says "Oh Katharine, I'm so sorry to hear that. What's been going on?"
And I hear myself say "I was bullied by my line manager, and I made a formal complaint, and that is when the nightmare really started".
Teddy looks concerned and asks me some questions. And because I am weary of being threatened with "disciplinary action" if I so much as breathe a WORD about what has happened to me, I tell her - in a fairly discreet, naming-no-names, type of way - the events of the past 12 months.
And Teddy makes sympathetic noises. But Teddy gets quieter and quieter. Until finally she looks around nervously, and drops her voice to a whisper even though there is no-one else at our side of the restaurant, and says "Oh Katharine. I am being bullied by my manager too."
Our scheduled one hour lunch expands into two and a half hours while the waitress - sensing from our hushed voices and our closely pressed heads that a very private conversation is afoot - discreetly leaves us alone.
As I listen to the unfolding tale of how she is being treated, I start to feel more than a little sick. Because it is not the first time in the last couple of months that I have admitted to a co-worker that I have been the target of bullies; only for this to trigger confidences of their own. Confidences which make a total mockery of all Anonymous Council's policies and procedures, and anti-bullying codes, and insistences that all staff treat each other with respect.
Then Teddy tells me that a senior HR officer she approached for advice actually advised her not to make a complaint as it would be such an ordeal for her ! Which does leave me wondering what the f*** any of us are actually meant to do when faced with this problem.
And although I do not want to make sexist assumptions, it is impossible not to observe that all the instances which have been shared with me involve senior male Council officers bullying junior female staff. Talented ones. The implicit message seeming to be: "if you ever think of getting above yourself, I will crush you into silence with a big, heavy, and organisationally-supported fist".
Wow. Depressing.
It is perhaps not surprising that a couple of years ago my organisation established a Women's Network - an innovation most organisations embraced in the 1980's, but have subsequently discarded as outmoded and unnecessary. However, as we have the distinction of being a local authority with one of the lowest number of women at senior management level; clearly we have to be seen to be doing something to address this "problem".
At this point, listening to Teddy, I find myself once again wondering why any woman in her right mind would aspire to join the Senior Management Team - a group of men who will defend each other to the death against any outsider with the temerity to challenge how they behave . (Oh - and don't get me wrong. I am not anti-men. I married one).
No. Most women in their right mind conclude very rapidly that their talents, skills and experience will be better valued within a more forward-thinking organisation than Anonymous Council. An organisation which is starting to seem rotten to the core.
There aren't many ways to fight the Council, and there are even fewer ways to beat it. But I share with Teddy everything I have learned over the past year when I finally stood up and asserted my right not to be bullied; and I tell her everything I did right, and everything I wish I had done differently. I give her my home email address and personal mobile number. And finally I suggest she joins Twitter and follows @bulliedbyboss and others.
When we leave the restaurant, and give each other a hug in the street before parting, I know Teddy doesn't feel alone any more. And that makes me feel very good indeed.
Teddy emailed me a week ago suggesting that we meet for a quick coffee. Quick coffee? Pah! I spit on "quick coffee". As someone who is now embracing work/life balance to the max, I suggest we have lunch instead, and am delighted when Teddy immediately says yes.
So now we are flipping through the menu in a quiet local restaurant; and humming and ha-ing over whether to go for the fishcakes or the mackerel....
And Teddy says "how have things been?".
And I say "well, I have had a very bad year".
And Teddy says "Oh Katharine, I'm so sorry to hear that. What's been going on?"
And I hear myself say "I was bullied by my line manager, and I made a formal complaint, and that is when the nightmare really started".
Teddy looks concerned and asks me some questions. And because I am weary of being threatened with "disciplinary action" if I so much as breathe a WORD about what has happened to me, I tell her - in a fairly discreet, naming-no-names, type of way - the events of the past 12 months.
And Teddy makes sympathetic noises. But Teddy gets quieter and quieter. Until finally she looks around nervously, and drops her voice to a whisper even though there is no-one else at our side of the restaurant, and says "Oh Katharine. I am being bullied by my manager too."
Our scheduled one hour lunch expands into two and a half hours while the waitress - sensing from our hushed voices and our closely pressed heads that a very private conversation is afoot - discreetly leaves us alone.
As I listen to the unfolding tale of how she is being treated, I start to feel more than a little sick. Because it is not the first time in the last couple of months that I have admitted to a co-worker that I have been the target of bullies; only for this to trigger confidences of their own. Confidences which make a total mockery of all Anonymous Council's policies and procedures, and anti-bullying codes, and insistences that all staff treat each other with respect.
Then Teddy tells me that a senior HR officer she approached for advice actually advised her not to make a complaint as it would be such an ordeal for her ! Which does leave me wondering what the f*** any of us are actually meant to do when faced with this problem.
And although I do not want to make sexist assumptions, it is impossible not to observe that all the instances which have been shared with me involve senior male Council officers bullying junior female staff. Talented ones. The implicit message seeming to be: "if you ever think of getting above yourself, I will crush you into silence with a big, heavy, and organisationally-supported fist".
Wow. Depressing.
It is perhaps not surprising that a couple of years ago my organisation established a Women's Network - an innovation most organisations embraced in the 1980's, but have subsequently discarded as outmoded and unnecessary. However, as we have the distinction of being a local authority with one of the lowest number of women at senior management level; clearly we have to be seen to be doing something to address this "problem".
At this point, listening to Teddy, I find myself once again wondering why any woman in her right mind would aspire to join the Senior Management Team - a group of men who will defend each other to the death against any outsider with the temerity to challenge how they behave . (Oh - and don't get me wrong. I am not anti-men. I married one).
No. Most women in their right mind conclude very rapidly that their talents, skills and experience will be better valued within a more forward-thinking organisation than Anonymous Council. An organisation which is starting to seem rotten to the core.
There aren't many ways to fight the Council, and there are even fewer ways to beat it. But I share with Teddy everything I have learned over the past year when I finally stood up and asserted my right not to be bullied; and I tell her everything I did right, and everything I wish I had done differently. I give her my home email address and personal mobile number. And finally I suggest she joins Twitter and follows @bulliedbyboss and others.
When we leave the restaurant, and give each other a hug in the street before parting, I know Teddy doesn't feel alone any more. And that makes me feel very good indeed.
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