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Writer's pictureCath Shaw Brave As Fuck

Its Not The Critic Who Counts


Yesterday I had a zoom meeting. And the night before I was unsettled. Anxious and unsettled. At the last meeting, last month I had almost panic attack feelings and switched off my camera. I run scenarios in my head of how I can not go to these meetings. Yet I was n't sure exactly why.


Yesterday, I knew why. One female in particular. One female who always makes a slightly diminishing comment when I speak. Which makes me not want to speak. A few months ago, she made a crap comment after I described a piece of work that I was working on. Yesterday, she made a negative comment after I had described a plan I was working on.


Except yesterday instead of withdrawing, I was a bad ass. I put my virtual hand up to offer a point. When I was asked to speak, I asked to go back to the point this individual had made, acknowledged her point and inviting her and others to join to group I was forming. This group is focused on solutions.


After the last meeting, I went for a walk around the park sobbing, all the time trying to work out why I was so upset. After this meeting, I called my manager and told her how I felt. I described the many years of social work with female managers exactly like this individual. And the many comments designed to diminish. I chose to express my feelings rather than internalise them (go me).


My manager described working for 25 years in local authority settings. She said that she had also encountered many individuals like the individual in the meeting. She called them bullies. Fuck. Immediately, I physically felt the impact of the word. Bully. And I felt a very strong desire to minimise that word. To call it something else. To stop talking about this. I felt a flash of the brain fog that I get around these individuals. The cloudy thinking. The lack of confidence. The inability to articulate myself. The shut down.


I was n't able to express these feelings to my manager. I just listened to her. I listened to her use the word bully again and describe bullying cultures. And that her own motivations as a manager included to manage in a different way. As she said that, I remembered the inspirational poems and quotes on my manager's wall. And they made sense.


Afterwards, I was telling this story to Moira over a gin and tonic in the warm late summer sunshine. I used the word bully. She described similar experiences with similar bosses. We spoke about why these individuals acted like this. We both agreed it was fear. And I was able to feel compassion for the critics. And I was able to feel the sweet taste of freedom. #humansarecomplex #thefreeingpowerofcompassion #braveasfuck.





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