The Office Seating Plan

Our department has spent the summer on vacation in a moribund part of the Town Hall due to our new offices not yet being "quite ready" (euphemistic term meaning "no carpet, no desks, no computers - nuffink").

Rather like people moving house who forget to put the kettle somewhere handy; our temporary occupation has meant that for two months no-one has had the slightest clue where anything useful is to be located. Hours are wasted daily, as staff hunt for the Sellotape dispenser, the signing-in book, and the stapler with viciously large staples. Even quite substantial items not that easy to misplace - like the guillotine -  have managed to evade our searching gazes.

But now there is news!

Apparently we shall all be moving into our permanent home at the end of the month. Which means that Ex-Army Man has been industriously working upon something extremely important. He is putting together The Office Seating Plan.

New Boss is unprepared for the deputations and protestations which this exercise immediately generates, and grumpily washes his hands of it all very early on, pronouncing that all enquiries on the matter must be directed to Deputy Boss or Line Manager.

I can't help feeling he doesn't quite "get" the importance of this. I mean, my God ! Upon TOSP, the future happiness and mental well being of his entire workforce stands. And if New Boss stops to think about it, he must surely realise that in a normal healthy office, no-one would really be that fussed about the TOSP.

Not so with us! Because we are very faaaaaaaar from being a normal healthy office....

- Spiteful Manager doesn't want to sit next to Maternal Colleague
- Life Coach Colleague doesn't want to sit within 5 yards of Ex-Army Man
- Low Profile Colleague doesn't want to sit on any table with a hotdesk
- Private Colleague expresses a wish to avoid noisy people
- Shy Colleague wants to stay close to Life Coach Colleague
- Stylish Female Colleague needs to sit near her assistant
- And no-one wants to sit with their back to The Jackals....

Ex-Army Man approaches me, waving the plan officiously. He spreads it out on my desk (rustle, rustle) and smooths it over with a military hand.

"We're putting you here," he harrumphs noisily.
I look at where he is indicating.
A two desk unit, situated away from the other blocks of four.
My name written beside the left hand desk.
And by the right hand desk, another name. The name Remora.

I fall back on the Standard Emergency Response.
"Mmmmmmmm" I say.
"So that's the plan," says Ex-Army Man. "You don't have a problem with it do you?"
"Mmmmmmmm" I say again.

I could say "are you f***ing deranged, Ex-Army Man? You, more than anyone, know that Remora has been the ringleader of the orchestrated bullying campaign which has blighted my life for the past 2 years. You know that she meddled her way into my grievance against Line Manager, and actually appeared at his Disciplinary Hearing as a character witness on his behalf ! You know that I spend my entire working day avoiding her, and doing everything possible to not get drawn into her weirdly sociopathic world. And you think I am going to be comfortable with her sitting next to me......?"

But I just say "Mmmmmmmm".

Later I go and see Line Manager. I tell him politely what the situation is. I tell him that if The Office Seating Plan (Current Version) is approved; then this will, in effect, prevent me from working in my own department ever again. And that I wonder if he might, please, intervene.

When I go to the Ladies Loo after this conversation (needing time out, you understand) I catch sight of myself in the mirror and see that I am looking more than a little strained and white around the gills.

My state of tension appears for once to have transmitted itself to Line Manager.

At the day's end, Ex-Army  asks for another word. He tells me (rather sulkily, tsk tsk) that I have now been placed on a block of four desks, the other three of which are inhabited by Decent People.

"Mmmmmmmm" I say.
MMMMMMMM !!!

Stepford Employee Rules

I've been struggling to leave my flat on Town Hall days.

Few and far between though these are, I find I always have something terribly pressing to do as I am on the point of walking out of the door. Checking my emails, picking bits of fluff off the carpet, and rearranging my knicker drawer are some of my favourite displacement activities...

But this morning, I feel calmer about the forthcoming visit than I have felt for months!

Connecting up through social networking with others who have experienced workplace bullying - particularly reading blog posts by Eva James, and her book "Bullied By The Boss" - has diminished my sense of isolation and the feeling that no-one else understands me. It has helped me not to take what has happened to me so personally. Because I now realise that almost every organisation out there would have responded in exactly the same way.

It doesn't make it right.
But it makes it a hell of a lot more predictable.

The first few minutes upon arrival at the Town Hall are spent in my usual sanctuary (Ladies Loo, Second Floor) which offers me a chance to gather my thoughts under pretext of brushing my hair. I am in the middle of this procedure when lo! the outer door opens and Private Colleague appears.

Private Colleague is intelligent, compassionate and sane.
How she ever made it through our department's recruitment procedures is a mystery.

We enjoy some minutes of amiable chat before I head off into our department's temporary offices. Another stroke of luck! Spiteful Colleague is on leave today. Sitting at his desk is not exactly my idea of fun (I swear that his very chair exudes malevolence), but it puts me on the same table as Private Colleague and Maternal Colleague so after performing some discreet exorcism rituals, I sit myself down and boot up. Life Coach Colleague gives me a wave, and Low Profile Colleague smiles at me.

And it all feels - OK.
And it all feels - quite safe.
And it all feels - comfortable and normal, and as if one day my relationship with work might actually be restored to an entente cordiale, instead of the strained truce under which it now labours.

But in the afternoon we have the team meeting (I employ the term "team" loosely, of course...) And suddenly I am in the company of Ex-Army Man and Remora - the two co-workers who supported Line Manager after I submitted a formal complaint about his bullying. I wouldn't mind, but Ex-Army Man has spent years slagging off Line Manager as lazy and inefficient; and Remora's preferred lunchtime discourse is regaling colleagues with tales about Line Manager stealing money from departees' leaving collections; and being so mean that after numerous pilferings of postage stamps from her personal supply, the one time she needed to obtain a stamp from him, he charged her for it.

Given their brutally unflattering opinions of Line Manager, one has to wonder exactly what their motives were in accompanying him to the hearing....

Ex-Army Man and Remora have now become a weirdly dissonant double act. Less Little and Large; more Shouty and Screech. Being in their company is extremely challenging.

So after what has been a fairly good day, when I have been interacting with colleagues quite easily, I revert to Stepford Employee Rules:

- Speak only when spoken to
- Smile politely when others are talking
- When feeling outraged, bored, disgusted or mad, look down.
- And never ever let the enemy see the whites of one's eyes.

Half way through the meeting, I sneak a look at my mobile phone which has remained on my lap throughout the meeting like a talisman. I read a Tweet by @bulliedbyboss. And suddenly it turns into a good day again...

Blackberry Picking

I used to use the Blackberry "kindly" provided by my employers as an alarm clock.

Which was handy, because this meant that I could start replying to emails at 6.30am, as soon as my eyes opened. And because I never turned the sodding thing off, and leapt for it as soon as the little red light started flashing, my husband developed a violent dislike for it.

One Sunday afternoon, he removed it from my hand and took it into the bathroom, locking the door. All I could hear was a flushing sound and Husband saying triumphantly "that's got rid of you, you little b******".

It was his idea of a joke.
Ha ha ha.

One of the first things I changed when I returned to work after my Mental Health Episode (5 weeks off work for "stress due to work-related bullying" and "work-related stress") was my relationship with Blackberry. I began to limit the period I used it, eventually achieving a comfortable parallel with my working hours (only switching it on at 9am, switching it off on the bus as I headed home, not using it at weekends, and never EVER taking it away on holiday).

It took about two months to retrain senior officers and councillors not to expect an immediate reply to their late night and early morning enquiries, but the sky didn't fall in and eventually they adapted.

I've maintained a healthy relationship with Blackberry ever since, but there are times when it actually suits me to use it out of hours. I pick these exceptions carefully, but the one I find most valuable is looking through emails on the evening prior to returning to work after any length of absence.

I want to know what is waiting for me, you understand.

Tonight, I switch it on and rapidly categorise the queries into priority order so I know what tasks I will be undertaking first thing tomorrow. But I am distracted by a whole series of emails circulating between members of my team, debating what to get Politician's Daughter as a present following the birth of her child.

Now I rejoice in the safe arrival of a baby as much as anyone, and am perfectly happy to contribute to the collection which is now being mounted. But I cannot help but notice the wording.

The discussion has been initiated by Ex-Army Man and the office sociopath Remora. And as the discussion progresses, I register the repeated emphasis upon the fact that everyone else in my team was a guest at Politician's Daughter's wedding. Everyone except me.

And I am reminded of the fact that everyone else in my team was invited to Stylish Female Colleague's wedding except me. That everyone was invited to Satirical Colleague's leaving lunch except me. And that everyone was invited to numerous office "socials" and shindigs.

Except me.

Being systematically socially ostracised by a group of bullying colleagues, after years of being normally included, was a horribly upsetting and humiliating experience. And I have learned that if I react to their exclusion, it makes matters even worse.

But thanks to my Blackberry, I have had a preview of what lies in store tomorrow and can prepare my response. So I practice my DILLIC ("Do I Look Like I Care?") expression in the mirror, give advance thought to some friendly phraseology appropriate for the New Baby card, and make sure I have a tenner in my purse for the collection.

Ironically, invitations for office socials have suddenly started coming my way. This is such a startling change, that it would appear there has been a nervous directive from on high as a result of my grievance.

But the bullies have nothing to worry about!
I'm not going to rock the status quo.

The odds of me accepting one of their invitations are approximately 1,000,000 to 1.

Culture Vulture

I realised at the beginning of August that if I didn't take 5 days holiday before the end of the month, I was going to lose them. Forever.

Once I would have meekly sacrificed these days without a fight - but no more! Following the Hierarchy's spirited defence of my bullying manager and colleagues, I will never again make the mistake of donating holidays, flexi hours or overtime to my employing organisation...

Having obtained formal consent for my owed 5 days leave, I stir myself to make them productive. After years of planning to go and see exhibitions, only to realise they have finished when I finally get round to having a free Saturday, it feels wonderful to actually go and see shows shortly after they have opened.

So I have now been along to:

"From Paris - A Taste For Impressionism" at the Royal Academy
"Shakespeare: Staging the World" at the British Museum
"Edvard Munch - The Modern Eye" at the Tate Modern

!!!

I may be persona non grata at work, but at least I now know my Boldini from my Pissarro.

I go to one of these exhibitions in the company of a former employee. A former employee who used to be - how shall I phrase it? - really quite senior before he retired last year.

We became good friends about 3 years ago while I was heading up a particular project, and have maintained our friendship ever since. He is one of the people who has supported me through the painful experiences of the past year, providing no other service than his time and a listening ear.

And I am extremely grateful for it.

After we have pottered round the exhibition, he takes me for lunch (I justify this ligging on the basis that his pension is probably four times my salary). It's a couple of months since we last met up, and he tells me that he is struck by the change in me. I seem - lighter somehow, he says.

I explain that I have worked hard to expand my life outside work, and that as a result I have achieved almost complete psychological disconnection from the organisation. I tell him that I have no interest in pursuing promotional opportunities, that I no longer feel any sense of loyalty towards my employers, and that I now wave my Stepford Employee off to spend the day in the office, while Real Woman reserves the greater part of her energies for her voluntary work, creative activities and her friends.

Former Employee winces as I describe the continuing decline of my department, the apparent deterioration of the organisation's political leadership, and the descending profile of Anonymous Council.

I wonder if he is wincing because his former ship is going to hell in a handcart...?
Then I realise that, like me, he no longer cares !
Because he is now - gloriously - FREE.

"Let's have another coffee," he suggests.
Goodness.
It's four o'clock already.

"Yes," I say. "Let's."

The Changeling

Last week, I spent an evening watching a play mounted by the amateur theatre company I have just joined. I enjoyed the production very much, but the nicest thing of all was the reception I received from some of the other members.

I have only appeared in one play so far, but as a result of this experience, and coming along to see as many of the subsequent productions as possible, I already know several of the "regulars" (people who seem to spend their entire lives directing/acting/doing front of house/working behind the bar).

They are an amiable, talented and friendly crowd; and having spent the past two years being progressively ostracised by a group of bullies within my department at work, it feels quite strange to walk into a building and experience people being so nice to me.

I bump into one of the boys from the previous show - we have both been cast in a play which starts rehearsing in 3 weeks time. He tells me that the girl standing by the bar has also been cast (he knows her from his university days). I go up and introduce myself and we stand chatting for ten minutes. She is petite and pretty, and with a delightful quirky humour. She seems absolutely lovely - just like the other actors I have met so far. I can't wait for us all to start working together.

Another member tells me that next year's productions have been announced, and tells me all the ones he can remember. It's a diverse, interesting selection, and with a little jolt of excitement I note that some of them even offer challenging parts in my age range.

Two hours later, Husband meets me off the train. As we walk home, I chatter away excitedly about my evening, and the plays I am already planning to audition for....

Oooh!! Roll on 2013.
My working environment might never change - but I am changing.
And that's all that matters.

"Choral Therapy"

I am 20 minutes late for community choir, because I have been standing some distance away from the practice hall trying to establish precisely what has happened to one of my friends over the past 24 hours.

The indications are not encouraging, but having concluded that there is nothing more I can do at that particular moment, I sidle into the hall as a song draws to its close.

Choir Mistress gives me a little wave, and I sit down in between a delightful German woman and a charming retired lady, both of whom always greet me with touching warmth.

The choir is readying itself for a Big Event - singing outside City Hall in the company of 30+ other community choirs from across London. It sounds like fabulous fun, so I am gutted that I will be away from London that weekend and won't get the chance to join in. Nevertheless, I still go along to rehearsals every week, just to join in and learn all the songs.

I have a lot on my mind tonight, so it is glorious to just relax, take things easy, and SING !

We launch into "California Dreaming" in close four part harmony (one of our best numbers...) and I start thinking about Husband, who spent his boyhood growing up in a Scottish town, listening to "Are You Going To San Francisco?" over and over again, dreaming of the day he would visit America and all the other places he heard about in songs.

But usually I don't tend to think about very much when we are singing.

I only think about how many times we are supposed to sing the refrain of the Nigerian lullaby before we start singing the next verse. I think about how we are meant to be syncopating the twiddly bit in the middle of the weirdy song with words by Gerard Manley Hopkins. I think about how the sopranos are only meant to rise in pitch by half a note during the tricky Georgian chant (the one which Choir Mistress tells us is all about "a vine turning towards the sunlight"...)

- I don't think about my problematic neighbour
- I don't think about the people falling off the wagon with very loud clunks
- I don't think about how I can possibly afford to buy a new laptop
- And I certainly don't think about the ghastly goings-on at work.

Which makes being at choir rehearsals absolutely bloody marvellous.

Paterfamilias

The peculiar layout of our temporary office accommodation means that New Boss inhabits his own office, around the corner and at a safe distance from the hoi polloi. I pass it on my way to our equivalent of a water cooler (grimy kitchen, sink, cold tap) and espy him within, door firmly shut, tapping away at his keyboard with a tight-lipped expression.

Coincidentally, this very day I have been mulling over New Boss's repeated insistences to me, during the first few weeks of our acquaintance, that we should all be one big happy family.

Light dawns !

Goodness me, I have been extremely slow-witted. New Boss never intended this to mean "a close knit unit whose members are bound together with strong and lasting ties". No, no, no....

What New Boss obviously meant me to understand was that he planned to sit in splendid isolation from his staff, rather in the manner of a Victorian paterfamilias, and leave the day-to-day management of the children to Mother and the Nanny. Except that he's forgotten these roles were abandoned the day that Senior Female Manager was unceremoniously shunted off into premature retirement.

As a result, some of his children have spent the past 2 years running amok, and now specialise in tearing the wings off butterflies, and balancing buckets of water above doors to crash down upon unsuspecting passers-by.

Oh where is Mary Poppins when we need her ?
Where is Nurse Matilda ??
Where, oh where, is Nana ?!? (because frankly, even a Newfoundland dog could do better at keeping us in check than the likes of Line Manager and Spiteful Manager)

I've got quite a collection of children's books at home, and quite often re-read them at times of stress. Opening the pages, I can be transported to Wild Cat Island, the Blue Door Theatre, or the Land of Green Ginger within seconds - which is a lot quicker than most mood-altering chemicals and has FAR fewer side effects...

But as I make my way back from the kitchen, balancing my plastic cup of water, I reflect that several of my absolute favourite books have a very similar theme.

They are the ones where the children run away from home.

Old Acquaintance

Due to my failure to achieve proper work/life balance, I have ended up with five days holiday to use up before the end of August or I will lose them So I have booked a random series of days off which I intend to devote to exhibitions, social engagements, and - once I have exhausted all other ideas - possibly going so far as to undertake some superficial housewifery.

I've already ticked off  "Impressionism" at the Royal Academy, and arranged to spend a day with my mother, so am well on target !

My days off, combined with my already infrequent Town Hall appearances, mean that when I walk through the door of my department today, several colleagues furrow their brows as if struggling to recall my name.

I undertake a rapid strategic assessment of the situation:

- Enemy sighting at eleven o'clock
- Allies gathered in the dugouts
- Reinforcements massing over the horizon

(or to put it another way: Spiteful Manager is sitting at his desk, the Decent People are huddled quietly at one end of the office, and lovely Deputy Boss is in the outer office within safe hailing distance...)

The hotdesks are located far too close to Spiteful Manager for comfort. But Life Coach Colleague, sensing my hesitation, immediately comes to my rescue and tells me that Ex-Army Man is out at a meeting so I can use his desk.

Which is fine, except that it is covered with strange sticky blotches.
Eww.
Whatever happened to "bulling boots" and polishing buttons ??
Army standards must be slipping.

Unlike The Jackals, who draw loud and relentless attention to the slightest colleague deficiency, I merely scrub all the stickiness off with some discreet Wet Wipe action, and then get on with laying out my papers. I am conscious that I haven't done a huge amount of work over the past week, so am industriously settling down to a Major Session when my phone starts pinging with text messages.

Oh.
There is a crisis brewing, and it has nothing to do with work.

I try to find a quiet corner to make some phone calls, and am eventually forced to leave the building and walk around the car park. During a hiatus, I am sitting on a low wall, phone in hand and staring into the middle distance, when a passing woman stops and says hello to me.

It takes me a few seconds to place her. Then I realise that she is the Investigating Officer who was appointed to look into my complaint against Line Manager. For bullying.

She is smiling at me in a very friendly manner, and asking me how I am. I have just been told that a young friend of mine has been found unconscious on a bus, drunk as a skunk, wearing no shoes and covered in bruises, so unfortunately I am the teensiest bit distracted.

"Fine, thank you" I say (probably not sounding fine at all). "How are you?"

She looks as if she wants to stop and chat for a few minutes, but I am struggling to come up with appropriate Stepford responses so don't do too well at keeping the conversation going. Which means that within a few more seconds, she says goodbye and walks away, but not before treating me to another very warm smile.

I try hard to avoid thinking about the hideousness of the grievance process (far too depressing), but seeing her has brought it all up again. And it is only after she has disappeared that I remember how courteous and professional she was throughout the whole investigation, and that it was thanks to her final report that the matter went to a disciplinary hearing, and that despite the offence being downgraded to a status so minor it barely registered on the scale, Line Manager received a formal reprimand.

Our conversations all during the proceedings were conducted according to the strictest protocols, so the few moments we have just spent together are the first time we have ever talked, woman to woman.

She really was very nice to me today.
I wish I had been alert enough to respond in kind.

Its A Dog's Life

It's 4.30pm and I'm on the phone to one of the young women I currently have the privilege of supporting. She's in a positive mood, despite her difficulties, and seems to be doing well.

Cut to 8pm and the Support Group meeting. It's hard for me to keep track of everyone, as I have been entrusted with running the group that evening, and so at the start of the meeting I think she hasn't turned up.

Then I spot her, sitting in an unusually hidden location.
Hmmmmm.

At the end of the meeting, she disappears from view within seconds, but I run out and catch her as she hovers by the gate, waiting for the person who is giving her a lift home.

"How are you?" I ask her.
"Fine!" she responds brightly. "I'm absolutely fine".

To my every gentle question and enquiry, she responds similarly.
I feel a sudden and overwhelming compassion for her, as I watch her walk away.

Half an hour later, a text pops up on my mobile phone.
"I wasn't being honest with you. I can't sleep without you knowing the truth".

I ring her straightaway and she tells me that after our phone conversation that afternoon she took a drink, and that she has not the faintest idea why.

"Thank you for telling me," I say to her. "I am so happy you have told me that yourself. Because of course I already knew ".

"I know," she says, very quietly. "I could tell you knew. That's what made me feel so shit about lying to you".

"Ah, you're forgetting I told you that there is not a mouthwash or perfume in the world which can hide the smell of alcohol from me. I can smell booze at 1,000 paces ! But I knew before I spoke to you. I knew from the very beginning of the meeting".

There is a moment of silence.
"How?" she asks, with what seems to be genuine interest. "How did you know?"

I run through the Obvious Signs:

1. She arrived and sat down without saying hello to me
2. She sat hidden behind a group of other people
3. She avoided my eye for the entire meeting
4. She ran out of the door the minute the meeting finished
5. She adopted her "Social Butterfly" persona as soon as I began speaking to her
6. Her voice was high pitched with anxiety
7. She seemed very physically agitated
8. She was trying to stay outside my smelling range....

But I don't tell her that the main reason I knew was that every time I looked across at her during the meeting, I was struck by how horribly isolated and tormented she appeared.

"I don't think I am ever going to get recovery", she says tearfully.
"Oh, I think you are" I say with conviction. "Because you are starting to get honest".

 "I thought I could just slip away after the meeting," she tells me as our conversation draws to a close. "I thought I could do a runner. But there was no escaping you. You were like a f***ing greyhound !!"

I tell her that actually I am planning a career change - I have decided to become a sniffer dog at Heathrow.

She has spent the past 20 minutes bursting into tears, so it is nice to have managed to make her laugh....

I Just Don't Get It

I can cope with most things in life these days.

I coped when my father died - clearing out his flat, organising his funeral, and reading the eulogy. I coped with: appearing in court to speak about an assault I witnessed on a train, helping to look after my sick neighbour until sadly she died, and taking care of my elderly mother-in-law. And at the moment, I am coping with an upsetting legal dispute initiated by the man-next-door and coping with all the demands of my job.

But I really struggle to cope with people being nasty to me....

It's embarrassing to admit it given my advancing years, but I am still clinging to the naive belief that if I am pleasant and helpful to people, they will be nice back. And it's even more embarrassing to admit that when they aren't, I enter into a state akin to shock...

When I first realised that a colleague I had supported throughout the terminal illness of a close relative was doing impressions of me behind my back for the amusement of The Jackals, I had a head-spinning moment of disbelief. And I felt overwhelmed with shame.

It took months for me to realise that part of the shame I felt was for him.

People being nasty is baffling enough, but OMG - during the disciplinary procedures I discovered that they did even worse things. I discovered that:

PEOPLE TELL LIES ! - without turning a hair.
PEOPLE MEDDLE ! - in matters which have nothing to do with them
PEOPLE ARE GOVERNED BY A WHOLE SERIES OF MOTIVES ! - and some of them are very very shabby.

I've developed new interests over the past months - amateur theatre, the community choir, going to exhibitions, seeing more of my family and friends. These have given me a new focus and helped me to start enjoying life again. And I've found that between my interests, my work, my home life and service; I am spending the majority of my waking hours fairly profitably.

So I just Don't Get the colleagues whose specialist interest is bullying.

- Who whisper in corners of the office, deriding and mocking people who have never done them any harm.
- Who send each other emails about their co-workers, snickering loudly when they open them
- Who make pointed, bitchy comments designed to cause nothing but upset
- Who actually arrange lunches out so they can better plot and plan how to hurt and humiliate others

It's bewildering, when life is so limitless in its potential, that some of my colleagues choose to exist in so small and airless a vacuum.

There are times (very few I admit) when I almost feel sorry for them.

The Pit and the Pendulum

Saturday afternoon, and I journey to a colleague's house - a colleague who is currently on sick leave. I have to catch two trains to reach my destination, and I descend onto a platform in what appears to be the middle of the country. It is so quiet that the only thing I can hear is birds singing.

The walk to her house is a 20 minute sojourn under leafy canopies and I am so early that I have time to sit in a pleasant park for half an hour and read my book (I am nearing the end of it, and although I'm dimly aware there is a sub-plot about espionage and the Irish revolution, I have managed to skim over most of this in favour of descriptions of sea battles...)

It's lovely to see my work friend, and within half an hour we are joined by another colleague who lives just a few roads away. It's the first time our particular juxtaposition of three co-workers has ever spent significant time together, and as the afternoon wears on and we sit under a beach umbrella in the garden nibbling at a picnicky array, we talk and talk and talk...

And things start to emerge into the light of day. Things which The Hierarchy wants to keep hidden.

- The previous complaints which have been made against Spiteful Manager, making a mockery of Personnel's assertions that he is whiter than snow.

- Further evidence of Line Manager's bullying behaviour towards others

- The utter ineptitude of Former Boss's "efforts" to ensure appropriate colleague behaviour.

We sit in silence for a few minutes, contemplating the swinging Pendulum of time, and the horribly deep Pit into which our department appears to be falling. Then we give ourselves a little mental shake, pass round the strawberries and muffins, and start talking about families, holidays and our home lives.

We all know, you see, that there is no point in trying to "do" anything about what is happening. They are both aware that my own attempt to challenge bullying has had a devastating impact upon my well being, and that I am not prepared to ever raise my head above the parapet again. So why should they?

No - from now on we will be taking the path of least resistance. We'll be submitting requests to work from home, taking all our holiday entitlement, and throwing the odd sickie when we fancy a few days break from the malice, and spite, and crap.

When I glance at my watch, I am amazed to see it is now 6pm (I had told Husband this was the time I would be home). The journey back is slightly slower and more complicated than the journey out, but I have plenty to think about.

I think most particularly of the email Personnel sent me, threatening disciplinary action if I breathed a word about their investigation of Spiteful Manager's malicious behaviour towards me (the organisation's craven conclusion was that despite this having been proven, they did not consider it a disciplinary matter...) Personnel's final instruction was that I was not allowed to say "anything detrimental to Mr X's interests".

I politely pointed out that I felt being bullied and humiliated until I became ill were pretty detrimental to my interests.

But really.
What's the point of talking when no-one is listening?
It's enough of a horror film as it is.

"Footsteps"

A couple of years ago, I signed up for the Council's Stress Management course. This is a cunning ploy whereby the organisation devolves all responsibility for stress onto its employees, rather than itself ("we trained you to manage your own stress! So don't go looking to blame us for your nervous breakdown...")

The course reminded me of the time I watched an organisation's First Aid training session, following which all participants were deemed qualified to save lives in emergencies. This despite the fact that I watched with growing alarm as no-one was able to demonstrate the slightest understanding of resuscitation techniques or the Heimlich manoeuvre....

On this particular summer day, I sat with approximately 14 colleagues from other departments, my shining face turned expectantly towards our pleasant, maternal trainer. This was in the days before I became a bullying target, so at the time all I was having to cope with were the detrimental effects of trying to juggle my actual post with an Acting post; and regularly working a 50 - 60 hour week.

Each participant was encouraged to share about why they were on the course.

- The first was a single parent, juggling her job with looking after 2 children.
- The second was caring for her elderly mother, who had dementia.
- The third was coping with a serious illness.

And as I sat there, waiting for the questioning to reach me, I was gripped with a horrible sense of guilt, as if I shouldn't be there.

I experience a similar sensation this evening, when upon returning from coffee with a sponsee followed by a Support Group meeting, I switch on my laptop and start reading through @bulliedbyboss's blog about her experiences of workplace bullying.

What I read is so horrific and distressing, that my own experiences seem pale imitations. I realise that being employed in the public sector must surely have afforded me some protection, because there is no way that anyone in my workplace could ever behave with "Howard's" obvious brutality and get away with it.

But I also realise that my situation is far less easy to prove. The strictures of the public sector environment means that most of the bullying aimed at me has been covert - orchestrated malice, sarcasm, undermining, deliberate social exclusion, gossiping and isolation. Things for which it is extremely hard to deliver "evidence" unless other colleagues are prepared to make witness statements. And of course, in these straitened times, this is the kind of thing no-one wants to do. I only managed to take formal action when Line Manager and Spiteful Manager finally slipped up, and I had evidence and - for once - willing witnesses.

But I take heart from Eva James' blog. Partly from the realisation that my own response to being bullied has exactly mirrored hers - creating a blog with no expectation that anyone would ever read it, simply to provide a therapeutic and life-saving outlet for the feelings which were building up inside me. And like Eva, I too tried to stand up and challenge what was happening and the organisation's far-too-feeble response to bullying. And like Eva, I ended up badly damaged by the experience; but like Eva I started to find ways to recover.

It is not the first time I have benefitted from someone sharing their experience, strength and hope. It's how I finally managed, almost 19 years ago, to stop drinking. It's why I still go to Support Group meetings at least 3 times a week, and do my best to pass onto others what was once passed on to me. And so I should know by now that I don't need to compare myself with others, or feel guilty that my experience was not as bad as theirs. Because it was bad enough for me.

I am unable to stop reading Eva's riveting blog until I have reached the present day - a present day full of positivity and hope. And while Eva moves forward into the future with her new teaching career and her writing, I am going to move forward with my amateur acting and the community choir. And we are going to enjoy our lives and make the most of them.

It's so good to know someone has trodden that road before me, albeit a far harder one, and that they have survived.

Thank you Eva.
If you can do it, then I can.
We all can.

Ships Passing in the Night

I pay a brief visit to the Town Hall as I need to collect some post. I've been avoiding our department for a week, because last time I went over the only people in the office were The Jackals (a horribly unexpected encounter which left me gripped with anxiety).

Not for the first time, I experience a peculiar sense of disconnection from my own department.

There are, of course, logical reasons for this. We are temporarily housed in another part of the building pending our Grand Office Move - so no-one can find anything, and my poor colleagues continually squawk "where's the guillotine?" "where's the post tray?" "where's the signing in book?" like a flock of demented seagulls.

Additionally, I have journeyed over on a slow bus while engrossed in "Master and Commander", so it is a sensory shock to be jolted from the deck of the Sophie as she plies the route between Port Mahon and Cagliari, to the grim reality of the Town Hall (although the latter's over-crowded conditions, and the notices advising that our office is currently being treated for a flea infestation, do seem to offer a few environmental similarities..)

There's someone sitting at one of the hot desks as I walk in. Someone I have never seen before. Young, female, pretty. ???  Um .... I rack my brains. I delete about 80% of my emails now, giving them no more than a cursory glance, but in the dim recesses of my consciousness I seem to recall one advising that we have taken on an intern. Her name is.... I sit and think for some minutes, until it pops up amid the mental flotsam and jetsam, then go and introduce myself.

She seems very nice. I do hope we are not exploiting her.

(I once had a conversation with Former Boss during which he told me we were planning to keep an intern on for six months. I said "that's terrible! We can't keep someone on for six months and not pay them!" Whereupon Former Boss said "oh, they are all willing to do that, they are desperate to get work" and I said faintly - and pointlessly - "but that doesn't mean we should take advantage of their desperation....")

Apart from our new intern, I am pleased to see that Private Colleague has returned from holiday. Private Colleague who recently opened my eyes to the world of Twitter and @bulliedbyboss. I pass by Private Colleague and say hello, but her conversation is as minimal and constrained as my own. Because standing close to her, like the spectre at the feast, is Spiteful Manager.

If Spiteful Manager's actions were made public, people would find it hard to countenance that a man well into his 50's, a husband and father, and a senior manager paid £70k a year to remain in the employ of Anonymous Council, could conduct himself so shabbily and shamefully. But he doesn't need to worry! Anonymous Council is making very sure that no-one will ever know.

So it is a strange, brief, visit to a place which is becoming more and more distant from my daily life. I am actually starting to feel as if I am not fully present during many of my interactions with others; that I am adopting my Stepford Employee persona with ever-greater facility, while Real Woman takes a willing back seat and has a little rest, and a metaphorical cup of tea and a biscuit.

After my Town Hall visit, I return to the part of the Borough I work in, and meet up with Rebecca - one of the many inspirational people from the local community I have forged bonds with, and who now represent my primary working partners. We spend an hour together, laughing and joking, while simultaneously moving a project forward in successful leaps and bounds.

Rebecca and I seem to have no difficulty treating each other with mutual respect, valuing each other's qualities and talents, and working together in harmonious partnership.

When I was planning my big career change 15 years ago, I wrote a list of the things which most mattered to me. Very near the top of the list, I wrote "work with people I like and respect".

Fortunately I have achieved that.
I work with lots of people I like and respect.
And who like and respect me.

It would just be so nice if some of them were my managers.

Motiveless Malignancy..?

"You need to move on," New Boss kept saying to me.

I did rather feel this advice was prompted more by his desire to have a quiet life than by any innate concern for my welfare, but nonetheless "move on" is what I have done.

Moving on means working fewer hours (sometimes very few), taking up new hobbies and interests, having lots more time with my husband, and far more laughs with my friends. Now I go to the cinema! Leave work early to go to exhibitions! Mooch around shops looking for nice laundry baskets!

It's been so long since I lived like a normal human being, I feel as if I am on permanent holiday.

But my absolute favourite thing is having lunch with a kindred spirit.

Today I meet up with Lynn Inner Circle. It's a month since I have seen her, but we always seem to effortlessly pick up our conversation exactly where we left off. Lynn has an idiot line manager, and a poorly performing assistant, and is thus caught between Scylla and Charybdis. I don't have an assistant at present, because my last one decided not to extend his contract after Spiteful Manager's appalling behaviour, but on hearing Lynn's account I suddenly feel relieved that I only have Line Manager to contend with.

So we share, and eat, and laugh, and I feel a huge sense of having moved on. Until I start to talk about Remora and feel the anxiety, which I try to keep dormant, tighten in my chest.

I have tried for years - since late 2007 to be exact - to make sense of why my once-closest female work colleague Remora suddenly became so hostile, unpleasant and aggressive towards me. I don't often rehearse the exact circumstances (indeed I have never shared them with anyone I work with) but I do occasionally tell close friends the events which led up to her dramatic change in personality. And I guess I always hope that one of them will come up with The Definitive Explanation.

Jo Inner Circle thinks it is because Remora is "f***ing nuts".
Another friend Gina believed she felt a need to control me.
Jealousy, resentment, some kind of appalling misunderstanding? I have entertained them all.

Lynn thinks it is because I "saw Remora at her most vulnerable" and that her psychological response was to immediately do anything necessary to regain the upper hand. Lynn is a very insightful woman, and her reasoning is so plausible that I seize on her theory gratefully.

Gratefully, because I need a reason.
An answer.

I need one, because the alternative is that there IS no answer...
That like Iago, Remora is governed by "motiveless malignancy".
Which would make her the sociopath that deep down I fear her to be.

Stepford Employee Does It Her Way

Line Manager said a very weird thing during our mediation session.

He referred to a report I gave to the officer charged with investigating my complaint.
A report which was for her eyes only.

Now, I suppose I should have queried this at the time, but there was A Lot Going On during that session. Not least the fact that Line Manager was unable to restrain himself from employing his usual communication techniques: brusqueness and sarcasm....

But in the week following the mediation, his casual reference to something he should never have seen niggles and niggles me. Until I send Personnel a politely worded email enquiring how Line Manager could possibly have gained access to this private document.

Personnel takes two days to reply, and then sends me her usual twaddle about "being unable to answer my question because it would breach confidentiality".

??!!?

I read this email on my Blackberry at about 10pm at night, and for some minutes I feel very upset, knowing that once again I have come up against the mighty impenetrable wall which girds Fortress Council.

But fortunately I started my day at 7am, having coffee and a bacon sandwich with Sue Inner Circle! Then spent all lunchtime taking a phone call from a sponsee!! And my evening at a Support Group meeting (listening to Husband, who was press ganged into the hot seat)!!! And I talked with a pale, sweating young man who said it was his first ever meeting; and a woman with three months recovery who was about to have a holiday and was nervous about it.

So the email from Personnel soon fades into relative insignificance.
But that doesn't make it ok.

Personnel has, you see, never shown the slightest regard for my confidentiality which has been breached repeatedly, and yet the breaches never once investigated. Whereas every communique I receive from her contains thinly veiled threats about the direst penalties which will befall me if I should even DARE utter A SINGLE WORD about the spiteful, bullying conduct of two of the organisation's senior managers !!!

Now I could write back to Personnel, pointing out the hypocrisy of her response.
I could. If I want to be driven completely la la.

I decide, instead, to spend tomorrow working from my my own office, finishing off the rest of "Master and Commander" and only responding to the most pressing emails. Behaviour which I believe is referred to as a Go Slow. (Not the kind of decision I would have made a year ago pre-bullying, when I was described as the highest performing officer in my department, but hey - things have changed...)

One of my friends said to me recently "it's a pity you can't just tell your bosses to f*** off".

"I do!" I said. "But in my own sweet way".

On safari

Years ago, I took a courier flight to Nairobi (cheap, you understand) and booked myself upon a mini-safari (even cheaper). Trundling towards Lake Nakuru in a small camper van, we stumbled upon a small herd of giraffe. In their wake limped a baby giraffe with a broken leg.

"But what's going to happen to that one?" I asked our guide, in some distress.
He simply shook his head before revving up the engine..

I do still sometimes think of that little creature, desperately trying to keep up with the others.
Because I don't think that particular story ended well.

Outside work, I have befriended a woman who is struggling to stay away from the particular poison which is slowly destroying her life. I meet her in a McDonalds for a cup of tea, and as she sits opposite me - painfully thin, shaking, unable to walk properly - she reminds me of nothing so much as that baby giraffe. Ironically, she is even wearing animal print leggings.

Her vulnerability and desperation are not hidden by her social smile, or her protestations that today she is feeling "fine". So I have to fight hard not to stand in judgement of those who seem to be hindering her recovery - the man who is having sex with her, the ex-husband who is humiliating her in front of her children, the large group of predators who are circling a few yards away, waiting to pounce the first moment she stumbles.

There are predators in my workplace too - I call them The Jackals. The group of bullies whose spiteful and orchestrated conduct has irrevocably altered my working life. Despite everything that has happened at work; these people have never seen me cry, never provoked me to open retaliation, never heard me raise my voice. They do not know that their presence can sometimes trigger symptoms of chronic anxiety. They do not know that six months ago, I was being helped into a chair by paramedics after I had suffered my first (and please God, last) panic attack. They do not know that in a drawer at home, I keep the pills my GP prescribed to calm me down after I had spent half an hour sobbing uncontrollably in his office (I keep them as insurance in case things ever get really bad again).

The Decent People have their own theories on why I became the target of bullies.

"It's because you are so organised"
"It's because you are so good at your job"
"It's because you always look so well groomed"
"It's because you are so professional".

It's very kind of them to say such things, but for my own part, I haven't got a clue....

I don't think I was a limping baby giraffe. But neither was I a snarling jackal.

Maybe I was too self-contained? Too independent?
Too much A Cat Who Walked By Himself....?

I could go crazy trying to rationalise it.
So I try not to.
But I'm still not going to start limping in front of The Jackals any time soon.

The One Percenters..

My relationships with the Decent People in the office continue to flourish and thrive, conducted in conditions of relentless secrecy.

Three of these co-workers are managed by Spiteful Manager - someone who elected to deliberately humiliate me in front of my own assistant in order to try and turn him against me.

(Fortunately, because my assistant was a person of stunning personal integrity, he told Spiteful Manager that he did not want to be tainted with petty office unpleasantness. Assistant was a well brought up young Frenchman. Case rests..)

Spiteful Manager's role in the lives of these three confidantes means that they prefer to communicate via our personal email addresses and mobile phones, avoiding any chance that our friendship might be "discovered" by Spiteful Manager who will inevitably instantly embark upon one of his usual discrediting campaigns.

The Decent People and I have recently been discussing the fact that our organisation is one which simply does not "get" us. We are people who feel hurt when we are undermined! We feel upset when we are mistreated! We get resentful when we see no effort to address the bullying and mis-management which is rife throughout our Dear Little Department! None of these responses are welcomed by the organisation which prefers its staff to put up and shut up. After all, the unofficial organisational motto is "Just get on with it and don't complain".

We agree that it is a complete waste of time to reveal our innermost thoughts to The Hierarchy. And it is positively dangerous to expose any weakness or vulnerability to the Jackals. But going further than this, why should we bother to waste an iota of humour, personality or warmth on people who treat us with ill-concealed contempt?? As Continental Colleague puts it: "these people do not deserve to be acquainted with my full self".

So we have decided to become the One Percenters!

- People who walk into the office and say "morning everyone!" in a cheery tone.
- And who say "night all!" when they leave.
- Who in the interim, confine themselves only to necessary interchanges about work matters.
- Who only place 1% of themselves on the front line
- And who reserve the other precious 99% for their family and friends.

Having spent so long feeling alone, I am now so happy to be part of a gang ! (Albeit a very very secret one...)

The One Percenters are planning to all go for lunch soon.
Hopefully there will be jam sandwiches and LASHINGS of ginger beer.
Yay  !!!

All that's missing now is Timmy the Dog.
I'm keeping my eyes open.

QED

I have a day off today.

A whole day of freedom away from the workplace !
O joy, O rapture.

Gone are the days when I was unable to stop working, and would continue to respond to emails even while out with my family or friends (more fool me).

Today I don't even take my Blackberry with me, but leave it safely stashed at home.
I have even set up an out-of-office message.

Husband is also off work, so we go and find somewhere offering a good rate on the euro and change some money in readiness for our imminent holiday. Then he indulges me by supporting me in my hunt for a laundry basket and a tablecloth. Such attention to domestic detail is not something he is used to me demonstrating, but the new carpet and a better work/life balance seem to have stimulated my hitherto under-exercised housewifery muscles.

He is extremely supportive, even when I brandish a laundry basket of eye-watering pinkness and insist upon purchasing it forthwith.

In return I buy him lunch at a nice French bistro.

It is a searingly hot day, and by mid-afternoon I start to wilt and whinge so we jump on a bus heading homewards. Around 6pm I meet up with a sponsee and we sit and drink tea on the common in the warm evening sunshine, before walking to a Support Group meeting where we listen to a great speaker. As I wave goodbye to everyone, I detour to my favourite Pakistani takeaway for chicken tikka...

I haven't thought about work all day.
I haven't felt anxious all day.

QED.

Moving Forward

I'm connecting up with lots of Support Group newcomers at the moment.

It's a constant inspiration to listen to them groping towards the truth, and hear their determination to recover. But they often demonstrate a maelstrom of emotions. And over the past couple of days, I have begun to see that I am replicating their patterns in my own "recovery" from being bullied.

Their first emotion is disbelief - this can't be happening to me. Why me? Why can't I be like everyone else?

Then comes blame - it's all their fault this is happening to me, they are mistreating me, they don't understand.

Overwhelming sensations of fear about the future - where is it all leading, what's going to happen to me?

Anger - my old way of life has been destroyed and someone is going to have to pay

Then finally the relief that comes with acceptance - yes, I am different. But its OK.

Back in April my dominant emotions were anger and resentment.
And that's not a sustainable state of mind.

Something had to change.

Despite the bad days when sudden panic still assails me, I know that I am now starting to move forward into what I hope will be a place of safety and calm. Just as the newcomers will do.

That doesn't mean I will forget.
That doesn't mean I will pretend its all OK now.
That doesn't mean I will buy into the myth that things can "go back to how they were".

But I will stop looking for any kind of justice.
And that way I won't be disappointed when it doesn't appear....

Practising Avoidance

This week I had to attend a meeting of local stakeholders. I'd organised the meeting, and have known the majority of attendees for over a decade. Unusually, New Boss also attended, to "get to grips" with the personalities and issues affecting my work programme.

So did I feel a flicker of anxiety or nervousness...?

Nope.

The meeting represents two hours of constant thinking on my feet, and responding to queries. On this occasion, I am also sorely pressed by one of the attendees, who decides to challenge me repeatedly. I cope womanfully. Because in normal life, I am a capable, competent and confident person!

But when I am caught in a threatening situation at work, all capability, competence and confidence flies out of the window. And that's a horrible feeling.

So its not surprising that today I find myself practising avoidance techniques.

- I avoid leaving my flat for a while, choosing to flick through Facebook instead.
- I avoid the Town Hall until mid-afternoon
- I avoid walking past Line Manager's desk
- I avoid entering the office until I know who else is in there
- I avoid going anywhere near Spiteful Manager

A few other things interfere with my determination to actually get some work done.

- Life Coach Colleague rings me for a long chat
- My young friend Leslie rings to tell me about her trip away
- Angie rings to tell me how she is feeling following her latest relapse

But I manage to complete the task which is most pressing. I manage to complete my leave request card which ensures that I will not have any untaken leave days this year. Most important.

At the day's end, I email New Boss as he has instructed and make a formal request for an Occupational Health referral (apparently necessary as part of his Process). New Boss replies saying that he has already put matters in train....

I experience one of my usual wobbles, when I wonder if I might not have misjudged New Boss, and that his bluster and bluff actually conceals a person of depth, sensitivity and empathy.

Then I give myself a damn good shake.
And come to my senses.

New Boss Attempts Some DIY

Yesterday's incident has badly rattled me.

I am still feeling full of anxiety. Not just having thoughts coloured by dread and panic, but experiencing physical symptoms - constricted feeling in my chest, fluttering in my abdomen, nausea, and tingling in my fingers.

It's not nice.

A month ago, I asked New Boss if he would refer me to Occupational Health, but when he insisted that I explain precisely what the problem was, he dismissed what I was saying with the words "that's just silly".

At which point, I terminated the discussion and the OH referral never happened. But when I pass New Boss's office at the end of what has been a very crap day, and see that he is sitting there on his own, I ask if I may have a word.

Once again, I ask if he would please refer me to Occupational Health. He tells me that after I spoke to him last time he discussed the matter with Human Resources and they advised him that I should see my GP. I remind New Boss that when I raised the matter with him last time, I had already been to see my GP and that I had spoken to him on GP's recommendation.

New Boss starts muttering something about needing A Process, otherwise he can't do anything. I tell New Boss that I feel it is very important Occupational Health know that I am still finding some aspects of the working environment very difficult. New Boss sits still but I can sense tension in his posture, and that he would really like to be rolling his eyes heavenwards.

New Boss then embarks upon one of his periodic attempts to sort out my "problems". I have stopped believing that New Boss is being deliberately insensitive, but some of his solutions reveal a depressing lack of understanding. To wit:

"You're stronger than this. I know you are"
"What are you doing this evening? Why don't you just go and eat some chips?" (yes. exact words..)
"it's not as if you are suffering from clinical depression".

At this point a light goes on!! I just happen to know that one of my colleagues has this very day been diagnosed with same (because said colleague and I have been in constant contact via our personal email addresses and mobile phones, ever since they told me how ill and desperate they were feeling and went off sick....)

The light reveals that New Boss does not give two hoots about my well being (not that he ever has).
What New Boss really really does not want is Occupational Health being notified that two of his staff are having mental health issues (anxiety and depression, of course, are both categorised as such).
New Boss does not want this, because:

a) it might reflect badly on his own leadership, and

b) it might suggest that all the concerns I have raised about bullying and mis-management within his department are actually TRUE.

I listen while New Boss burbles on proffering up useless and unsolicited suggestions, and then jump in when he pauses to draw breath.

"I appreciate your concern," I say calmly. "But I would prefer that you not keep trying to analyse me. And please stop trying to FIX me! Please could you just refer me to Occupational Health".

New Boss looks most put out.
"I'm going to need an email from you with this request" he says grumpily.
"Shall I re-send you the one I sent a month ago asking for the same thing?" I ask.
Politely but pointedly.

New Boss turns away.
"That will do fine".

Stepford Employee Doesn't Know What to Do

I have been spending a lot of time away from the Town Hall, and due to my foray into the world of social networking I have been starting to feel far less isolated.

This lulls me into a false sense of confidence, so I am not well prepared for yesterday's incident.

If I were to describe this to someone who has never experienced workplace bullying, I expect they would look at me as if I was completely crazy. Because I would not be able to tell them that anything actually happened.

I arrive at the Town Hall and walk up the stairs to our department's temporary home feeling relatively confident and not particularly thinking about the events of the past year. I've even bought a takeaway coffee which I am looking forward to drinking. But as soon as I walk into the office space, everything changes.

The only inhabitants are Line Manager, Spiteful Manager and Remora - an unholy triumvirate who between them have caused me to experience a level of distress and upset which far outweighed the grief I felt when my father died. Not because I wasn't devastated, but because whereas the grief for my father was rational, I have never been able to process or understand why these people have behaved so appallingly towards me.

Line Manager, Spiteful Manager and Remora, who are engrossed in conversation as I enter the office, all stop talking and look towards me. No words are spoken, but I experience a sudden feeling of chronic anxiety and panic. This is the inner dialogue which runs through my mind:

"Oh my God. They are all in here. Where is Life Coach Colleague? Where is Stylish Female Colleague? There's no-one else here. It's just them and me. I'm on my own. Spiteful Manager is standing right by the hotdesk I was using last week. I need to sit at another desk. Which desk can I use? I can't remember who is on leave at the moment and who isn't. I can't think straight. I don't want them to know I am scared. They can't know I am feeling vulnerable. Shall I sit here? But the colleague who needs to log me on isn't here. I can't just sit here doing nothing. I have to get out of here. I shall fiddle with these papers, then I will get up and go back into the outer office and see if the meeting room is empty...

I don't know anyone here in the outer office. They all work for a different department. I shall just have to walk past them all down to the meeting room at the end. Oh no. There are people using the meeting room. What shall I do? I will have to go out of the building. Oh - but I can't. Shit shit shit. I have left my pass key on the desk in the office. I won't be able to get back in. What can I do? I can't just stand here. Is this office empty? Yes. When will the person be back? I don't know. I am just going to have to take the chance. I will sit here, in this corner, while I work out what to do. There are suits hanging on their coat stand. That's lucky. If I move the coat stand across like this, then no-one walking past will see me. I can just squash up really small behnd it, and sit here for a while, and drink my coffee, and work out what to do.

That was Remora's voice outside. Oh my God. She knows I am in here. She's going to tell The Others that I am hiding in someone else's office, cramming myself into a corner like a frightened rabbit. Did she see me come in? I don't know. I just have to stay very very still. What am I going to say if the person whose office this belongs to comes in? I don't know. I still can't think straight.

This is insane. I know they can't hurt me. Why do I feel so unsafe and so frightened? I need to rationalise this. I can't stay here. I've drunk the coffee now. I need to get up and move. I need to walk back into the office and get my pass key, and then I can just go to the Ladies loo outside and collect my thoughts and work out what to do....."

This all took 15 minutes.
The time in the loo extended to 45.

It's at times like this that I clearly see the legacy of psychological damage that being bullied has left me with.
And I find myself wondering if I am ever going to get better.

The benefits of service..

I meet with Maggie tonight - the woman who recently asked me to support her on her journey in recovery and to whom initially I said no as I felt overloaded.

I am so glad I changed my mind.

She is committed, intelligent and resourceful and is already doing very well on her particular journey. We have a great talk before we walk onto a Support Group meeting together. I am chairing this particular meeting, and so Maggie sits with another of my young friends Leslie. Whenever I look over and see them side by side, I feel very moved.

But Angie is struggling - badly. When she rings me, she spends the whole time crying and blaming everyone else for her present situation. I am finding the balance between compassionate kindness and plain speaking a constant challenge. But instinctively I know that Angie needs very firm and unambiguous guidance if she is to recover.

I tell all these women that I am only another human being like them. That I do not have all the answers, and that I can only do my best for them. And yes - sometimes I feel afraid that I will fail them in some way, but I know that the part I play is only a small one.

What I cannot convey to these women, however, is how much they are helping me. How much they have succeeded in reducing the self-obsession, and hurt, and upset around my workplace issues; and how much they have encouraged me to just focus on recovery, and staying well.

They are stimulating, motivating, enthusiastic and inspirational. And their questions keep me constantly on my toes.

Thank you Maggie, Leslie, Francis. And thank you Angie - for reminding me of how tormenting, baffling and powerful our shared illness is.

I hope you make it.
I hope and pray you do.

Slacking off

I need to read a book.
I haven't read a book for ages - not since poor Kindle died a death.
(And dammit, I had just downloaded "Jane Eyre").

I need to buy an iPhone - or take one out on contract.
Because now that I have learned about social networking, I'd like to be able to check out Twitter and Facebook on a regular basis. Not have to wait until I get home.

I'd like a bike.
Suddenly all the ladies I know are buying bikes! Ones with nice baskets on the front of them.
I'd like to be able to cycle to choir practice and my Sunday night Support Group meeting.

And it would be nice to have a netbook.

All these things require money.
Which in my case means a regular salary....

If I felt that I had to stay in my job until retirement, I could get very depressed.
But if I persuade myself that I am choosing to stay in it so that I can afford to live the way I want to, then that is another matter.

After years of over-work and dedicated service to the organisation, new phrases are now dominating my thinking. Phrases like "take the money and run" and "clock watcher" and "what the eye don't see..." Because every iota of loyalty and respect I once felt for my employer has been driven out of me.

Over the last two years several of my colleagues have been made redundant, and I realise that one day I too may be among their number. But I reckon I can hang on for a few more years, working at only 50% of my capacity.

My employers don't sack people for being bullies.
They don't fire people for being appalling managers.
They don't hand people their cards for driving their staff to suicidal despair.

It will be interesting to see if they have the front to fire me for "slacking" .

Crossing the Desert

Earlier this year, I was signed off for five weeks because of (and I quote) "work-related stress".

- I didn't go sick during the months of waiting for the grievance hearing to be held
- I didn't go sick as a result of the endless procedural errors
- I didn't go sick when I realised how the extent to which colleague Remora had got herself involved
- I didn't go sick during the months of being ostracised and subjected to "mobbing" behaviour

Bewilderingly, having survived the whole procedure with (I hope) some dignity, and having learned that Line Manager was to be disciplined; I went sick as a result of Spiteful Manager living up to his name. Looking back on things, I imagine that I had just reached overload point.

The Mental Health First Aid training course I undertook last week proved extremely rewarding, because it has enabled me to achieve a degree of perspective regarding my own situation! (I don't think this is entirely the point of the course, but hey - whatever it takes...)

So I learned that everyone can sometimes reach the point when their Stress Bucket is so full that it only takes one thing to make it overflow. And that's very comforting to know.

On the second day of the course, another participant approaches me in the break. Employed by the same organisation as myself, they of course drop their voice to a whisper before they broach the subject they want to talk about.

"I wanted to thank you for being so open about your own anxiety" they say. "Because I suffer from anxiety too".

"We don't suffer from anxiety," I remind them. "We experience it".
Words, words. Semantics can be so empowering !!

We acknowledge that we are having the conversation in whispers. But we don't need to question why. The first session of the Mental Health First Aid training focused on the many negative words which are used in relation to mental ill health. And the ones which are bandied around my own organisation are "weak", "unreliable", "unstable", "over-emotional", "neurotic" and "poor management material".

Sheesh. No wonder everyone is too afraid to talk about these issues.

It is while talking to my fellow trainee, that I realise that I have now actually managed to cross this particular desert and reach some green space on the other side. It isn't the first desert I have crossed, and outside work I constantly share my experiences with others in order to try and help them.

Why don't I do the same at work?
Why shouldn't I do the same at work?

I certainly ain't going to get promoted any time in the near future, not after everything that has happened !! And these people cannot harm me any more than they have done already.

Something to think about.

Living Well is the Best Revenge...

People make lots of jokes about lawyers.
But I am so grateful for the good ones.

I had a problem with a neighbour a month or so ago. It hasn't been entirely resolved, but things are much better than they once were. And because I sought good legal advice, I am feeling far less intimidated than I was originally.

When I was signed off sick in February, I went to see a specialist in employment law - a personable, charming chap whom I shall call James (because that is, in fact, his name...)

James listened patiently to all I had to say - and then gave me some extremely shrewd and incisive advice. "Yes, you might have a case against your organisation", he said. "Yes, you might have a case based on their failure to tackle bullying. But you might not".

James pointed out exactly how my employers would be likely to respond. He was clear about the toll it would likely take upon me, and the emotional as well as financial costs. And he pointed out the very real risks of pursuing any kind of legal action against the overweening might and pride of Anonymous Council.

Then James said "your GP has signed you off. So make the most of it. Use this time to re-assess your life. Try and move on, as best you can, and focus on the things you like. Re-establish your priorities. Focus on living well."

Others had given me similar advice, but I was very ready to hear this particular counsel (I find that forking out £300 for advice tends to make my ears ever so alert...)

So I took James' advice, and made lots of lifestyle changes. 

I thought of that advice last night, when I was sitting in a loggia box at the Royal Albert Hall listening to Nicola Benedetti playing Bruch's "Scottish Fantasy". And I thought of it some more during her subsequent duet alongside the Leader of the Scottish Youth Orchestra - 20 year old Daniel Rainey. They played a Scottish air, completely unaccompanied, and it was so utterly beautiful I wanted it to go on forever.

Husband and I were once sitting in a Support Group meeting in California, and we heard a man say "I don't drink, I don't smoke, I don't gamble, and I don't take drugs. And that leaves a helluva lotta money left over for groceries".

So we are now spending any spare cash we have on doing things we really love - and trying not to stint ourselves while we do it.

It was a helluva night last night. It really was.
Thanks James.

No Longer Alone

For a long time, I have felt completely alone.

Not outside work, where I have wonderful, loyal friends, the love of my family, and day to day support from my husband. No. It has only been in the place where I am required to spend the majority of my waking hours, that I have felt isolated, afraid, anxious, paranoid and lonely. Where I have been trapped behind a very high wall.

I didn't create this wall. The wall was created by my organisation. Because as soon as I submitted a formal complaint against Line Manager under the Council's Harassment and Bullying Policy, they brought in an emergency construction team and built the wall overnight. Here are some of the bricks in that wall:

- Former Boss spent hours trying to get me to drop it, despite knowing that I had been raising concerns about Line Manager's behaviour for over two years
- Personnel continually advised me that no-one had ever previously raised a complaint under this Policy, implying that I did not stand a chance
- My Director said in a meeting "it's all about personalities, isn't it Katharine?" continually undermining my belief that it was about inappropriate behaviour
- A colleague who was known to hold a grudge against me was deliberately brought into the proceedings to support Line Manager, even though she had not witnessed the event in question
- Former Boss and Director babbled about the affair indiscreetly, resulting in me being asked by a senior officer from another department "how are you getting on with your grievance?"

Yet all the while, I was threatened with direst penalties if I breached confidentiality in any regard.

For eight months I was discreet, spoke to no-one and suffered daily humiliations and indignities; while Line Manager stood in corridors laughing and joking with Director and Chief Executive; and ostentatiously went off on boozy nights out with those in the department who chose to take his side. And even after my complaint was upheld, the wall still towered above me.

But the wall is starting to come down.

During one of Former Boss's "persuasion" sessions, I tried to convey how I saw his departmental galaxy. At the centre I drew a Big Black Hole surrounded by noisy crackling suns, but around the edges I added some dimly flickering stars.

"These are the Decent People in your department" I told him. "These are people with values, and sensitivity and compassion. You are ignoring them in favour of the toxic, the loud and the destructive. Please stop under-valuing the Decent People. Please".

He took no notice of course. But now the flickering stars have started to shine more brightly. We are communicating. We are connecting up. We have exchanged personal email addresses. We are having private and safe conversations over the weekend about what has happened to us. We feel bonded, and more secure. And they all tell me they are feeling happier - as am I.

Then one of them sends me a link to a Twitter site - @bulliedbyboss - just before she disappears off on holiday. So I still haven't had a chance to ask Private Colleague how she stumbled on this resource, or why she feels the need to connect with it.

I create a Twitter account for my Stepford Employee blog (not easy, as social networking is not something I am familiar with). I start following Bullied By the Boss, and suddenly a number of other similar support networks open up in front of me like the glorious unfolding panorama when one breasts the top of a hill.

OMG !
There are hundreds and thousands of other people out there just like me !!

I AM NOT ALONE !!!

Good Days and Bad Days

Mental Health First Aid training today. Oh - and tomorrow !

That's two whole days when I have a glorious excuse to steer clear of the Slough of Despond, and mix it with colleagues from other departments. Woo hoo !!

The trainers are perky, lively women who both hail from outside the UK, and many of the participants are from the Council's front line services. So the discussions are lively and the contributions extremely interesting.

There's a Northern lad on the course - a pensive chap in touch with his feelings. At one point he tells us all that if a man within his social network told his pals he was feeling depressed or even having suicidal thoughts, 95% of them would suggest that they take him down the pub for a pint; and if the depressed man continued in his mood, they would tell him to snap out of it.

Interesting.

I wonder if perhaps I have been too hard on New Boss, who is quite clearly a product of his own upbringing and environment; and surely does not intend to cause upset. Surely.

We cover a lot of ground this first day. One session focuses on what to say if someone tells you they are feeling suicidal. I listen intently, feeling extremely relieved that when I was faced with this situation recently, I apparently responded in an appropriate and supportive manner. I realise that at no point did I feel shocked by what I was told.

It is impossible for me to feel shocked by anything people say after years of Support Group meetings. So why, I wonder, do I still experience such a sense of shock when people are nasty?

The 45 minute lunch break affords me a chance to head back to my desk to eat a sandwich while I scroll through a few emails. Upon leaving the department, I encounter New Boss on the stairs.

"How's your training course going?" he asks me.
I talk about it animatedly for a few minutes.
New Boss grimaces. I think he looks a little strained.

"You'll be assessing me soon" he says. "I'm getting stressed meself".
"I'm sorry to hear that" I say. "What do you think your particular stressors are, New Boss?"
"People" he says. "Just people".

I ask him what he means and he tells me about an issue he is finding particularly frustrating. This is an unusual level of confidence from New Boss, and I make sympathetic noises. (In truth, I do feel quite sympathetic, even though he has failed to honour his promise to me to "sort out the bullying in the department").

As we are on the point of parting, New Boss makes a very illuminating comment. He refers to a potential work outcome making him feel "more crap than he already does".

This from the man who insisted a month ago that he was "always OK" ....?
Hmmmmm.
It doesn't sound like he is having a particularly good day.

I am already keeping a watching brief on two other colleagues I have concerns about.
New Boss has just added himself onto my list.

Making Progress

A key outcome from my mediation session with Line Manager is that I have agreed to have meetings with him on a one to one basis. We have not done this for a whole year because ever since he shouted at me in front of other colleagues, I have refused to sit in a room with him.

At the end of the mediation, Line Manager asked me to email him to set up the one to one meeting, whereupon I said "actually I think you should be initiating these meetings if you don't mind...?" Line Manager, reminded of his basic managerial responsibilities, did eventually come up trumps and a week ago we agreed the date and venue.

So when I encounter Line Manager at the door of the department an hour before our meeting is due to start, and he says to me "oh, um, the meeting room doesn't seem to be available", I am called upon to demonstrate my usual exemplary restraint. And tempting though it is to say "well, did you bother to book it last week when we made this arrangement???" I resist.

Line Manager is looking at me for a solution. But I have a lunch date, and have no intention of being late for it. "Well, please let me know what the alternative will be" I say as I disappear through the door and head hungrily in the direction of my panini.

The meeting starts 15 minutes late, after Line Manager has negotiated use of New Boss's office. As we enter it, he closes the door. This is directly contrary to the ground rules we agreed at the end of mediation so I open it again without comment.

Line Manager asks how I am. This is the kind of interaction which makes me instantly feel tense. Line Manager didn't give two hoots how I was feeling when he postponed the grievance hearing because it would spoil his Christmas lunch arrangements. He didn't give a flying fig for my emotional well being when he invited Remora to be a "witness" to an incident she did not see. He didn't give a monkey's for my mental health when he repeatedly lied to the Director about me.

"Fine, thank you" I say, and look at the papers on my lap.

Line Manager seems at a loss. I suggest he runs through my targets and I will report on progress. I do this as efficiently and factually as possible.

Thirty minutes pass without undue incident.

"Thank you," I say as I come to the end of my reporting and rise from my seat readying myself for escape.
"Thank you" replies Line Manager.

I think that in terms of our relationship, this interaction can be considered significant progress.

Psychological Insights

Continental Colleague and I were meant to have lunch a couple of weeks ago, but he cancelled because he was unwell. He has suggested that we meet today instead, and it is only as the hour approaches that I register he is intending to meet up on his day off.

!?!!

I offer him as many ways out as I possibly can, unable to believe that he would willingly give up some precious home time to schlep over Town Hall-wards for a coffee and panini with me. But he is insistent that he is more than happy to do so.

We go to a quiet haven I have recently discovered - where I like to believe Paw Of Jackal hath never trod - and settle down to a lovely chat about travel, our respective partners, and (inevitably) our dear little department.

Continental Colleague's psychological insights into our co-workers are astonishingly accurate and revealing. He is very good at identifying the underlying cause of surface behaviour - whether prompted by insecurity, low self-esteem or fear. Sometimes I can't help wondering if he has missed his true vocation! (I have noticed that our European friends seem infinitely better able to analyse people's behaviour than us Brits. In fact I know a Serbian who really should be a psychiatric consultant...)

I tell Continental Colleague that I understand how people can be dominated by fear (Oh God - do I understand that feeling). What I do not find acceptable by any standards is premeditated malice.

Continental Colleague tells me how disappointed he is by the behaviour of his own line manager. I am not surprised, as he has the misfortune to be on Spiteful Manager's team - someone whom Continental Colleague admits is painfully childish, petty, and vicious. A rather depressing description of someone who is paid £70k a year, I think to myself.

I return to the Town Hall in a very good mood (Continental Colleague even insisted on paying for my lunch!) which is only slightly dimmed by seeing Remora in a corner of the office. I plan to get on with my work and keep myself to myself - except that she immediately starts to behave in the most extraordinary manner.

Everytime I get up to speak to another co-worker, Remora starts butting into the conversation from the other side of the room, specifically addressing the person I am speaking to. And her voice is not a quiet one (Remora's personal philosophy is "I screech, therefore I am"...) But her conduct becomes so weirdly repetitive that my co-workers all start clearly seeing what she is doing. And more importantly, why.

Remora, it would seem, cannot cope with seeing me walking into the office looking happy and contented. She cannot tolerate me having friendly interactions with other colleagues. And her monstrous ego (what I suppose Continental Colleague would interpret as "low self-esteem") means that she is prepared to do absolutely anything to draw attention onto herself.

I could challenge her behaviour. I could ask her politely to stop interrupting my private conversations, and screeching, and being so f***ing rude.

I could - but I don't.
Because if I leave her well alone, Remora's sociopathic mentality will eventually be apparent to all...

Making the Right Choices

I get to the Support Group a good twenty minutes before it starts. The woman I have just started helping (Angie) has sent me a text earlier in the day saying she will meet me here; and, ever-optimistic, I think she might be there already, waiting for me.

But she isn't.

Angie rang me yesterday afternoon, wanting to talk about issues which have little to do with her recovery, and then told me she would be at that night's Support Group meeting.

But she wasn't.

I feel sad, but I know that there is little point getting emotional about the situation. Angie is far more ill than she realises, both mentally and physically. And her denial is running very very deep.

My young friend Leslie is there though. She is at every Support Group meeting I go to, trying her very best to put into practice what she is learning. She is looking very pretty in a nice summer dress.

Then a very glamorous woman says hello to me. Oh ! It's Holly, whom I last saw a couple of weeks ago. Wow. She is looking terrific ! Far better than the last time I saw her, when she was still shaky and full of shame, with mascara running down her face. Holly tells me she "should" be at a work do, but she has chosen to come to the meeting instead. And she reminds me of how my life started to change when I first started to realise I had choices.

Angie isn't yet able to recognise the choices available to her, which is a genuine tragedy.

It's a fabulous meeting tonight, and full of gorgeous, successful, positive women who make this programme incredibly attractive. I remember meeting women like them in my early days, and really wanting what they had. And it wasn't their jobs, or looks, or home lives I wanted; it was their self-esteem and their peace of mind.

While I am sitting in the meeting, I realise that thoughts of Maggie keep floating through my head. Maggie - who has recently asked me to help her, and whom I had to say no to. Maggie, who nonetheless turned up to the following Monday evening's meeting and sat next to me. Maggie who is working hard on herself and her recovery.

A light goes on.

I have choices - and sometimes I make the wrong ones.
Supporting Angie is not sufficient reason to reject Maggie.
There has to be room for both of them.