The One, One Year On

This is the last time I'll bang on about this. Promise!

Today is the one year anniversary of my last day at Fred Olsen Cruise Lines - the company I worked for, for 13 and a half years.

The day was one of the worst of my life. I put on a brave face. I made jokes. I played the fool and the clown as I always do because that's how I cope.

For Christ sake I even had a "closing down sale" and gave away my stapler and hole punch.

Inside I was scared and frightened and someone had ripped my guts out.

When I left I sat in my car for the best part of an hour crying my eyes out with Ken - who was crying too and we hugged and laughed and cried some more and couldn't believe we wouldn't be working together after all these years.

But now one year on I'm sitting here writing this with a bottle of something fizzy and dry to toast the last year and the amazing changes in my life.

It was one of the best things that ever happened to me. Just not done in the best way.

To this day I don't think they ever understood why I contested my redundancy when it was noted that I quite obviously had aspirations and talents elsewhere.

But I felt that was my decision to make - no one else's.

I resented the assumption that I'm good old sport and would go quietly. Without one last hurrah. A send off. A thank you. But with a boot up the arse out the door. Off you go love and do your writing because we know you're hearts not in it and you've had this baby we didn't expect you to have and we don't really know what to do with you so slink off without a word there's a good girl and we'll forget this ever happened shall we!

Well that was never going to be me now was it.

Maybe I got it wrong. Maybe now with reflection I was rash, hasty, angry, hurt, humiliated.

It was the speed, the sweeping assumptions, the feeling of being brushed under the carpet.

I have since been told that I was a "situation" which has now been dealt with. I was too loud. Too noisy. There'd been whispers. Complaints.

Well I moved floors when our department changed I didn't fundamentally alter my personality so what the hell did they expect.

It leaves yet another bitter taste in my mouth about my years working for "the man" as a friends husband calls it and it serves to confirm that I would now, even after only a year, struggle to work for someone else.

So tonight I raise a glass not to those years but to the last year and the years to come.

Cheers and remember the words of the always eloquent and articulate Fletch from Porridge

"Don't let the bastards grind you down!"

The One Where I Try to Let Go

Today I saw Hippy Chick!


She is not only a dear friend but my confidence coach. 


I'd had the session booked in the diary for a few weeks which I was glad of as it was sorely needed.


Since my post yesterday I've had lovely messages on here, on facebook, e-mails and texts. Friends, family, former colleagues and the blogging community are always so supportive when I am down. I thank you all. You made me smile and brought tears to my eyes. 


It was cathartic just writing it all down to be honest and in an ironic twist the boy has been a delight since my blogging moan. He woke from his nap, ate all his lunch, played nicely with his friend and went to bed like a dream. No dramas. No screaming. He was a good boy for Nanny P today and generally a delight again. Little bugger. It's like he knows Mummy had a bloody good moan!


So last night before my confidence session today I questioned why I was struggling so much. Was it the boy? Was it just because he was being "challenging"? I do so love Hippy Chick's use of the expression "challenging" - it's inner confidence coaching speak for "being a sod"!


And you know what, it isn't just that. Of course he's being challenging, he 18 months old. He's always been full on in terms of energy and emotions. That's my boy. No one knows that better than me. No one knows him like his mum.


No, what had happened was, I wasn't coping with the boy because my head was still full of resentment and anger about my redundancy. It was like wading through soup. Horrible thick pea and ham soup. I couldn't think straight or focus because of all the pent up emotion.


So today I got rid of it all.


I talked and talked and told Hippy Chick every last horrible, vile detail of the mess that was my redundancy "process"! How I was made to feel stupid and incompetent and a worthless number after 13 and a half years. How I'm drinking too much and eating too much and screwed up inside with regret and bitterness. How I miss my friends, my colleagues, my desk, my place, my job!


I can't believe I'm saying this after all the years of moaning but I miss my job. That's why I felt so lost. All at sea! And that's irony in itself! 


So Hippy Chick got me to put all that emotion in a big ball in front of me. I could see it. I could feel it. It was enormous. It had no colour, it was grey, dull, like a ball of faded elastic bands that had been knocking about the office for years. No one used them. They were redundant. 


I looked at the imaginary ball and sobbed my heart out. I wish I'd said more. I wish I'd done more. I wish I'd fought it. I felt a failure. I'd lost my job. I was weak. I'd walked away. I'd been beaten down and defeated. I'd been trampled over. Every last bitter tear feel into that ball.


Then I took a deep breath and threw it away.


I tossed it over my head and left it in the past. Where it belongs.


I felt cleansed.


Hippy Chick suggested that when more feelings surfaced that I do the same again at home.


I've already had a quick toss this evening. 


Very apt for getting rid of something created in the first place by a bunch of tossers!

The One with All the Redundancies

I can now reveal why it's been such a troubled time in the Random Household.


My Dad and I were both made redundant in the same week! 


Dad on the Monday. Me on the Wednesday!


We don't work for the same company. We've just both been victims of the recession. We've certainly both been victims.


In the same week Hubby's job wasn't looking so secure, some good friends announced they were splitting up and worst of all my dear friend Barbie lost her Mum.


All of these incidents on their own are worrying or unsettling enough, especially when friends and family mean so much to you, but all together in the space of five days was unprecedented. 


When I was told about my job I wanted my say, to show I wasn't a soft option, an easy target. Good old Random Woman she never sticks up for herself, she never complains. She'll go quietly. In the end I did because I wasn't strong enough to deal with what followed. And for that I kick myself. But at least I have my pride, my dignity and my integrity. Not everyone in business can say that.


Unfortunately my confidence took a hit and my self esteem is low. I've even struggled to leave the house on a few occasions. The bouts of depression that have dogged my adult life have started to re-surface.  Had I been chucked on the scrap heap at 41? Why me after 13 and a half years of service? Why was it just me and no one else?


What has surprised me is my reaction to it all. For those of you who read my posts when I was umming and ahing about whether to go back to work after my maternity leave, you'll know that the job didn't play to my creative strengths, but what I've found is I've become highly emotional at having to leave when it wasn't on my terms. Even now, two weeks on, I cry at the slightest thing. I did today when I saw some old work colleagues because it's the people I'll miss. 13 and a half years is a long time. Over half my working life. Just gone in an instant! 


My Dad has got another job and I am immensely proud of him at 63 for doing that so swiftly. Hubby's company is being very sensible and not making any rash decisions at the moment. Our friends are perfectly amicable with their separation and starting to carve out new lives. Barbie is brave and strong and I am proud of her everyday. 


As for me I'm ok. I've started doing some freelance writing work which is fantastic and what I always wanted. I have the boy, hubby and Oscar. We have no debts. I am extremely lucky. I have my redundancy money, my P45 and a chance at a more fulfilling working life.


I'm also very, very sad. Sad that I won't see my friends at work anymore. Sad that it all ended the way it did. Sad that it was all so rushed. Sad I didn't get to say a proper good-bye. 
Sad that I couldn't fight. 


Sometimes things are just too huge to fight against even when you know you are just in your cause. So now I write and hope that the pen will be mightier than the sword!


Losing my job and embarking on this new chapter has made me reflect on my working life so far and I was reminded of a story from my previous job. 


I worked for a concession in a big department store for 6 years. It was in this department store that I met Hubby.


One Christmas the management asked the staff to suggest what we would like as a Christmas party. They provided a suggestion box, pen and pieces of paper and placed it in the staff room. When the time came to open the box, one lone scrap of paper fluttered out. On it was simply written;


"A piss up in a brewery. If we thought you could organise it!"


Which only goes to prove nothing much changes. Whoever you work for!