My ultra-personal inner monologue

Suffocating hen

Lunch today was great. Outside in the sun, sprawling on the grass. I never had lunch on the grass in South Africa.

This evening Jay phoned me on my back from work, and we decided to catch a movie. We had a great time, and it was lovely to just talk and relax a bit. After being asked I did complain about my manager a bit, but it’s good to verbalise my frustrations to someone at least.

After the film we chatted quite a lot about post-war Europe, and it was so wonderful to be taken seriously. That is perhaps the thing that frustrates me most at work: I’m not taken seriously, I am not believed, I am not acknowledged.

The name slips my mind, but one of the philosophers we studied at university suggested this as the ultimate form of denigration. Ignoring someone is the worst insult, it breaks down a person’s self.

Speaking to Jay tonight and seeing him listen to my viewpoint made me realise that all of my frustration boils down to the fact that my manager (and thus my team) does not value my input. She unfortunately values no ones input, so at least its not personal.

However, even knowing this makes it only just bearable. It is even more difficult for me (as opposed to some other people on the team) because this is my career. Some of my colleagues are only assistants or helping out or not directly involved.

I’m sure she means well, but it is killing my soul that she micromanages every little thing I do – right down to my daily tasks. Give me a goal or an objective and let me get on with it. Don’t redo all my work in your style and tell me what to do every morning.

I need to get out from under this suffocating hen.


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