“Exhausted”

I wish I could say that I am just returning from a more than a year break from the internet, but that’s hardly true. I stopped fashion blogging in 2017 when I decided to run for office (State Representative: Did Not Win) and had to convince people that I am really serious and palatable. I deleted my tumblr, even. I was pretty serious about it.

Palatable is now officially over.

Everything about the world right now is fucking unpalatable so…what’s the point in being plain or quiet? There isn’t one.

After I lost my primary I spent some time recovering and started a huge new art project that will take years (especially since I’m not working on it enough right now). I started, for a second, a group I hoped would become a Political Action Committee and we had some meetings and got fired up and all that and……Then my oldest kid got fired from his job that he loved and then he got really sick.

Really, really sick. Endocarditis, undiagnosed for months (I guessed literally 4 weeks before they confirmed it), emboli to the brain (tiny bits of infection causing teensy-but-no-less-alarming-for-the-size strokes—“innumerable” is how they reported it), 7 hospitalizations in an 8 week period, a million ER visits and finally double heart valve replacement on February 11 of this year. So absolutely everything in my life stopped for that.

Then there was caring for him for the 6 weeks of recovery. And the dog had to have knee surgery so I had to take care of her, too (yes more knee surgery on a now two year old dog). Then, we went on a cruise my mother had planned for the whole fam damily and it actually took emotional energy I didn’t have to have fun because: I’m dead inside. Mostly. And that kid went back home but he’s still unemployed and broke up with his girlfriend and I’m exhausted. Really, “exhausted” should be a punctuation mark, like instead of a period each sentence ends with “exhausted”

So it’s likely no big surprise that I just lost my juju and am still feeling really directionless “exhausted” See? It kind of works “exhausted”

Then there’s the pesky issue of the world right now, and the death of Democracy and watching as my personhood and equality (which we weren’t even done getting, dammit) are, along with many others in other groups people like to be mean to, being dismantled. What do you do with your day when you are just watching the world in flames from your comfortable living room and you cannot find the person you were who ran for office who was tough and optimistic and ready to take on the world?

Maybe for the moment, the answer to that is write. Figure it out “exhausted” And then get my groove back, when I’m not “exhausted”

Go Home 2016, You’re Drunk

How to sum up this past year?

It began with a 7-page email from my co-worker (the other costume designer with whom I worked all day, everyday for 6.5 years) telling me why she didn’t think I “deserved” to hold the title of Costume Designer, why she was more skilled than me, how she was the one who hired me, how she had to compensate for my lack of skill, how she was more educated than me, and more. She referred to it as a “Tune-Up”.

None of that was true, mind you, but she chose to put it in writing and do something that couldn’t be taken back.

I considered quitting. Instead I filed an internal complaint and agreed to voluntary mediation and in a three hour meeting HR explained to her and our boss (who egged her on in her belief that she was superior to me) that she and I? Equals. Equally qualified. Equally skilled. Our boss was so unhappy he used the last five minutes of the mediation to chastise me for something unrelated to the issue at hand. Then he proceeded to spend the rest of the year ignoring the parameters set by that meeting.

I had developed heart problems the past semester (exacerbated by bullying on the part of my co-worker and clashes with said boss) and had to have heart surgery in June. Said heart surgery kicked off a series of 14 migraines that lasted into the Fall. In a follow-up visit, the Electrophysiologist declared the heart surgery a failure, and sent me to Austin for a second operation that, instead of happening, turned into a gigantic, epic cluster fuck and we went home without surgery and with no faith in medical science.

On my 47th birthday, I got up and took my beloved dog, Trixie, to the vet to have her put down. My husband and I agreed to no more dogs for awhile, and I didn’t anticipate there even being a chance to get a new one until summer of 2017, since I would be working. Trixie left a HUGE hole in my heart–she, like all dogs, was one-of-a-kind. As any of you who are spoonies know, pets are a significant tool in the chronic pain and mental health toolboxes.

I went back to work on time, but emotionally exhausted. Then the new FLSA regs hit, and our University chose to use that for a cover to commit some dastardly acts. At the same time, my boss, in flagrant defiance of the mediation agreement, removed me as designer for a show and cancelled my makeup class for Spring of 2017. I filed a retaliation claim. HR divided my complaints, delaying my retaliation claim and instead pursuing a reclassification that, instead of upholding my position, resulted in a demotion. The title of Costume Designer was taken away; it seemed I was no longer qualified. Then the title of Costume Shop Manager was taken away; still unqualified. Then I was made a Costume Shop Specialist, and told that the job “is yours” but on paper the qualifications were such that I wasn’t even qualified for my demotion. I wept in public for the first time in my life (outside of weddings, funerals and the movies, anyway).

On any given day, I have issues with my heart, my blood pressure, chronic pain, joint injury, back pain, anxiety, IBS-D and more. But I kept plugging away and giving it my all. But. My blood pressure got too high. My heart rate got to too high.My anxiety got too high.  I took extended medical leave and sought a new therapist to deal with my anxiety and trauma due to work. On December 12, I “returned” from FMLA  (I would have normally been off), and was told by HR that I had to meet with my boss, but that HR could not tell me when they might be able to get to my retaliation claim.

So I resigned.

Subsequent meetings with an attorney suggest that I have a 50/50 sort of very complicated case, and in this post-factual era, complex issues don’t sell. Also, I don’t want to spend another two years going through litigation for a small settlement that still won’t ever amount to an expression of sorrow and regret on the part of NMSU, my boss and my co-worker. They will just all have to live with themselves and their karma. They SHOULD be really sorry for what they’ve done, but we all know how that goes.It’s not necessarily illegal to be a complete, gaping asshole on the personal and/or institutional level.

There were of course good things this year, too. My daughter got married. Art Quilting Studio invited me to submit my work and published it in their Winter 2017 edition. I got a puppy since, it turns out, I’m going to be home full time for the foreseeable future. For me, 2017 will be about healing the trauma from a dysfunctional, shitty work situation and the bullying I suffered at the hands of someone who let their insecurities get the best of them. I have already lined up a show at a local gallery in August, and so things will move forward. Right now, it all feels uncomfortable, sad and weird, but I’m doing it anyway.

Always forward. Never back. (hat tip Luke Cage)

 

Feminist Friday: What Constitutes Strength

This strong woman must be vague, but what I want to talk about is the notion of strength in patriarchal system.

A sampling of popular entertainment in the media makes it clear that battles are to be fought, not avoided. Self-sacrifice; be it mental, physical, etc, is rewarded and encouraged. As a young nation, we still idolize the mythology of the Wild West, wherein you don’t ever give up. Strong men shoot weaker men, strong women manage through the worst of privations. You bite the bullet, the leather strap, haul yourself up by your bootstraps, keep going, never surrender.

Yet, I am finding, there is strength in surrendering. Die fighting, or walk away from a battle one can’t win? Figuratively or literally, sometimes self-preservation depends on detaching. Often, the process of detaching is far scarier and emotionally risky-seeming than continuing to fight. Conflict generates energy, and sometimes that energy is good and launches you forward. Other times, that energy is toxic and damaging even as the overlying message is to continue to drink from that cup.

Detaching is an act of wisdom, self-knowledge, control and strength, but we have trouble seeing it that way because we have had stuffed down our throats the toxic masculinity model, coupled with religious doctrine, that suggests martyrdom to be the true expression of power. Recognizing that you are right, even if that has gone unacknowledged, frees you to step out of the role of martyr and into the role of taking care of yourself. Something that, in a patriarchy, is a form of bravery in and of itself.