Here I am in tears again. It’s so weird, some days I’m up beat and enthusiastic other days ongoingly devastated. This has gone on for years, made worse by the daily gaslighting of friends in desperate situations.
I can’t help but look to blame at the lack of support I’ve had from organisations allegedly set up to help. It’s Autumn and good kind, people pleasing, recovering from their own traumas friends tell me to let go, be like leaves, make way for something new. A friends words resonate “I knew I had to break my own heart”. I’m raging that my Nurse registration is slowly slipping through my hands. Advice from the RCN and other Nursing “colleagues” “just get a job so that you can make up your practice hours”. It’s bull shit. No one wants a part-time Nurse. Senior Nurse leaders who I have spoken to assure me of my transferable skills, yet the applications aren’t progressed so their words are hollow and offensive. Others who proved unhelpful and unsupportive when asked tweet about how Parish Nurses are ideally placed to check on inhaler technique and prevent asthma deaths and I feel a need to role my eyes at what feels like this constant need of mine to point out the blatantly obvious. Here I am being prickly again. I wonder why? Oh yes it’s Friday 🙂
Get over the redundancy and the silence at abuse of power. Focus else where and don’t let it mess up your next steps…we’ve seen how speaking up goes…for all the pretence of levelling up.
I’ve signed myself up for a webinar, this time on grief and trauma, though nothing translates into paid employment
I went on an away day years ago enthusiastically shared my vision of service development wasted energy as no money for the service and the service reconfigured out of existence. Meanwhile I resist with all my might the slow creep of providing that service alone, because the need hasn’t gone away. Watch as others provide some of it free of charge, them too having been used and abused, discarded.
There’s a growing group of us now all with a similar story. I’m inspired and excited by how people are finding their voice, will no longer put up and shut up.
I’m distracted by scrabbling, the bunny running round and round the sofa, making me laugh, she’s settled now, under the ironing board, slightly out of puff
rewrite and revisit, edit like I’ve been told not to as I go.
Friends have joined a writing group. I remember when I first woke up about thoughts of a writing collaboration and then remember the rolling eyes of a friend about how the rise and fall of voices is a circular exercise that fails to move. Another conversation about hope. Surely we have to have hope?
I’m not sure where I am with hope. I watch along with friends as services get involved but they seem to see a different person to who we see and I’m left confused, frustrated and powerless at the what feels like a now too late slow death.
We’ve rescued someone else. Another connection, a growing band on a journey rolling the waves