Okay... chime in on this one....

Recently, I've heard a lot of workplace horror stories. It seems most of these stories are a result of rather barbaric people who so strongly believe in scarcity that they will intentionally do harm to those around them to assure their own security.

They will lie, cheat and backstab in order to secure their own positions, even if it is at someone else's expense. And if that's not bad enough, they are typically rewarded for it through promotions.

The fact that I can't be exposed to those environments is no secret. It literally makes me heart sick. It goes beyond not liking it. It goes beyond finding it distasteful. It is one of the things that can cause me to become enraged.

The idea that people must compete with others to have the right to feed their families is something I will never be able to reconcile. It won't even process through my synapses. I doubt there is anything anyone could say that would change my mind about the amorality of it. My mind is closed like a steel trap.

There are certain things that should be certain for us - for all of us. Affordable housing, an education, health care and a job. That's really not much to ask. It's basic personal maintenance.

Shouldn't we be able to offer that as a humane community? It seems to me that it should be a basic rule in the social contract.

What say you? Do you agree with my fundamental position? If not, why not?

I'm not looking to argue with those who disagree. I will thank you in advance for sharing with me. I'm just curious to discuss this.

I promise to be respectful. :)

~*

Caught in the Crossfire

I now don't work. I'm 31 years old and at this time I cannot see me ever going back to work. I cannot see me ever trusting anyone enough to work for them. I cannot face the workplace politics and just plain shyte that goes on. I think this means I have to find a job where I am the person I am working for.

Snoskred left this comment yesterday and it has stuck with me.

I don't think I've ever been able to pinpoint exactly why I can no longer be in workplaces. I have a general sense of it. Like Snoskred, I can not work outside the home. While I have a very small eBay business that I control exclusively, I can not extend beyond that. It's not a matter of lack of skills. It's frankly an inability to take the workplace culture without becoming spiritually, psychologically and physically ill.

I can not engage in anything that is competitive, that requires me to give pieces of me away or that functions on the principle of power-over.

When I left for good, it took months for my muscles to release the tension. My muscles ached constantly and I walked like someone with severe arthritis. Putting one foot in front of the other felt like walking through deep, dark molasses. At the risk of sounding melodramatic, I believe I was physically dying. I believe that if I hadn't gotten out, I would not be alive today to think about things like moving to Thailand, watering my roses, writing this post. It took months before I realized that I wouldn't have to go back, that I could relax and feel safe. It took months before little pieces of me began to re-emerge, letting me know that I really was more than just a shell of a human being. It took months before I was able to enjoy anything again.

I'd forgotten what it was like to enjoy, to feel good, to feel at peace. I'd forgotten what it was like to not wake up each day and wish I was dead. I'd forgotten what it was like to feel safe again in my own skin. It was like being given a reprieve from a death sentence.

Bob said in his comment: Recognizing your own strengths is not prideful, it is part of knowing yourself. You, for instance, are a talented writer and it would not be bragging for you to tell an employer this. As others have said, there is a difference between recognizing your strengths and making others who can benefit from them aware of them - and bragging about them to all and sundry.

You probably have no idea how much this idea paralyzes me to a point of absolute terror. You say I am a talented writer and maybe you're right, maybe you're not. At any rate, it is not for me to say. It is only for those reading to decide whether I write trash or something of value.

I can not imagine ever telling someone something like that about my writing or anything else about me. I'd rather eat my own eyes. Why should I have to tell anyone something like that? Truly. Why? Why should my right to earn money to live on be dependent on my willingness to examine myself for "marketable" qualities and promote them like some QVC host?

I don't get this. Truly. I don't get it. Perhaps some of you have thoughts on this. The very thought of it brings bile to my throat.. in this very moment.

In the final analysis, I believe some of us are not "made" for the way of life here. I believe I am one of those people. It is not a defect. It is a difference. It's only been for the past several years that I've come to realize it's okay.



Peace,


~Chani

At what price.... ?

I got a late start blog-hopping today. Today is a day I'd planned to skip writing my own but read this entry at Hel's site, Truth Cycles, and decided I have something to say after all.

In the post, she describes how she feels about her day-to-day job and how she wants to escape. Other bloggers have written similar sentiments.

And, oh God Almighty, how I understand it!

I remember back to June 2004, the month I realized that continuing life on the hamster wheel would kill me. No metaphor. No hyperbole. I was dying. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. Spiritually. Perhaps there are a few others who read here who know the physical sensation of the body beginning to eat itself.

I wouldn't have given you a dime for my life.

Day after day, I drove I-50 between Sacramento and Rancho Cordova in commute-time traffic. I remember praying that I would have a heart attack and die. As far as I knew, there was no other way out.

By some people's standards, I had a reasonably good job. I was an Information Technology professional. I wasn't getting rich but didn't have too much to complain about financially. My bills were getting paid.

And the weird thing is that I am not a lazy person. Just because I'm fat doesn't mean I'm lazy! :) Most of this glorious blubber comes from my body's effort to create a shield between me and those toxic environments that threatened to suck the soul out of me, day after dreary, endless day. Seriously. That's when I packed on the weight. It started around 1998 which in retrospect is probably the time when I began to get very sick.

I don't remember smiling much... or laughing much. My life was drudgery. Nothing more. Nothing less. There was no refuge because I didn't have the energy to create it.

I found it spiritually offensive to be participating in the cycle of consumerism, the worship of the Almighty Buck, regardless of how it harmed me or anyone else. There was something about being in an environment that encouraged deception, competition, trickery, oppression, market values and mindless conformity that made me heartsick.

By the time mid-2004 arrived, I was already well on my way downhill. My health was failing. I had blinding, bone-crushing depression and, seriously, the only thing I really wanted was the final peace of oblivion. If this was to be life, I didn't want it.

In this culture where human value is determined by economic and social status, making the final decision to file for federal disability benefits wasn't easy. It's not that I shared that value system but those around me did. It took six months to get approval. I was approved the first time. (Those who know the system are aware of how unusual that is... Most people battle the system for years. That is an indication of how seriously sick I was.. )

These days, my life isn't perfect. There are many things I'd like to do that I am no longer able to do. Looking at it, I realize that a large part of my aversion to being "out in the world" comes from the battering and abuse I took in those places. Meaningful work is important for all of us. Purpose. Meaning. And I don't mean contributing to the economy. I mean just what I said... meaning. Mine has to be created within the context of my current limitations. I might just decide to take up weaving... or maybe take my writing a bit more seriously. Maybe I'll make a "career" of just being the best person I can be and be of service to others on an individual-to-individual basis, on a smaller scale. My life is, by necessity rather than design, a fairly narrow one. I am no longer able to work outside the home. I am permanently shell-shocked.

This began as a long "comment" in response to Hel's post. I would encourage her to get out now while she can before becoming a 52-year old complete burnout. The stakes are a lot higher then. And the recovery is far more difficult. Listen to the call of your soul. It knows best.

I'd also be curious to know how others survive workplace culture. This is something perhaps all of us can find of value.


Peace,

~Chani