Tag Archives: Bullying

It’s about damn time that I like me!

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Today’s post in ‘The Beauty of Difference’ series comes to you from the awesomeness that is Lalia Voce – the blogger behind ‘Skank, Rattle and Roll‘.  Lalia is part of an amazing bloggers group I’m a member of called ‘Personal Bloggers Are Us’, and immediately struck a chord with me as she shared the grief and pain of losing her Grandma, whom she had a close relationship with, a few years ago (similar to myself).

Lalia has graciously agreed to share her experiences ‘on being different’ with us. Thank you Lalia.

Thank you Janine for including me in your series. Ever since you asked me to participate I have been thinking “what on earth can I contribute to this amazing series?” The stories I’ve read have been so moving and thought-provoking. I don’t feel in the same league with those who have already written here. I guess maybe that’s the point. After all, the series is about differences.

My story starts with a defining moment. It was in 1980 when, at age 14, everything started to change for me. It was literally a moment, sometime before 1:00 am, when I saw the B 52′s for the first time on Saturday Night Live. They were so weird, so different from anything my friends liked listening to, looked so strange and I knew. I knew right then that my life would never be the same. I knew this was something I had to see more of, know more of, hear more of. 

At that age, it’s hard to go against everything your friends are doing. But I couldn’t get that music out of my mind. And over the span of a few months there was no going back for me. I slowly went deeper and deeper into the world of new wave and punk rock. I changed my appearance as much as my school would allow. And one by one, my friends dropped me. They didn’t understand the music I was listening to. They didn’t want to understand it or hear it. They didn’t like the look I was starting to have. They were content with being mirror images of each other. Reading the same books, listening to the same music, dressing the same way. I couldn’t do it. I tried, but I couldn’t. I found me. I found me that night trying to stay awake to watch Saturday Night Live.

Before too long I found a whole different group of friends, amazing lifelong friends. We were the freaks. Back in the early 80′s that is what we were known as. Not so much by other kids in school, at least not that I’m aware of, but by other people when we were out. Looking back it seems so silly. But people fear what they don’t know. They judge by what they saw and didn’t care to know the person. We were stared at a lot then, judged and looked down on.

Bela, Photo by Lalia

Unfortunate things happened because of those judgments. Small things like name calling or people clutching their children as we walked by like we like we were going to eat them or something. To being seated in the back of restaurants by management so other patrons wouldn’t have to see us. To really horrible things like being chased by 3 cars loads of teenage boys who managed to get my car stopped and then bashed it with baseball bats, breaking out the back window and potentially really hurting my passengers. We were lucky no one was hurt that night. We did nothing but walk into a McDonald’s that night.

People fear what they don’t know. Whether it’s race, sexual orientation, or my stupid ass purple hair and tattoo’s. Yes, it’s 31 years later. But like I said, there was no going back for me. I will always be this person. When you do find yourself, why would you ever go backwards?

Grandma Tat

Nowadays I don’t get as much stink-eye as I did back then. Some – yes. And there are still people who judge and look down on me even though they don’t know or want to know me. If they bothered to get to know me and not make snap judgements they would know I went to Catholic school for 12 years. That I started working at age 16 and paid my way through almost everything I ever did. That I had an amazingly close relationship with my Grandmother up until she passed away 3 years ago. That I took a year out of my life to care for my ailing father. That I love animals, zebras in particular. That I have my own business. None of that matters. What mattered then and matters now is that my hair is purple. I have tattoo’s. I listen to punk rock music. So what! At this point in my life I’m pretty secure in who I am and I like her. I like her a lot. At 45 years old, I think it’s about damn time that I like me!

 

Your Mission if YOU Choose to Accept it

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Today’s post for The Beauty of Difference series comes to you from a wise man that I respect deeply.  I met Roy Ackerman last year in the blogosphere, and since then he has helped to change my life. Thank you Roy, and thank you for sharing your story that covers some very dark times in the history of the world we all live in.

‘To the world, you are one person; to one person, you are the world.’

You can find more words of wisdom from Roy at www.adjuvancy.com/wordpress or cerebrations.biz.

Snippets from memories:

My bay window smashed – often.

Walking in the forest behind my house – and being surrounded by six or seven older kids. More than once – way more than once.

A neighbour – Joe – across the street – who came over to help – often. One of the few to stand up to these practices.

A friend – with a funny sounding name (it sounded Italian, but he was a Spanish Marano) – who did not want me to tell others about him. They didn’t know he really was Jewish, too.

New York suburbs – yes, that New York – where you find yourself the only family among hundreds (almost thousands) – that is Jewish. Everyone else – Roman Catholic, Irish or Italian, who, with very few exceptions, go to private school, too. And, are taught that you killed their god, and, that you are their enemy.

I won’t go into the theological concept of how a god can die (unless you want to believe in mythology). I’m sorry if this offends you, but it has always been a major question to me. And, why folks who hate me so much forget that this person they adore was probably the very first Reform Jew. Whose followers, like the practice of another religion, converted him (and probably made up great stories) after he was dead.

Those facts molded me. I was faced with these instances every single day of my life from when I was a little more than 2 until I was a few months shy of my bar mitzvah. When Long Island changed from being comprised of a few big towns and small villages in Nassau County with potato farms in Suffolk County, that was converted to defense establishment heaven (long before these high-tech activities moved to Silicon Valley and the two beltways (metro DC and Boston) and changing the face of the area.

Where the Nazi party reigned supreme (finally disappearing by the mid-1950’s). Where a putsch hall was taken over and converted to a synagogue in 1951. The synagogue of my youth.

It also solidified my beliefs. If they hated me so much for what they thought I thought – shouldn’t I be positive in what it is for which I stand? Should I not affirm these beliefs each and every day? (If they plan to hurt/kill me for them, what’s the point if I don’t live those ideals in the first place?)

It’s also why I know – in every fiber of my body – the anguish of the dispossessed, the discriminated. It’s why I knew that Civil Rights were a critical issue. Which in the 50’s and 60’s was the issue of Jews AND Blacks. Together. Until it wasn’t.

Why two Jewish guys decided to model their ideal world using Jewish themes. Which roots most folks never understood. The Daily Planet (examine the original N.Y. Daily News headquarters). Smallville (I know it was supposed to be middle America – but that was Long Island in the 30’s and 40’s.) Kal-El, Jor-El – all Jewish names. Truth, Justice, and the American Way. I grew up believing that they were synonymous. Justice, Justice, you SHALL pursue. Two witnesses – not one. Help the poor, the weak, the invalid. It’s not an eye FOR an eye, but an eye in place of an eye – that’s financial compensation.

Now, I know there are many who try to subvert that. Try to keep things as follows:

Truth for the rich, Justice for those with money to pay for it, and the American Way is to extend and expand those truths. Unless people like me – and you – stop them. And, not just America – but for the world.

That has to be our mission. No matter what our religion. The beauty of difference is that we can all be different – yet work together for the common goal – to make this world better for all of us.

Yes, I’m a Red-Head…Get Over It

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You may not think that a little thing such as being born with red hair could have so much of an impact on someones life…but it has.

My old best friend and I

As a little girl I’m sure people thought I was cute – with my shock of red hair flaming around my face. That all changed.

I grew older, retreated into my shell, gained freckles and developed pimples. These were combined with splotchy, easily blush-able and burnable skin. I didn’t eat a lot of junk food. I mean, we couldn’t afford it.  Plus we lived in the hills, no where near a fast food restaurant. I was still teased and told that I shouldn’t eat so much chocolate, or chips, or pizza (cause my face looked like one – hahahaha – not).

My body – I became an awkward, supposedly ‘pudgy’ teenager. I hated my shape, and the other kids teased me for it. Looking back on photos of myself I was actually slim…just not slim enough. Being made – by the TEACHER – to weigh myself in front of the entire class in year 5 hadn’t helped. I was the 2nd heaviest girl in the class – I have heavy bones! But because the 1st placed girl had a note so as NOT to put her weight on the board, I claimed 1st place…and the teasing that went with it. THAT lasted into high school. The starving myself…well that lasted – on and off – for a long time, followed by excessive exercising, binge eating, and so on.

And then there was my last name – Ripper. As soon as kids could latch onto that they did. Oh – and my first initial, of course, was J…Janine the Stripper, Janine the Ripper, are you related to Jack? And then there were the original ones – ooo what’s that smell…you let off a ripper.  Of course, I did what any red-headed girl would do blush…badly. 

But that was no way near the flack I copped for my hair. My hair became unruly, and it was still red. How dare I have red hair? I mean – ‘how ugly’. Of course, I couldn’t be seen wearing any colour as every colour ‘clashed’ with red hair. So I wore black, and I was told I looked ‘deathly’ pale. I was told that no boy would ever want to go out with me, and mostly they didn’t (apart from the red-headed boy). I was whispered about on the school bus, just loud enough to be heard…‘the ugly red-headed girl’ – the girls giggled, as did the boys. When the bus braked, and I fell onto the pile of school bags – well, there was more ammo. Yes, I’m a clutz too. So I retreated further into books…

Met at 18

As I got older, I was certain no boy would ever like me, and as I got older still – after being slapped on the ass whilst on the dance floor of a club and laughed at, and followed down the street by men heckling – I threw myself into work, study, getting drunk, and making out with any blind drunk random who would kiss me at the end of the night.

Depression took hold of me – although I didn’t accept that that was what it was at the time. Living in a state with beautiful beaches just seemed cruel. I just couldn’t compare to the blonde, bronzed godesses that surrounded me everywhere I turned. I couldn’t even compare to the ‘alternative’ girls at uni. I was no one, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed to get out of this godforsaken country where everywhere I turned I was reminded of my inadequacies.

Singapore was my first trip overseas with my dearest friend Charissa. This was where I found a whole new world. I was told I could be a model there? Men tripped over their feet staring at me. Was I pretty?

Italy was my second trip overseas. 6 weeks backpacking, whilst being sweet talked by Italian stallions, followed into the toilets by a seedy old man in Naples, driven into fits of laughter by a jock from the US, and charmed by a brooding American writer who was the first man I had ever experienced ‘electricity’ with. The trip ended in Paris, where I was made to feel ‘beautiful’.

Searching for myself

As the 6 weeks came to an end I had to return home, where I still did not feel at home. I felt like a foreigner. I didn’t belong, no matter how hard I tried. This was in the midst of an increasing drug culture, and the fact that I didn’t do drugs…well, it was like being at high school again. I was ‘strange’, ‘weird’, I ‘wasn’t interested in anything’. In a nutshell – I was boring. That was the straw that broke the camels back. I chucked in everything and went overseas indefinitely, where I was looked at, loved, charmed, broken and restored. In return I had flirted, smiled, loved, broke-down, and built myself up again. You could say that I found my self.

9 1/2 months later I returned home…sooner than expected, but it was my choice. I was a new person…I was confident! Some people didn’t like it, many that I had worked with before I had left. They didn’t like the new ‘confident‘ me. They definitely didn’t like me sticking up for myself, or the fact that I started achieving things in my career fast. Of course, others loved the new me…and so did I.

What am I trying to say by sharing this with you?

It’s not that looks count for everything. As looks fade.

It’s not that loving someone will solve everything…because it doesn’t. 

It could be that you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.

Or that in order to love others, you must first love yourself.

It is that childhood bullying scars, and that these scars can last a lifetime.

In the end, through sharing this story, and the others in ‘The Beauty of Difference’ series, I hope to help people see.

EVERYTHING HAS ITS BEAUTY BUT NOT EVERYONE SEES IT - CONFUCIUS

 

Janine plus Vitamin D and a glass of wine

A Richer, More Colorful Life for the Color Blind

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Today’s post in ‘The Beauty of Difference’ series comes to you from Joy Page Manuel, who describes herself as ‘a former academic, currently a blogging mom, aspiring writer, astrophysicist, gazillionaire philanthropist and goddess, and undoubtedly a perpetual dreamer, hopeless romantic, and overanalyzer.’

Find more from Joy on her blog Catharsis!

 

In mulling over this series The Beauty of Difference, it suddenly occurred to me that all my life, I have felt ‘different’.  There was always something that somehow made me feel like I didn’t fit in.  Was it always a bad thing?…Perhaps not.  Did it make life a little harder for me?…sometimes I think so.  But honestly, I don’t think I would have it any other way for it strengthens who I am and paves the way for even more growth.

My Heritage

I am Filipino, born and raised in the Philippines, and though I currently live in the United States and became a US citizen in 2008, I would have to say that my primary sense of identity and consciousness remain very much Filipino.  I lived in Metro Manila (the main metropolitan region of the Philippines) until the age of 30 when I had to permanently migrate to the US due to marriage.  I come from a Filipino middle-class family which more or less translates to (1) being born and raised a Catholic; (2) valuing education and not obtaining a degree (college or even beyond) was never an option; (3) having parents who subscribe to (more or less) conservative / traditional values; and (4) being quite sheltered from, though never left unaware of, the “harsher face” of my country.  You see, being privileged or being an outsider gives you this face…

…or this…

…while there is also this face that should never be ignored, denied or forgotten….

Much like any developing or third-world country, the Philippines has a very uneven development, with the rich getting richer and the poor losing even more hope for a better life every single minute.  Though in theory, social mobility is open to everyone, in reality opportunities are very limited for the underprivileged.

Despite the widespread poverty, it always surprises foreigners when they find that almost all Filipinos, regardless of social class, can understand and even speak basic English, at the very least.  I guess this is why as far as tourism goes, the Philippines has always been an easy choice for foreigners since communication is very manageable.  I would attribute this to our colonization history, which in turn shaped our education institution (among countless other things) and also our mass media.  The Philippines is very much exposed to Western ideas, most especially American.  You turn on our televisions and you’ll see a lot of American shows being aired.  You listen to the radio and you hear a lot of songs by American artists.  Hollywood films are extremely popular and sometimes even shown in Manila a day or two ahead of their US opening.

Western books, journals and other reference materials are used in our schools.  English is taught in schools and when I was a student, our teachers all spoke and taught in English, save for our Filipino language, Philippine literature and history classes.  As part of the Sociology faculty in the university, I taught primarily in English, I guess mainly because it was easier to some extent given that I used reference books written in English.  (It would’ve been exceptionally difficult teaching the grand Sociological theories in Filipino although I think that would be very elegant indeed!).

Somehow it cracks me up when some Americans get so surprised with my fluency with the English language.  Honestly, when they remark at how well I speak, or that I even speak English, I don’t know whether to be flattered or insulted because some of them seem to have a very backward idea about my country.  From experience, those whom I’ve heard make such remarks are always those who have not travelled much or have not had any exposure to other cultures.

My (slightly different) Heritage

I can’t talk about my heritage without mentioning that I am what Filipinos label as ‘mestiza’ or having mixed ancestry. My maternal grandfather was American making my mother half-American. As such, I don’t have the typical Asian look which in a way makes me stick out a bit. Living in the Philippines, I would have to say that the most difficult part about my physical difference is that most other Filipinas are petite and I am obviously not. I always felt insecure about my body and never felt comfortable enough with it to tell myself that I am beautiful just as I am.  I grew up hating my body shape, my bigger frame, bone structure and the extra weight I carried and convinced myself that unless I can look like everyone else, slim and as close to ‘petite’ as I could get, can anyone really find me attractive and desirable.

As I grew older and a little wiser, I understood that I was not as deviant as I had labeled myself to be and that maybe it’s society’s standards that are skewed and that it’s all relative.  I remember thinking “If I lived in the U.S., I would probably be closer to the ‘normal’ size and finally be able to find clothes that fit well”.

Well, I got my wish and ended up migrating.  But as with most things in life, something new always comes up and you end up wishing you hadn’t made that previous wish…

After Shape Comes Color

When I first got here to the States to live permanently, I honestly did not anticipate any major difficulties as far as adapting is concerned.  Other than missing family and friends, and getting anxious over leaving all that was familiar to me back home, I felt confident that I came from a society that was very much exposed to American culture.  I’ve also visited the States before as a tourist so somehow I knew what to expect.  I spoke the language and my degrees all translated to the U.S. equivalent so credentials won’t be an issue.  Culture shock was not at all in my mind.  And really, it never happened to me.  Or at least not to the extent or form I had anticipated.  What I was not prepared for was the realization that not everyone in America was prepared for me.  It was a shock realizing that in these modern and even post-modern times, in a society that prides itself for being open and diverse, racism still exists.  And it is very subtle which makes it even more dangerous.  Often I think that most racists either don’t know that they are one or won’t admit it, but you’ll see it in their looks, body language and seep through the words they spew.

I feel it when I’m lined up at a store and the cashier is remarkably chatty with every single white person checking out until my turn comes.  Even when I say ‘hello’ with a big smile, I get nothing but a cold acknowledgment.

I resented it when I felt dismissed by some mothers in a playgroup I joined a few years ago.  It was a huge deal for me given that I am not a very social person and I made so much effort to go out of my shell and be friendly.  I forced and trained myself to be the one to approach rather than wait to be approached.  I tried to overcome my fear of being in new situations with people unfamiliar to me and attended play dates for both me and my son to meet potential friends.  However it did not take long for me to realize that I was not being given a fair chance.  Some of the moms just congregated by themselves and I did not see any effort on their part to make me feel included.  If anything, I felt like they were just waiting for me to feel uncomfortable so I would leave on my own.  I remember one particular play date where the host herself practically ignored me the whole time and when it was time for me and my son to leave her house, she just casually nodded her head, barely even looked at me, and waved her hand in a very dismissive manner as she chatted with another mom from the group.

At that point, I thought, “That’s it.  This is just not worth it”.  I had joined hoping to make new friends, but instead ended up with the realization that friendships will never be easy for me from this point on because of my ethnicity, because of assumptions certain people make about me just by looking at me.  I have not totally given up and still know the value of opening myself to new situations.  However, this time I won’t have false hopes and won’t expect too much too quickly from too many people.  It is a fact that not everyone is evolved enough, prepared enough for the richness that can be found in diversity.

A Realistic Optimism 

There will always be something that would make us feel different and set us apart from the rest.  It could be something physical, political, religious, or moral.  But uniqueness and the diversity this creates should be celebrated, for amidst diversity is the capacity for tolerance nurtured and deeper enlightenment becomes possible.  This is how we can evolve as human beings, able to accept each other for our essences, blind to how we are packaged, shaped and colored.  You could be turning away from a potential loyal friend, wise mentor, or the love of your life if you shun anyone that appears different from you.  You’ll just never know unless you become open.

Our utopic world, where differences are embraced and equality is genuinely alive, is not quite here yet, so as I had written previously, in the meantime I think it’s best for us to remain realistic and be aware of the continued presence of prejudices, yet doing our best to aim for more evolved minds.  I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it here again…

Navigate the world knowing that race (still) does matter, but behave like it does not.


Looking back through my blog: My 7 Links

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Recently, an fellow Aussie blogger, travel enthusiast and red head – Vicki Potts @redheadedtravel (http://redheadedtravels.com) - nominated me to join in the #My7links project. My first thought was that I must have been living under a rock – as this was the first time I had heard of this project. The second thought was that I was impressed – Vicki had been paying attention and knew I was a sucker for these ‘challenges’.

Not one to rush into things, I had to mull this over for a couple of days, but I think I’ve finally managed to come up with my list. So here they are – my 7 links. What do you think?

My most beautiful post: It’s hard to think of my posts as ‘beautiful’, but on browsing through them, I will put this one forward to you: ‘Moments in Time.’ I published this not long ago, but I actually wrote it years ago. I found it when I was reading an old journal a few weeks back, and was a wee bit impressed at how I wrote back then. After some tweaking, I decided to share it on my blog. It’s about those beautiful moments in everyday life, that we often miss unless we are watching for them.

My most popular post of all time: (well – within the 11 months this blog has been in existence) is What do you do to maintain your mental health? There is no competition. With over 370 hits in the first week, I was blown away by its success – and it was all thanks to some kind soul profiling it on Fiveminute5 – 5 cool things for your 5-minute break! I actually have no idea who, how, why…you get the picture. But I am very thankful – especially because it was a post on depression and stress, a subject close to my heart.

My most controversial post: I don’t think I’m a controversial blogger. I tend to focus on things that will either lift people up, or make them think…along with the other quirky, artsy, daggy, self-deprecating stuff I may blog about. But there is one post that jumps to mind because it stimulated a lot of discussion – some of the best I have seen as a result of something I have written. ‘New Experiences at work – Drug and Alcohol test anyone?‘ was a post where I shared my encounter of being random drug tested at work. The discussions that followed were around the infringement of rights, workplace bullying tactics, and the change in company policies throughout the years.

My most helpful post: apart from What do you do to maintain your mental health? would possibly be the post I wrote on my experiences in dealing with Bullying in the Workplace.

A post whose success surprises me: ’I’d rather regret the things that I have done than the things that I have not done. Lucille Ball‘ A simple post, referring to an awesome quote I had never heard before. It seemed to strike a chord with lots of people. I’m glad I could share it with you all, and that you liked it as much as I did.

A post I feel didn’t get the attention it deserves: I think it was ‘In the grip of fear‘.  I can understand though, as the subject (domestic violence) is something most people still struggle to talk about in this day and age.

The post I am most proud of: This is REALLY hard! I’m going to go for this one: ‘The greatest degree of inner tranquility comes from the development of love and compassion – Dalai Lama XIV‘. I chose this one because it’s one of the first times I really let loose and shared my own views on an issue I am passionate about – immigration, multiculturalism and compassion.

So that’s it. What do you think?

Oh, before I forget – I better nominate some ‘victims’ huah huah huah…so over to you (if you choose to accept your challenge:

@StuStoryteller,

@hajraks (you wanted something to write about!),

@AckermanRoy and

@LaliaVoce

 

Bullying in the Workplace

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Physical bullying at school, as depicted in th...

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A report in The West Australian newspaper yesterday (Page 7, Wednesday June 8 2011) stated that ‘bullying and discrimination are still rife in the workplace’ and that ‘Almost a third of the 5100 workers surveyed claimed to have been bullied at work’ with more than 1 in 10 having said that ‘they had been the victim of systemic workplace abuse or intimidation’.

Unfortunately, this doesn’t surprise me.  This is why I thought I’d share part of my story, as ‘bullying’ can be atypical, and it can really sneak up on you, catching you unawares.

So here goes…

It’s strange that at the pinnacle of my career I could fall victim to bullying. I presume that this is what we call the tall poppy syndrome? When someone is doing something good, and is happy, then they obviously need to be bought down a peg or two. We see it in the cricket, in the football – Aussie culture? I certainly hope not!

After a hard slog in a male dominated team, with a serious lack of training (training? What was that?), high workloads, insane deadlines and politics galore, I was fortunate enough to win 2 company awards – the prizes being right up my alley (a travel voucher and a junket to a tropical getaway for a get together with other successful people within the company to listen to inspirational speakers). It was funny that even though I was excellent at what I did, and had great respect from customers and stakeholders alike, I had struggled with my confidence for years. I mean, my average scorecard was 10/10, and I still had confidence issues… Sudden, unexpected recognition just blew me away – I was astounded by the reactions of my associates and customers and had a sudden surge in confidence.

Of course, there is always a flip side to the story. The days, weeks and months following turned into hell at work. First, the cold shoulders and what I called ‘death glares’, followed by the snickering and gossiping. Then the team meetings – people could not talk to me without feeling the wrath from certain offenders, I couldn’t talk without getting eye rolls. I couldn’t even tell my team about the junket I had been on to share the inspiration I had gained from some amazing people, due to having to tread on egg shells. I could have handled all of those things, but then came the attempts to discredit my work, my reputation and my personality. ‘She slept her way to the top’, ‘It’s because she dresses the way she does’, ‘She’s on with all of her male colleagues’. (Now I’ve worded them all so very nicely so as not to offend but you can get the gist!!!). And some people believed them (not everyone, thankfully).

I had seen things like this happen to other successful women in the workforce, but it still came as a surprise. Perhaps it was my new-found confidence? Thinking back on it now I admit this story goes back a few more years, from when I was the shy, retiring type starting work, to when I started taking pride in my appearance, dressing in suits, doing my hair, wearing make up, talking and excelling and whatever it was I did! The rumours and innuendo probably started then. Disappointingly, it was all from women (I think that’s a whole new blog in itself!).

There were so many ways I could have handled this, and admit that exhaustion from the job did contribute to my ability to deal with the situation – but that also gave me clarity.

Some of the steps I took to deal with the issue were:

- I discussed the issues, how I was feeling, possible ways to deal with it with my Manager, and other trusted Managers;
- Attempted to discuss with the ring-leader;
- Discussed with my ‘friends’ at work (most of who had left by then – which perhaps symbolised some bigger issues in the greater company at the time – who backed me up to anyone they heard ‘dissing’ me;
- I tried blocking it out as ‘ignorance was bliss’;
- Just tried to not care.
- I didn’t feel like I could report anything. How can you substantiate gossip?

In the end I made the hardest, and easiest decision I had to make in a long time – I quit. I think what helped me to this decision was the realisation that sometimes you cannot change people, a place or a culture, and I had done all I could do there. I needed to be around people who were like me. I needed to look after myself.

I admit that I have still not found the right place for me, and have gone through a few more interesting ‘experiences’ since then, BUT I will never regretted the decision I made to leave when I did.

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Those grrrrrr moments

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A Jaguar Black Panther

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We all have them. You know those moments where, if you could, you would launch yourself across the table at the person who was making your blood boil, like a panther going in for the kill…

Ah – maybe that’s just me.

I’ve had a few of these moments this week whereby my tolerance has been pushed to the limit – I’ll blame it on the fact that I was getting sick (not that I had one too many encounters with IDIOTS!).

The highlight was Wednesday where I fell victim to a Corporate Bully. As he sat there across the table criticising, ridiculing, teasing, rolling his eyes and just generally talking down to me WITH sexual inuendo all I could hear in my head was ‘grrrrr’ and the bubbling sound of my blood boiling. He is lucky to have made it out of the room in one piece.

I’ve seriously had it with Corporate Bullies, and it astounds me that they actually still exist! I guess society has spent years empowering these people into positions of authority, so there is a lot of work to be done to reverse this.

What right does anyone have to act like they are better than someone else?

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It really frustrates me to see ego-centric people with superiority complexes treating others like sub-par human beings. What right does anyone have to act like they are better than someone else?

I know that it’s completely naive to believe that everyone should be treated equally and with respect, no matter what their financial status, culture, background, eduction, IQ, gender, skin colour, hair colour,  nationality, and so on, is. But it’s RIGHT. I am sick of seeing people treated badly, discriminated against, bullied, criticised. It needs to stop.

I’ve been so fired up by this over the last year that I’ve found myself sticking up for the ‘under dog’, since they haven’t been in a position to stick up for themselves. It just hasn’t done me any favours as its then tended to direct the attention onto myself. And now I’m even more frustrated. It’s just so difficult sticking up for what you believe in sometimes. But I’m not going to stop.