Storm Ciara has just left the U.K. In the calm of today, the forecasters tell us, we are waiting on Storm Dennis. So far, in my corner of Scotland, all has been bearable. Last week, I saw my first snow since living here. I’ve skidded a bit on my way to work, but not (yet) fallen. Transport links continue to run. Even if they weren’t running, I can walk to places now. Off the back of being made permanent as a Lecturer, I bought my first house in October, nearer to work. And I negotiated solicitors’ offices and Scottish property law, and a move, and the house is now straight (as a lesbian’s house ever can be) and tidy-ish. The bulbs that I planted in the barren garden in December are peaking through the soil.
At the same time that Storm Ciara and its predecessors were making their presence known in the U.K., some of my new colleagues were making theirs known at the university. And there has been conflict and stress reminiscent of my days in the Therapeutic Community. But now its in the workplace and it is uncontained and nasty and underhand, where in the T.C., everything that was said was made transparent and contained at the community ‘table’. There were rules then. There aren’t rules anymore. I report something that seemed particularly nasty. And am told that it is a pattern, its not just me who has reported that kind of thing, and am reassured that it is OK to report these things. My girlfriend says the same. It is important to speak out. As a researcher, I know that bystanding is unhelpful in extremis. As a person, in relationship with these colleagues, I am wary of playground lore. Of “telling tales”. And the consequences of that. I remember the last time I was involved in workplace conflict. But that was resolved. Once, when things were reported at T.C., they were sorted. I am trying to trust that the person to whom I reported the nastiness can sort it. She says that what is happening is reminiscent of a playground. Maybe that is why it is so scary. Playgrounds are scary places.
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I was voted in as the Equality and Diversity Rep for the Union a few weeks ago. And this is where I want to be (Equality and Diversity meeting folk are wonderful) and they supported the work on the LGBT Charter, so that now not just my team, but half the university are applying fot it. I am to champion this. But union = more conflict. Days upon days of strike are coming, starting this week. And I am internally conflicted about the strikes because they hurt most the people whom I am trying hardest to support, and I never voted for that length of strike action, and preparing for that action is costing me even more in effort and energy on top of the over-subscribed workload that I am supposed to be striking against. I have no energy left to counter the students’ concern over the strikes, to hold their stress. I am frightened of their anger over the strike action, or them disliking me as a result. I have put my all into preparing teaching sessions that now will not run. It’s not fair. I want to be teaching. Externally, the conflict between the union and the universities seems intractable. Unending. They describe it as a “fight”. Four fights to be precise. That’s beyond disagreement – that’s a contest. Or a war. War has no winner.
My mood is struggling amidst the encircling gloom. I am fighting the urge to cut again. I have not cut for two and a half years. I am scared of what will happen if my mood spirals downwards anymore. I am exhausted by the conflicts. I am frightened that the bulbs peaking through the soil will not weather the storms that are brewing.