Two days in London, a difficult working relationship, and a moment in therapy that helped me understand what I’d been carrying.
Heading Down
My first overnight trip to London since getting back into consecutive days in the office, and my first thought was: fuck me, the prices have gone up. Booking close to the day never helps, but that’s where I am at the moment, getting back into the cycle and working out what I can manage. I’m also keeping a close eye on money, which makes every expensive train ticket feel that bit more painful.
And yes, I travel first class on the way down. A decent seat makes a difference to my hips, especially when it’s cold, and there’s coffee. Lots of black coffee. Even so, I can sit in a carriage I’ve paid to be in and feel as though I need to justify being there.
I don’t know what the people around me were actually thinking. Perhaps they weren’t thinking about me at all. But I recognised that old school-day feeling that everyone else belongs to a better class of person, and somehow I’ve wandered into the wrong room. My instinct is to get defensive: I might not have the expensive shirt or shoes, but at least I’m not a cunt.
Underneath that is something less comfortable to admit. I still struggle to see myself as someone who has achieved anything. Considering the work I do and the responsibility I carry, that probably sounds ridiculous. It feels ridiculous writing it. But feeling proud of myself can feel dangerously close to arrogance. The moment I allow myself a little satisfaction, another part of me starts waiting for the universe to deliver the bill. Depression always seems to want its say. “Ho hum, pigs bum,” as my late partner used to say.
Remembering What I Enjoy
The day before travelling, I’d been in a meeting with one of our client banks, representing product. It reminded me of something I needed to remember: there are parts of my job I really enjoy. I like knowing my subject, understanding what a client needs, and being able to explain and protect the product. I came away feeling useful, which also made the parts of my role that aren’t working harder to ignore.
My line management currently sits within engineering, and increasingly I feel pulled into being a glorified development manager. Technical issues land with me to organise and push forward, even when I believe engineering should be taking the lead. Of course I need to understand those issues and their impact on delivery, but somewhere along the way, understanding the impact seems to have become owning the problem.
I need clearer boundaries around that. I need to be able to do the job I’m there to do, and to stop assuming every gap around me is mine to fill. It’s easy for me to get caught up in trying to make everything work, then find I’ve left very little room for the work I actually want to be doing.
Getting Through the Two Days
By the time I reached the hotel, I was absolutely knackered. The journey from London Bridge to Croydon had involved standing for much of the trip, despite having my badge visible and needing a seat. When you’re tired and hurting, watching people remain comfortably seated can leave you feeling very small indeed. I wanted to get to my room and go to bed as soon as it was remotely reasonable.
The following morning brought luggage, another train, and another round of feeling conspicuous for needing somewhere to sit. An overnight work trip sounds fairly ordinary, but for me there’s a running calculation underneath it: how much energy I’ve used, how much pain I’m in, and what I’ll have left by the time I get home.
I made it through both days, and the second wasn’t too bad in the end. But the discomfort around my working relationship with my manager followed me through the trip. Conversations felt drawn out and difficult, and exchanges I thought could have taken five minutes stretched to twenty. Even a short email reminding me about mandatory training landed badly, especially with nearly two weeks still to complete it. I knew I was reacting strongly, but I couldn’t fully explain why.
Mum and the Journey Home
Meanwhile, Mum wanted to collect me from the station. She likes meeting me on dark evenings, and I think it gives her a sense of looking after me, of being needed. Perhaps it gives her a bit of freedom too. Dad and my brother are becoming uncomfortable with her driving at night. I understand their concern, but I also worry about taking away her independence before there’s a clear reason to do so.
I feel safe with her driving. She’s had her cataracts treated and a recent eye test, and I trust her judgement. When I said I’d walk home, she told me off for listening to them. “When have I ever listened to them?” she asked, which did make me laugh.
There may come a time when we all need to have a different conversation. I hope we’ll recognise it when it comes. For now, I understand why she wants to keep doing this small thing for me.
The Third Day
The trip lasted two days. Understanding what I’d been carrying through it took a third.
Friday was supposed to be a rest day, with therapy. During the session, I started describing my manager: his manner, his voice, the deliberate way he speaks, and how he stands and holds himself. As I talked, a powerful feeling rose from deep in my chest. Out of the blue, I realised that some of those mannerisms reminded me of the person who groomed me.
I hadn’t consciously made that connection before. I’d spent a couple of years feeling unsettled around my manager without understanding why his presence could affect me so much. Now I had a possible explanation for something that had been difficult even to describe. I could still feel the emotion in my chest as we talked it through.
That resemblance doesn’t tell me who my manager is or what he intends, but it does help me understand my response to him. An ordinary workplace interaction can carry an association that, for me, is anything but ordinary. Alongside the practical concerns about my role, there was something deeply personal happening that I hadn’t recognised.
By the end of the session, I felt clearer that I needed to ask for a change in line management. I want to be able to work, contribute and have difficult conversations without spending so much energy managing that reaction. Understanding where it might come from helps me explain what I need.
Remembering What Connection Feels Like
Talking about that sense of unease also brought my late partner to mind, and the ease I felt with him. There was a feeling of fitting together, of belonging, of being able to settle in his presence.
Recently, passing the cemetery, I’d found myself wondering whether he would have stayed with me. Therapy couldn’t answer that question, but it brought me back to what I remember of us: the connection we had, and why I believe we would have worked at it. Remembering how I felt with him mattered, especially after trying to make sense of a relationship that leaves me so unsettled.
Giving Myself Some Recognition
Earlier in the week, I’d bought a semicolon badge. It’s a small, quiet acknowledgement of what I’ve survived, something that might be recognised by another person who understands. At some point I still want the tattoo, but for now the badge feels like a way of allowing myself that recognition. I’ve been through a lot, even if I don’t always give myself room to acknowledge it.
I ended the week tired, with a difficult conversation ahead of me, but feeling much more connected to myself. I’d finally found words for something I’d been feeling for a long time, and I had a clearer idea of what I needed to do next.