My boss is giving me the silent treatment. This isn’t the first time – it isn’t even the second time, but this time, this time I’m not walking on eggshells and trying to work it out. This time I half hope he tries to fire me. I want this to finally come to a head so that we can all move on with our lives.
I stay at my job for the medical benefits. I have some outstanding issues – things I will not be able to afford on my own. And I can’t afford to wait. But everything takes time. Insurance approvals take extra time.
If it weren’t for that, for the lump in my wrist and the persistent dry rasping cough, and the infernal back pain (I have advanced osteo-arthritis in my lower back – I named it Arty), I would have already handed in my resignation. My supervisors have tossed me under the bus so many times that I have permanent tire tracks etched in my back. It wasn’t always this way. I used to really like my job, to really like where I worked and who I worked with – I thought I was making a difference.
But that difference is like that eyedropper of ocean water – it means nothing in the grand scheme. I help a few people, but so many more – oh so many people need help – far more help than is even remotely possible. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve had to walk away from a dire situation that I could do nothing to improve. It used to break my heart. Now it just makes me tired.
Even the wins feel like losses. Every success seems to leave a heaving wake of insulted and unhappy co-workers or partners or development professionals or non-profits, or whoever else we are working with. My boss does not build relationships, he operates through threats and stubbornness. He gives ultimatums that leave our partners feeling forced and coerced. He insults their intentions – most of which are good, if not downright noble. He trusts no-one, not even me, and he makes that clear from the get-go, but gets upset when the other parties don’t trust him in return. So we win one, and then I spend weeks and months rebuilding the relationships that I use to actually make things happen.
And I’m tired. I’m tired of all of it. I have anxiety induced chest pains every morning, and I spend my commute trying to decide whether or not I need to medicate to make it through the day. I’m whining. I know it. But I’m also taking the brunt of the punishment. I do my best to protect my coworkers, especially my reports. Because that is how I believe a leader should act – they should set others up for success and do their best to keep the flow of progress moving – even if it means taking the shit.
It’s all going through the motions now. Sometimes I’m so medicated that faking comes easy. But most of the time I’m in so much pain that I can’t stand still, and I’m often on the verge of tears. And all of the elasticity and resiliency in my personality is absorbed in not losing to the pain – there is nothing left for my boss and his mood swings.
Which is how we end up with the silent treatment. I want to scream at him to grow up and get over himself, but I know that is not how it works. He’s well past retirement age. He’s still working because his home life is unpleasant, and because he likes the adrenaline of constantly working against deadlines, and because he likes the recognition and the accolades and the credit he gets for our accomplishments. When I talk about him with coworkers I try my best to talk about his good points in equal contrast with his weaknesses. I try not to ever bad-talk anyone at work. But when I am away from there, I recognize that his unstable moods and his fits of anger have completely overwhelmed his skills and beneficial experience – to the point that nobody who knows him will work with him as their supervisor.
I’m trapped between my physical health and my mental health. I’m sacrificing the latter for the former right now, and I know it. It is risky, I’ve never been a paragon of mental health, but I don’t see a functional alternative.
It’s a grudge match.
SecondHand Saint 