My workplace bully met me today.

Today I encountered a woman who had bullied me at work. I did something I would not have imagined a few years ago. I said hello to her.

The first thing I noticed was that my heart didn't race and I didn't feel like I was having a panic attack. I would experience these things whenever I had to deal with her at work, so this was significant. I was feeling secure and successful and I was looking fabulous. (I'd had a free afternoon after finishing work with a client, so I'd walked into a hair salon and had my hair blow waved.)

It felt wonderful to stand in front of her and deliver the message that I had survived and thrived, in spite of her best efforts to pull me to pieces. 

When talking about my best and worst leaders in leadership development, this woman is the person who springs to mind as the example of my worst leader. I led a team in the area she oversaw. The team was geographically dispersed and she regularly convened telephone conferences, preceded by an overload of detailed email requests. 

I specifically remember one incident when my team was confused by an email request she had sent. They asked me for guidance. I didn't know what it meant either, so agreed to raise it during the telephone conference. 

She discussed all the items on her agenda and then asked if anyone had anything else to discuss. I posed the question about what her email meant on behalf of the team. She responded by asking me if I had read the email and then stated that she assumed that I could in fact read. 

I have never felt so small. I couldn't speak. I felt as though I was being attacked. My team gaped at me. None of us spoke up. I think we were paralysed with fear. The telephone conference ended, none of us knew what she was asking of us and I spent my time avoiding my boss as much as possible. 

Not only did this woman give me my "worst leader" example, but she also gave me a character to develop. Over the last two days, I've been playing a senior doctor who is a bully and who spends her time belittling and humiliating her registrar. I often pose the question about reading capability when I'm playing this role.

During today's encounter, I noticed that this woman did not use my name once, yet I greeted her by using both her first name and surname. She asked me what I was doing now and I was very happy to speak about my success. She didn't congratulate me. She terminated the conversation very quickly. I wonder if she felt nervous meeting me again. Perhaps she has reflected on her behaviour and treatment of me and now regrets it. Whether she regrets it or not, I'm so pleased I took the chance to display my survival and success. Today, I took her power away.

Have you ever met your bully again? How did you feel? What did the bully do?

Quoting Tara Moss

Tonight's episode of Q and A on the ABC was much better than usual. I put this down to the fact that there was plenty of politics, but no politicians.

Author, model and all round intelligent, fabulous woman, Tara Moss, was wonderful. She said this about sexual abuse:

"Silence protects the perpetrators and shames the victims."

That is all tonight.

Being a patient - for real this time.

This time last week I was recovering from general anaesthetic. Hence my absence from writing. Beforehand I was a little anxious and just didn't have the headspace to write.  Afterwards, I was recovering, sleeping and thinking and just needed space.

Thanks for bearing with me.  Thanks also for the love and support sent my way at this time.

While I'm very experienced in being a patient interacting with the health care system, I'm not usually sick. Everything feels completely different when you're confronting surgery. From the moment of walking in the front door of the hospital (if you're lucky enough to be able to walk in), doing paperwork and making payments, to following instructions and having observations taken, the power relationship shifts. Suddenly I went from being an independent woman who acts on my own behalf and decides whether or not to follow rules and obey instructions, to being completely passive and following all instructions without question or comment.

Luckily I had a solid and trusted person with me who helped me keep perspective and stop me from worrying myself into a puddle on the floor.

Waking from a general anaesthetic is surreal.  One minute you're listening to the friendly and soothing chat from the anaesthetist as whatever marvellous stuff he has given you starts to loosen your hold on consciousness; you're noticing a mask being placed over your face.  Next thing you're hearing your name, you're somewhere else and you're in pain.

Pain was attended to swiftly and with gentle concern. Even as I shook uncontrollably for what seemed like ages, I was aware of the care and attention I was receiving. When the shaking didn't stop, I started to become distressed and tears started to flow. It seemed like a biological reaction which I was observing from afar. Unpleasant. It took a long time to make it out of the first stage of recovery. I kept falling asleep and my oxygen saturation was low. An alarm kept sounding and I was being reminded to breathe. I would and the alarm would stop.

I was relieved to be moved to another area and see my friend arrive. God knows what we talked about. I can't really remember. I hope I wasn't rude and didn't reveal any secrets.  A different nurse took over. She  didn't introduce herself and I felt she was very matter of fact and not very empathetic. My friend said she was doing a fine job from his perspective and I should appreciate that. I did. I've spent so much time thinking about and teaching empathy to health care professionals that I really notice when it's not there.

We arrived home after 8pm and my friends changed shift. My friend who stayed the night had a quiet night of it. The next morning I thanked her for staying and apologised for there being no middle-of-the-night emergency. We both have an appreciation for drama and she said she was a little bit let down she hadn't been required to play the scene requiring her to drive me somewhere, in my car. The kicker is that it would have been her first driving practice in about 20 years.

We both understood that we were joking.

On Friday, I had a half day of simulated patient work. I was back in a hospital gown and lying on a trolley. While the case was very different from my own circumstances, I felt that my recent surgical experience was adding to my authenticity in the role. Several students checked to see whether I would be okay as they finished their exam station. (Now that's empathy!)

Monday, I was back in shapeless blue piece of material, hopefully (ironically?) referred to as a "gown" as I went to have an MRI on my knee. (This is the one I fell on back in August.) The procedure was straightforward and painless and required me to follow one simple instruction: lie perfectly still.  Suddenly, this was an impossible task. My right arm was at a funny angle. Could I move it? Only it? Surely if I just shifted it a little, it wouldn't move my right knee?  Would it? I can't breathe! Oh, yes I can, but am I moving too much when I breathe? Or maybe I'm not breathing enough? Is that why my left big toe is suddenly incredibly ITCHY? I've got pins and needles in my left hand! Just lie still! Just lie still! Only 17 more minutes to go. I hear the machine go quiet. The technician reads my mind and just as I think I can move, her voice instructs me through the headphones to "keep lying still...only five more minutes to go...you're doing really well!" Look how much my chest moves when I breathe! How deeply can I breathe without moving my whole body? Wow, suddenly I'm aware of my earlobes...

And so it went for the whole 20 minutes.

I was told I'd been very still and given a well done as I carried my basket of clothes back to a cubicle to extricate myself from what I hope will be the last gown I'll wear for real for a while.

All the "stupid people"

Some days I wonder what I would write about if I drove my car everywhere and never caught public transport. Other days I wonder whether my experiences are a true reflection of the public transport experience.

I was waiting at the tram stop in front of the State Library on Swanston Street. My hairdresser had called to tell me he could fit me in half an hour earlier if I could get there. I could. I had just been planning how to fill in half an hour when he called. So there I am, waiting for the advertised three minutes before the number 8 tram was due to arrive. 

"Excuse me!" I heard a man's voice say. I looked around, more out of curiosity than any specific reason for thinking his plea was directed to me.

"Excuse me! You, lady, come over here!" He seemed to be addressing me. I pointed at myself and cocked an eyebrow.

"Yes, you!"

I was taken aback. I was just standing waiting for a tram. I felt like I was being summoned to the headmaster's office. What could I have done? I didn't want to be commanded by a man in uniform to do anything  - those desires were quenched when I went through a misguided "I want to join the airforce and fly fighter jets" phase, fed by seeing the film "Top Gun" - even if the said uniform consisted of a fetching orange high-vis vest with the words "customer service" plastered across the back.

"What do you want?" I asked.

"Just come over here." He pointed to something behind the tram stop on the lawn in front of the library.

I took a tentative step. The high-vis vest didn't give him the amount of power he was exercising.

"Look at those stupid people!" he pointed and exclaimed.

I saw two punks with spectacular hair. One, the woman, had fire engine red in a mohawk with spikes that were at least 30 centimetres long. The other was a man and he had the same spikes, but in jet black. He was standing behind her and doing something with her hair. 

"Who?" I asked.

"The ones with the stupid hair! How ridiculous.  People are stupid you know!"

I shrugged nervously. I didn't really think they were stupid. 

"Each to their own," I chirruped.  

The man shook his head and looked at me before saying, "People in this world are so stupid. Don't you think?"

"Not really. That's my tram."  It really was the number 8, although I would have happily boarded the next tram to anywhere just to avoid a continuation of the proclamation.

I took my seat and looked again at the two punks, just ordinary people in each other's company, albeit with spectacular hair. I wondered what the tram man had seen in me that caused him to think I would be sympathetic to his conservatism. I rethought my entire outfit and wondered whether I should ask my hairdresser to do something wild with my hair. Then I wondered what the man was so insecure about that he needed to point others out to complete strangers. It wasn't as though the two punks were imposing their hairstyles or choices on the tram man. Although if I saw him in his high-vis customer service vest, I wonder whether I'd think he was stupid.

I was jolted out of my thoughts by a woman screaming at her children to sit down. I could hear her over the music on my ipod. I looked around and saw three small boys cowering in silence. She continued with a tirade of contemplation about why they had to all be so stupid. 

She should be careful, they could all grow up to be punks.

Here's how I came out of the hairdresser. Brighter red, but no spikes!

Infinite selfie.
© divacultura 2013

Campaigning and bullying are NOT the same thing.

I wasn't going to, but there's something else that occurs to me about this whole Alan Jones thing.  It's prompted by statements labelling the social media campaign protesting against Jones' comments "cyber bullying".

While listening to Jon Faine on ABC 774 yesterday morning, a woman called to object to this label.  She broke down as she spoke about losing a child recently to cyber bullying.  She didn't want what had happened to her child to be diminished by Alan Jones and 2GB co-opting the term.

I don't think that an organised social media campaign can legitimately be characterised as cyber bullying.  Firstly, I don't think that a social media campaign is that much different from a traditional campaign where people write letters, call talk-back radio, gather signatures on paper petitions, organise town hall meetings, go doorknocking etc.  The key difference is that social media tools allow people to speak and be heard by a very large audience.  In fact there is potential to connect on a global level without leaving the home.

Secondly, cyber bullying is bullying, it's just the tools that are different. That's not what is going on here.

I'm happy to disclose that I signed the online petition calling for Jones' removal following his comments.  I will also tell you that I encouraged friends to also sign the petition using Twitter and facebook.  I did more than sign, I've engaged in face to face conversation with people and this is the second piece I've written on this blog.  (You can read the first piece here.)  In days gone by, gathering signatures for a petition required pounding the pavement, setting up a stall on the street, talking to customers coming into your business about signing, passing the petition around at work.  Now it requires some drafting, an online account, the press of a button and a social media network.  Same outcome - names in support of a proposition; different tools and timeframe.

Applying glib labels to dismiss social media campaigns is really an expression of grief and fear at the loss of power.

Before social media, the power to be heard instantly sat firmly in the hands of people like Alan Jones - people who are paid to broadcast their opinions, stir up controversy and incite outrage.  The microphone was their tool and they had the power to speak uninterrupted.  People could engage in the discussion by calling talk-back, but the power still resided with the broadcaster with the power to flick the "kill" switch on any caller without warning.  From my own experience of calling the ABC, my call is first screened by a producer to assess what I want to talk about.  (I'm not in 2GB's broadcast area, and if I was I wouldn't listen and would be unlikely to call.  I have never called Alan Jones and can't vouch for their process.)

Now social media takes out these filters and time lags and gives anyone with access to a computer or smart phone the ability to broadcast or publish without interruption.  Broadcasters and other traditional media, no longer sit in the all-powerful position.  The power has been dispersed and they are just another voice in the population and they will receive feedback immediately and en masse about what they say.

In my opinion, this power shift is exciting.  It's also challenging.  Whenever power is challenged in a society it's significant.

So Alan Jones and 2GB need to suck it up, as they say in the classics.  They need to wear the consequences of their words and actions.  They need to come to terms with this power shift.  If their values genuinely align to their rhetoric about democracy, they should be dancing in the streets!

Bullying of any kind should not be tolerated.

If you'd like to read and sign the petition, follow this link.