The other
night in my writing group I got starting writing about a woman I worked with
many years ago. I am convinced
that this woman was a psychopath.
I’ve tried to write about this woman before, but I always stopped
midstream because it was upsetting to think back to this time in my life. The other night was different, maybe
because I was in the safety of the writing circle, with my friends there to
support me.
Later I
thought, well, I’ve gotten a good start on a personal essay here, maybe I can
do it, maybe I can finish this piece.
But then I asked myself:
what’s my point? What do I
want to say? I don’t want this
to be a mere anecdote, so what’s my story?
I can
write the story of my year with this woman in such a way so that it sounds
outrageously funny. So what? The reality is that I was miserable
working with her. I knew she was
making up lies about me, but there was nothing I could do about it. I couldn’t prove anything. I went to administrators and they were
sympathetic. They actually agreed
with me. I thought they were going
to do something. But they didn’t
do anything. It’s years later and
she’s still there, still working with children and their parents. I was just grateful that the contract I
was working under allowed me to ask for a transfer and (at the beginning of the
new school year) the district was required to give me that transfer. If I’d had to stay and work with this
woman for another year, I would have resigned.
What is the
story here? I wish I could say
something healing, but I have no such wisdom. I wish I’d handled it better, but—as a therapist friend
taught me to chant—I did the best I could with the knowledge I had. What should we do when we encounter a
person like this? Splash water in
her face and hope she melts?
My heart
goes out to the victims of the Boston Marathon bombing and its aftermath. I offer prayers for everyone, including
the alleged perpetrators and their families. Good wishes and prayers as well to
the people of West, Texas, who also endured devastating losses this week.
Nancy, it resonates with me when you say you could have written this nightmare of a story about a co-worker--yet it comes across really funny. I've had a similar experience with a woman I lived on the same block with--she ruined my life for five years, yet when I've written essays for classes, people tell me I should do stand-up comedy! What's the deal? So WHY can't we find some humor in the situation when it's happening? And did my neighbor ruin my life, or was it the way I handled her (badly!)?
ReplyDeleteStill, I never even thought about the water! (melting.....!) Don't encourage me. Thanks, Nancy!