Bodily Betrayal

I can't tell you how many euphemisms we have heard or invented over the years. Here's a shortlist of where I am today...

1. Entertaining Aunt Flo.
2. Surfing the crimson tide.
3. On the rag.
4. Enduring That Time of the Month.
5. On my cycle.
6. Cramping it.
7. Internally bleeding.
8. Under the influence of the moon.
9. Suffering from the Silent/Woman's Curse.
10. Going through the monthlies.
11. DYING.

I love being a woman. But I do dread the monthly moments when my whole body turns on itself like a bad allergy and plunges me into a whole lotta pain. It's like all the alarms and wires are going off: Fatigue, nausea, gastrointestinal misery, bloating, cramps, bad skin, bad dreams, swollen feet, headaches, absentmindedness, depression, irritability, lower back pain, hot flashes, feverishness, lightheadedness, sluggishness. All for one little unfertilized cell.

Ridiculous. Insane. Yesterday I barely spoke to anyone, because anything I did say sounded bitchy and edgy, and I wasn't even mad. There's nothing rational about this, and nothing controllable; you just feel miserable and the mood swings are abrupt and puzzling.

But that's part of being a woman too: learning to roll with it, trying not to be horrible to people, and understanding that whatever you're feeling is all hormonal.

Biological persecution. Blah.

Speaking of cycles, though, reminds me of a conversation I had with friends over the summer as we walked through a park along the polluted St. Joe River and made fun of my former place of employment. The place was in the process of changing its longstanding motto, "Where Miracles Become Reality," to "Ending the Cycle of Homelessness." As we discussed the multitudinous, vast, innumerable administration problems that negate that bold new motto, I laughed and said, "Shouldn't it really be Pedaling the Cycle of Homelessness?"

So yeah, I haven't badmouthed that place on my blog in over a year, and have been extraordinarily careful to be vague and political about the whole thing because I never know who's reading, but hey. Some things are too good not to share.

And I'm proud to have been booted off that ship. Looking back, I can't believe I wasn't fired sooner. Not for bad job performance (almost nobody, outside of a few fiery and dedicated case managers, performs his or her job well at that place and the notion of teamwork -- though not cliquishness -- is dead, and under the circumstances I did my job quite well), but for some of my less politically careful statements (and the desire of someone from a prominent South Bend family to have my position). I actually said during a meeting, "Why are we dedicating so much time and effort to doing these little news articles to inflate this place's good reputation? It's all smoke and mirrors. Why aren't we actually doing what our mission says we're doing? Because then we wouldn't have to be scrambling to make this place look good; its reputation would speak for itself."

Oh yeah. When I told Boss-Man about that one, he sat back and stared at me in a combination of shock, pride and amusement. "And it took them four months to get rid of you?" he said at last.

Nobody was fooled by what happened to me. The people who were actively participating in getting rid of me, and the ones who were in the know and didn't forewarn me while pretending to be my friends, naturally lied their asses off and expressed their "sincere" condolences and offered "to have coffee" sometime because "we're all still friends here," but couldn't look me in the face afterward; and the people who were as ambushed by it as I was -- residents included -- knew exactly what was going on. "It's because you get along with us," one resident told me. "You don't look down on us or separate yourself from us; you talk to us, you listen to us, and you don't act like you're too good for us. They hate that up there. They keep themselves all separate and they can't stand when someone doesn't fit into their little club."

So much for trying to make a difference. I was excited when I was first brought on the job, not only for my position, but for the opportunities I thought I would have to speak up for the residents, having worked closely with them, and help things in that shaky, unstable environment to change. I had a lot of ideas, a lot of passion, and a great pride in where I worked and why. Not for its shining (ha! tarnished and crumbling) reputation, or for the goody two-shoes points I earned from members of the community by displaying my humanitarian work, but for the ways I could labor alongside people and help make their lives better in practical ways and communicate for them at meetings. That's why I was there. Not for some sort of personal prestige and inflated self-image, or for power (a lot of people my age sold themselves out for positions of power there. Power. At a homeless shelter. Ironic?), but for the daily interactions, the opportunities to present ideas that would help the machine run so that the people could focus on what they needed to do, and not worry about their daily living in a fast-running-down and badly organized facility.

So that didn't work. I was extremely naive then about the ambitions and two-faced political natures of the people who work in those kinds of jobs. I was extremely naive about what I could get away with saying and what I "shouldn't" say; I assumed everyone else was as committed and idealistic and driven toward change as I was, and that any kind of reformist statements I would make, any reformist ideas I would have, would be welcomed with willing ears and open eyes and likemindedness and eager hands. I've learned better, the hard way. I've learned that the factions and scheming and nastiness I witnessed in high school don't really stay there when people grow up; some folks carry those things with them. I've learned that goodness is not always a windfall against harm.

Take me back, though, and I'd do it all over again. Because I also learned that conscience is not something to be compromised, regardless of others' disapproval or rationalization for why they behave in the cruel ways that they do. Ask anyone who had a hand in what happened to me, and they'd tell you something different. They'd present the silly list that was read to me the day I was fired as to everything I was doing wrong, which they had been keeping (and in many of the instances, half-inventing, or leaving out distinguishing truths) for quite some time, unbeknownst to me. They'd list all the reasons I didn't fit in, wasn't part of the team, was a really nice girl who tried her hardest but just couldn't hack the job and they regret that they had to let me go, etc. But they'd also know better, somewhere deep down there, even if they didn't really care. Funny how none of them could quite meet my eyes, or even the eyes of my real friends there; when I've had a hand in letting someone go, they good and deserved it, and I was angry and had justice backing me up, and I could look them in the face any day, any time, because I knew I was right. That element was noticeably absent from those who did the same to me when I left my old job.

But I'm a little older, a little wiser, as a result -- I learned I don't work well in environments that are centered around politics, because I hate keeping my mouth shut when something needs to be said just to save my own skin or keep from looking bad. I've also learned to read bad signs, and that I can get out of a bad job before it crashes on me. And I've learned that people are even less trustworthy than I thought, and I let fewer people get to know me. That last one's a bit cynical, perhaps, but realistic. It helps to know your friends, and only trust a few of them. I've done some weeding out since then, and my life is smaller, more ordinary, and much more stable.

And I will almost always speak my mind. I see no point in going with the current just because that's the safe thing to do. I never have. And I learned that's probably not going to change, whatever the consequences. Because my conscience is clear -- and that matters more than other people's approval, or good opinion, or job stability.

I am so blessed to work in an environment now where that kind of thinking is the common bond.