My life runs me and runs me hard. If there was an appropriate HR department I’d report it for unreasonable behaviour and I’d probably consult a lawyer. My life – constructed wholly around the choices I have made – is now like the robot that has developed a will of its own and, like an automaton, it short-circuits and freezes and updates itself without my conscious consent. My life is the boss of me.
Because, when life is busy and money is tight and time is a precious commodity, how is it possible to press reset? To say, ‘Life, I respect you, I highly value my continuing relationship with you but I don’t like the way you behave.’
Here’s what my shrink would say: self-care. Look after yourself, make sure you feel ‘held’. Use affirmations (I am a strong, powerful, loving woman) to carve new neural pathways and your behaviour will follow suit. Trouble is, rather than doing yoga and being kind to myself I get a bit drunk and shout at myself. And I just can’t stick at the ‘I trust the universe to bring me what I need’ school of faith and restructure.
So I toil at the mercy of the life I treasure. Always on the back foot. Scrabbling and scratching around for the resources to make changes hoping that one of them will tidal wave me to labour under the jurisdiction of a new life. Kinder. Airier. Because I don’t believe I will ever really get the top job. Life is the boss. I am Baldrick.