sigourney weaver, working girl, horrible boss, woman

I feel like I’m employed by my life

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.

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