Searching for the light.

This is a long post…and probably only for those who care for me, not those merely curious or collecting data😊

It has been 4 months since my life changed dramatically, and at last I feel able to update those who have asked what the future holds for me. A combination of Long Covid and a cruel and heartless experience of redundancy nearly destroyed me. It sounds so dramatic, but I had reached a point where I really felt I had hit rock-bottom. I had lost all faith in human-kind, society’s systems and structures and just wanted to escape it all. I felt useless. I have had 4 months to ponder what had bought me to that point, why I really did not care what happened to me at that time, but most importantly what I was going to do about it.

I recognise now, that I was going through the bereavement cycle. Exactly 2 years ago after getting Covid, my life changed…I changed and I could not accept that I was no longer the Annie I recognised. Constant mental and physical exhaustion and pain slowed me down, and the brain fog effected my confidence when talking to people. Losing words mid-sentence, or worse forgetting what I wanted or needed to say, destroyed my ability to engage socially, or professionally. I needed kindness and understanding, but instead at work and when engaging with the medical profession everything was too often a fight. In turn I was in a constant state of emotional dysregulation (fight or flight) – a symptom of my Long Covid anyway, but worsened by my ongoing battle for support.

In June this year when my employer decided to deduct 100% of my pay because I took part in legal Union action-short-of-strike (in the form of a marking and assessment boycott), I was so angered by the injustice, because I was still working so hard in every other aspect of my job – still teaching, supporting students, preparing for the new academic year…still doing the vast majority of my workload. However, my employer decided that anyone taking part in the MAB was working on a ‘voluntary basis’. In effect their action was to try to get me to cease my industrial action, or not work – this felt like trying to lock me out. I carried on working because I could not believe that they would be so heartless or so unreasonable, and I did care about my students and the quality of their education.  Since April I had become more and more frustrated at the lack of a consistent message from different individuals about when, or how pay would be deducted. When my pay was deducted finding out how calculations were made was slow, and the information changed several times.  There was a lack of personal communication to me from them, and no face-to-face communication at all. Everything was either via e-mail or online. Eventually, the answer to most questions was for staff to read the online ‘frequently asked questions’ list which was added to and amended over time, and when answers were more direct there were many contradictions.

Similarly, when proposed redundancies were announced everything was online. Cold and clinical – the script was read out to those in the ‘pool’ for redundancy. Questions were collected and taken away – once they were checked off, the answers delivered in parrot-fashion, and stored online for staff to be directed to. Some people have since argued that I ‘chose’ voluntary redundancy. There was no choice, as due to the internal sickness absence management process, I was manoeuvred deftly into that decision…and I felt so angry and aggrieved as I knew that it was happening but was powerless to stop it. However, I suspect that although I felt targeted, there were much bigger plans afoot with the goal to break the strength of the Union, by removing members who were an obstacle. For the institution, I can imagine the benefits of doing that, both for the institutional financial and strategic plans to move forward without dissent, and for individuals  in powerful positions whom have aspirational goals for their personal future.

From when the redundancies were announced in May, I never saw anyone from the management team in person and even on my last day, I handed my equipment in to a new administrator whom I had never met, because the person I had made an appointment with did not show up. After 13 years of working for my employer, on the 31^st July I said goodbye to a building rather than a human-being. I bitterly pondered the fact that this epitomised the institution’s recent ‘raison d’etre’ and buildings over people.

Before I left work, I was angry enough to try to put in a grievance about the MAB deductions using the internal grievance process which was recommended by both ACAS and my union. Several weeks later, I was informed by my ex-employer via email, that as a matter of policy the deductions did not meet the conditions of the grievance process. Again, I was so angered by the unfairness of it all and what felt like arrogance on their part. For several years I had felt bullied and intimidated in the workplace… for many reasons, but mostly that I was an active Union member, and a Black woman who would and did speak out. I was certainly not playing the ‘good immigrant’ role that was wanted. I felt increasingly targeted and under-surveillance – perhaps, this was just a manifestation of my LC dysregulation, but as a friend said to me once, paranoia can also be seen as a heightened sense of awareness! I decided that I was not going to submit to the constant shut downs and lack of communication – I had not been given a chance for any sort of conversation and therefore my voice had not been heard. I had my truth to tell.

I decided that the next step in the process in order that I be heard, was to go to an Employment Tribunal…it was not a decision I took lightly as I was still feeling so unwell and knew what a battle it would be. In order to be able to go to a tribunal, at the end of October I had to inform ACAS, and the caseworker I was assigned suggested conciliation. Sadly, this was declined by my ex-employer when approached by ACAS, and they seemed happy for this matter to go to an Employment Tribunal. I have never responded well to bullying and I felt backed into a corner and so frustrated by the intransigence.  And then I got Covid again.

When I left work on 31^st July, I was truly broken by my employer and Long Covid. As I write this, I imagine myself a bit like Reggie Perrin at this time, sitting on a beach ready to try and shed my old life in order to rebuild a new one, or instead walk slowly into the sea. I came off of all social media that identified me as Early Years Annie – I didn’t feel qualified to use that title anymore. During the early months, someone introduced themselves to me at a local event, and asked if I was Early Years Annie, and I replied that was who I was once-upon-a-time, but not now. To my shame, the poor woman looked very confused and didn’t say anything more! Despite my many years of expertise in early years, the experiences in my workplace had left me feeling utterly worthless and inconsequential. I was angry at everything and everyone, sad, uncertain, full of self-pity and feeling so very unwell.

Apart from the gentle kindness of my wonderful family and the cupboard-love of my cats, there are two things helping me heal. I say helping because it is (and will likely always be) work-in-progress. The first saviour is my garden. Although I cannot garden as I used to because of energy levels and pain, I do enough to dance with the wild areas, persuading them to step back a pace; going with, rather than against Mother Nature. She and I garden together, and my husband joins us too, in giving gentle pushes and shoves, so that what chooses to grow where, is nurtured. Weeds and grasses have beautiful flowers too and being close to the earth enabled me to see the beauty of the world again.

The second healing experience started when I joined an ‘Art for wellbeing’ group in my local community. Once a week a small group of people come together with an artist or maker, to engage in some form of creative endeavour. I tried pottery tile decorating first…and for the first time in many years found myself lost in the creative process. The room became a safe space, no questions asked. As people became comfortable that space became one of shared laughter, encouragement and gentle companionship. I realised how working away from my local community for so many years, meant I had lost my connection to it. Creativity in my workplace had been eroded by the time-constraints of an over-full workload, and the introduction of procedures and processes. The importance of a community of shared learning became teaching by numbers for numbers…in the most ‘efficient’ way possible.

Since that first art group, I have joined others – making pinch-pots from clay was one of the most meditative experiences I have had. The potter who took the class was so adept at enabling us to feel our way to the creation of a pot, initially with eyes closed. As it came to life, she encouraged us to notice how the imprint of our thumb and fingers made a lasting impression in our creations. It made me liken that to my professional life. My wish had always been to be gentle in my teaching of children and adults, to notice the individuals in front of me…to work with the strengths they had, and take time to build on what was already there until they could move forward alone. I wanted my influence to be barely visible, yet know that I had helped them on their life-long learning journey.

The art class that really re-kindled my creative buzz was landscape painting – perhaps because it spoke to my connection to the beauty of nature in my garden. Using photographs, the group were encouraged to look at the play of dark and light in one chosen photograph, and use charcoal to replicate the image. Apart from simple painting with pre-school children, I had not tried to draw or paint since I was a teenager. I had loved to create things as a child, but when choosing my GCE options, had been discouraged from doing art because ‘no-one makes a living from art’. Instead, I was pushed towards English language and literature, Maths, the sciences, history, and a language. So, when I picked up the charcoal, I was fearful that I would make nothing more than a mess. However, as I looked for the light and dark in the photograph, I became lost in my quest to make marks that suggested the image I was seeing. For an hour I was deep into the process, not speaking but lost in translating what I saw. The artist taking the class offered some suggestions as I paused to take a look at what my hand and mind had created. The organiser joined us, and they commented that my picture captured the image on the photograph, but was dark and moody. The photograph was a landscape on a relatively sunny day, but perhaps partly because of my heavy-amateur hand, partly my mood, the image I had created projected dark turbulence. After the session, my squiggly thoughts went into overdrive. I have always seen myself as a sunny, bright, positive person, but circumstances had stripped that away. I realised that my brightness had been overwhelmed by darkness and negativity. I had been changed into someone that struggled to find the positive, and the darkness had literally leached out of me onto the paper. With sadness, I thought how hard it must have been for people to be with me – I was so filled with anger, resentment of my unfair treatment at work and my illness, it had taken over my being, and it was all I spoke of, or not at all. I vowed to find more of the old Annie…

In the sessions that followed, I began to paint with acrylics – I cannot describe the joy it brings me. I painted a representation of the same photograph I had chosen to charcoal, but this time used bright colours to accentuate the light and dark and, after 3 sessions it was finished. After the second session, I went out a bought myself some cheap acrylics, brushes and boards and I started to paint… and paint and paint. Another time I may write a post about how similar I think my painting process is to that of young children. The process so far has been about investigation of the mark-making materials, and the properties of the paint, and this I have learned from young children. When I paint, I find myself humming and smiling as I get lost in the process – the process really is more important than the product for me – this too I have learned as I’ve worked alongside children. When I go outside, I look more closely at the beauty of the world; I look at the colours, the shapes and the interplay of light and dark, imagining how I might paint that. I touch, I smell, I stop what I am doing, for as long as it takes in order to watch and wonder, just as is the need for young children. The dark has to exist in order for you to appreciate the light, but in a healthy environment they must be in balance. The darkness had infected me not just from inside because of the symptoms of Long Covid, but also from the outside and what I had experienced as a poisonous work environment.

I am privileged to have been able to put the pause button on life for nearly 4 months and still manage financially. The space to do what brings me happiness with only those that I love and care about, has enabled me to appreciate life again, yet to be aware of what feeds the dark. I am so fortunate that I had discovered this before my second experience of Covid. Whilst this second brush with Covid has set me back slightly in terms of healing, I did not entertain the thought it would make my symptoms worse, instead l listened to my body’s needs only, as I have learned to do. Some symptoms are worse again, but I have improved once, so I will again. I will take things at my body’s pace.

I am also privileged to be able to retire (well, at least not work for anyone else again), if we pull our already tight belts a tad tighter. I cannot break the habit, or relinquish the joy that writing brings me, and so I will update this blog occasionally. However, it is unlikely I will write anything about education because for me, the education system and particularly those who influence it, have swung too far into the dark. I do however know that I will make reference to the awe and wonder I have for young children – for me they will always be the light in the dark.

And so, I am healing. The scars of the last 8 years will always remain, of course; I trust people and their words less easily; I give less of myself to people before finding out their true motives; and I am less inquisitive about news of the world outside my local community. However, because of those particular scars, I will look for the light in the world and the beauty around me, and try in multiple ways to enable others to see and share the same. Do no Harm. I feel incredibly fortunate to be able to say, for the first time in many years, I feel content with what I have, what I have done, and who I am.

As I finished writing this blog, I had news that my wonderful 87-year-old mum had been rushed into hospital and is very ill. As I sat by her bedside holding her hand – she barely conscious – once again I felt grateful that I am healed enough to bring light, calm and positivity to her rather than the dark, brooding Annie. We do not know what the next few days will bring, but I will hold onto the beauty of the world, and the happy memories I have of family and friends – for they are the most precious parts bringing light in my life.