Sunday, September 23, 2018

Sometimes you just admit defeat

On Monday last week I went into work. By Tuesday I was unemployed again. On Friday I told my agency I was taking a month off. And in all honesty I’m just a bit broken. I’m wondering whether any of it is worthwhile- the writing, the fighting for a career that will likely never be. If I’m too old for all of it and I should just retreat to whatever life can give me.

It’s all a bit dramatic written down. But it’s an exhausting state of affairs, and one that’s worn me down.

Last weekend I thought I’d hit rock bottom. In a very real, very dangerous way. I was walking the dog up the road and feeling like there was nothing left to fight with. I had nothing to give my creative work, couldn’t face picking them up again where they’d gone wrong. Had failed once again as an academic (see here) and there seemed no way out of feeling like an utter failure in life. But of course, just when you think it can’t get worse it does. And having had to give up a ‘real career’ opportunity the week before, the universe saw fit to have a joke and get rid of my temp job as well. Added to that feeling like all the creative work I’d been pouring myself into was dead in the water, that I couldn’t write the book and that pretty much everything was a dead end….And you know what I’ve got no fight left in me for it.

The last job was hard. I wrote a little about it here. In that we were dealing with 100s of people a day, often very demanding people, in heavy customer service environment. Added to that a level of admin that was a job in itself. Added to that a management that was unsupportive of the employees, added to that I never knew my hours until the Thursday before, and these could range from 7am to 9pm, with no pattern. Added to that even after 8 months I was ‘just a temp’ and had no rights, and no security.  It was exhausting. I couldn’t plan a life, I lived in almost daily fear that I’d cock something up and be got rid of on the spot. I lived in constant fear my colleagues were reporting on me (after several of them did) in an attempt to get me fired.

On top of this I’ve been working on several ‘real career’ projects. The book, two plays, a musical, my usual reviewing duties. I’ve stretched myself too thin and too quickly, but as with everyone I’m scared of missing opportunities. Oh, and on top of that, applying for jobs. I don’t want to complain about any of this. I don’t feel like I have the right to- pursuing the creative work is a choice, often an indulgence it feels like.

And so I hear myself saying I shouldn’t. I should give it all up. Because what’s the point? Would it really make any difference to write the book, to have the play produced? Or would I be back where I was in a year’s time again.

And it wears you down. It’s not one thing but years and years of little things.  Because it’s not just this year. Though this year has given me one hell of a beating. But it’s the year before, and before that. It’s the one-year contracts cut short, the endless looking for a job before you’ve settled into this one. The lack of anything out there. The over qualified and under qualified somehow at once. It’s feeling old as balls as you lose out to people 10 years younger.

Logical me knows it’s not my fault. That maternity covers and fixed term contracts end. That economies and governments go to hell and people like me are at the sharp end of it. It’s not personal, it’s business. But it’s personal to me. It’s personal to a lot of people.

And it wears you down.

What people don’t tell you about unemployment, about being stuck as a semi permeant temp, is how lonely it feels. On one hand because you’re held to ransom financially, you start saying no to things because you can’t afford them. You start to not look for reasons to go out because you know you can’t afford them. I’m lucky, I have understanding (and broke-ass, or previously broke- ass) friends, who are happy to meet at their houses for coffee or go somewhere cheap. I’m lucky my theatre reviewing work gets me out of the house, I’m lucky I have a choir to go to every week. But the self-restriction, the limitation feels lonely.

It also feels lonely in the broader sense, that sense of being left behind. Partly this is a PhD symptom; I’m about five-ten years (depending on how you look at it) behind my peers in career. Having put so much into that, and the ‘time out’ doing the thing cost, I’m so behind where I would be had I been plodding on in a career as others did, straight from University. There’s also that ‘hitting pause’ the PhD causes us in life. I’m behind on things like saving for a house, having a decent car, places I’ve travelled. Because job insecurity and everything that goes with it put pause on that. The elephant in the room here is also relationships. Some people manage it, but I haven’t. I feel like I missed a chunk of ‘dating years’ there and now there’s a big old expanse of nothing. Settling down has never been a major driver in my life, but now it suddenly feels like that option was taken away from me somewhere along the way and I don’t know where or how. Also, that let’s face it, I’m 34 and temping again isn’t exactly an enticing prospect is it? And it all adds up to feeling like a massive failure.

And I see the judgement. ‘she’s STILL looking for a job, what’s wrong with her’ ‘her temp job let her go there must be something wrong?’ ‘she’s got a PhD why can’t she get a job?’ these come from various states of ignorance, or outright nastiness. The thing being those who haven’t found themselves her can’t know. And you know what a part of me wishes they did know. So, they could know the stress- the waking up at night worrying and paralysed with fear. The feeling you’ve let everyone down. That there’s something really really wrong with you. The knowing everyone thinks that about you, and more probably. And the feeling somewhere life left you behind.

The only thing to do in situations like this is to pick yourself up again and keep fighting. I’ve done it more times than I can count. And I can and will. But there’s only so many times you can do that before something gives. I will pick myself up again. But not just yet. Right this moment I know if I throw myself to the mercies of temping right away, I will break. It’s about knowing yourself and knowing where your line is, and I’ve reached mine. I need to retreat however briefly. So, I’ve given myself a month off from it. It’ll be a struggle financially, but I know I was on the verge of really breaking, and I need time to regroup.

It’s a scary thing to admit, and I struggle to do it, but my mental health has taken a hell of a beating. I’m suffering from really bad anxiety- to the point the thought of being sent to another temp job on Monday almost gave me a panic attack. And I guess it shouldn’t surprise me that all this has made me fairly depressed. It’s all, hopefully, circumstantial. But I have the added joy of a chronic illness set off by stress. All of which has forced me to admit I need to take some time. And it’s an incredibly hard thing to admit, and to put out there. But it’s also important to say.

I won’t be taking a break from the creative work, or the book. In fact I need to pour myself into the things that matter for a few weeks. I need to remind myself what I’m fighting for. I can’t go after the things I really want, I can’t even write an application for jobs I really want right now, because I feel so beaten. I can write my play, and my book. I might need to blog a bit more, to give myself some space for this stuff, and so I appreciate those who read it.

I might need a little space, I might drop off the planet a bit. Equally I’d really appreciate anyone who wants to reach out for a real (or virtual) coffee and a chat. This week only stopped being something really horrendous because a couple of people did that.

A part of me hates myself for writing this. And for doing this. I feel self-indulgent and bratty. I feel like I’m not entitled to feel this way or take this time. That I should have been better, I should be better and just get on with it. But I also know that I reached a point I couldn’t carry on without something breaking. And I know I’m not the only one who feels that way. So I’m putting it out there, so others might feel better about speaking out on whatever has taken its toll.

Wednesday, September 19, 2018

Damnit Jim I'm a Doctor, not your secretary....

Yesterday my Temp job got rid of me. Which in itself is no big deal it's the name of the game. Equally I could have got up at any time and said 'Bored now I'm going'. I didn't because I'm a good little temp, I sit there I get on with it, even when it is spectacularly , well shit.

It was a classic 'it's not what you did it's the way you did it' moment really. After nearly 8 months of 'oh yes we love you, we think of you as proper staff, yes we'll give you a proper contract' suddenly they decided no. The official line was 'no more temps' which, if true isn't a decision you make overnight so someone should really have given me a polite heads up. If it IS a decision you made overnight, well maybe just maybe that's an indication of why you have so many temps...

But this does mean I'm now free to say a few things. Firstly the utter guilt my socialist-liberal-lefty self has had over working in....a private hospital. And a signifier of how desperate I have been for work that I was willing to park my morals at the door. In general actually my feeling was if rich people are willing to pay ridiculous amounts to feel like they're getting better treatment than the NHS so be it (spoiler they aren't). Also I spent much of my time in departments where we served Sports teams (utterly wasted on me) so again, rather their stupid injuries were dealt with privately than taking up NHS time. But I saw a few people who broke my heart. People so desperate for help they'd pay the ridiculous fees. And I saw Consultants who were human. Who were there to make money but not to screw people for money. And of course I saw exceptions, the other end of the spectrum. All of that is another post. Another play probably.

What my main issue was however, is I have never worked in an environment where I had to bow and scrape so much, not only to customers (I refuse to call them patients) but to those I worked with. I've been the lowest of the low in many environments. I've never been expected to act with such...deference to literally everyone else? Three times I got shouted at, and I mean shouted at, by men. Three times I was told I was wrong and everyone bent over backwards to give the men what they wanted because they'd shouted. I deserve better than that, we all do.

I also cringed daily at having to bow and scrape at Doctors. Yes Doctor so-and-so No Mr-so-and-so. All the while choking back at them, and customers 'It's not dear, or love or even Miss, it's Doctor'

I feel like I've been dumped by a bad boyfriend. I knew it was bad for me, I wanted to escape for a long time. But I couldn't bring myself to. And now I'm angry I didn't walk out, slam that door first. Tell them what I thought.

But also like being dumped by a bad boyfriend, it still hurts, however bad it was for you. And because you can only take being dumped so many times before it breaks you a bit. And it's broken me. Not this job so much as the last year. Hell the last ten really. But particularly this last year. I've got no fight left in me right now. Nothing to bounce back with from yet another career and life beating.

Because it's not just your career, it's your whole life. It's an all consuming 'what if' and 'what next' and that great blank space of not knowing creeps into everything- decisions on where you live, plans you make, relationships, everything. It's not just about the job, it's about my life. And right now job and career have run me into the ground.

I'll pick myself up, I always do. What other choice is there right? but it's hard, it's so hard. And there's so many of us going through it. To my friends (and strangers) who are, I see you, I'm with you.

It's cliche but you do find out who your friends are. When you're constantly going through a nightmare, those who send a message, who reach out. Increasingly I'm finding it's relative strangers, or the ones who live far away. That's interesting. The ones I thought I could rely on, less and less so. Again, when one aspect of life falls apart it seeps into the rest.

And again I'll pick myself up. Eventually. And at the very least I'll never have to smile through gritted teeth and say 'Yes Dr Asshat of course'...

Thursday, September 13, 2018

Saying no to academia (again)

Yesterday I gave up a teaching opportunity at a University. Today I feel really shit.

This blog is about those things, and some bigger things. Firstly I'm not (just) writing this to have a moan about just how awful I feel about things right now. I'm also doing it to highlight the nature of academia as a beast, both in the way it exploits people, and the way it affects people in that they end up feeling as if they should be exploited, or even guilty about not being exploited.

I say this of course in the broader sense of the exploitative nature of the beast. Not the lovely people who offered me the work, and did so as a means to help. It's not their fault this is the choice in the system, and they very much tried to make something good out of bad.

Anyway, disclaimers over. Here is what I contemplated taking:

Various hours (between 4-6 hours a day)
Mainly project supervision, some teaching.
Term time only (obviously, who gets anything else?)
At an institution 2.5 hours away (so a 5 hour round trip, and so often a 14 hour day).

All of which meant I'd have to take 2 days off other paid work (for prep/marking/exhaustion) and pay for petrol and/or stay over. (even if say £30 Travelodge, plus dinner and breakfast, that's £60 of wages. Plus petrol of around £20-25. That's £85). I put the sums out there because that's what people like me are doing all the time, paying to have a job. Having a job to support a job. And we've stopped thinking it's ridiculous.

Plus I'd be tied to this, rather than getting a proper job. Plus delaying my various other projects. And yet I said yet, until I couldn't any more. Because I felt I SHOULD want it. I did want it. But also because gift-horse aside, it's that sense you HAVE to go and be an academic should someone offer you the chance. No matter how wrong it might be for you, practically and personally.

And I made myself, after an afternoon of crying, say no.

Two types of people will read this. Those who, quite rightly look at that and say 'that is madness' and rightly so. It is. And yes others will look and say 'you would do it if you wanted it badly enough'.

And maybe they're right. And maybe that means two things:

1. Maybe I don't (and that's ok too)
2. That doesn't make it right.

This is far from a rarity. And I am expected to be grateful (again not by the people involved, by bigger perceptions) of this opportunity, no matter how possibly counter productive. No matter, honestly how bad it might even be health wise- exhaustion from the amount of travel and work. The mental health implications. And practically, to end up doing the equivalent of half a week or more's work for probably actually far less than the minimum wage I'd make at my Temp Job. But more that I- we would put ourselves through that. For the validation of being considered a 'real academic' again. Before it's (probably) taken away again.

And it makes me sad that I can't do it. That I don't have that in me any more. I don't have an ounce of fight left in me, to go through all that and be in no better state in a year. I looked at an academic job application yesterday and I knew. I knew I'd never have it in me again. And I should be relieved, but instead it breaks my heart.

Because while I have known for long enough that I'm not good enough to be an academic. Or equally that I don't have the privilege of hanging on long enough to have a shot at it. Because let's be real, far less capable people than me have 'made it' through sheer dumb luck, or more accurately being able to sustain this life of working for nothing for longer than I can. And I mean this sense of hanging on and being able to afford it both financially, which is the primary reason, but also mentally. I can't live feeling like my life is on hold because 'what if' I got a job, 'what if' something happened. I can't sustain another five years of waiting for my life to start.

But despite this, despite all this. Despite the number of times now I've had to 'quit' it still hurts, because the truth is about the short time I was 'inside' academia, I have never loved anything more. I was good at it (well the teaching at least) and I could have maybe, just maybe been good in a meaningful way. That doesn't mean I'm blind to the faults of the industry, before people jump in here to tell me I'm better off without. I know I am, in my rational mind I want my life, that's why I got out. But that doesn't mean it isn't hard to have to walk away again.

And it's fine. I've had a good cry writing this, and I'll be back to knowing walking away from academia was the best thing again in half an hour. It's only worse this time because life is frankly, just really shit right now.

(all things are relative, many people worse off than me in the world)

But a year of unemployment/temping. A slow (or fast) unravelling of various projects. And a general grinding down, not just this year, but all the ones before, has me really, really beaten right now.

And I'm sick of being stuck in a no man's land. Academia doesn't want me. But I keep going back because there feels like there's a sliver of hope. Because it feels like what I'm supposed to do.

Because I keep trying to transfer my skills elsewhere, and nobody wants to know. The amount of times, the amount of time I've spent trying to beat down doors, only to get told 'you're an academic go away' or to get a tiny bit of progress and have it whipped from under me. Usually by someone younger. And I'm past the point in my life where I can work entirely for free, but I am still willing to put the hours and graft in, if only someone would give me a chance. But I think I've reached the end of that road again too.

So what now? Well frankly that's a bloody good question. I clung to this academic offer, no matter how unfeasible, because, well I felt like nowhere else wants me maybe try that again. And people like me have to stop running back. Letting academia do this to us. Letting it break us down for years and years after we should be done. But us arts and humanities lot also need other professions to start taking us seriously, not slamming doors in our face for being 'an academic' when we're really trying to be anything but.

And on the off chance anyone can help, my CV is here: https://emilygarside.com/cv/



Oh and finally,

P.S

The next person who tells me I'm not a 'proper' playwright or should stick to writing books, will get a  resounding fuck you. I'm a good writer. I'm a good playwright, critic and probably anything else I set my mind to (except poetry, I concede I am shit at that). You don't get to laugh at me, or dismiss me just because I've also been an academic. Show me a writer who has never had another career and I'll show you a liar. Or at the very list a person with a rich spouse or parents. I am sick of being dismissed.

Tuesday, September 4, 2018

How do you measure a year...(in temping?)


The end of August and early September have felt particularly depressing this year. My Birthday falls on the 29th August, and September 1st marks a year since my last ‘proper’ job ended. Another year older and a year of unemployment/temping/attempting to get things right (write?) seemed a good time to reflect.

For a recap (or introduction) my fixed term contract ended in September last year and I vowed, 2 years on from my PhD not to take another job ‘just because’ and to try and focus, and actually get something of a career going. To that end I decided I’d temp until that happened. Short version: I’m still waiting, still temping.

Long version a lot happened in between. Some good some bad. I started that period with a vow to just job hunt sensibly and hopefully be in a new ‘proper job’ by say January. What actually happened was in January I got another temp job that knocked my confidence, my self worth- which were already struggling- entirely to the ground. More about that is here and as much as I joke about it now, it did a number on me (TLDR version: I got hired doing admin on Murders for the Council, they fired me for thinking I was ‘too good’ for it and tweeting about Hugh Jackman).

In January I hit rock bottom. A few times I said, ‘I wish I were dead’ and honestly came close to meaning it. Not just off the back of that job (though it certainly didn’t help). Just too many years of being beaten down by endless fixed term and zero hours contracts. Of jobs where as much as I tried I just didn’t fit the mould. Of failing to get any jobs I really wanted. And of course, coming out the other side of academia as a failed academic, and wondering what the fuck now.

And so, in January I hit pause in a manner. I took a couple of weeks off. Then picked myself up and signed up to a temp agency again. I needed the pause, but I also needed to work somewhere, anywhere to prove I wasn’t completely broken. Or unemployable.
Then, I took the pressure off myself and stopped job hunting at all. I decided a few months surviving my way through a temp job and giving my writing the best go I could was the way to go.

And that’s where I still am. Still temping there. Still writing like a demon. Some days thinking it could be worse (and terrified to find out if it is). Others wishing, I could be anywhere but here.

And the writing. At once I’ve got so much done. So much more than in years. It is in part a time thing, but also a confidence thing. I’ve spoken before about how much the PhD broke my confidence in my writing. And I struggled to do anything.

That in this year, I’ve gotten a book proposal done (and accepted), various bits of drafted book. Two drafts of one play from scratch, and a redraft of another play. That’s something. That’s huge in fact. And I’ve proven I can not only physically make myself sit down and write, but also do stuff I’m pleased with.

Of course, with it comes issues naturally. One play is currently, if I’m being ‘dramatic’ as my collaborator says, a disaster. Either way it’s not where it’s supposed to be. And having put most of my time and energy in recent months into it that’s a blow. And I won’t give up, and I still think it’ll be something…but still.

Meanwhile I feel I’ve been pushed out of the theatre criticism I do a bit (at least locally). And despite still knocking on doors, despite knowing I’m good (that’s one area I am confident in) I feel like somewhere doors closed to me. And that makes me sad.

And the Angels book. Well the ‘other’ Angels book, from a big fancy publisher came out just as Angels transferred. And it felt like everything I’d ever done on the play, everything I’d done in London, got erased. I’m not fancy and connected. And because my book won’t have (despite believe me some very big effort) interviews with famous actors in it, I won’t be promoting it with Lin-Fucking-Hamilton-Guy doing interviews, then why was I bothering. And it hurt, and it stopped me writing, because I love it that much. So much that I find it hard to communicate what it means, and how this is so much more than an academic book to me. And I spent nearly ten years clawing my way to writing this book. And I feel like I got there a year too late.

I know I’m not special I’m not unique in these setbacks. And I know I’ll pick myself up and keep going. I’m scrappy, I’ve got this far. But there’s always the element of comparison. Of imposter syndrome. Anyone who says they don’t get it is a liar. Or possibly a white middle class man.

I made a list on here, then I deleted it, because I felt like people would read it and say ‘yeah and?’ as if it wasn’t enough. But as much for me, looking back in another year, this is some of what I’ve done in that time.

·      Articles and critical work: I’ve actually been paid for critical writing on theatre. From a couple of publications (including the BBC). I’ve been commissioned and paid by a theatre for writing of that sort.   

·      Dramaturgy: One massive project that dropped in my lap. Which, at this point may either die a quiet death or be one of the most exciting things I’ve worked on (yes I’m that wanker). But either way I was PAID for it, and had a fancy lunch out for it. (Writers love a free lunch).

·      Musical: That’s right, I’m writing the book of a musical. It’s exciting, it’s terrifying, it’s got Lesbians! I love it.

·      Don’t Send Flowers’ (it was called something else then. I’m not allowed to talk about my terrible title skills). Being produced by Clock Tower Theatre Company who are wonderful people and this has been utterly the joy of my last couple of months. I am in love with this play I wrote a lifetime ago all over again and I remember why I did any of this for a moment.

·      Big Play of HIV (as I call it) Fell into my lap two weeks after my job ended. I’m not a great believer in fate but something keeps me hanging onto this one.

·      Book : Oh yes the book. The bloody Angels book. It’s there. I’ve just had to ask for a second extension because well *gestures wildly to the above* and because there was a certain amount of emotional investment, along with constant press from America.  Like the original proposal it needed a little space. Now I’m ready again.

Oh and I started roughly planning academic books 1 and 2. And submitted an abstract for another book chapter. I can’t quite give up this academic nonsense (on my terms).

So, there’s a lot. A lot a lot. And it’s scary and overwhelming and it’s a question of ‘how on earth do I do all this’ In fact I spent the week before my Birthday in tears of frustration about it all- not just tears sobs. Because as much as it was useful, the temp job is killing me now, and it functions on a rota that the writing it was supposed to be flexible and allow to happen doesn’t. And the writing that is supposed to help me move along from it can’t happen, so I’m stuck there ….and it’s all a terrible Catch 22.

So, what do I want for the year ahead? In the spirit of lists, let’s look at it that way.

·      To finish the book. If nothing else, if this was some dramatic death bed ‘want’ it would be that. I put too much into it so far not to.

·      For ‘Don’t Send Flowers’ to go well. Honestly, this one is my baby. And if one person tells me they were moved by it, that it meant something, as cliché as it sounds that’s enough. If it continues to be as wonderful, even better.

·      A job that feels like I’m doing something. It doesn’t have to be the career to end all careers. I just want to feel I’m putting some of me to good use.

·      To go on a date. Ok this one isn’t actually career related. But I feel like I’ve ‘faded’ in this last year. That’s really my way of saying I want a life back as well. To feel like a normal 30-something for a moment.  


And actually that last point is really important. The last 8 years, since I started the PhD have been so driven by work. All consumed at times. And because people don’t see it as a ‘proper’ job, they don’t see that. I regularly work 12-14 hour days (day job and other job included). I say no to social events so I won’t ‘lose’ an evening’s work, or a weekend’s. It’s a constant juggle. I just want to feel normal sometimes. As much as I’m willing to make sacrifices, I think in a year’s time also, I need to be able to say, sometimes I felt like I had a normal life too.

And so in January we’ll see. And next September we’ll see.