#i swear to god it's like this narrcisstic abusive relationship where we get abused and gaslit and then love bombed

[rose-tinted-nostalgia]

nothing more humiliating than sobbing in the grain room of a brewery because you don’t feel like you’re enough & balancing work with a kid is fucking awful. 

 i don’t talk about my personal life at work, and I full blow had a breakdown to my manager because I swear she constantly says we don’t try enough or support her enough or care enough, and I’ve given more than I ever signed up to give, and her response to that was to call me defensive & say that if I don’t like how she manages, we can just part ways because she approved a weekend off, and I promised my son we were going on a trip, and he hasn’t stopped talking about it, and she took it back because we have a major event that day now, and her reasoning is that I’m a trainer, and she’s always given me what I wanted, and she’s sacrificing a trip, and I haven’t had to make sacrifices yet, and I lost it, telling her how I promised my son, and I spent the first five years of his life letting him be raised by everyone else because I worked 80+ hours a week and sacrificed EVERYTHING, and I quit management so I could be a human being and prioritize something other than work, and here I am working 60 hours a week and eighteen hour shifts, and you’re telling me I should have taken it upon myself to learn how to hang the lights, and stop getting sick as often as I do, and I’m not dedicated if I don’t cancel a trip you approved for this event, and I already feel like a bad mother, and I don’t have friends, and everyone in my personal life is constantly telling me I’m not enough, and you want to criticize my performance fine, but you tell me good job one second and then in the next tell me I’m not living up to your expectations because I could be doing more when I’m doing all that I can, and fuck. She apologized at the end, and sent me a nice text, and I think she just feels bad for me because she realized I’m a lonely, traumatized wreck, and that’s fucking mortifying, and I had to go back out and take care of a hundred people with a smile while my face was red and puffy, and I hate this. I don’t need people to feel sorry for me. I don’t need you to manage your business based on how I feel. I don’t need you to tell me good job. I just can’t handle the drama, the guilt trips, the constant lecturing on how we don’t care or sacrifice the way that she does. Work is my escape. Work is the one thing I’m good at. I can’t be in an abusive relationship with it, too.