This is another guest post by Dorothy Donald.
In 2016 ...
Despite several goes at it, I never quite made the transition from ‘shortlisted’ to ‘given the damn job’. I’ve sobbed long and loud over this. I’m still trying.
I noticed that people are asking me for help and advice more and more. And half the time I don’t even panic before I respond. They even seem to find it helpful quite a lot of the time.
I spent a whole weekend with my mother for the first time in I don’t even know how many years. We actually both enjoyed it.
I published N papers (where N is a number I’d describe as ‘impressive’ if I were talking about anyone other than me), and I can tell you in a heartbeat how each and every one of those ‘doesn’t really count’. They’re still there on my CV, though.
My friends - the new ones, the old ones, and the re-discovered ones – just kept making my heart swell with love.
I noticed that, when someone treats me like I’m an idiot, I now tend to feel angry instead of assuming I must actually be stupid or wrong. I’ve even started arguing my case from time to time. (See also: when people assume I’m not busy.)
I had a couple of flings. They were fun. They ended with no hard feelings.
My doctor handed me a prescription for Sertraline on a Friday. He then asked if I’d be at home alone all weekend, looked worried until I assured him I’d see at least one friend, and instructed me to make an appointment for the following Monday before leaving the surgery.
My anxiety dreams remained really fucking weird.
I had a holiday. A real one. Not a few days tagged onto a conference. I didn’t check my email once. I know, right?
I had kind colleagues who supported me.
Something happened to me at a conference. When I described it to someone else later, they said “But isn’t that assault? Was anyone else there? Did anyone do anything about it?” Yes, yes, and no.
My physiotherapist did very painful things to my upper back and told me I work too much.
I took up a new hobby. It tires me out physically and makes it impossible to think about work for a while. Also, I’m getting better at it already.
I told a few people something that’s quite important to me about my sexuality. Only one of them was an arsehole about it.
I felt joyful and content and furious and terrified and proud and despairing and tired and sad and anxious and excited and this was, for the most part, OK.
I am in a much better state than I would usually be this close to Christmas.
I am making tremendous progress.