I took the cheque home and folded it in half. Then again. Then again. Until it was a sharp little square I could press into my palm. It didn’t feel like money. It felt like silence.
The job was good. Rare these days for someone like me. And when he leaned too close and said too much - breath hot and stale with knowing - I only smiled.
Afterward, I kept working. Of course I did.
At the end of the week the cheque came, same as always. it felt heavier this time. Like hush money.
And I took it anyway. Because that’s what you do when the alternative is falling through the floor.
“So much of coming to terms with hard things from the past seems to be about believing our own accounts, having our memories confirmed by those who were there and honoured by those who weren’t.” — Sarah Polley, Run Towards the Danger
Songs hit differently after...
HR calmly studying "the policy"...
Me (the cat) making sense of what happened
Notice me (fraidy cat) still perched on the company's shoulders
(I need money to be fed)
((ugh / rearr))
Clémentine Dondey (French, Unknown Birth Date, c. Early 19th Century) - A Soothsayer studying a Book of Necromancy, 1847, Paintings: Oil on Canvas
Therapist: How's work going?
Me:
Some songs hit differently after.
Say it with me now:
You owe your employer NOTHING.
How Abusive Workplaces Mirror Abusive Relationships
Some people won’t believe you until you break. Break anyway, if you need to. You don’t owe anyone your composure.
📂brain dump / digital diary / untangling the knots💭 words, art, memes, chaos, clarity—whatever helps🔓 navigating the barren landscape—pot holes, craters, aftermath🫀 we believe youSubmit anything.#sexualharassment
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