Why you can’t have a career and boyfriend at work…

In 2014, my boyfriend of 4 years broke up with me.

In 2015, I started my career.

In 2016, I was raped.

In 2018, I met my next partner. At work.

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I had made it, 23 years old, living in London. Working in a career I had dreamt of since I was 13.

10 years it took me to work towards and 10ish years it took to be torn down. I left when I was 32.

So at the start of my career, I had already been bitten by this animal from my home town, who I had known since I was 5 years old.

I was trying to breathe and work my way through trauma in the city; refusing to give up what I had spent some 11 years working towards.

I loved my job. Probably too much.

I was on my own in the city apart from a few friends who had also decided to live and work in London.

(I had him arrested btw, but imagine trying to manage all that from London and working all hours of the day and night, but that’s a story for a different day)

So, of the 10ish years I worked my dream job, none of the years had been uninterrupted by a boy. Familiar girls? This story is particularly horrendous.

I could go in to a long monologue here about how I think the Neanderthal, manispheric brain still exists within modern society. It’s just manipulated itself in to different ways of attack on women. Sly ways. But I won’t….

So we’ve written a little about how rape affects women in the workplace… but this blog is about boys.

The last thing I’ll say on this topic is 1 in 3 women are a victim of some sort of sexual violence in their lifetime, if not multiple times. So if not already, I’d encourage employers to think about the effect that might have on the mental health of the workforce.

So there we have it, I was raped. It was awful. And I threw myself in to work. I was obsessed with working, it gave me value, joy, satisfaction, lovely colleagues. I learnt how to be part of a great team. Lovely. All good stuff. And no men in sight, until…

(Oh btw I was also dating someone when I was raped by his mate. Set up by my sister and brother in law, should have been great. Ended in horror. 2016.)

I met the next one. 2018, here we go!

I move departments, a new crowd to mingle with :). Keeping my head down a bit until I had worked out my transferable skills, it was fun. One evening in the pub after work I met the next one. This time he was from work. Warm, kind, did the usual male thing of boosting your ego by telling you how good you are, aw thanks. It worked. Stupid me, I should have saw that one coming. The next thing I know we’re on a date in King’s Cross and 3 months later I was living with him! I’d been living in Hackney for about 4 years and it was time to move on but still, 3 months. I had actually lost my mind. So there’s strike 2 for me, strike 1 agreeing to go on a date with a guy from work, then strike 2 agreeing to move in after 3 months of dating. Where was this heading. It was fine for a couple of years, we had our own apartment, close to Queens Park and the canals. I could run to work, stopped off to do some yoga. Weekly shop at big Sainsbury’s. Then I started to realise how ‘merged’ our lives had become. He hated me seeing my friends, who now lived on the other side of London. And would randomly rage about silly things, like I said I would stay over there one evening to save the late journey back. ABSOLUTELY NOT. “You don’t see other couples do that” “wooooow I said, this is just convenience” one of the first red flags.

Then 2020, the pandemic hits. I ran around that big Sainsbury’s and got everything we needed, even though it was some what apocalyptic. ‘Thanks babe’

The pandemic is a bit hazy for me to recall as I felt like I never stopped but the world did. I wasn’t furloughed.

“We’re moving in with my parents”

“Sorry, what? I’m not moving anywhere, especially not now.”

“We’re moving in with my parents, why are you being so difficult, it makes sense. We can save money and have a place of our own when this is over. Move.”

He arranged it all without me. I think we had moved in by New Year but I remember coming home and all of my stuff was in boxes. I was crying “I don’t want to go”

Bearing in mind it was still the pandemic.

Let’s take a pause here.

2014, had a great boyfriend. Ruined by many things, but I had a standard.

2015, started work (yay)

2016. Rape.

2018. Coerced in to a relationship at work that lasted 5 years. Used for love, comfort, lots of other things and a crutch to help him through the pandemic and buy a flat. ‘Our flat’.

2023. Back home, single. Where the animal raped me whilst I was asleep and the guy who my sister set me up with has crept back on the scene…

Fair enough to say, I’m just taking it easy for a while…