The Editor Mother
I knew today (Mother’s Day) would be hard. My first without my Momma.
Last year wasn’t so great either. It was pretty evident that I was lucky she was still here.
For her part, Momma was taking it a day at a time.
Trying to live for me to attend a concert.
For Mother’s Day.
For my birthday.
For the end of May so she’d get one last Social Security check.
Then … she could let go.
She died on Father’s Day.
For my part (this year), I’m grateful that I was busy for 10 straight days.
Had all the colleagues and many of the subscribers in town for the past week. And other invited pests. I mean guests.
Someone (who annoys me) referred to me at our work conference as “The Editor Mother.”
That made me kind of happy.
After all, I’ve always said who needs biological children when I supervise 25 grown men.
This year, that list of supervisees also includes five grown women.
I cried a lot this week.
(But I am so productive, IT’S AN ART.)
No wonder, really.
In addition to getting my team all in one place for the first time…
I saw friends I hadn’t seen since before the plague.
I helped hire and or train a lot of the others since the plague.
So no only was I having people run up to me left and right with handshakes and hugs, I was feeling the love.
At the employees-only event, I had two tiny gifts for people. Like valued at a very nominal amount.
But they cherished those because those came from me.
I was surprised when OTHER people came armed with gifts for me.
My Japan team, who Martin and I picked up from the airport last Friday, had a gift for me.
So did my beloved friend from Miami, who was raised by my beloved friends Eva and Cindy, who were fired by the one who called me The Editor Mother.
The one who called me that name loves me for some reason. Or maybe it’s strategic. Not sure, honestly.
The friend in me resents the reason for my friends’ firing. Not just the invented reasons that were sold to my superiors, but the real reason none of us talk about. (Cough, strategic.)
Then this person who rubs me wrong psychically was always rubbing my shoulders and back physically in person.
I was unhappy AF about that.
I loved hugging my people.
And I have a LOT of people.
But having this spook slither up to me at every available opportunity was a BIG boundary violation.
Also I have had friends who reported harassment (at other companies) become the ones punished.
So i ain’t sayin’ shit unless I hear that I was somehow unfriendly to them.
Which is why I am documenting it.
Momma always called me a touch-me-not because I am not a hugger.
This week, I had to put myself in a space to do that with people I adore.
I was fine with the first hug from Touchy (not pictured anywhere) but not the “walking up and whispering in my ear while I sat in the back row about shit that they did not to be whispering to me about” shit.
That is another fucking story. I would and do choose the others.
I mean, wouldn’t you?
Touchy reports to Don’t Treadmill on Me. Who I have done a lot of inner work to make peace with.
We will never be besties, but I can still respect what they bring to the company.
I also understand that what bugs me most about them is their lack of some of the positives that I bring.
It’s complex, obviously.
But, losing Momma — who hated people on my behalf — taught me that my rage needs to die, too.
My unhappiness at select people took up energy that should have been positive.
Energy that should have been spent on mom in a more positive way.
Good vibes that should have replaced the absolute maelstrom of murderous rage she had to witness and feel instead.
Now, I don’t think Touchy was trying to make me uncomfortable. We all need connection and I provide it verbally.
Still, I’m hoping they got the hint when I squirmed well out of arm’s reach a few times.
I was also quite cognizant of BoUnDaRiEs during my many social outings this week.
Which is why I have a million photos I will never post anywhere.
Also why I made sure not to stand too close to a certain person so the wretch in their house wouldn’t make their life any worse.
I wouldn’t want the temptation of remembering any of their 17 antisocial accounts to watch that big beautiful meltdown.
Thank god my staff was either oblivious to or, more likely, too polite to admit if they noticed any unusual dynamics.
I averaged maybe two hours of sleep a night because I was out with my team from 7 am to 3 am.
One thing I learned was that chronologically, I am older than most of them.
But mentally and physically, I am the youngest one there.
I liked that feeling.
Aside: My Justin Hartley lookalike is hot!
I was dancing and talking and physically running circles around everyone.
I nearly kept up with the one who could drink the most. But I remember the last time I did that, with “Chop” at my other job, and we ended up drunk and naked.
So I’m happy to say none of that nonsense happened here, despite not having an ounce of food available other than the snacks I had stuffed into my purse.
That said, I barely paid for a drink all weekend.
My girl K flew into town and I’ve always said she’s my best date. Nice meals, nice trips, great conversation.
Our mutual friend came into town, and he’s my second best date — I found (and failed to enact) brand-new ways to hand him cash for all the drinks of mine he bought.
It was nice to reconnect with them. Honestly to also meet him after being his freelance boss since 2014. Damn right I hired him full time when I could two years ago!
I was also ticked to connect with other people I only see in a 1-inch-by-1-inch video screen on Teams.
And to meet people who were THRILLED to meet me in person after hearing me yap on Teams every week.
And of course to meet/re-meet people who “I” am thrilled to know.
I loved making people laugh. They were moved when they made me cry.
So many of my pics were of me crying,
Happy tears.
Like, my heart was so full.
I hope my superior (not Martin, because he knows) understands that yeah I’m a great editor and pretty good writer. But I am social AF. You can put me in a dress and shove me in a room and I will be the happiest person in it.
So if/when they aren’t thrilled with me, for whatever reason, they recognize that I am building relationships FOR them.
That what I wrote/published after the event was my poem to the relationships I built on their behalf.
That, just like DTOM lacks my social skills but is great at fighting overcharges and otherwise ruining bad people’s days, making people happy is also a skill that’s valuable to the firm.
I think it’s all good. It’s nice to be (mostly) free to be me.