Just call me Francine

Yesterday, I happened to catch one of the first TV movies about domestic violence I can remember - The Burning Bed . Anyone who has ever doubted Ferrah Fawcett's acting ability, has never seen this movie. I found myself angry and shedding tears for Francine all over again, cheering when she finally sent Mickey to kingdom come in a fiery bed (just like I did when I first saw the movie as a child, much to my parents' horror). Even though I should be thoroughly numbed to human suffering by most of today's films and shows, Francine's pain still touched me.

Then an incident at work today reminded me of how a work relationship can be a lot like an abusive personal relationship (emotionally anyway). Just call my boss "Micky" and me "Francine".  I swear to God, every time I think it will get better, just like Francine, I tell myself, "S/he wouldn't act like this if I would just get it right." We have a few consecutive days or weeks of peace, then she backhands me across the face. Okay, I obviously don't mean that she literally hits me - but you catch my drift. Each one of these encounters leaves me questioning my abilities, my sanity, feeling incompetent and - worst of all - trapped. Yeah, just call me "Fran"...