When the other shoe drops…

What a weird saying, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Apparently it “became popular at the turn of the twentieth century, and originated in New York tenements. Tenements were usually poorly constructed, crowded apartment buildings. A resident could certainly hear his upstairs neighbor dropping his shoes on the floor as he took them off at night–first one, then the other.”


This is going to sound stupid but I used to look forward to Mondays. They are quite possibly my most productive days. But as most of you know, before I had tiny and before the pandemic I worked in a place where I was bullied, harassed, damn near tortured. Then I found this new job and it was like I could finally breathe again. Not only did I forget to prepare for the other shoe to drop, I forgot about the other shoe all together.

I let down my guard and because of that, I have been blindsided. Snarky comments by a new coworker that I brushed off became a full on verbal attack, and although management has been supportive nothing feels the same.

Character assassination has been framed as a disagreement amongst colleagues and I find myself right back there in that dark place of dread and despair. The anxiety has had a chokehold on me that I cannot fight off. This is beyond Babadook vibes.

History is cyclical and behavior is predictable. In every job I eventually encounter a fragile ego that chooses me as their punching bag. Cornering me in a no-win situation where I can’t be too loud or I am an “emotional”, “firey Latina”, “dramatic queer” or just being a “freak.”

Like I always tell y’all, people are painfully predictable if you pay attention. I even knew how others would react and behave during the ripple effect of the aftermath before they even did.

I forgot to prepare for the other shoe to drop. And just like that, it’s hard to breathe again.

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