A couple of years ago I was bullied so badly at work that I had to take some time off. Or maybe I wasn’t bullied so badly, but reacted badly. And had to take some time off.
For all my worry about Sam, and all those worrying statistics about people with Down Syndrome being considerably, frighteningly more likely to be bullied, in the end, it happened to me. Not to my bolshie, pushy, couldn’t-care-less son.
And the worst of it is that, somewhere in that summer I lost my confidence. I have become a mouse in the workplace, jumping at imaginary cats. I don’t like it. Where did I go? Where did it go?