I’m tired. I can say that now because it’s over. The
Bruin editor in chief can finally say what she feels.
Perhaps the toughest part of my job this year was the emotional
labor that came with it. As the public representative of The Bruin,
and as the woman in charge in the newsroom, moods ““ good or
bad ““ are frowned upon.
You’re not strong if you’re sad. You’re not in
control if you lose your temper. You’re not a good editor if
you’re friends with your staff.
Adhering to these expectations leaves one feeling pretty lonely.
Effective, but lonely all the same.
For me, hiding my emotions on a regular basis was more
exhausting than answering any “news judgement” queries.
Whether student athletes were charged with using disabled parking
placards, or a protest was popping up outside the law school,
figuring out how to cover these issues was easy. To me it just came
down to trusting my instincts and knowing the difference between
right and wrong.
The harder parts were personnel-related. Sometimes I had to
enforce Bruin policy and step on some toes. Sometimes my personal
integrity was questioned and my reputation was dragged through the
mud.
But, with the support of key members of my staff, otherwise
known as my friends, I grew stronger with every challenge and more
confident with every decision. I found the strength to lead others
while watching them conquer their own struggles and fears.
And somewhere along the way, this staff gave me the courage to
step out of my emotionless cave and finally ask for help.
When my grandmother passed away late fall quarter, I ““ the
boss with a tough reputation ““ had a lot of trouble dealing
with my grief. I felt pressured to exhibit the qualities of a
“level-headed editor,” whether it had to do with my
professional or personal life. But when my mom called me with the
news at the office, I couldn’t see straight. I wanted to cry
or yell or kick something. Yet, at the same time, I felt like I
needed to control my feelings, like I usually did at The Bruin. But
this time, I wasn’t in control, and couldn’t smile for
my staff.
That’s when the people from The Bruin stepped up and took
care of me.
When I told him the bad news, my managing editor squeezed my
hand and said he’d take care of the paper’s production.
My sports editor and good friend abandoned his work and drove me to
the retirement home, all the while ranting some nonsense so I
wouldn’t have to talk along the way. My former editor and
mentor left me a voice mail because he had a hunch that I might
want to talk. And all the others ““ the few who figured out
what had happened ““ left me alone thinking that if I wanted
to talk I would come to them.
My closest, “non-Bruin” friends also found a way to
console me, whether they were living with me or miles away. They
always found a way to put my life in proper perspective.
When I needed them most, my friends were there ““
especially those who I had first met in The Bruin newsroom.
While the news print will fade and the paper will yellow, these
friends and my memories of them will stay with me forever. It will
be the people I worked with and the lessons they taught me that I
remember most.