Here we are, a week out from finding the former deputy prime minister Barnaby Joyce smeared over the footpath, and the response to the predicament in which he found himself is gushing sympathy. I'd like to send him to his room.

Let me point you to the general vibes of one David Littleproud and one Peter Dutton. They have both urged Joyce to take leave to deal with "personal issues". They have each spoken to him privately. I wasn't there but I can just imagine.

It is hard, I know, not to be transfixed by Joyce. I know because I've tried. Yet I still return to his bumbling behaviour time and time again, to his poor judgement, to his blustering. There's something quite remarkable about a man who doesn't behave like a career politician. I think he does not give a fig about what others think of him.

But let's contrast that to the way the women of parliament are treated, no matter their "personal issues". Think of the way Julia Banks, former Liberal member for the "unwinnable" seat of Chisholm, was managed out merely because she wanted to speak up for values.

And I won't go on, at length, about the way Brittany Higgins was dealt with because there are still outstanding legal issues. But there is no question there were leaks against Higgins. No question at all.

There is a network of women who have, either now or in the past, worked at Parliament House. They are not all parliamentarians or staffers.

But one thing they have in common is the horrific treatment they received at the hands of their - mostly male - colleagues and employers. They keep in touch with each other, cheerlead when necessary, comfort when necessary. Some are still involved in mediation, some hope to be soon. But when the going gets even tougher, they are there for each other.

One of those women wrote to me this week infuriated by Littleproud's offer to Joyce.

"This makes me so angry. When people like me have to deal with mental health issues caused by the drunken behaviour of people like Barnaby, we are often denied leave or have to take unpaid leave. People like [Joyce] and Alan Tudge and Christian Porter get paid leave and sympathetic comments from their colleagues," she wrote.

She didn't want to be named because she is still mid-process herself and sensibly doesn't want to rock the boat.

But Rachelle Miller is happy to talk on the record. You'll remember her. She had an affair with that utter loser Alan Tudge. Tudge's various incomprehensible decisions as a minister in the Morrison government make him seem, to me at least, an unlikely object of affection. But then I wasn't a young woman working in his office, where he was the big swinging dick (literally, as it turns out).

Tudge was forced to step aside from his portfolio after allegations surrounding his treatment of his former staffer Miller emerged. He and the then-Prime Minister of Multitudes kept telling anyone who would listen Tudge was cleared of wrongdoing. By a process which did not even talk to Miller. Quite separate from the inquiry, Miller is said to have received a settlement of $650,000 - although it is not clear exactly who did whatever would warrant such a settlement, which the government made "without admitting liability".

And while Tudge, now out of politics, prances around the world with his latest partner, an Instagram influencer, Miller is unemployed. Reminds me of what happened to Julia Szlakowski when she filed a complaint against her boss at AMP, Boe Pahari. She's still suffering years later.

Miller says at Parliament House: "We were less than ordinary folks. Staff were not treated anywhere near the same as MPs. It's a massive power imbalance.

"You are always made to feel lesser."

She tells me she knows many media advisers who are told to trail behind their ministers. This strikes me as extraordinary.

"And in meetings you are generally expected to keep your mouth shut," she said.

Loved her job. Feels grief about it. And is devastated at the different way she and others were treated compared to the supportive response to Joyce.

"It's not like this is the first incident. I mean, how many chances do these guys get? They get a lot more lives than most women in the building," she said.

"I had one life and it was gone as the rumours started going around about Alan and me.

"[Then] people were actively working against me.

"As soon as people knew or suspected, things changed for me.

"I was under heaps of pressure and I don't think Alan was under any such pressure at all."

She also knew, in her heart, as soon as pressure piled up, she would be the first to go.

"I was forced to take leave when I didn't want to [but] the good old boyos, they fall up. They don't seem to face any consequences. Is Barnaby Joyce not expendable? He could be replaced easily."

Miller makes a good point. I've written elsewhere about the extraordinary delays in adopting the Setting the Standard recommendations, all of which are excellent and desired. But would that help? Tougher rules on alcohol could/might improve behaviour.

But Set the Standard can't change the culture in one fell swoop. It can't change the way the "good old boyos" are saved time and time again.

I speak to so many women who've worked at Parliament House across a range of jobs - staffers, parliamentarians, those who work in parliamentary departments, journalists, those who are public servants and those who volunteer. They are so tired, exhausted of the way they are betrayed and abandoned but surprised their bosses, colleagues continue to thrive.

"This is the way these guys survive, lives of privilege," says Miller.

Barnaby Joyce is testament to that.