Recovery Post Workplace Abuse: When the posts become sporadic or stop altogether Part 1.

... is when life gets fuzzy - like the shadow picture of hubby and me above.

The problem with writing a blog about recovery while actively involved in the process of recovery is that recovery sometimes intervenes with the process of writing.  There are times when I can do one or the other.  But not both at the same time.

Workplace bullying is, in and of itself, complicated.  Yet we expect recovery from workpkace bullying to be quick, simple and painless.  Not so.  Not so at all.

Recovery, it seems to me, is as complicated as what caused the injury itself - the bullying.

And make no mistake, it is an injury.  It is called psychiatric injury.  It is not a mental disorder.  It cannot be cured with pills.  Maybe magic wands.  But there are no magic wands.  It usually takes years of dedicated work to recover - with a competent therapist.  Recovery just doesn't happen (usually) by itself.

It takes work.  Hard work.

And time.  

Years, in fact.

The problem is that workplace bullying itself is not well understood - even for those who are in the process of being bullied in the workplace or for those who have been bullied in the workplace.  So why should the process of recovery be any different?

I experienced two back-to-back occurrences of workplace bullying.  The first lasted less then six months.  It was brutal.  

BUT ... I didn't recognize it as such.  I had no idea what was occurring in the workplace.  I couldn't understand why when I did such a good job, it was never enough for my manager.  Why I seemed to be singled out for "special" i.e. different treatment.  If one of the other employees made a mistake - even a bad one costing the complany thousands of dollars - she would be caring and compassionate.  Me?  I was told that this and that and the other was wrong with me.  I shed a single tear once during a highly stressful situation - and never heard the end of it.  I was loud once  

In short, I was not allowed to be human.  

Let alone make mistakes due to overwork and lack of training.

But others were allowed to make mistakes.  

I was on a series of contracts - each one beginning with the promise of another extension or - even better - a permanent job.  The last contract was pure hell.  My supervisor wouldn't talk to me or share information with me.  I was ordered to tell no one that I was on contract.  The manager and HR refused to tell me if this was my last contract and I was forbidden to ask.  As the end of my contract was approaching, I was on pins and needles.

Always hoping for that miracle, that recognition, that never happened.  

The stress was brutal.  When the last contract ended, I was walked out.  I was devastated.  I'd seen several contracts end during my two plus years in that workplace.  Never had I seen one end like mine end.  Never had anyone been walked out.  Denied being able to say good-bye to those they had worked with.  Some even had a farewell party.  One was allowed to stay in the office unsupervised, use his email, tidy up loose ends, say goodbye.  

Not so with me.  I was walked out as though I was guilty of something.  As though I was being fired with cause.  I was not allowed to touch my computer.  I was not allowed to say good-bye.  I was not even allowed to go into the washroom to compose myself.

I was allowed to give the supervisor a manual I had written up on how to manage the job which contained information about specific clients and their needs and procedures we had adopted to meet them.  That information, the information that was in my brain and only I knew, was the only thing I was allowed to impart.

In retrospect, I realize that they wanted the information but not me.

Afterwards, I tried everything I knew to "get over" the hurt, the devastation.  But nothing worked.  I couldn't understand it.  Why I couldn't seem to put what happened in the past - where it belonged.  Why I couldn't "get over" it or "move on".  Even after weeks had passed, it still felt like it had happened yesterday.  There was still that feeling of immediacy which I couldn't shake.  No matter how hard I tried.

Not only did I not understand what was happening to me, but most others in my life didn't either.  While my immediate family sympathized with me, they didn't know how to help me.  They felt as powerless to help me as I felt to deal with what had happened.

If the people closest to me were at a loss, imagine how others more on the periphery of my life such as my acquaintances and friends at church were not equipped to help me.  These people would listen for a short period of time and then tell me to move on.  To get over it.  Then they'd turn around and walk away.  Mission over.  They'd "solved" my problem - they thought.

But they hadn't.  They hadn't at all.  They'd left more wounding in their wake.  Something called secondary wounding where more pain is inflicted on an already badly hurting person.

It's called the "fix it" mindset.  As people, we want to fix things.  Problem is, not everything can be fixed.  Sometimes we just need to sit "shiva" with someone.  To listen.  To hug.  To hold hands.  To realize that we cannot fix anything.  

But the one thing we can do is share in the sorrow and pain.

I was left in such confusion.  First of all, I still couldn't understand why this had happened to me.  I'm a good person.  I was a good, competent worker.  I didn't deserve what had happened to me.  On top of that, all the coping techniques I had used in the past i.e. forgiving those who had hurt me, didn't work and I couldn't figure out why.

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So what does all this junk - this junk from the past - have to do with the present day?  

Because even now I'm still working through the events that happened.  Its been in the last year that I've realized that I was bullied in the first scenario and how that lines up the material I found while researching my second, latest experience in the workplace.  

Because recovery is a process where bits and pieces of the puzzle come together to form a whole.  Where we recover as we are able to with our current understanding at any given time.  Later as more understanding is revealed to us, we revisit those places and fill in the gaps.

Recovery is a fluid process.

I have become fond of saying that life doesn't stop just because we've been traumatized.  Life continues on.

And we have to deal with that too.  And that becomes a part of our recovery process.

I've come to realize in the last few months that in God's economy nothing is wasted.

Even when we feel as though we're a bird rest(room) like the statue below.

On the road to recovery post workplace abuse: The place of Analysis in the Process

My current therapist says that my ability to analyse is one of my greatest strengths.  My former therapist said that I analyse things to death -which was a scathing criticism.  A close relative criticized my analytical side brutally as well.

Two sides of the same coin.

Which is the right side?  The right way to look at things?

I guess it depends on the bystander who is observing.

For me, I use my analyzation skills to think through a situation, figure out what went wrong and what would work better.

I've used this ability for decades.

Let me give you an example from decades ago - close to the beginning our my marriage adventure.

Many years ago, as a newlywed, hubby and I went on our first camping trip.  It can best be described in two words:  unmitigated disaster.

It would be easier to say what went right than what went wrong:  we set up camp in a leaky pup tent in a rain storm at a provincial camp ground - which is pretty well camping in the rough - or at that time back in the early '80s it was.  Way out in the middle of nowhere.  No services.  Not even any park personnel as they were on strike.  It was on the honour system.  You signed a form for how many nights you were going to stay, left the money in a sealed envelope and chose a site.  Oh, did I mention that I'd never, ever been camping before?  I'd never ever been camping before.  This was my "maiden voyage", my first trip down the bunny hill.  Problem is a provincial park is one step below the black diamond - back country camping.  Arduous camping for the experienced, the motivated.  Those who don't think that roughing it is a high class hotel.

At that time, provincial campgrounds for the most part were cheap and unserviced.  No showers.  No washrooms.  Outhouses, smelly outhouses, for bathrooms.  Things have changed a lot since those days.  Most campgrounds come with well maintained washrooms - including showers.

We were living more on love at the time than money, so we'd done this trip as on the cheap as possible.  A three-man pup tent.  Two cheap vinyl floatation mattresses which we pushed together.  A camping stove someone had picked up at a garage sale and gave to us.  We splurged on a fly - which turned out not to be waterproof.  So much for that "luxury".

Anyway, as we drove to the provincial campground, it became more and more obvious the further along we got that I was getting sick.  By the time we got there, I was in the middle of a rip roaring case of a high fever.  Poor, long sufferin' hubby, the man who stood at the alter with me and promised to love, honour and set up my tent in the rain etc., manfully started putting up the tent.  Once the tent was up, he inflated the two cheap vinyl air mattresses, pushed them together, put sleeping bags on them and carried me to one.  He also set up the stove to make a quick supper - in the doorway of the tent.  Bad idea.  We discovered quickly why the stove had been sold at a garage sale so cheaply.  The flame flared up - and almost set the tent on fire.  Not a good idea to cremate your bride on her first caping trip.  It just does not set a good example for thins to come.

Things went from bad to worse during the night.  It continued raining all night - actually downpour is the better word.  The tent leaked.  The air matresses floated in opposite directions with a pool of water between them.  I was feverish by that time.  Hubby was cold.  He turned over to get to the source of the heat - me - and ended up in - you guessed it! - the puddle of water.  He was not a happy camper.

Daylight couldn't come soon enough.  As soon as possible, he put me in the car, packed up and we headed south towards civilization.  Civilization in this case being a mobile home which a relative had in a KOA campground which is where we finished out our holiday.

This could easily have been the end of the story - and my career as a camper.  But it wasn't.

The campground was very busy.  It also was not out in the middle of nowhere.  It had a small camp store, a pool and other amenities such as washrooms with showers.  And here is where my analytical abilities stepped in.

I would walk around the camp.  I talked to other campers.  I observed how they did things, what gear they had.  Looking to see what worked for other people.   When we got back home, I thought about how we could go camping again without experiencing all the difficulties we'd experienced the first time.

We did keep the pup tent for a few more adventures but as we added kids to the adventure, we purchased a much larger dome tent - which was to me the height of luxury.

The two cheap vinyl air mattresses were replaced with a good quality, double air mattress designed for camping - not swimming pools.  Ditto, a double sleeping bag.  The stove we did keep for a few more years.  Hubby was the sole one who could manage it.  And it was always used on a picnic table.  It was replaced with a propane camp stove (from Sears which we still use 30 years later) when we took our then four year old on her first camping expedition and she ran to the tent crying out to her dad:  "Come quickly!  Mom's trying to light the stove!"

Weather and illness are not controllable.  But we did buy a cheap plastic sheet to cover the tent in the advent of bad weather.  Crude but effective.  It worked.

The most important thing we did though, was to avoid the "black diamond" i.e. provincial parks for a bit and did what I called "civilized" camping.  The campgrounds like the KOAs with pools, camp stores, bathrooms. etc.  We went to provincial campgrounds for only a day or two at first, sandwiching that adventure in between stays at commercial campgrounds until we all became comfortable.

When people hear about the misadventures of our first camping trip, they're always amazed that I ever went a second time.  Totally astonished that I enjoyed camping and that it became a way of life for us as a family.

This is the approach I use in all of life's difficult situations:  what went wrong?  what went right?  what can I do to make it better another time?

It works.  For me, that is.

Until next time.

Post Workplace Abuse: Progress of recovery in review

Recovery post workplace bullying is not only an on-going process but also a very fluid process. Like a river flowing downstream, it changes constantly. It all depends on the day, the hour and whatever else is going on my life at that particular space in time.

It's easy to feel that recovery is going well when staying at home in my "safe" place doing safe things like watching DVDs, knitting, etc.  It's easy to connect with people via social media because there's a distance to the relationship.  And, if a relationship or conversation becomes unhealthy, it's easy to disconnect.  To pull away.  To put distance between myself and the other person.

However, recovery is not accurately measured in those moments.  It's measured best when going outside the box, testing the limits, seeing how much better - or worse - I react to things that happen when I'm not home in my safe place doing safe things.  It also measures how my body reacts physically after the event and also how I react emotionally/mentally in those days and hours after the event.

I find that living through - and even enjoying - the event is relatively easy.  It's the aftermath that is difficult.  I never know how, when or where that aftermath is going to happen.

So a little over a week ago, I decided to go outside my little safe box into the big bad world.   It was more or less a spontaneous decision although I had been thinking of it for a year.  Ever since my daughter with her youth group and her in-laws with their youth group went on the walk.

My daughter and her in-laws have been doing this walk for years.  Sometimes my young granddaughter has done it as well.

This year I didn't have any money to contribute so when someone from my LinkedIn connections wrote to ask if I would sponsor the walk, my mind recalled a story I know from the Bible about Peter and John encountering a lame man who was asking for money.  Peter said to him:  "I don't have any money, but I'll give you what I do have" and preceded to heal him of his lameness. (Acts 3:6)

I'm not Peter or John.  Not even close.  I can't heal people BUT I do have one thing in my hand:  my camera.  One of my right brain therapies during this period of recovery post workplace abuse.  One of the things that gives me pleasure both while I'm taking the photos and afterwards as I look at them, they bring back good memories.

However, I forgot a couple of details:  (1)  This is an evening event and I almost never go outside the house at night - so I'm way outside my comfort zone right there; (2) I go to bed early - as in like 8 or 9 p.m.; (3) Because of #1 and #2, I'm not experienced with night photography.

This was going outside the box big time for me.  It was the equivalent of going straight from taking quizzes to taking the final exam - without studying.  Or tackling the Black Diamond hill when I wasn't sure that I'd found firm footing on the Bunny Slope.

But still ...  there's a method to my madness.  If I can survive this test, I can pretty well do anything.

If not ... well ... then it may be back to the drawing board, but there are still lessons that are learned to guide me in my next adventure.

I was fine during the event itself.  I enjoyed being among people - which is one thing that staying in my little room denies me.  The energy I felt from the other, younger volunteers was contagious.  They were friendly.  They were helpful.  Their smiles would light up a room ... or a dark sidewalk.  We were all in this together.

BUT ...

My insecurities rose big time.  When I saw another photographer with a bigger camera and longer lens, I felt like such a fraud.  I felt like a little kid with my brand new Brownie Starlight trying to compete with my dad and his Single Lens Reflex camera.  I felt like I didn't measure up.  Like I wasn't good enough (that lie that I wrote about earlier in a different blog reared its ugly head big time once again.)

I had mechanical failures as well.  I'd brought my brand new, never used, external flash.  Since my hands shake badly even at the best of times, I'd brought my tripod - and hubby to set it up for me.  I did do some test photos of willing victims inside (the one with the Starbucks personnel wearing their touques).  I set up my equipment outside, right in the middle of the sidewalk so I could get photos of people coming.  They had to walk around me like the parting of the Red Sea.

I was using my big, serious lens, so I could only get "close ups" if they were far away.  (Note to self:  scout out site earlier in the day and pick good site.)  (Another note to self:  try out all equipment beforehand).  (Third note to self:  if you're going to do this again in the future, you'd best learn about night photography.)  (Should I make any  more notes to self?)

I'd also brought my "second best" camera:  a Canon powershot with a good zoom.  In the beginning I loaned it to another volunteer who took some incredible inside shots with it.

And then failure happened.  Or should I say a fall?  I fell (and no, I didn't hurt myself), but the tripod fell with me.  And the external flash came off.  Some helpful walkers helped me find it, but I couldn't get it back on as the piece which holds it to the camera had broken off with it.  Oops!

And that's when the second lie - that of "my best is not good enough" came to life.  A lie I probably swallowed hook, line and sucker early in childhood which got reinforced during the workplace bullying and afterwards during recovery.

Something cool did happen, the volunteer who I'd loaned my camera to came by to give it back to me.  So I still had a camera.  Yes!

Problem?  I hadn't used it in quite a long time so I couldn't figure out in the cold and the dark how to set it for night pictures.  :(

I ended up taking the rest of the outside pictures (the ones with a yellowish background) on the sports setting.

Then as the last of the walkers left the rest stop and headed back to where they came from, I got tired and the letdown after the event started to happen.  Not only was I exhausted, but I felt the familiar beginnings of depression rising up.  Enveloping me and hanging on with their tentacles refusing to let go.

As I've slogged away through this period post the walk, my body has been in perpetual rebellion and I've been very fatigued, lethargic, not much interest in anything.

BUT ....


I not only have some good memories and pictures, I've learned a bit to help with future outings/testings which I wouldn't have learned any other way.  

Until next time.

On the Road to Recovery: Peace and Contentment

Just a few days ago, I had an interesting conversation with a friend.  This friend's journey involves a chronic, incurable auto immune which has already robbed her of her mobility - and threatens to rob her or her life.  But it has not robbed her of her determination to live life to the fullest and to encourage others who are walking through a similar road.

Through her limited energy but limitless enthusiasm, she encourages people through social media to find the best they can in their circumstances.  To find happiness even in chronic, never-ending pain.

Even though I don't have a chronic illness, per se, as I have trauma, there are enough similarities that she has accepted me unconditionally.

This friend doesn't have the same belief system that I do and I was not sure how she would react if I asked if I could pray for her.  So the other day, I broached the topic very carefully and respectfully.  I asked her if I could pray for her and if so, what would she want me to pray for.

Her answer shocked the socks off of me!

Of all the things she could have requested such as diminution of pain, prolonged life, even complete healing, she didn't ask for any of those things.

Instead, she asked for peace and contentment to be able to live whatever time is left to her to the fullest.  To make memories for those closest to her.

Of all the people I've prayed for past and present, not one has asked for peace and contentment.

Yet, isn't that what a happy life, a good life, a life well lived is all about?  Getting through the hard times, the tough times, the painful times with grace and dignity?  Even with joy splashed through.  Peace and contentment permeating all like a well-seasoned sauce?

Not only has she given me a lot to think about with those three words - peace and contentment - but she's changed my focus.  For me.  And for those I pray for.

Yes, I want healing, complete recovery from trauma.  Yes, I want to be able to go about life as I used to know it without worrying about the "spoons" (levels of energy) suddenly giving out and leaving me high and dry.  But more importantly, I want to live life to the fullest - not in some distant future which might not ever come - but now.  In the present.  I want that peace.  I want that contentment.  And I want to pass it on to those around me.

Until next week....

Recovery from Workplace Abuse: Things I've learned on the road to recovery (updated)

When we hear the term bullying, we think of the playground bad boy who has a permanently bad attitude. We think of a little weakling being terrorized, shrinking and shrivelling.  We usually have full sympathy for the weakling, the underdog. We realize that the little kid is being victimized by the other kid.

Yet when we hear the term workplace bullying, we don't think in quite the same way.  Especially if we're a bystander in the arena where it's occurring.  Especially if there are dominant personalities involved which compel us to believe that they (the bullies) are the weaklings being preyed upon by one individual who must have superpowers to be able to terrorize an entire department.  It might be possible to believe this kind of group think if the person being portrayed and perceived as the super bully of all bullies capable of super human power of causing stress if that person is a supervisor or manager.  However, in my case I was not a supervisor or manager.  Not even close.  I was at the lowest level in the office - an entry level position which I was good at and happy at. 

However, I am guilty of some character traits which may or may not have exacerbated the situation at that time and in that place.

I am outspoken.  I am strong willed.  I'm not a quitter.  I was intent on recovery.  Instead of taking the hint and leaving i.e. being compliant, I worked hard on recovery.  Instead of becoming wrecked (at least for years) and leaving either quietly or under guise of illness, I became a happy person.  Ironically, up until the bullying intensified to the point where the stress was brutal and I was being called in to the "principal's" i.e. manager's office often to be threatened with discipline, I became the emotionally healthiest I've ever been in my life.

Oops!

I believe I've shared previously a document I wrong prior to my two back to back stress break downs in the workplace here before.

Today, I'm sharing it again.  Edited.  Updated.  Most of the things I've learned on the road to recovery were from 2006-2010.  From that point on, the task became to stay alive and to continue to live in the recovery that had already happened.  Not to lose the ground I'd already made.

Here are some of the things I've learned in the journey of recovery.

•  I’ve learned that good can come out of bad.
• I’ve learned that the relationships that are the most important to me are my family.
•  I’ve learned that my husband does care for me; he may not understand me or know what to do in certain situations, but he does love me and he finds ways to share me how much he cares and values me.
• I’ve learned that I am loved.
• I’ve learned to value, honour and respect my husband.  As I value him, he "retaliates" in kind - by valuing me.
• I’ve learned to pay attention when he wants to talk about things that don’t really interest me because they do interest him and that shows I value him.  As I listen to him talk about his daily life outside in the workforce, I learn more about him and love him even more.
• I’ve learned that the only person I can change is myself.  But when I change myself, others change towards me as a result.  Or at least some people.  The problem is when I hit a hard time, because I'm the one who has been changing sometimes things slide back - at least for a while.
• Concurrently, I've learned that the only person I can control is myself.  And that's a hard enough challenge in and of itself.  I could not control the bullies or the bystanders or management or HR.  I can only control myself.
• I’m learning to trust God in the small things because if I can trust Him in the nitty-gritty aspects of my daily life, then I can surely trust Him in the BIG issues.
• I’m learning to talk to God just like I would to a real person. I find it hard but I also find it exhilarating as He directs my petitions and thoughts in completely unthought of directions.
• I’ve learned that I am not stupid.
• I no longer tell myself that I’m stupid.
• I’ve learned that I do have talents and what they are.  I'm learning that I do have value.  That I'm not as black as I was painted in the workplace.  Some of it was just plain dirt.
• I’ve learned that my strengths are more numerous than my weaknesses and to concentrate on them.
• I’ve calmed down a lot.  OK for those really close to me, please don't laugh!  I'm not perfect, but I am working on taking things in stride.
• I’m still learning to say I’m sorry when I’m wrong – and work to make things right.
• I’m still working on relationships and seeing the continuing rewards of hard work in that area
• I’m continuing to learn about trauma, how it affects people in general and how it affected me in particular.
• Concurrently, as I continue to walk this road, I realize how badly people like me who have been traumatized are misunderstood by "normal" people in our life after workplace abuse such as pastors, etc.
• I’ve learned that I’m pretty typical of people who have been affected by trauma.
•  I’ve learned that there is life after trauma – and that it can be good.
• I’ve learned that detours can be fun – if you let them be.
• I’m learning not to take things personally.  That is still on-going as I edit this.  It's hard because some things like the isolation and exclusion in the workplace were deliberate, they were personal.  However, the postie who complained that our street was not safe for home delivery, that was not personal.
• I’m still learning what my triggers are.  The more I learn what they are, the more I can control my reactions and responses when those triggers are pushed.  Not always.  But more and more.
• I’m enjoying life a lot more.
• Concurrently, because of the recovery that has already occurred, not only am I enjoying life a lot more, I am having experiences with those closest to me that I might never have had otherwise like canoe camping with hubby, the CN trip last summer on my birthday, etc.
• I’ve learned that although I might go through a rough patch, overall I am doing well overall.
• I’ve learned that it’s more common to listen than it is to hear.  Most people hear not listening to the other person exactly, but formulating what they're going to say.
• I’ve learned what secondary wounding is and how to recognize it when it is happening to me.
• I am also careful in my interactions with people to not inflict secondary wounding to others who are going through difficult times.
• I’ve learned what people who are experiencing trauma are going through and what kind of support and encouragement they need.
• I’ve learned that relationships take effort.  Continuing effort. It's not a one time deal.
•  I’ve learned that people respond to initiatives.  Not always.  But often.
•  I’ve learned that good relationships are built slowly – one block at a time.
•  I’ve learned to take the time to enjoy moments of companionship with people.  I love watching the moonlight dancing on the water, hearing the call of the loons, seeing rain ripple on the water standing snug and dry under a huge tree ….  Those are good times.  Good memories.
• I’ve learned that while some people don’t smile, a surprising number do.
• I've learned to laugh.  Even when I could get angry, I've learned to laugh.  It's surprising how well laughter works.
•  I’ve learned to recognize the hand of God in things.  If I can't immediately recognize it, I start looking for it.
• I’ve learned to be thankful for all kinds of things even - actually especially - things most people like myself take for granted like indoor plumbing especially when it's freezing outside, a warm house, flannel sheets, my cat.
• I’ve learned to appreciate people and the things they do and express that appreciation.
• I realize now that I’m “wired differently” and that’s it’s OK to be different.  In fact, I like being different.  It's fun.  And fun is good.  I like being unique.  
• This is a hard one and still very much on-going and part of my current journey.  I've learned to accept myself for who I am and while I still feel the need to be validated, I am slowly learning that I shouldn't need that validation.  It's not what others think about me.  It's all about who I KNOW I am
• I’m learning to savour the good moments like a gourmet chocolate and not to devour them quickly.
• I discovered by accident one day in a thrift shop that if one takes a few steps back, the scene/perspective is totally different and different things come into focus that were not seen in the close up view.
• I’m learning to face my fears and break their power over me.  I was actively working on some of these fears during what I now call phase I of the recovery process (2006-2010) and now I'm at a place in phase II where I'm able to resume working on them.  Not as aggressively as before, but still work on them.
• I’ve learned fears are irrational. They have nothing to do with facts 
• I’ve learned it’s absolutely awesome to face the fears head on and start to conquer them
• I’ve learned I can lean on hubby for support – both physically and emotionally – if I let him be that support.
•  I’ve learned hubby has his own insecurities, I have mine.
• I’m  still on the road of learning to forgive those who have hurt me and enjoying the freedom that comes from forgiving others.
• I'm learning that there are always stumbling blocks on the continuing road to recovery.  Life goes on and adds more pain while I'm still dealing with the trauma and PTSD.
• I’ve experienced God’s grace and mercy when I was finally able to forgive those who have wounded me deeply.
• I’ve learned that we can only show God’s grace and mercy to others once we have experienced it ourselves. 
• I've also learned that it's impossible to show God's grace and mercy to even ourselves let alone others when I've never experienced it.
• I’ve learned that once we experience God’s grace and mercy, it just flows through us freely
• I’ve learned that I cannot expect grace and mercy from people who have never experienced it.
•  I’ve learned not only to identify my supports but to rely on them in times of crisis
• I’ve learned to take a step back when thoughts of anger and rage assail me and look at things logically for logical solutions and next steps.
• I’m learning not to blame God when things go wrong according to my way of thinking and to trust that God knows what He's doing even if I don't.

Because of the above things I've learned and am continuing to learn:

• I'm more spontaneous.
• I’ve gained confidence
• I'm happier
• There’s usually a bounce in my step that was never there before
• Sometimes I feel like pinching myself to realize that the change I've experienced on this journey and am still working on is real.

In short, it’s been a hell of a ride, but I’ve learned so much through it.

Until next time ...

On the journey of recovery post workplace abuse: Warning: (Re)construction ahead

Last summer, the region embarked on an ambitious two-year reconstruction project in our neighbourhood.  This picture shows only one part of phase one which was on the street below us.

Eight years ago, I embarked on a major reconstruction program of my own.

There are major differences between the two projects.

The regional one cost millions of dollars, was pre-planned, involved committees and drawn up plans.  Machinery had to be ordered.  The plans had to be carried out in a methodical, organized manner.  Inconvenience to the residents ensued as the road was torn up, there were traffic delays some over an hour long at points in the project ... and the dreaded detour.  Lasting inconvenience with the permanent loss of our home mail delivery occurred.  Approximately seven long months later, the project was finally completed.

Many people were involved in both the planning and implementation of this project.

Once completed - at least the first part has been while the second, my street, begins this coming spring - the results of the construction are obvious.

But ...

But once it's done, it is beautiful.  The project is also very visible in all its phases of implementation except the planning one.

The inconvenience caused by the detour and increased traffic on other roads also due to the detour caused by the construction, are (mostly) forgotten.

Road construction, or any other physical construction, is highly visible by it's very nature.

However the type of (re) construction projection I embarked on in the fall of 2006 was neither planned nor visible.  It's not something that can displayed in photographs like the construction scenes above or the pictures of a WWI helmut in the process of creation below.

Because it involves a reinvention of myself.  Who I am.  How I perceive life.  How I react to things.  It involves change at the very core of my being - who I am.  Who I perceive myself to be.  It involves recognizing and getting rid of lifelong habits.  It involves total change from the inside out including a reinvention of relationships.

My (re)construction didn't stop at night and on weekends.  It was constantly on-going.  24/7.

It was not planned, nor did it follow any designated format or path,

It just was.

And it's still on-going.  Still in progress.

Never visible.  Always there.  Although I was able to feel changes fairly quickly, because this kind of (re)construction is inner, it was not visible to those around me for weeks, even months depending on who these people were and what place they had in my life.  It was on-going and fluid.  Ever changing.

This kind of inward (re)construction is totally invisible.  For me, it was unplanned.  It began back in August of 2006 when I changed counsellors as the first one had become abusive and I felt like I needed a counselling session after the counselling session to deal with it.

This counsellor is unique.  She is also a Christian, like me and like the first one.  The difference is that she invites God into the process.  She has come to realize that God does the work through her.  I didn't know this when I walked into her office that first day.

I was sure she was going to kick me out and say that I could not be helped.

She did neither.

She simply listened and offered encouragement.  She knew more of the dynamics of trauma and PTSD than my former counsellor had, so she had the right "equipment" to deal with me.

As with most (re)construction projects, things got worse before they got better.  I threw my Bible on the floor of the library in my former church and had a very angry pastor at my door.  One who came to condemn not to forgive or minister to a hurting person.  One who didn't understand trauma.

Yet, through it all I stuck it out.  Unlike the road which had no choice in the matter, I did have choices.  I could have just quit.  Or done other things like suicide - which I did think of.

Yet, ultimately my counsellor offered me something no one else had in that part of the experience.  She offered me hope.  She gave me unconditional acceptance.  She never flinched or got mad at me.  She simply accepted me as I was at that time.  She looked beyond appearances and saw hurt.  Damage that went way back to childhood.

This kind of (re)invention is hard to describe and impossible to show in pictures as outwardly I'm the same.  It's inwardly that is vastly different; totally different from before.

My (re)construction followed no set plan.  It wandered all over the place and back again - like my blog posts sometimes.

First, I had to learn to accept myself.  I had to learn that I had value.  I had to learn my talents.  I had to learn both my strengths and my weaknesses, to accept them and to work not on my weaknesses, but on further strengthening those things I was good at.  To even start the (re)construction, I had first to realize that I was not a stupid person.  That was lesson #1.  I had to realize early on who those people were who counted the most in my life - my husband, children, grandchildren, etc. - and to forge good relationships with those closest to me.  Concurrently, I learned that those relationships I had put the most trust in, my co-workers, were transient.  I learned to trust God and to pray.  One of the hardest lessons I learned was to forgive - which is still ongoing as life intervenes with recovery and (re)construction.  I learned to laugh instead of getting angry.  I learned to look at life and circumstances differently.

Even though ironically the period where (re)construction began was also at almost the same time as the second incident of workplace abuse began, it was for the most part a good time in my life as I was happy and whole for the first time ever - even though those I worked with refused to realize that.

My family realized it though.  During those awful years of escalating abuse in the workplace, my life outside the workplace prospered.  My relationships with my family grew and prospered.  We have had experiences and made memories that we would never have made had I not undergone this unplanned (by me) (re)construction project.

Today as I end this blog post, I can say that despite the workplace situation, despite the incredible stress, despite the resultant injuries, for the most part these have been good years due to the ongoing (re)construction.

 Until next time ....

Recovery Post Workplace Abuse: My "so what?" moment

What is a "so what?" moment?  And why is it important?

As I've been working on my goal for 2015 to work towards becoming a writer, I've been researching about memoir writing.  The first part of working on that goal was to read a memoir I already own to analyze that particular writer's style.  Done.

Next up.  Reading a book on how to write a memoir.  Still in progress.  Very early progress.

I'm realizing that it's much easier to read a memoir - or several - than it's going to be to write one.

The author of the book I'm reading writing & selling your memoir, Paula Balzer, talks about the difference between memoirs and biographies.  Meaning the difference between a regular joe type of person like me who has gone through something I want to share with others and a famous celebrity.

I am not rich.  Or famous.  Or probably even noteworthy.  Outside of a small circle of friends, that is.

I'm just a regular person who has gone through a horrible experience (actually two back to back) in the workplace and has survived to tell the tale.  What is going to compel someone to read about my experiences in the workplace?

This is the basic gist (although she writes it quite differently) of the so what? moment.

In my case, the so what moments are occurring not because I want to write about my experience.  Heck!  I haven't even put anything on paper ... er ... I mean computer screen.  Yet.

What I do have in the planning stage is an on-line workshop combined with a meet-up group which will be based in the great state of Washington.

Washington?  What?????  Wait a moment, Suzanne.  I thought you were in Ontario.  Canada.  Which is a totally different country, let alone state.

You are right.  I am not anywhere near the state of Washington.  In fact, I'm three time zones away.

However, during this journey I've met another individual - also a woman - who herself has gone through workplace bullying.  In fact, you might have met her on this blog as she's written a couple of guest blogs for me.  Stasia Sowers.

She has come up with some incredible ideas on how to bring workplace abuse out of the closet and into the open.  One of them is on-line workshops about the phenomena.  The other is a Meet Up group close to her with on-line access to whoever is interested in attending.

As we've gotten together via the internet to discuss our ideas and try to put some form into them, I've done a lot of thinking about my experience.  About what I have to offer a group of women who are going through the experience and desperately want some encouragement.  That's where my so what? moment comes in.  I don't have anything positive to offer.  At least not in the sense that they can resolve the issue.  Not in the sense that a dysfunctional work environment will - or even can - become functional.

They can't.  I couldn't.  It won't.  It didn't.

There are no magic wands.

Bullying involves an incredible imbalance of power.  Like the proverbial young child paired up with a heavy adult on the seesaw (or teeter totter - depending on which wording you are used to).  The kid is stuck up in the air and he's not going to get off the seesaw until the adult allows him to.

Bullying is not going to stop unless the bully is somehow, someway motivated to stop.

Unfortunately, in most cases they're not.

Bullying is not about change - at least to the bully.  It's about maintaining the status quo.

I could have stood on my head in the corner and sung the hallelujah chorus and it would not have changed a thing.

Bullying is not about the person who is targeted.  It's all about the bully.

And that is what I do have to offer.  Insight based both on my experiences and on the research I'm done both while I was being actively bullied in the workplace and now after it's ended.

And this is my task right now:  to get past what I can't offer i.e. hope that the situation will magically resolve itself, but rather how to put the whole totality of what I do have to offer in context.

Until tomorrow....

Recovery Post Workplace Abuse: Musings

Sometimes on this journey of recovery post workplace abuse, my path resembles the picture above:  nice and scenic.  

Other times ... well ... it resembles the torn up road below.  Massive reconstruction.  Basically not passable.  Unless you pick your way through very, very carefully.

And then there are the times, it rounds a curve out of sight and I'm wondering what's around the bend?  Good or bad?  Pretty or ugly?  Sometimes my life post workplace abuse resembles the picture below.  Uncertain.  I won't know what's lies beyond that bend in the road under I round that bend and see for myself.

Or my might be straight, but snow covered and icy.  Cold.  Frozen.  But still beautiful in its own way. 

My journey, my life post workplace abuse, never stays the same.  It varies from day to day - which is a good thing.  Even on the most shattered, torn up days, there is hope.  Another day coming.  Another adventure.  Another photo to take.  Another meal to cook - especially when I'm having a series of good days in a row.  Another item to knit or crochet.  Another blog to write and post.  Another bridge to cross.

That is why I like to take pictures.  Of anything and everything especially roads, paths, etc.  They remind me that just like a road trip, my journey is ever changing. Never the same twice.  There is always something up ahead.  Hopefully something better.  More scenic.  Another piece of recovery.

Each of the above pictures has a specific place in my life, my journey.  The one immediately above of the sun rising over a snow swept road is one of my favourites.  A picture I would probably never have gotten had workplace abuse not changed my life so drastically.

I was able to take this picture because my life is freer in some ways now post workplace abuse than it ever was before.  Because I don't work, I have the freedom to do things, go places with hubby.  Take pictures.

It's a trade off:  less money but more freedom.

In the scenario above, we had gone to a small town on Lake Huron.  The place our married life began.  In fact, the exact location our married life began.  At some cabins his parents owned which now belong to one of his siblings.  

His sibling needed some work done.  It's not just my life that has been dramatically changed in the last three plus years, but his as well.  He also lost his job and has had trouble finding permanent full-time employment.  So, we were both free to take a little trip to the place where our married life began.  I wanted to take pictures.  He needed to do plumbing.  We both accomplished our separate goals.

Early the next morning, we headed back to our normal.  As we were driving home, I noticed that we were heading directly into the rising sun.  I couldn't help but whip out my iPhone and take pictures - lots of pictures - as we headed east into the rising sun.

If I was still working, I wouldn't have has this incredible experience.  Nor would I probably have appreciated it as much as I did.

There have been so many changes in both of our lives in the past three plus years.

Yet, I've learned that life goes on.  That even in the midst of sorrow, tears, anger ... or whatever, there is beauty.  There is joy.  There is even ... dare I say it? ... laughter.

There are those sunrise moments among the torn up roads in my life.

But even that torn up road in the second picture in this blog, didn't stay torn up.  It's been completely rebuilt. New sidewalks.  New asphalt.  New drainage.  Etc.  It looks really good.  If a road can look beautiful, this one does.

In the end, the result i.e. the reconstruction of this road, has been worth the effort, the inconvenience.

In the end, I truly believe that I will be able to say that about my life, my experience(s) in the workplace, my journey towards health, wholeness and recovery.

In the end, it will be worth all the time, all the effort, even all the pain, altered abilities and tears.

I truly believe this.

Until next time....

Recovery Post Workplace Abuse: Before

Before.

What was life, my life, like before workplace bullying changed my life?  Before it set its hooks into me?  Tried to destroy me?

I remember reading an article many years ago by a journalist who was visiting China in the aftermath of the Chinese Revolution during the rule of Mao Zedong.

Some villagers were proudly showing this journalist how the great Chinese leader had improved their lot in life by showing them a hospital he had built for their village.  The villagers were so excited, so proud of it.  Yet, to the Western journalist, it was very rudimentary.  Basic.  Very lacking.

He wrote this sentence which became emblazoned on my memory:  "If this is after, what was before like?"

This blog covers a lot of what my life after workplace abuse is like, but what was before?  Before will put some of my abilities and (what I like to call) "altered abilities" in this phase post workplace abuse in some form of context.

I've mentioned cooking several times in past instalments of this blog.  How it is a huge victory for me to be able to cook a meal for my husband.  And how, so far, cooking company dinners is still more or less beyond my capability.

To understand why these things are either a victory (as in the former) or a concern (as in the latter), you need to understand what before was like in regards to the simple task of putting food on the table.

As I write this, in my "after", before seems like a very long time ago.

Before was not an idyllic time in which the skies were always blue, the grass green and we danced joyously all day long.

That, my friends, is a pipedream.  It ain't gonna happen in this life.

Darn!

Before definitely had its ups and down, its times of depression and anger.

But one thing was almost always constant - I enjoyed cooking for my family.  From scratch.

When I first left home at the tender age of something like 27 or so to move to the mission field, I basically did not know how to cook.  I bought a few pans.  My mom bought me some cookbooks for cooking for one.  And I was off.  Like the proverbial herd of turtles.

I learned how to cook for myself.  How to freeze stews, etc. and freeze them in one portion servings.  I even learned how to make bread.  The old-fashioned way by hand.  I was a very popular person at the mission on those days in which I made bread.

Then I got married and I had to learn how to cook for two.  Then I had children and I had to cook larger quantities.  I will not tell you of the struggles - and failures - in this post today, but suffice it to say that the learning curve went straight up.

By the time the kids were grown and leaving the nest, my ability to cook was so well known that the kids asked for a collection of my recipes.

At one point in the journey, I worked part-time at a local call centre.  I enjoyed bringing in my home cooked meals and heating them up in the microwave for my lunch so much that one of my younger co-workers once commented:  "You like to cook."  It was not a question.  It was a statement of fact.

I became known for hospitality among my children's friends.  At one point, two young men would stop by every Wednesday evening like clockwork on their way to their church for midweek service for some good, old-fashioned home cooking.  I'm not sure who enjoyed it more, them or me.

Cooking was my recreation.  It was something I enjoyed.  I loved to pore through my recipes and try out ones that interested me.

One of the best periods in my life was when I was taking some re-training after the aforementioned call centre closed.  By this time, we had taken in a friend of one of my daughter's who we call our .5.  Our daughter of the heart.  At that time, she was also at the same school.  Often we would come home together and I would start to cook something.  She would often sit at the kitchen table while I chopped, diced, etc. and we would talk.  Often, we would taste what I had made before the rest of the family arrived.  Those were good times.

After the first breakdown, when I was off work for four weeks, I could still cook.  I could still follow recipes.  I could still do that one thing that made me happy:  cook.

By this time, I had been working an afternoon shift for several years, which meant that most of my cooking had been crockpot stuff for hubby to serve himself when he came home from his day job.

Even though I had some serious affects such as speech (stuttering which was never there before), cognitive skills, etc., I could still cook.  I could still follow a recipe.

Hubby would work in the side door and sniff the air and say:  "It smells like someone loves me."  Those words were balm to my wounded soul.

I went back to work after those four weeks, still very fragile.  Vulnerable.  Not completely healed.  Things were rough at the workplace.  Very rough.  No one would talk to me.  Even those who did not work with me on the same shift refused to even acknowledge my existence.  I was well and truly isolated.

I lasted five shifts before having a second breakdown.  This time much more severe.

My cognitive skills were so disabled that I could no longer read - or follow - recipes which meant that cooking for recreation was a thing of the past.

I did though become more creative.  Before I could read recipes.  I could follow recipes.  But I could not cook if even one ingredient from the recipe was missing.

Here in the beginnings of the after, my creativity began to kick in.  But perhaps that is another story for another blog.

During this time, I remember getting a cookbook which I'd put on hold at the library long before.  I opened it up.  Each recipe had many ingredients and multiple steps.  I looked at those pages.  I couldn't even assimilate the recipe list let along follow those steps.  It was impossible.  Sadly, I returned the book to the library.

As I've walked through these 3+ years of recovery post trauma, post stress breakdowns, the abilities are returning, very slowly.  There are still significant challenges.  Breaks.  Periods were recovery appears to be coming along nice and then stops suddenly.  Downtimes.

How far will I be able to go on this journey of recovery?  How much of the former skills will I get back?  I don't know.

But I'm certainly going to have fun finding out.

More next time ....

Post Workplace Abuse: A sign of recovery

Parasailing with my best friend - and hubby - South Padre Island, Texas 2010

This week, so far, has been an interesting week as I've more human contact in just a few days than I normally have in weeks.

It's amazing what human contact, good human contact that is, does for the soul.  And the attitude.  How it encourages and affirms.

There's all kinds of human contact:  good, bad and indifferent.  With all sorts of shades in between.

Bad human contact is what I experienced on a continuing, long-term basis in the workplace where every word I said, every action was placed under the microscope of someone else's ideas and thoughts of what I should be and then minutely dissected - and twisted.  Not in my favour.

Indifferent human contact is when I'm out and about and I pass people on the street.  Or maybe instead of the word "indifferent", I should use the word casual.  I might smile or nod or even say "Good morning" and get a smile, nod or greeting in return.  But I'm not going to engage in a long-term relationship with these people.

And then there's what I call good human contact.  A meeting of the minds.  Two people who know a lot about the other - and choose to associate with them anyway.

And so, I've had some good human contact this week.

While talking with one person whom I've never seen before outside of the church context, I realized how far I've progressed on the road to recovery when I made one simple comment:  "I've been able to cook lately" and saw the happy expression on her face.  She was genuinely impressed and happy for me.  I saw, for the first time, what a huge accomplishment the simple act of being able to cook consistently is in my journey of recovery.

Early on in the journey, in the Fall of 2011, when the acute entered the chronic phase and the emotional entered the physical phase, all I could do was lie down.  Sometimes I couldn't even sleep.  I couldn't read.  I couldn't crochet (I hadn't learned to knit then).  I was physically unable to do any of the things which I usually enjoyed.

I was well and truly down for the count.

I had to give up so many things during that time.  I could no longer go to the women's weekly events at the church as I didn't have the energy to sit for an hour or so.  I badly stuttered.  People scared the living heck out of me.  I even had to give up driving for a time as my cognitive skills were so bad that I was an accident waiting to happen.  I decided it was easier to voluntarily give up driving than to have to tell an officer why I turned directly into the path of an oncoming vehicle.  (It's much easier to give up driving voluntarily for a time than it is to get your license back if it's been taken away.)

I tried, oh how I tried!  But it didn't work.

Finally I asked my therapist about healing as she's been through some traumatic junk herself.  I asked her what to do when there was both physical and emotional at the same time as with emotional the general train of thought is to bull through, to keep as much as possible to a regular schedule, etc.  With physical, though, the theory is just the opposite.  To rest.  To pay attention to your body.  To do what it says.  Not to push it.  If you can't adhere to what was once your regular routine, don't.  If all you can do is lie down, then lie down.

Her answer:  the physical always takes precedence over the emotional.

She encouraged me to pay attention to what my body was telling me.

To rest.

So I did.

Sometimes, recovery is so gradual that you, the person going through the journey of recovery, don't notice it.

When I was talking with this friend the other day, I realized that I've come from someone who couldn't do hardly anything to someone who is able to cook dinner more or less consistently at this time.   I've even been able to go through my recipe books and read and follow new recipes.  More than once.

It was exciting to see this accomplishment reflected in the eyes of someone else.  Someone who has been privy to part of the journey - the worst part.

Someone who knows me better than most people - and loves me anyway.

Until next time, dear friends ....

(Hmmmm, now what can I put in the crockpot today?)

Recovery Post Workplace Abuse: 2015 Goals - an update

As you've probably noticed, I like to take pictures.  I like to take pictures of roads, sidewalks, paths, stairs, etc., among other things because each pathway is different intriguing my always active imagination.  Unique.  Each picture signifies, to me, a different aspect of my journey through trauma post workplace abuse.  The path changes constantly.  Sometimes it's easier; sometimes harder.  Sometimes uphill; sometimes down.  Sometimes rougher; sometimes smoother.  Always different as the journey continues.

Always uncharted as there are no maps on this journey signifying where I am on the journey and where I'm going to next.

It's an adventure!  Although one I had not bargained for or willingly signed up for.

As you've probably noticed, my blog postings have been irregular at best.  I start fully intending to be consistent - and then stop unannounced.

This seems to correspond to my life, my journey, at this point.  I seem to be progressing (if that's the right word) in fits and starts.  I start.  Then I stop.  Eventually I lurch forward again.  And the cycle continues.

But when I'm stopped, I'm not exactly fully stopped.  I'm just stopped in a way that cannot be seen by others.  Cannot be visualized.

I'm stopped because my mind is working on significant issues.

Or I'm stopped because I'm reading something.

I'm also stopped because I'm making something.

Or out somewhere taking pictures.

On the exercycle in the basement pumping away - slowly by steadily at this point in time - listening to a story from the Vinyl Cafe which evokes much needed laughter and helps the time pass quicker.  And if you've never listened to the Vinyl Cafe, you are definitely missing something.  Iconic Canada at it's best.

All of these are part of my goals for 2015:  to work on writing by reading; to exercise and be healthier (in other words to regain what I lost after experiencing pneumonia, a cluster migraine and other assorted things which bogged me down last year); going out and taking pictures; knitting and crocheting, etc.

On the reading/writing front - or more accurately the read to write front - I've almost finished the book I chose to begin with called Pathologies by a woman whose workshop on memoir writing I took at a local event called the Wild Writers Literary Event in 2013.  It's not a how-to book, but I was enthralled by the various ways there are to write a memoir, to draw the reader into the event, to make it not just readable but compelling to the reader.  So I chose to begin with her book.  Not really to read her story, but to look at and analyze how she wrote it.

I tend to be a chameleon in some ways.  If I'm reading a certain style, I tend to pick it up and want to mimic it.  And maybe that's a good place to begin - for me.  And then later on as I continue writing to morph into my own style.

One thing, this woman appears to be far more smarter and more literary than I am.  She uses words that even I am not familiar with - and a common saying is that sometimes a person needs a dictionary to talk with me.

During this event, another workplace facilitator asked us what we were currently reading.  I felt like I didn't belong there as one person after another talked about reading something very literary.  Me?  I was currently reading a fiction book by Neta and Dave Jackson called Derailed (from their Windy City series).  Very much fiction.  Light.  Easily readable. Definitely not something that's going to become part of a university course on great literature of the 21st century.  I felt that I didn't really belong in that place, but decided to hide the feeling and pretend at least outwards that I was worthy of attending something called a Literary Event rather than a writer's conference.

Next up, I think, on my reading list will be the above book - also from my stash.  Because this is what I'm interested in writing about.  I have a story to tell - that of workplace abuse and recovery.  I want to tell my story.  But more than that, I want people to read it.  I want them to identify with it.  I want them to internalize it and feel compelled to speak out against bullying in the workplace.  I want to regain - and use - the voice that was taken from me in the workplace.

This third title should also be close to the top of the reading list.  I have so many different interests - and talents.  I can write.  I can make things.  I can take photographs.

These are all talents I want to develop and use.

I've already spoken in this blog today about writing.

With the photography, I already print selected photos and make cards out of them for special people in my life.  Birthdays, illnesses, just to reach out and say "I know you're going through a hard time and I care".  I use them to bless others.  Same with my knitting and crocheting at present.

I made calendars from some of my photos for family at Christmas time.  I share them on Facebook and through Flickr.  I'd like to see if I can expand this and make it marketable.

I use photos to enhance this blog.  To allow people to see what words cannot always adequately express.  To share my life with others.

Then there's the knitting and crocheting.  I attached the below photo of a scarf I was knitting for hubby on an earlier post, noting that the project had been stalled because I'd lost one of the two needles.

The needle was subsequently found (by hubby) and the scarf finished.  Hubby's neck can now be warm when he goes outside.

So, it was on to the next project:  chemo hats for a friend's mother.  The two below were made from the same pattern:  different yarns from my stash though.  And then I got creative on the second one as my imagination kicked in.  I had fun.

Yes, there were will more hats in my future.  Along with other assorted "goodies" like doll clothes for another friend.

There will undoubtedly be more photos in my future.

And writing, yes always the writing.

This is where I will stop for today.  On a more or less positive note.

As I look back on what I've written today, I feel encouraged by what I've accomplished over the past few weeks rather than discouraged at what I've not.

Goals are just that:  goals.  Things to work towards.  Things that will take time to accomplish but will be well worth the effort in the end.

Until next time ....