Post Workplace Abuse - A glimpse into life before

Once upon a time, in a land that was more or less just and fair before abuse and bullying in the workplace existed and was condoned by management and HR, there was a middle-aged couple who bought their first home which came complete with a long backyard and a fire pit.  Friends and family would gather around this couple like honey bees to pollen to enjoy the warmth (both figuratively and literally) of this couple's hospitality.  They came for the barbecues, bonfires, friends, fellowship, and good food.  They relaxed.  They talked and shared stories with one another.  They came away refreshed - and full.  The wife loved having her own home, being able to enjoy the big backyard with no superintendent yelling at them.  She loved people.  Most of all she loved feeding them.  The joke was that if you came away hungry from this couple's house, it was your own fault.  It didn't matter who you were, you were always welcome at this couple's fireplace - even if you weren't expected.  Or were a child passing through on their way home from playing with friends.  There was always enough to go around.  Both food and love.

And Then Things Changed

Reality.  

Reality in the form of bullying aka abuse aka psychological harassment aka small "h" harassment in the workplace raised it's ugly head.

Life was no longer fair or just.  It became a long, tiring journey through a mine field which the wife did not recognize and could not see.

For four years, the wife fought against the ever escalating situation in her workplace. 

She tried everything she knew to do.  

She worked on her issues with a competent (also amazing) therapist.  She grew emotionally (unfortunately not physically - I guess the poor soul will always be 5 foot nada - unless she shrinks with old age).  

She learned good coping techniques. She "reinvented" not only herself but also her relationships with those closest to her i.e. her husband, her children, etc.  She became happier and healthier emotionally than she'd ever be in her life.  In short, despite the situation in her workplace, she was thriving.

Which turned out to be a bad thing.

Why?

Because bullying is not about the target.  It's all about the bullies.  It's about how they perceive life, how they think, how they feel, how they interpret things.

It's about their own short comings and insecurities.  They target people who are good, competent people.  Who are well-liked by their co-workers.

Their goal is to make that person as unhappy and miserable as themselves.

Their goal is not to change, but to keep the status quo.

To see their target continually grow and even be happy in the workplace, to come into work with a smile on her face even in the worst of times, was probably galling in the extreme to these people.  In short, instead of a good thing, it became one more log in the fireplace of animosity and conflict.

The toll these things - the stress, the uncertainty - took on me were enormous.

Those gatherings in our backyard became impossible.

I was no longer capable of planning and preparing food.  

People scared me.

An open venue such as our backyard fire pit left me feeling exposed and vulnerable - even among friendly people like my family.

So today in this blog, we celebrate another victory, another milestone, on the road to recovery.

This past Saturday, I instigated a neighbourhood barbecue to introduce some new neighbours in the "hood" to the older, established ones.  A first on my road to recovery as any outdoor events in recent memory have been spontaneous affairs usually instigated by my daughter and son-in-love.  Casual affairs.  Any food either brought in by them or purchased at the store.  Son-in-love took over the grilling as I wasn't capable of doing that any more.

So even wanting to have a barbecue, even wanting to invite the neighbours, even wanting to go beyond my comfort zone and push the limits was a victory.

I knew I couldn't do it by myself.  I knew I still was not completely capable of planning and preparing, let alone carrying through and socializing any event, so I enlisted the help of my next door neighbours who know my story.  Who are aware of some of my challenges ... and victories.  Who cheer me on with smiles, waves and words of encouragement when we meet outside.

Together we pulled it off.  Together we did it.

Another milestone on the road to recovery

Hmmm.  

Now what can I think of next?

Pushing the limits is both challenging and exciting.  I get excited when I accomplish something new that I couldn't do the year before.  Yet, I still cope with differing affects.  My speech and cognitive skills are still affected.  As well, the incredible fatigue which tends to set in after a victory and seems to get worse for a period of time instead of better.

I still have to count the costs and realize that for each victory, there very well may be a set back in the physical realm.

Yet, I'm willing to take that chance.  I'm ready ... and willing ... to push the envelope.  To see where life goes on this continuing journey of recovery after workplace abuse.

Until tomorrow....

P.S. - Kudos to my neighbours.

A Jumping Off Point: my bibliography on the road to recovery from workplace abuse

After the last several posts, so many ideas - or rabbit holes - present themselves.  Which way to go?  At this point in time?

Months earlier, I was writing the saga of Workplace Abuse situation #1 and got as far as being walked out the door.  Just as the workplace dropped me outside the door like yesterday's smelly garbage, I dropped the saga at that point.  It was too hard to think about.  To remember.  To write about.  To share.

How best to describe the eighteen months of sheer devastation, confusion and secondary wounding which followed?  Especially as I had no way of understanding what I was going through at the time I was going through it?

And how, do I describe that time, that devastation, that secondary wounding to people in such a way that they can understand it?  That they get it?

After eighteen months of pure emotional agony, I reached a crisis point.  A where the rubber meets the road point.  A point where something HAD to happen, HAD to change - or there was no point in going on.

In order to make that time period make sense, I've decided to jump ahead a bit and write down my bibliography.  These books/authors became what I call "hidden" mentors in my battle to not only survive but to recover.  To come out of the utter devastation of my life and find a way to rebuild.

Remember on this journey of emotional destruction and devastation, there are no contractors to call.  No architect to draw up plans for construction crews i.e. electricians, plumbers, bricklayers, carpenters, etc. to follow.

It's all been a trial and error process.

Sometimes I think largely error.

So today, I share with you the resources I've used in this journey.

In later blogs, I will be referring back to these resources, probably one at a time, in order to lay a foundation for the recovery process and to make more sense, by those who know, of what is involved in the journey.

Most of these resources, with the notable exception of the first two which are written by mental health professionals, are by Christian authors - some of whom are also mental health professionals.  Which makes sense since I am a Christian.  However, even if you are not a Christian, there are things which are appropro to everyone - no matter what your belief system is - or is not.

I invite you to continue following along with me in this on-going journey of discovery and recovery. 

Here is my bibliography:

• Trust After Trauma:  A Guide to Relationships for Survivors and Those Who Love Them by Aphrodite Matsakis, Ph.D.
• Invisible Heroes:  Survivors of Trauma and How They Heal by Belleruth Naparstek
• Helping Those Who Hurt: Reaching Out to Your Friends In Need by Dr. H. Norman Wright
• Why Do Christians Shoot Their Wounded?: Helping (Not Hurting) Those with Serious Emotional Difficulties by Dwight L. Carlson
•  Forgive and Forget:  Healing the Hurts We Don't Deserve by Lewis B. Smedes 
• Healing Grace for Hurting People by Dr. H. Norman Wright and Larry Renetzky, LMFT
• The Process of Forgiveness by William A. Meninger
• The Bully, the Bullied, and the Bystander by Barbara Coloroso
• A New Kind of Normal by Carol Kent 
• When I Lay My Isaac Down: Unshakable Faith in Unthinkable Circumstances (Pilgrimage Growth Guide) by Carol Kent
• Between a Rock and a Grace Place: Divine Surprises in the Tight Spots of Life by Carol Kent
• Moving from Fear to Freedom:  A Woman's Guide to Peace in Every Situation by Grace Fox
• Surviving the Storms of Life:  Finding Hope and Healing When Life Goes Wrong by H. Norman Wright, Matt Woodley & Julie Woodley
• Putting Off Anger:  A Biblical Study of What Anger is and What to Do About It by John Coblentz
• Safe People:  How to Find Relationships that Are Good for You and Avoid Those That Aren't by Dr. Henry Cloud and Dr. John Townsend
• Hurt People Hurt People:  Hope and Healing for Yourself and Your Relationships by Sandra D. Wilson Ph.D.
• Fool-Proofing Your Life:  An Honorable Way to Deal with the Impossible People in Your Life by Jan Silvious

And no, you are not required to read them all.  There will not be a quiz.

After the storm, the clean up begins.  After the abuse, recovery begins.

A Friday Story

Journey on the road to recovery

As one posting has led to another this past week, flowing freely from the mind to the fingers, from day to day, so can the seemingly random events of our lives.

Several weeks ago, I wandered into the local independent book store in our area to show my daughter the books I wanted for Christmas.  Entering the store, I saw a poster that intrigued me.  Wild Writers Literary Event.  I loved the way the title of the event described it.  

Wild Writers.  OK, cool.  

Literary.  Hmmm.  Not so cool. That kind of puts me off.  

Literary, I'm not.  

Wild, yes.  

A writer?  I hope so.

Event?  

What is a literary event?  Does this mean the same as a writer's conference?  Only, maybe, on a smaller, more local scale?

I was intrigued.

So I went.  There I connected with a woman who runs writing workshops locally once a month.

One thing led to another, so I signed up for this workshop - and was well enough to go.  Yes!  Victory.

During the workshop, the presenter, a local travel and newspaper writer, read a piece she had written seemingly spontaneously about a slice in time on one of her many travels.  Maybe a ten minute experience she had on one of her travels which probably took longer to write out than it did to experience.

It intrigued me,

My fertile mind thought, "If I can find one story a week and write it up for my blog, it will add human interest."

So I started looking for a story to write about.

What I got, was not what I expected - or wanted.

A part of my road, but definitely not as tranquil, scenic, pleasant or peaceful as the picture above.  Not really the kind of story I wanted to share.  Definitely not uplifting.  But true.  Oh so true.

I wanted something uplifting, off beat, humorous.  Maybe quirky even.

But that is not what I got.

As most of you know, I've been down for the count (mostly) for the last two years.  Staying close to home.  Tired to the point of exhaustion.  Depressed (seriously at times).  Lethargic.  Psychiatric injuries that mimic brain injury to the point where cognitive skills, balance, speech, etc. are seriously effected.  Anxiety.  Panic attacks.

And then I had a breakthrough.  Two months or so ago.  A huge breakthrough.

My pre-workplace abuse personality, that irrepressible, hopeful, enthusiastic side of me came back.

It felt so good to feel good.

I was able to do things I hadn't been able to do for a very long time.

Life was starting to be exciting, to be good again.

But.I.Am.Still.Fragile.  Unfortunately.

I look normal But.I.Am.Still.Fragile.  I know I've repeated this statement twice in two sentence but bear in mind that when something is important to an individual, they tend to repeat it for emphasis.  To get the point across.

I may look normal and act normal for the most part But.I.Am.Still.Fragile emotionally.

I decided to get my feet wet (or shall we say wetter as going to the writer's "literary event" and following up with a writing workshop was also getting my feet wet by foraying into the outside world) by attending a senior's event at my local church.  I had attended it before the workplace abuse and subsequent injury got to the point of no return.  Where going out among people was too difficult to even attempt.

To me this was a huge victory on the road to recovery as I had not been able to attend these events for the better part of a year.

It took some planning as I needed a ride which those who run the event could not provide.  So I found a way to provide my own.

I got up.  I got dressed.  I put on my smiley, happy face because indeed I was so thrilled to be able to go out again.  To be ready to socialize.

I envisioned being able to share the joy, the sheer victory of what was going on in my life and have others, who knew me and knew of my journey even though they hadn't walked closely with me, share in it and be blessed.

My ride arrived.

We got there.

I went in.

Hung up my coat.

Joined the line entering the room.

Picked up my name tag.

Paid my fee for the lunch.

And then I looked around.

At all those tables.  Fifteen in all.  Chairs for eight each.  Each one with one, two or more people sitting around them.

I knew from past experience, that people have already formed groups and that some, if not most, of those seemingly empty chairs already have names attached to them.  Informally of course.  No visual such as a name tag, purse, jacket, etc. to warn me off.

I went to the first table.  One I had been welcomed to put my feet under many a time.

I was met with smiles.  Joy even.

But when I asked if there was a place for me at the inn - er, excuse me, table - I was met with dismay, confusion and much discussion.

It appeared that the seats were saved.  But they were trying to decide if there was one without a name attached.

It was then that another woman came up.  Asked the same question I had.  Without waiting for a reply, however, while I was still standing there waiting for one, she took off her jacket and sat down.

Immediately my mood shifted from one of joy, of victory, to - well - I felt like I'd been punched in the gut.

I felt rejected.

I felt powerless.

I felt worthless.

And I felt worth less than all those empty chairs with invisible people attached to them.

All the ugly emotions, all the lies I internalized from the workplace abuse situations, reared their ugly heads.

I turned away to find another table.

The next table I approached had two people sitting at it.  Six empty seats.

No, all of them were taken - by invisible people yet to arrive.

I went to a third table with again, maybe two or three people sitting there.

They dickered and dibbled and dobbled (if there are such words) before finally saying that there might be one seat available.  It took another bit before they figured out which one.

Gracious the response was not.

By this time, all the positive feelings had evaporated.  I was hurt.  Anger was beginning to rear its ugly head.

I went up to those at the table processing the money, etc. and said I have a major complaint.  I went to the person in charge of the event.

He exploded at me.  He told me I was ludicrous.  There were plenty of empty seats.  (Oh yeah?  You go and try to find one that isn't filled with "invisible" bodies.  Oh yeah, I forget.  You don't have to.  You're the leader of the event.  You have a seat reserved for you.)

By this time, I was so hurt, that I couldn't stay.

I left.

Outside the door was the senior pastor.  I stopped to tell him what had happened.

He immediately made excuses for the man in charge saying he was sure this person hadn't meant anything by it.

He went on to do some serious secondary wounding - in a well-meaning way of course.  Out of ignorance.  The compassion was there; but the knowledge of trauma was not.

He then told me, compassionately of course, that if I found a church that met my needs I was welcome to go there.

I was devastated.  Hurt beyond words.  Tears freely flowing.

Tears that would not stop or be quenched.

A major setback on the road to recovery.  A major blow to my re-emerging pre-workplace abuse personality.

Sometimes I feel like this statue in Ottawa with the bird standing - and defecating - on its head

This post has already gone on longer than I want my posts to go as I want them to be in short bites.  However, this incident, this story, highlights the pitfalls on the road to recovery those of us who have been affected by trauma, PTSD, workplace abuse, etc. follow.

Lack of understanding of what trauma is and how it affects the victim are paramount in our journey, leading to incidents like the above where secondary wounding occurs.

And also, how those who could make a difference, who are in roles of leadership in groups, churches, etc,  by learning about trauma and how it affects its victims, choose to ignore the reality of trauma in the lives of those around them.  

In settings where ignorance of trauma reigns, misunderstandings leading to real injury are inevitable.

There are resources available.  A lot of them.  Both on-line, in book form and in human form - i.e. people who are well versed in trauma and how people victimized by trauma heal - and don't heal.

That is the purpose of this blog.  To help others on the road to recovery learn that they are not alone.  

To help those who walk with them (and you truly are special) to learn more about walking with the traumatized.

And, perhaps, just perhaps to encourage those who know someone who is traumatized to start researching what it is and reach out a hand to one who is struggling.

I invite you to join with me on this road to recovery.

What I've Learned on the Road to Recovery Post Complex PTSD, Part 2

       Today is the second half of the list I wrote several years ago re: what I've learned in this journey.  Although several years have passed since I wrote this and there has been a lot more water i.e. trauma and damage under the bridge, it is just as valid now as it was then.

      Sometimes, it's good to look back.  And remember.  Where I've come from ... and where I am now.

¬ I’ve learned that while some people don’t smile, a surprising number do.

¬ We laugh a lot more.

¬ We share inside jokes.

¬ I’m learning to recognize the hand of God in things.

¬ I’m more thankful.

¬ I’m quicker to express appreciation for small things which mean a lot.

¬ I’m more spontaneous.

¬ I’ve gained confidence.

¬ There’s usually a bounce in my step that was never there before.

¬ I’m learning that I’m “wired differently” and that’s it’s OK to be different.

¬ I feel more accepted by myself and by others.

¬ Sometimes I have to pinch myself to make sure that it’s real.

¬ I’m learning to savour the good moments like a gourmet chocolate and not to devour them quickly.

¬ I discovered by accident 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’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 my best friend, my husband for support – both physically and emotionally – if I let him be that support.

¬ I’ve learned my husband has his own insecurities, I have mine.

¬ I’m learning the power of forgiving others.

¬ 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 learned that once we experience God’s grace and mercy, it 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 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 …

¬ I’ve learned to take a step back when thoughts of anger and rage assail me and look at things more    objectively.    

I'm sure that if I were able to update this list now, there would be more to add.

However, I'm still in a state of flux, a state of recovery.  Not any two days in a row are the same.  Each has different trials, different joys - and, hopefully, different growth.

I'm not the same as you.  You're not the same as me.  Our growth and recovery will be different in the specifics - but yet there should be some commonalities.  The commonality of people dealing with the phenomenon of trauma, complex PTSD, recovery from workplace abuse in whatever form it took with each individual.  And, unfortunately, coping with a reality which is not widely understood by those around us.

And so, I leave you, dear reader, today with these thoughts:

Recovery.Is.Possible.     

You.Are.Not.Hopeless.    (Nor.Are.You.Helpless.)

You.Are.A.Person.In.Process.

Celebrate.Yourself.

What I've learned on the road to recovery post complex PTSD

      Yesterday was a terrible, horrible, very bad, no good day.  It was a day in which my re-emerging personality was bruised and battered, almost to the point of annihilation.  It was a day where tears and judgements prevailed.  It was a day that I am still recovering from. More than 24 hours post "whatever", my eyes still feel encrusted with tears.  Tears that still threaten to spill out.  A pervasive sense of loss.  A desire to retreat from the world and hide under my bed.  A strong feeling of wanting to give up.  Quit trying.  Quit working toward recovery.  

     It was in this frame of mind that I remember this piece of prose that I had written years ago - maybe around 2010 when what I call phase one of recovery was having its glorious work.

     So today, this is what I want to share with you.  Things that I've learned on this road to recovery.

¬ I’ve learned that good can come out of bad things

¬ 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

¬ I’ve learned that I am loved.

¬ I’ve learned to value, honour and respect my husband.  And he is responding in kind

.

¬ I’ve learned to put the crocheting, knitting or the book down and talk with my husband.

¬ 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

¬ I’ve learned that the only person I can change is myself.  But when I change myself, others change towards me as a result.

¬ 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 some of them are.

¬ I’ve learned that my strengths are more numerous than my weaknesses and to concentrate on them.

¬ I’m learning to say I’m sorry when I’m wrong – and work to make things right.

¬ I’m learning to work on relationships and seeing the rewards of hard work in that area.

¬ I’m learning about trauma and how it affects people in general and how it affected me in particular.

¬ 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 (although some people from yesterday might disagree on that one).

¬ I’m learning what my triggers are and that helps me not react to things as badly.

¬ I’m enjoying life a lot more.

¬ I’ve learned that although I might go through a rough patch, overall I am doing well.

¬ I’ve learned that it’s more common to hear than it is to listen – and how destructive and wounding that can be.

¬ I’ve learned what secondary wounding is and how to recognize it when it is happening to me.

¬ 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.

¬ I’ve learned that people respond to initiatives.

¬ I’ve learned that good relationships are built slowly – one block at a time.

And that is where I will leave you, dear reader, today.  The rest of the list on Monday.

May you have a good and blessed weekend.

Invisible Victims of Workplace Abuse - Our Loved Ones

When I first started this blog - and this particular posting which has been on the back burner for quite a while - I used the moniker Mama Bear.  As I learned about how to blog, I realized that Mama Bear was no longer the best moniker to use.  However, I still felt the need for invisibility - at least from those who abused me in the workplace, so I changed my moniker to a nom de plume:  Cassie Stratford.

I started this post during the Mama Bear phase and now I am finding it too difficult to rework this post to reflect the change from Mama Bear to Cassie.  From Papa Bear to ????  So, for today, I will revert back to the bear image and analogy and write about Papa Bear:  a hidden victim of workplace abuse.

Papa Bear, wanders around the den.  Lost without his companion, his mate.  Concerned.  Blaming himself for his mate's condition.  Thinking that there is something he could have done - nay should have done - to protect his lifelong mate from the stressful situation which caused the damage, the weakness, the extreme fatigue, etc.  The list goes on - and on - and on.  Und so weiter.

Mixing my metaphors, Papa Bear is very much like a male goose whose mate has been killed.  Sitting beside his lost mate.  Grieving his loss.  Not moving.  Bereft.

He feels adrift in a restless sea without oars, paddles or rudders.  Certainly, no instructions on how to help his mate.  He shoulders the burden alone.  He is caregiver and babysitter (or rather bear sitter) all wrapped into one.

In a physical illness, the knowledge of what to do comes naturally.  If a person has the flu, it's pretty obvious.  Bed rest.  Fluids.  Acetaminophen (or Tylenol), chicken soup, etc.  These are all givens.


If a leg - or other body part - is broken, a visit to the local emergency room is necessary and a cast or splint is applied.

Bandaids for cuts and scratches.  Antibiotic salve to prevent infection from developing.  Antibiotics for bacterial infections.

But there are no casts, bandaids, salves or antibiotics for wounds caused by emotional trauma.  There are no magic wands.  (If there were, someone out there would make a fortune.)  All Papa Bear can do is sit with his injured mate and pray for recovery.  All the while struggling with his own bewilderment, his own sense of loss.  Feeling helpless.  Useless.  A failure because he could not prevent it from happening.

He is as much a victim as his mate.

Although, my Papa Bear feels helpless much of the time, he has shown strength and courage in the face of adversity.

He has stayed with me through it all.  Walked with me every step of the way.

And he has learned about trauma - and what it does to the victim/survivor - the hard way.  Up close and personal.

He has had his own unique way of dealing with it.

When things got really bad.  And I mean really bad.  Like I was suicidal and ready to give up.  He simply put a camera in my hand and we went away for the weekend.  He let me call the shots.  Where we went.  Where we stayed.  What we did.

He gave me back a sense of dignity and, more importantly, control over my life.

He affirmed me when my sense of value and self esteem were so badly attacked that I had nothing left internally.

He gave me hugs - even when I was unwilling and stiff as a board.  ("Which begs the question:  How do you hug a porcupine?"  The answer:  "Very carefully.")

No, he's not perfect.  He's been just as bewildered as I've been.

But he's been there.  He's told me stories of his work place and affirmed many times over, until I finally started to get the hint, that mine was not "normal".  That there was something drastically wrong with the situation I was working in.

He would call me at a set time every work day while I was still in the abusive work situation (#2) to give me a break from the overwhelming exclusion and isolation.

He kept telling me that the reason I didn't fit in was because I was an eagle and they were turkeys.  The two don't mix.

He fed the eagle analogy with words and pictures.  Telling me what an eagle is.  Why they're different.  And that they're solitary.  Majestic too.

When my work mates were having a supper which included everyone but myself (directly in front of my work station), he would go out to a fast food restaurant and bring me my own treat to enjoy.  Solitary, but good.  Even better because he was going out of his way to do something nice for me and to make a bad situation a little better.  He didn't have to.  He did it because he loved me.

After a long, hard week of exclusion and isolation, he would sometimes meet me after work with a special treat - a Tim Horton's coffee made especially the way I liked it.  Just for me.  To make up for all the times, the rest of the small office had enjoyed coffee as a group in my presence without me.  (Ever been a coffee addict watching everyone else drink a Tim Horton's coffee?  Smelling the aroma?  But not allowed to taste the goodie?  Try it.  You won't like it.)  Once he even brought the cat because he knew she would comfort me.

Small things?  Maybe.  Maybe not.  They let me know that I was not alone in the battle.  That I was not as bad as I was purported to be in the office.  That outside the workplace I had value.  I was loved.  I was cared for.

After the work situation ended.  After I'd had two back-to-back stress breakdowns with resultant damages, he watched me go from a person who could do things, to one who had trouble even putting on a simple meal, stringing words together to make a sentence....

From a person who had a lot of outside interests, to one who prefers to stay inside, sit at the computer, write and knit.

From someone who was outgoing and gregarious to someone who is afraid of people.  Who thinks the stranger behind her in the grocery store is scary and someone to be afraid of.

He's been there when I've felt so overwhelmed that the irritability has come up and spilled over.

He's been hurt too.

Yet, he's been there.  Every step of the way.  To the best of his ability - and personality.

He may have felt like it, but he's never given up.

This blog posting is dedicated not just to my ever lovin', long sufferin' spouse, but to all the family members who are walking with their own survivors of abuse - whether it be workplace, marital, church, neighbourhood, etc.  You rock, guys!  Don't ever give up.  You are the world - and probably the only note of sanity in an insane world - to your loved one.

My rock

The Reality of Psychological Trauma and Complex PTSD

Trauma is hard for me to write about.  Why?  I'm not really sure.  (For an excellent read on psychological trauma, please click on the link.)

Trauma appears to be a term that is widely used, but just as widely misunderstood.

Rather than being a diagnosed illness, it is more of a concept for most people.  Even, and perhaps especially, those of us caught in its throes - and the people closest to us who are walking - and hurting - alongside us.

Even among professionals, there are differences of opinion.  For some professionals, a person can only be suffering from PTSD if they've had a life-threatening experience.  Which would mean that the young child who at five had a six year old try to strangle her is definitely a potential candidate for PTSD.  But would also mean that the adult who has been continually isolated and excluded in the workplace is not.

By the same token, the person who was consistently emotionally and psychologically battered by verbal abuse in the home, the workplace, the church, the neighbourhood, wherever, is not a candidate for PTSD according to those who define psychiatric disorders in the DSM: Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders.

However, there is an increasing amount of literature on the net about psychological trauma.  About something calledcomplex PTSD which is not in the psychiatric bible, the DSM.

Yet, whether it is recognized by professionals or not, psychological trauma and complex PTSD caused by repeated non-life threatening occurrences such as repeated molestation, angry outbursts by parents or significant others, bullying at school or at work, etc. is real.  At least to people like me.  People who have gone life a lifetime of these experiences.

Even with those traumas which are recognized as such, i.e. death in the family, car wreck, fire, etc., I've heard people after after a few weeks use those infamous words:  "Let it go."

Many people incorrectly assume that there is a time limit to grieving or to healing after a traumatic event.

Many people also, just as incorrectly, assume that all the victim (or survivor) needs to do is "just let it go."

I heard that phrase so many times, times too numerous to count, in the initial days, weeks and months post the first abusive workplace situation.

In those days, I felt a compulsion to talk about what had happened.  Probably ad nauseum.  It was so fresh in my mind.  Even months later, it was continually before me.  When I went to bed at night, on waking in the middle of the night, first thing in the morning.  It was continually there.  Always there.  Never taking a break or a holiday.  More importantly, never letting me take a break or a holiday from the psychological ravages of workplace bullying.  Six weeks after the contract ended (or was I fired?), it still felt as fresh as if it had just happened the day before.

I felt compelled to talk about what had happened, but so often did not get the chance.  When I did, the person might listen for a short while and then, predictably, as I went on, their face would change.  I could see that they had had enough.  And then inevitably, I would hear the words:  "Just let it go."  And they would turn - and walk out of my life leaving me emotionally bleeding all over the floor.

It is hard to describe the impact those four words, spoken over and over again, by a variety of people, over an eighteen month period of time, had on me. 

But I will try.

First, I felt judged by these people.

I felt they were telling me that I had failed.  That there was something I could do, but was willfully refusing to.  That I was the author of my own confusion and tremendous hurt.

I felt alone.

After the pronouncement, these people would inevitably go back to their own worlds - and leave me along, hurting, in mine.  I realize now that I was trying to get people to recognize the deep hurt and walk with me on my journey.  But none of us realized it at that time.  I could not tell them in so many words that I needed someone - or ones - to walk with me through something none of us could understand.

I felt confused.

Not only did I have no understanding at that time of what had happened to me in the workplace and it's long-term affects on me, I had absolutely no clue as to how to heal.

I felt lost.

No one who said those four words, "just let it go", gave me a blueprint from point A to point B on how to accomplish that.  I had no clue how to just let it go.  However, I assumed that they did and that there was something obvious that I was missing.

And I tried.

You don't know how hard I tried.

During those eighteen months, and especially in that initial period post workplace abuse, I did everything I knew to do.  Everything that had worked in the past.

I prayed.

I tried to forgive the people involved.

I tried to move on with my life.

I even got a new job rather quickly.

I kept on with my life as I knew it.  Inviting people over for barbecues and bonfires.

I even went back to a counsellor that I had seen off and on for many years.

But nothing worked.

Nothing offered long-term relief from the pain.

The pain accumulated over time.  Never going away.  Multiplying as the days, weeks, months went on.  Never taking a holiday, a break.

If I only knew then what I know now.

I know I'm leaving you at the top of a cliff today, but I see no way around it.  It's time to close for now.  Tomorrow is another day on this journey of healing. 

Rest assured, tomorrow will come.  We will get through this.  We will survive.