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.

Recovery Post Workplace Abuse: What the new year may have in store

The old year, 2014, is past.  The new year, 2015, has come.

At the coming of the New Year, besides the celebrations, both public and quiet, enjoyed by many people all over the globe, we have a tendency to form New Year resolutions.  Things we want to achieve during the new year.  Often those resolutions are broken just as quickly as they're made.

I've long since given up on resolutions.  I have one goal - and one goal only - in this year and in each recent year that has past:  to survive.  Along with that goal is its twin "sister":  recovery.  They both go hand in hand.  You can have survival without recovery; but you cannot have recovery without survival.

As I walk into this frigidly, cold (remember I live in Canada) New Year, I look back on what I've accomplished on this journey so far.

I'm alive.  Which is good.  Very good.

I've had ups and downs on the road to recovery during the past year - which is problematic.  Yet, I feel that I'm at a better space than I was at this time last year.  I understand my value, my worth, my strengths and my talents more than I did a year ago.  I've had some neat victories ... and I've weathered some storms.  I've continued to process each challenge that comes my way and learn from it.  Grow from it.  Another step forward on the journey of recovery.

Here are some of the things I'd like to work towards this coming year.

The first and foremost is to start getting out of my nice little "cocoon" i.e. my safe place more.  I'd like to earn money and contribute financially.  Here are some of my thoughts on what might be possible.  What I'd like to work towards in this coming year.

Photography:  I'd like to find a way to earn money from this talent, this strength.  At the end of the year as Christmas was approaching I made several calendars for family:  one for my best friend and cousin in North Carolina with pictures of a trip I made to her in 2011 which formed a crucial part of my recovery.  The second was a family album for my daughter and her family including pictures of each member of the family and different celebrations.  The third was still family oriented but also more general in scope as it contained pictures of each of the trips we took we in 2014 and highlights of 2014.  These three albums were R&D for me.  I wanted to see how they'd look.  If they'd look professional enough.  My vision has been to make a calendar with pictures from this area to sell at local craft sales - and many even independent stores.  I've seen tables with people selling their pictures but by and large they're not selling.  Why?  My guess is that while some of them are really, really good, unless a person is looking for a nice note card to send a friend, they're not really relevant or useful to the consumer.  The challenge is to make my photography relevant to the consumer.

The other idea re:  photography is something I've had on my mind for quite a while.  I call it non-professional event photography.  I've never had any classes, yet I get some really good shots.  I don't know techniques.  Heck!  I don't even know how to use my camera to its fullest potential.  But I love to take pictures.  And I'm nothing if not thorough.  My dream, my goal is to be available to people for a reasonable hourly rate to take pictures of their event.  I accidentally fell into that in 2013 when I volunteered to take pictures for a special birthday party for friends of a friend.  I thoroughly enjoyed it.  When travelling to Belize last winter with my sister in love, I somehow became known as "the woman with the camera".  I was fascinated by what I saw.  As the days of our vacation passed, I realized that I wasn't taking pictures just for me; I was taking them for all of us.  The sister in love I was travelling with, the one we had come to visit, my mother in love.  I made the whole kit and caboodle available to them on a flash drive - and I'm still getting positive comments and thanks for those pictures.  In the

fall, we went to a special birthday party for an uncle who was turning 95.  As usual, I had my camera with me.  As usual, I was fascinated by everything I was seeing.  At first I started taking pictures of my family, but than I broadened my scope to photograph the entire event for the "birthday boy's" family.  As my gift to them.  A photographic memory they might not have had otherwise.

This is something I can do.  I can record the memories photographically.  And I love doing it.  It's right up on alley.

And I can write.

Which comes to another dream I'd like to pursue.  I'd like to use both my talents:  photography and writing to pursue what I call becoming a "communications liaison" -  someone to go along on trips especially missions trips with the sole purpose of recording the trip with photographs and communicating with the people back home via blogging.  I've noticed in many trips that while others can take as good photographs as I do - sometimes even better, the tendency is that the people involved are too busy with their work or too tired to communicate with those back home.  My daughter's church made a missions trip to Mexico this past March, and I eagerly waited for updates.  The few that came were very short, very vague and didn't really convey much.  The mission they were working at did regularly post, but there were several different churches down there at the same time and there were no labels as to who or which church was in the photographs.  I wasn't interested in the other church groups down there.  I was interested in my daughter's.  I felt let down.

This is something I would really like to pursue as it combines both of my interests and talents:  photography and writing.

Writing.  I hope to become more faithful in blogging.  I'd like to build up a larger readership.  My scope is narrow, though, and some people don't read it because they say it's negative.  I agree in a sense.  Workplace abuse is negative.  There's nothing positive about it.

Yet, there's a whole world out there to write about.  Not just about workplace abuse.  There are so many stories out there that I'd like to explore and write about.  I'd like to travel places.

Instead of sitting in my little room, knitting and watching DVD I need to discipline myself to spend some time each day just writing - or even reading about the craft.  Making first, positive steps toward getting myself out there as a writer.

So what is holding me back?  Besides money?  It does take money to travel.  Which is one deterent towards achieving my dreams.

The other day is the continuing lethargy, fatigue, cognitive problems, anxiety, etc. stemming from the initial injury three and a  half years ago.  I'm still not whole.  I still don't know when I wake up in the morning how I'm going to be that particular day.  Will I have energy?  Or will I become so tired that I can't do anything?  Even think coherently? String words together coherently in a sentence?

Even though I've come a long way in the last three and a half years post injury, there is still more road to cover.  More recovery to come.

I'm interested in seeing how much farther I can make it down the road of recovery this year.

Until (hopefully) tomorrow ....

Surviving Workplace Abuse: Moving past the trauma

Last week began with high hopes to put the resurgent traumas behind me and move forward - even if only a little bit.  One tiny step at a time.  To learn to live with "what is" rather than with "what I want it to be".  To form new coping techniques to fit the situation I am in at present.

By this, I'm referring to what to some might call the "grain of sand in my shoes" - the on-going situation with the mail delivery - or rather lack thereof.

It has hit me - and the other residents on my street - hard because there was no way any of us could have foreseen this.  We were well and truly blindsided when a new postie, who apparently wanted this route, took over and discovered there were some difficulties she hadn't foreseen  i.e. the detour which has caused more traffic on our road.  She was unprepared to work in this situation, even though she had wanted this route, and very quickly, probably within days, of taking over the route played the "safety" card.

With a powerful union such as CUPW (Canadian Union of Postal Workers) behind her, using the safety card guaranteed her of several things.  One:  that she would be granted her wishes of not working the parts of the route she didn't like.  Two:  that there would not be any repercussions for her.  No discipline.  No write-ups.  Nothing negative on her record.  Three:  that she cannot lose her job or her route.

Because she's played the safety card, no one can take over the route.

She is untouchable.

She has all the power and the control.

Even when she jeers at residents and taunts them when they ask when they're going to get their mail delivery back, she is untouchable.

Even though she apparently has trouble delivering the right mail into the right boxes on the parts of the route she is delivering to.

She can severely impact our lives, our routines, even our health because of her "rights".  Not only the rights she has due to government safety legislation, but also more extensive rights under her binding union agreement.

She has the right not to walk on the grass.  Which to me makes no sense as the grassy area adjacent to the road is city-owned and is safe.

She has the right to make a "safety" complaint without fear of reprisal.

She has the right basically, from my perspective, to do what she pleases.

She has the voice.

She has the power.

Any complaints we make such as allegations based on my research that she is a toxic employee or that she is incompetent because of the misdelivery of mail fall in deaf ears.  We are not Canada Post employees; therefore, we have no rights.  Period.

We are left with nothing.

No power.  No control.  No voice.  No representation.  No communication as to what we can expect.

Not even the community mailbox which we were promised would be delivered and installed within the first week.

We are left up in the air to wonder what is going on.  Will we ever get our mail back once the construction on the street below us is completed - which should be soon?  Or will this continue?  Is the stoppage permanent?

I was told two weeks ago that the community boxes were being shipped.  Unfortunately, the postal supervisor did not inform me exactly where those boxes were being shipped to.  Wherever, they're going, it apparently isn't to our area.  We still don't have them.

We are entering our fourth week of the situation and coping as best we can.  One resident is stopping by the distribution centre once a week and picking up the mail for 15-16 residents and delivering it to their doors.

*******

I began last week with high hopes of putting this behind me.  Of working through the trauma.  Of finding creative ways to cope with our altered situation.  Of resuming my life, post workplace abuse, as I know it.  Of writing my blog daily again.

But ....

... life intervened as it has a habit of doing.

I got sick.  The shooting in Ottawa, my nation's capital happened.  A relative in hubby's extended family passed away.  The funeral for this relative.  A birthday celebration for an aged relative, also in the same part of the extended family.  And I can't remember what else.

The mind stopped working.  The body was definitely having its issues and taking its time getting back to normal - whatever normal is.  

The creative juices stopped flowing.  Lethargy became my constant companion.

But today, we start a new week.  A fresh slate.

Today.

I will only have this day once in my entire life.  As I start it, I ask myself:  "What will I make of today."

That is a question only time can answer.

Until tomorrow ....

Post Workplace Abuse: Unexpected challenges yet life is still worth living

I started this post months ago in the period after I went to Write Canada.  Going to Write Canada was a significant event in my journey towards recovery post workplace abuse.  It is one of several unfinished posts in which I cached pieces of other posts which just didn't seem to fit in at the moment.

Right now, right at this moment in space and time, dear friends, I feel totally wiped.  Worn out.  My mind doesn't want to function.  My body wants to stay in bed.  Things that used to interest me, don't light my fire right now.

In short, I have a lot of the symptoms of depression according to the linked article from Huffpost.

I also feel disjointed - which is why I think reinventing this old conglomeration of bits and pieces from other posts fits today.  It fits the way I feel.

Yet, at the same time, disjointed and lacking in continuity as it may be, it does have a certain amount of fluidity.

In my journey towards recovery from workplace abuse, depression seems to be part and parcel of the journey.  Sometimes worse than other times.  Sometimes better.  It sort of seems to wax and wane like the moon.

The problem is to realize it for what it is.  If I can realize what it is, what I'm going through for example identify trauma, complex PTSD and depression in my life, then I am able to deal with them, to cope, better.

This post starts with Write Canada, goes on to an earlier part of the journey and then goes back to Write Canada.  It sort of meanders all over the place - like that creek I mentioned in my last post.

Yet ... yet, I think there is some validity in sharing these disjointed parts of my journey.  Because although disjointed, they still form a whole.

*******

Sandra Orchard, Published fiction writer from Ontario, who conducted some of the workshops who just happens to be wearing one of the scarves I made and brought to give away to anyone who blessed me.

Conquer?  Not exactly.  Write Canada does not need to be conquered.  It is not Mount Everest.  It is a group of people, mostly Christian people, who write.  We come from all over Canada, East and West, we come to share this time, to meet new people, to reconnect, to learn and to grow as writers.

Me.  I came with my own agenda.

To continue on the course of recovery from Workplace Abuse.  My own personal Mount Everest.

The journey home from a place which left me lost, alone and lonely.

From picture archives 2011 of ambitious camping trip in what is called the "Near North" of Ontario

I had no way of knowing back in 2011 when everything was happening at the workplace and I had those two back-to-back stress breakdowns what was in store for me.

I knew that what I was experiencing in the workplace was trauma.  I knew that I had complex PTSD from previous situations including and especially the first run in with workplace abuse.  But I really didn't understand how profoundly trauma was going to affect every aspect of my life and how long it was going to last.

It was like starting out on an unplanned, unexpected journey on the spur of the moment with absolutely no idea of where I was going or how I has going to get there.  If I got there at all.

The breakdowns and initial damage occurred in late winter/early spring of 2011.  By the fall of 2011, I was starting to move into what I now know was the chronic phase.  I was tired all the time.  A tiredness that never went away.  We had planned a two-week camping adventure starting out at Tobermory Ontario on the Bruce Peninsula, taking the ferry across to Manitoulin Island and then making our way across to Saulte Sainte Marie, up to Manitouwadge, Ontario and on back.  Little did I know at the time how challenging this trip would be.  How severe the damage was.  And that it was going to last for quite for time.

I simply thought if I got a good night's rest I would be fine.

That didn't happen.

I did notice that I felt safer in smaller spaces.  We have two tents and my husband chose to bring the small, canoe camping tent rather than the larger one.  I was glad he did.  I felt comfortable in that small, enclosed space which held so many good memories of previous trips when it was just hubby, me, the canoe and God.

The old lighthouse, now unused, at Big Tug Harbour, Tobermorey, Ontario

I also noticed that I had quite a startle reaction.  On our first night in Tobermory, a young child ran past me emitting loud noises - as children do.  And I startled badly.  I stopped.  I had a panic reaction.  It was then that we realized that going into a restaurant for our evening meal was not going to work.  Hubby suggested we buy sandwiches, etc. at the local food store and then go to the old lighthouse to eat them.  There were lots of other people there and I started to panic again, but hubby knew what I needed and led me to a secluded spot in the rocks where we could sit virtually unnoticed and simply observe as we ate our supper.

What I've described in today's blog was only the beginning of the affects of the trauma which became apparent in the days, weeks and months to come.  Affects I still wrestle with.

The "long and short" of it.  Myself and Heidi, one of the hardest working and funniest women I have ever met at Write Canada 2014

This is part of the background of the story as to why even being able to go to Write Canada 2013 with my niece as constant companion was such a victory and why going alone this year to Write Canada 2014 felt akin to climbing Mount Everest - or perhaps going up the CN Tower.

Also, why I find life such a challenge even now more than three years past the initial injury, the initial trauma.

*******

Life, my friends, is all about living.  Living to the fullest.  Living to the best of our abilities DESPITE our challenges.

During my journey - and largely because of it, I have had the privilege of meeting many people mostly through the net who are as disenfranchised in their own situations as I am in mine.  Most of these people have autoimmune diseases which have caused drastic changes in their lives.  Pain.  Immobility. 

Yet these people soldier on.

Life, I am finding is not about avoiding all obstacles and challenges but in meeting them head on and finding a way to cope with them.

Today, my challenge - should I choose to accept it - is to find a way to rebalance myself and soldier on.

I accept the challenge.

Until tomorrow ....

Surviving Workplace Abuse - financial repercussions

Our mini vacation is drawing to an end.  It's time to go back home - and face our present reality.  Hopefully with slightly different eyes and more hope for a better tomorrow.

Our reality as a couple post workplace abuse includes that of financial constraints and difficulties which I haven't mentioned before in this blog.

I haven't worked since all the drama at the workplace.  It's not that I haven't wanted to; however, each time I would take a step - or a thought - in that direction, the physical problems would reassert themselves.

At one point, I itched so badly over most of my body that even having something touching me was unbearable.  And let's face it, even the most relaxed dress code doesn't allow for nudity in the workplace.

The fatigue, I think, has been one of the worst affects.  Especially in the beginning.  Any time I would try to do something to move forward and regain what I had lost,  even a small thing like taking a walk, would cause so much fatigue that I would sleep for long periods of time for days afterwards.   Again, it helps to be able to be able to show up for work when scheduled.

But the most dramatic affect which affected both of us, was our loss of income.  For a short period of time, I had an exit package which tided us over the beginning period.  As that period drew to an end, I was worried about how we were going to manage the transition from two full-time paycheques to one.  I needn't have worried - at least about that.  Because we didn't go from two to one; we went from two to none.

Hubby was unexpectedly laid off from his job of 14 years without notice.  So, we went from two paycheques and benefits to zero - in about two weeks flat.

Try it sometime.  I doubt you're going to like it.  We didn't.

Since then, our life has been a constant struggle trying to find full-time lasting employment for hubby.

We've found short-term gigs but nothing that has become permanent.  For the last year, hubby has been driving patient transfer.  What began with high hopes has become a bust as the hours and the pay just isn't there.  Neither are the benefits.  There have been some weeks when he's cleared a little over $100/week.  Try living on that, folks.  It ain't easy.

We've been living on our savings and watching it continually dwindle.

I think this is one of the most draining aspects of life post workplace abuse.  Something that's rarely mentioned.  Yet, it needs to be mentioned and recognized as part and parcel of the experience.

Severely reduced financial circumstances are part of our lives.

Yet, we have each other.  Our relationship has grown and strengthened through the journey.  We've learned to honour and value each other in ways that we might not otherwise.  We've learned to realize what each other's strengths and weaknesses are and to learn to rely on  the other's strengths.

We've grown both as individuals and as a couple.

To this morning after I push the final button and publish this posting, we head back to our reality post workplace abuse.  

But we head back refreshed by these few days away together.

Until tomorrow ....

Surviving Workplace Abuse: an unexpected mini vacation in the midst of recovery

This vessel, now privately owned, used to be a marine research vessel.

 Good morning and happy Labour Day from Parry Sound, Ontario where hubby and I are taking a much needed mini vacation.

Recovery, for me, is very hard work.  As it is for everyone who truly embraces the concept and is willing to work hard for something.  Hubby is now working two jobs in order to keep our heads about water.  That's hard work too.

Worrying about how you're going to pay the bills takes a lot out of one as well.

As well, when hubby is away from me, he worries about how I'm doing.  Is someone going to do or say something harmful?

For me, I find this summer has been a continual experience of pushing the envelope and seeing how far I can go.  The CN Tower.  That day of firsts in Toronto.  Talking to my new neighbour.  Getting outside the house and taking walks.

They all take their tole.

I discovered that even talking with my neighbour for approximately 15 minutes earlier this summer took a toll on me.  I would suddenly get extremely tired.  So much so, that I would head straight to bed and sleep for the next two or so hours.

So when hubby said he unexpectedly had three days in a row off and wanted to get away, I said:  "OK".

Everyone needs a break.  Or else they will break.

We've come to a place that is familiar to us.  A place where there's lots of water as it's on Georgian Bay (sometimes referred to as the sixth Great Lake).  A place where we feel comfortable and can indulge in our interests and passions:  canoeing, photography, enjoying nature.

I've found that feeling comfortable in a place post workplace abuse, trauma, PTSD, etc. is helpful.

At one point in my journey, I was so afraid of running into those various former co-workers that I would hesitate to go anywhere.  Poking my nose outside my house was scary.  Powered by fear of what these people might conceivably do.

Then, my analytical brain took over and I realized that many of the things I was interested in doing and many of the places I would go were not things these people would enjoy.  My interests were so different from theirs - and vice versa.

I think, in retrospect, that's what helped make the situation in the workplace so difficult.  I was very different from most of my colleagues and, therefore, harder to find a common ground with.

Unfortunately, while I did try many times to open up dialogue and find a common ground with these people, they did not.  Instead, they turned inward and formed a group within themselves based on their common interests, etc.

As time evolved, the biggest common denominator became me.  Their mutual dislike of me.

As I watched this attitude spread and the circle widen, hubby used to take me out to places like this.  Or Algonquin Park where we could canoe camp.  Get away from it all.  I called canoe camping my emotional detox.  When you're out on a lake with no distractions and minimal contact with people, you can soak in the quiet and solitude.  There's time for healing to take place.

BUT ...  no matter where I go, I can't get away from my thoughts.  They're always there.  Sometimes, they torment me.  They come up in my subconscious causing nightmares and convoluted dreams.  

 I'm still trying to work out in my mind how I want to tell the story:  the story about how my working life formally ended in a doughnut shop totally unrelated to my workplace with only the Union VP in attendance.

 Leaving in the way I did left more injury and has created many questions as I've worked through things in the past three years.

Since I was not in the workplace but was off site in a doughnut shop in a surprise (to me) meeting with only a union "official", was it even legal? is one of the questions.

 Like Pandora's Box, going into this part of the story opens up more questions and dynamics to explore.

 Yet, for the moment, I will soak in the beauty around me.  I will rest as much as possible.

 I will allow my thoughts to find an order in my mind so that when I come back from my mini vacation, I will be rested and up to the challenges ahead.

Until tomorrow ....

Post Workplace Abuse: Another Piece of Debunking the Lies

Coming back from a day out, we found ourselves in a huge traffic jam on the highway.  At first, we had no idea what was causing it.  Then we saw smoke.  Black smoke.  A lot of it.  Hubby perceived that it was a car on fire.  I didn't know.  I was afraid to commit to anything.  Fire trucks roared past us on the side.  By the time, traffic started moving again and we passed what had been causing the blockage, this was all that was left to see.  All that was left of someone's vehicle.

With a car, it's relatively simple.  It gets towed to a mechanic and assessed for repairability - which I'm guessing - or should I say perceiving? - in this case was not going to happen.  It either gets repaired or replaced.  If the owner is lucky and has a clause in their insurance for a rental vehicle, they will be on their way to wherever within a few hours of the incident.  Incident over.  At least the physical part of it. Trauma from the incident is another thing.  As is trauma from workplace abuse.

With trauma, PTSD, workplace abuse, things are never so clear cut.

The time out at Myrtle Beach did me a world of good emotionally and spiritually.  I still was extremely fatigued and had to ration my energy vigilantly.

However, coming back home, I now had a course of action to pursue.

I had received an inheritance a few months earlier and decided to use part of it to pursue therapy on my wrist as it was still extremely painful and limiting.  That became my first priority on the road to recovery at that time.

Arriving home, I looked up the firm my doctor had recommended and booked my first appointment.

My therapist was brusque but very, very good.  Also very, very competent.  She knew what she was doing. She also knew that she had to cause pain in the short-term in order to alleviate it in the long term.

The first step was to work on the muscles - or whatever - in the wrist/arm area manually.  This meant bending it, squeezing it, massaging it, causing intense pain.

I had already learned that I have a very low pain tolerance which I had communicated to her early on in our first meeting.  It didn't take her long to realize how right on I was with my assessment/perception re: pain tolerance levels.

At our second session I think it was, I said that maybe I should take a heavy duty pain killer before coming.  I think I said that after I yelped - again - in pain.

And my therapist said something I have never forgotten.  Something which continued the theme of debunking the lie of perception and assumption.

She said:

You need to be able to perceive pain.

Those were her exact words:  you need to be able to perceive pain.

I had wanted to keep my past out of this present piece of my road to recovery; however, when you're in a cubicle with someone who is causing you some of the most severe pain you've ever experienced in your life in order to recover from an energy - a physical injury - you start to get personal.  And when they said something as dead on to what you're currently dealing with as that, it's hard not to say how it related to my situation.  

What a nugget that one simple sentence was to me on my road to recovery.

Thus, began a new facet on the road to debunking that particular lie about perceptions, especially my perceptions, being bad.  My physical therapist ironically became a key component in this part of the emotional journey.  As she worked on my wrist, I worked on my other issues.

I learned that you need to be able to perceive things.  Going back to the original definitions from my trusty, dusty dictionary:  you need to be able to feel.  You need to be able to see.  Both of those are part and parcel of perceiving.

I was perceiving pain because I was feeling it.

We were perceiving we were in the correct place to find the earth cam, because we were seeing the flags, the boardwalk, the exact view we saw from our computer in Canada.

Perceptions are good.

Perceptions are needed in order to safely navigate through life.  There's nothing wrong with them.  We all have them.  We all use them on our individual journeys through life. 

What if I had ignored the tremendous amount of pain I felt - or perceived - that day in the bathtub?

What if hubby had ignored the sight of my wrist in an "s" curve that day?

I perceived I'd broken my wrist because of the extreme pain as I'd once heard someone say that a broken bone is one of the most painful experiences a person can ever have.  I was experiencing a pain that was not calming down after a few moments.  So intense, I could not move the rest of my body.  I had to have help getting up, getting dressed, even going into the emergency room that day.

Hubby perceived I'd broken my wrist not because I told him I'd broken it - which I had - but because he saw it at an angle it should not have been.

Perceptions and assumptions.

It appears they're good things to have on the journey.

Never leave home without them.

As this picture was taken looking down on a path we'd walked earlier, the perspective of our walk was different.  We were seeing the things we'd experienced from a totally different angle.

So it is with writing this blog especially about this time of debunking the myths, the lies, about perceptions and assumptions.

I'm writing this looking back on the experiences which helped me start to move forward.  To start to realize that this was indeed a lie.  A lie that was holding me back.

However, pieces I've written, such as that perceptions are common to all of us is something I'm still realizing and internalizing.  I'm still as I write working on this.

As I write these posts, internalization, realization and healing continue coming.

Thank you for joining me on my journey.

See you tomorrow when we continue the journey ....

Post Workplace Abuse: Everyday victories on the road to recovery

Today.  Friday, the 20th of June, 2014.  The day before the summer solstice.  I wake up tired.  Not really wanting to face the day.

Or write another blog.  My fifth consecutive this week.  Another small victory in my journey post trauma, post workplace abuse, post PTSD.

But let's sidestep that for the moment.

As my mind slowly - and rather unwillingly I might add - came to consciousness today, I was thinking of this past week.  Of the small things which most people take for granted.   Which are no big deal for them.

The dailyness.

So today, I decided to write about the everyday victories.  The ones that most people take for granted.

This week, I made a meal every day.  I was able to think, plan and prepare an evening meal every day this week.

What!?! you might think.  I do this every day.  I don't consider it a victory.

But look at it for a moment - or at least for the duration of this blog post - from a completely different perspective.

For those of us working through the devastation, the aftermath of trauma - which workplace abuse is - even being able to do simple everyday activities is a struggle.

Many years ago, during the reign of Ho Chi Ming in China, I read an article by a journalist who was enthusiastically being shown how great the Chinese leader was and how much life had been improved during his leadership by a group of villagers.  They proudly showed this journalist their hospital.  The journalist was appalled as it was very rudimentary and he commented, if this is after what was before?

If this is after in my life, what was before?

If being able to cook dinner every day for five consecutive days is a victory, a success after workplace abuse, after trauma, what was during?

If being able to write a blog for five consecutive days is after.  What was during?

So today I concentrate on and share with you the daily victories that have occurred this week.  The things that make life good on a daily basis.

I made a loaf of bread in my breadmaker this week.  Not a usual occurrence any more because I have to look through my recipe books and choose a recipe which I have the ingredients on hand for. Next,  I have to go to our storage room in the basement and lug up the breadmaker.  I also have to lug up the flour from same storage room.  All of these things take thought.  Cognitive skills.  To be able to read and follow the recipe.  To lay out the ingredients.

Throw in a dash - or more - of lagging energy into the mix and you have a general idea of the uphill battle (literally in the form of the basement stairs) this one small activity involves.

Inhaling the yeasty small of the bread as it rose, made me feel like a David who had just conquered his Goliath.

I went to the Farmers Market yesterday with hubby, even though my energy levels were still very low after the Writers Conference last weekend.  I went with a purpose - to buy vegetables to make salads for us.

I also went with the purpose to continue taking control of my life by doing things I used to do on a regular weekly basis and thought nothing about.  And what better way to do this then to go to the market and mingle with the vendors - and other assorted people who are there.  This is taxing for me as as the season progresses, the crowds multiply.  Especially in the indoors market.  I have to closely monitor my "inside" feelings i.e. anxiety, hypervigilence.  Sometimes, I have to tell myself that it's OK.  These are simply people.  They don't know me.  They're not going to hurt me - at least not intentionally.  I have to do with all sorts of emotions and reactions, that I never had to deal with pre workplace abuse.  It is both taxing and tiring.  But again, after all is said and done, I feel like I have conquered another giant in my life.

My garden.  Or rather what I call "Mom's garden" - the one I'm creating in her memory as she loved flowers and taught me everything I know.  Literally.  In more ways than one.

No, I didn't have the energy to get out the old Japanese Farmer's knife this week  and tackle the weeds, but I did take daily walks to the very back of the yard - over 200 feet and counting - and let the beauty of the newly blooming flowers sink in and create peace in my soul.

I got out my knitting needles - the double pointed ones at that! - and knit - count 'em ... one ... two .... three ... four! - yes four coffee cozies which I hope to be the basis for upcoming craft tables in the fall.

You might wonder what the victory is in that since I knit and/or crochet - or both - routinely as part of my right brain therapy.

What you don't know is that there are not only days - but periods of time - when I'm so sunk in lethargy that I cannot think ahead to choose a project.  Nothing excites me.  The hands, the needles, the yarn.  They all lie idle.  Even recently.  To create, to have a purpose in that creation ... that is another victory.

These and more - things you can't catch in the lens of the camera - all make up the seemingly small, every day victories that made up this week.

And, as I push the button to publish this post, another everyday, seemingly small, victory occurs.  That of another post.

I am content.

Life ... while not perfect ... is good.

Note:  I don't post on the weekends.  Even - and perhaps especially - with all the victories happening in my life, I need rest.  Downtime to stop doing and just be.

See you on Monday with more of the story.

Post Workplace Abuse: After Victory comes the Need to Rest

My sister-in-love  makes quilts.  Like me with crochet and knit, this is what she does and how she blesses people.
In May, she and a friend gifted me with this quilt made especially for me.  Each white section of each square has the name of one of the ladies from their church group and a Bible verse especially for me.  I rest under it feeling nestled in love.

Today.

Mid point (kind of) in the week.  (Because actually for all intents and purposes Wednesday is called "hump day" - not Thursday.)  But I figure I can get away with calling it the mid-point since what I experienced happened on Wednesday even though I'm writing on Thursday.  

Yesterday was a low point for me as the thrill of the victory of the weekend receded into the past and the physical reality of exhaustion sunk in.

Yet, I know from experience that this bone-sucking tiredness is part and parcel of the processor recovery from trauma as the body reacts ... or is it responds? ... to whatever stress I've put it through.  Whether the stress is good as in the Writers Conference or bad as in something negative happening or just so-so as in overdoing with exercise, my body will at some point in time at its own choosing respond.

Physical.  Mental.  Emotional.  Spiritual.  All are in this together.  It always seems that Physical - which I put first - has the last word.  It always gives me a delayed reaction on its view of things.

So it is now.

*******

But aha! physical.  I fooled you!  I expected you to show up to the party sooner or later.  I knew you would come.  And I was ready mentally, emotionally and spiritually for your appearance.

I have become so familiar with you during this sojourn since you started to rear your head in the fall of 2011 and demand my entire attention, that I know both approximately when and how you will show up after the party.

Knowing this.  I no longer fear you.

I no longer fight you.

I'm not sure I exactly welcome you, but I accept you for what you are.

The voice of reason in a sense.

The voice that says, you have to slow down, Cassie.  You've done enough for one day.  It's time to rest and regroup.  It's time to refresh and recharge.  It's time to stop doing and start being.

*******

So, I've learned to listen to my body.  To obey it when it says "stop".

Of course, I have to admit that sometimes it says "stop" in rather demanding, uncompromising ways much as a police officer in front of your car with his hand up.  Impossible to ignore.  To defy, yes.  To ignore, no.

As defying a police officer comes with unpleasant consequences, so does defying the physical.  Neither goes away.  They just ramp up their tactics to get your attention.

I've learned it's easier to acquiesce to the physical rather than defy it.

Befriend it, so to speak.  Make it my ally rather than my adversary on the journey to wholeness.

******

Yesterday was one of those times.  My energy sank like a stone to my toes, it seemed.  No matter that the young lady I euphemistically call the cleaning lady, because she is so much more than that, was at my house for her weekly ministrations.  No matter that I had grocery shopping to do.  No matter what my plans were, my energy sank like the proverbial stone and would not be denied.

I had to rest.  I had to lie down.  I had to leave all the newly acquired books and thoughts aside.  All the to-do list.  I had to go to that "other" safe place in my life.  My bed.

*******

At a long ago writers conference, the first one I ever attended, the key note speaker whose name I have long since forgotten, said something I've never forgotten:  "Lean into the pain."

I've done that through this sojourn - and blogged about it.

Now, I'm learning to lean into the tiredness.  Not to fight it.  But to lean into it, to experience it, to allow it to flow over me and, eventually, succumb to sleep.

Under my special blanket (pictured at the beginning of this post) made with love, I feel sheltered.

On the back side of the quilt, I always keep this square by my head to remind me I'm loved.

See you tomorrow.  After I wake up from my nap, that is.

On the Journey Back: A story of victory

I've gotta admit it.  I had FUN.  In capital letters.  It was Saturday June 7th at the World Wide Knit in Public Day at our local yarn store.

To me, though, it was much much more than a specific day or event.  It was a another victory on my road to recovery.

One of many.  Some small.  Some bigger.  Most not recognized.  Especially by the lay person not touched by trauma.  To them, to be able to go out and about and smile and be happy is just another day in their life.

But those who know me and have walked with me know what a victory this was to be able to go outside in public to a group of people largely unknown to me and interact with them - like normal people do.  The smile. The sparkle.  The mischievousness. They're all coming back.  In spades.

It was a victory to be savoured.

And hopefully repeated.

A huge step on the road to recovery.

The picture is a graphic representation of me.  The me I was before the work place abuse escalated so badly that all remnants of me disappeared - at least for the duration.  The me that is finally coming back to the surface after three years hiding somewhere under the surface of my psyche.  Lying dormant, but not dead.

The happy, smiling, exuberant "me" that you see in the picture above is the me that had come to be during and because of what I now call Phase 1 of the recovery period:  Sept 2006 to roughly June 2010.

During that period of time, I worked regularly with a counsellor basically "reinventing" myself.  Not by design, but that is where the recovery process led - to a whole new, emotionally healthier and happier me.  A me whose life had been bound by fear of many things throughout my entire life was slowly becoming transformed into someone who was confronting her fears and besting them.  Altraphobia.  Claustrophobia.  Two of my biggees now lay in little whimpering piles at my feet..  Their power over me over.  Destroyed.  I stared them in the face - and came out the winner.

Life was becoming fun.  Life was good.

There were times when I could hardly wait to see what was coming next around the corner.

Relationships had been reinvented.  Restored.

I saw life completely differently than I ever had before.

And then came the retaliation from the bullies, the adversaries, and the bystanders.

It became one against ....  I'm still not sure who all was involved, how they got involved and how far they got involved.  However, when I came into the office all conversations stopped.  No one said hello.  I was ostracized and excluded.  I sat in my corner and when not busy starred at the wall with my iPod in my ear (given special permission by my supervisor for that one small concession).  That alone would have been unbearable and stressful enough.

But ....

These people didn't stop there.  They weren't content with completely isolating me and cutting me off from all normal interaction in the office environment.

They were out for blood.  My blood.

I began to be called into the supervisor's office for all sorts of things.  Every single mistake, most of them minor and caused by the severe stress I was undergoing, were pointed out to management.  Every word I said was magnified, distorted and held up for public discussion (I think.  How else would so many people who had so little interaction with me have become involved?)

And then they began going to management for anything real and/or imagined.  During that time frame, while I was still hanging on, barely I must admit, I went to a Highland Games in a nearby community and saw a t-shirt whose slogan has stayed with me all this time.  It was a distortion on the miranda rights you hear on the tv all the time:  "You have the right to remain silent.  Anything you say can and will be twisted and used again you."  I realized that that was what was happening in my workplace.

Then there were the lies which I mentioned in the last post.  The ones aimed at the very core of my being and who I am.

By the time I had the two back to back stress breakdowns, the effervescent me, the one who was normally happy, who found life not only good but great, was totally down for the count.  I was just struggling to survive one day at a time.  One shift at a time.

It's been three years now and counting since I left the workplace.  Three years of continual, steady work.

Three years of therapy and step by step progress on the journey back.

Welcome back me.  I've missed you.