Surviving Working Abuse: Another slice of recovery on the journey

The Observation Tower in Parry Sound

I've written before about milestones, markers along the path of recovery.  The structure above, the Parry Sound Observation Tower originally a fire tower build in the early 1900's, is one such marker along my path to recovery.

The first time we visited Parry Sound in 2006, hubby was fascinated with this tower and, of course, had to climb up.  Just looking at it sent waves of panic cascading along the neural routes of my body.  I felt fear in my legs, my stomach.  There was no way I was even going to think of it.  At that time.

I actually thought at that time that at no time would I ever think of climbing that tower, but eventually I came to a point in my recovery when I felt ready to take on and overcome my fears.

I remember the first time, I tried.  I bounded up it alone - and made it up two flights before the fear took over.  There was no way I could go up any further.  I was paralyzed by fear.  Unable to go up - or down.  I was stuck.

Hubby came up and rescued me.  Took my hand.  Helped me down.

However, my analytical took over and I decided to try it again.  The next time we went to Parry Sound, I was determined to try it again - and this time to conquer my fear.

You see, the tower is just a structure.  There's really nothing it can do to me.  There's really nothing to fear about it - except fear itself.

At the first or second landing on the way up this time around.  Beautiful view, eh?

The first time, I hung on tightly to hubby's hand.  He was my anchor, my lifeline, my parachute all wrapped into one steady package.

It was as much a test of faith in my hubby as it was conquering my fears.

As I went up the structure, fearsome step by fearsome step, I encouraged myself by saying "There's nothing to fear except fear itself" and "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me" (Philippians 4:13).  Hubby encouraged me all the way.  When I would cry out and say, "I can't."  He would calmly say:  "You can."

He encouraged me that first time to stop at each landing and take pictures.  Not to rush.  To take it slowly one step at a time with him constantly at my side encouraging me onwards and upwards.

There were other people walking up and down the tower steps that day.  One particular duo has always stuck in my mind.  These two ladies were using the tower as their personal stepmaster - racing up, then down, then up again.  I cannot recall how many times these ladies passed us in both directions.  I envied them.  Both their fitness and their ability to go up and down those steps like it was nothing.  No fear.

As they passed us multiple times in both directions, we developed a bit of a camaraderie.  Another component to my personal cheerleading squad.

Man, I wished I was like those two ladies.

Overlooking the harbour area

Others passed us on that maiden voyage, both going up and going down.  It was pretty obvious (the understatement of the year) to everyone that passed us that I was terrified but determined to go up.  Each one who passed us gave me a bit of encouragement.

From the top, the former marine research vessel we saw at ground level the day before.  Behind it the Island Queen 30,000 island tour vessel

Eventually - or should I say finally - we reached the top!  It was a huge victory moment in my life.  A moment to be savoured - and photographed for posterity because I was sure that no one who knew me would ever believe I had done it if there weren't pictures to prove it.

But I'm not one to stop there.  I wanted to thoroughly and completely conquer the fear.  So, we went up it again.  Not that trip.  But the next.  Each time we come to Parry Sound, going up the Observation Tower became a priority.  A marker in my journey of recovery.

Each time has gotten slightly easier.  Slightly less fear.  Needing less encouragement.  I've done it before, I can do it again.  There's nothing to fear except fear itself.

So this trip, going up the Observation Tower was a priority.  I also had an agenda.  On my last assault of an observation tower, the one earlier this summer in Tobermorey, Ontario, I realized that I didn't feel all the fear stuff that I had felt before.  I realized that maybe, just maybe, I was ready to let go of hubby's hand and try it by self.

So this time, I outlined my plan A with hubby.  We agreed that he would walk beside me to be there - just in case - but not holding my hand unless I initiated it.  I made it up the first few flights easily.  However, as we got progressively higher, I felt the challenge more and more.

He encouraged me by pointing above us to a wooden structure and saying we were almost at the top which kept me going several more flights.  However, if you look at the picture below, you will see that there is a platform around the staircase several flights below the summit of the tower.  That is as far as I got by self.  Yet, it was a victory in, and of, itself.  For the first time, I had made it up that high without aid.  It was not a defeat.  It was simply a partial victory.

At the bottom, one happy camper

The last several flights, we did it together, hand in hand.

Another victory on my road to recovery.

People: The Ultimate Challenge on the Road to Recovery from Workplace Abuse

Bonnie, the lady who made it
possible for me to attend
Write Canada 2013 and who
rejoiced with me in my victory this year.
P.S. I gifted her with the scarf this year to thank her for
her help last year.

People.

They scare me.  Whether it's one or two or a whole bunch of them at once.  They scare me.

Scratch out the word "scare".  Replace it with the word "terrify" and we get closer to the truth.  Which is why attending such events as World Wide Knit in Public Day at my local yarn store and Write Canada 2014 are such milestones on my road to recovery from workplace abuse.

A piece of background.

In January of 2012, when I was still very much in the throes of all the affects from my abusive situation in the workplace and very much struggling just to keep my head above water, I decided to try to get some (hopefully safe) socialization in the form of a book/Bible study called Moving From Fear To Freedom by Grace Fox, a Canadian author and speaker.   The leader of our group was also a writer and had apparently been to Write Canada 2011 where she met Grace  Fox.  Thus, the choice of Grace's work for our book/Bible study.

Ramona, the prayer warrior who
prayed me through Write Canada 2013
and looked out for me during this
year's conference.  I felt safe around her

As I've noted in previous posts, I'd been confronting my fears during phase 1 of my recovery process, before the rubber hit the road in the workplace of abuse.  I had confronted fears of heights, open stairways such as observations towers and closed in spaces such as elevators.  So, I thought I didn't have any fears to work on or confront.  I was just attending to try to get out more.

I couldn't have been more wrong.

About not having any more fears to work on.

It took me several weeks to realize why I was feeling such heightened anxiety at even the thought of going.

I was terrified of these people because I had deep-seated fears of being rejected.  Which is not surprising when you realize that rejection was at the core of both of my abusive workplace situations.

Heidi, the bookstore manager - or something like that.
Also dubbed the chicken lady as she and her husband own
a poultry farm and she has fantastic chicken jokes to liven
up the sessions.
Between the two of us we make up the long and short of it.

During the course of that study, I learned that these were people just like me.  Many of them had the same fears that I had.  We were all in this together.

Now fast forward ahead from 2012 to Write Canada 2014.

My recovery has progressed to the point where I felt ready to face that fear head on.  I had been taking smaller steps, now I was ready for that giant leap in the form of a three-day conference.

Going to a conference like this is so different from a workplace situation.  There are common threads among the attendees which make it easier to relate to each other.

First, we are all writers.  Some published.  Some just beginning.  But we all have that one thing in common.  We all have the love of the written word in common.  These people were just like me in that respect.

Sandra Orchard, novelist, author of Deadly Devotion and
Blind Trust.  She was also a faculty member at this year's
event.  She is modelling another one of my scarves.

Second, most of us are Christians - of one variety of another.  Just like me.

Third, most of us are Canadians.  Just like me.

Then there's the creativity which moves us to write - and also express ourselves in other forms of creative expression such as knitting, photography, etc.  Just like me.

Most of all, we're just people who are on our own roads.  On our journeys through life's difficulties.  Just like me.

When you look at it through that lens in the camera of life, these people don't look so scary after all, do they?

They're Just. Like. Me.

And probably you too.

Warts and all.

More tomorrow.

I hope you have enjoying this blog and getting something worthwhile from it.  I appreciate your comments and thoughts as I continue on these journeys ... blogging and recovery.

May God bless you richly as you walk your own journey on this path of life.

An Accidental Adventure

According to Wikipedia: An adventure is an exciting or unusual experience; it may also be a bold, usually risky undertaking, with an uncertain outcome.^[1] Adventures may be activities with some potential for physical danger, such as skydiving, mountain climbing or participating in extreme sports. The term also broadly refers to any enterprise that is potentially fraught with physical, financial or psychological risk, such as a business venture, a love affair, or other major life undertakings.

Over a year ago, when the chronic affects of fatigue, hypervigilence, severe itching, loss of cognitive skills and memory loss reared their ugly heads and took over my life completely changing it, adventure became something I watched in a movie, read in a book, or experienced vicariously through others.

Going outside the den into the big world outside to appointments, etc., became a struggle.  Not because of agoraphobia, although it can be a result of the stress and trauma I went through, but because I no longer had the physical, emotional or cognitive capabilities to navigate the outside world on my own.

My world became constricted, most of the time, to my house.  Especially to one room.  The one I call my office.  The one which houses almost everything I need to sustain life as I know it:  the computer, DVDs, CDs, books, my yarn stash.  In short, everything I need to survive - except the bed, the kitchen and the bathroom.

So when I had an appointment with a specialist in another town about an hour from my den, it presented a challenge.  Factor in that our one and only car (complete with hubby) was in a different town in a completely different direction that day plus all the people I would normally call on for a ride were not available, the challenge escalated.  I seriously considered cancelling the appointment - until my loyal supporter, aka daughter bear, said that if I were doing better she would suggest taking a bus.

Thus began what became an "accidental" adventure.  Problem-solving discovered how to get there (and back) by bus.  Brainstorming with Papa Bear came up with a plan.  He would drop me off and continue on to where he had to be, thus getting me not only to the city in question but to the exact geographical area.  I only had to find my way back - a one-way challenge.

The day arrived.  I was experiencing a lot of angst especially as the ability to speak sometimes deserts me in strange places, and I appear to be mentally disabled to outsiders.  (You've never lived until you've seen people react to you as though you're mentally challenged - or worse.)  Daughter bear suggested I write everything down so that if I couldn't speak coherently, I could show people where I needed to be.

I programmed in the GPS and we were on our way - to the scary unknown.

Arriving close to our destination, it was clear that something was amiss when we drove past a run down, two-story brick building which was supposed to be the correct address.  Oh!  The street had an east and a west.  We were on West, so we tried East - and Voila! like magic the correct building appeared.   Although hours too early for the appointment, we walked to the building, got in the elevator and found the correct office.  Even though it was obvious (at least to me) that I wasn't operating on all four cylinders mentally, the receptionist was delightful (maybe she's used to strange patients).  She confirmed the appointment and gave us directions to the bus station since I would have to find it after the appointment on my own.  

Even though her directions were very simple, I found it difficult to comprehend them.  This is where Papa Bear's unfailing love and help came in.  Together, we found the right exit. Together, we walked to the bus station.  He stayed back while I purchased my ticket home.  Together we walked back to where he had parked the car and prayed for successful ventures for both of us.  Me to my appointment and later home by bus; him to another city to take a course. 

Then I was on my own.  Alone in an unfamiliar city for the first time in a long time.  Alone.  Yet, thanks to Papa Bear equipped with everything I needed to survive: knowledge of where the appointment and the bus station were; my bus ticket purchased.  I had my cell phone, a book and a project to knit.  I had what was left of my tattered and battered cognitive skills - which although submerged but are still in existence.  I had people praying for me and routing for me.

It was not an adventure in the sense that most people would comprehend.  I didn't climb a mountain or vault over a tall building in a single bound.  But I did manage to navigate in a strange city - alone - for the first time since the stress breakdowns.  Away from all the familiar.  Away from all the supports I've built into my daily life and routine.  I challenged myself - and I succeeded.

I am proud of myself for that.

My one regret:  I did not bring my camera along to visually preserve the adventure.

Maybe next time....

Erracticism

One thing you've noticed if you're regularly following this blog, is that it's been very sporadic lately.  Posting one day, then nothing.  Or maybe two or even three or four days in a row.  Then nothing.  Very erratic.  Which is why I made up a "new" word:  erracticism.  There's eroticism for erotic.  So why not erracticism for erratic?  (And yes, my spell check is having major issues with this word since it doesn't exist.  But then that's the advantage of being the possessor of a deranged mind.)

As I walk this path which I really didn't expect - or want - to be travelling at this, or at any other, time in my life, I find that it is not an easy forward direction.  

Recovery.

I call this phase in my life recovery.  Recovery, I've found is very erratic.  I start going in one direction thinking I've finally found a solution - only to find myself back in bed.  Bedridden temporarily.  Not able to move.  Not able to read.  Sometimes not even able to sleep.

And/or the itching crops up again.  Every time I think I've got it tamed, it finds ways to remind me that it has no intentions to lie low and be tamed.  The good times are when my skin actually feels like skin, not like an inside out pincushion being pricked ceaselessly from the inside.  Minor itching on the torso.  Warning signals are when the itching extends from the torso to the limbs.  I know I'm in big trouble when the itching makes its way to the scalp, the eyeballs, inside the ears, the toes, the fingers.  You name it, nothing is sacred when I'm in a major flare-up.  There are times I feel like screaming.  There are times the discomfort is so severe that I can't even find words to use.  Those are the times I throw some cream to Papa Bear and make motions.  Fortunately, he understands.  He hurts when I hurt.  He feels badly when I feel badly.  He feels helpless.  Because there's nothing he can do - except apply the cream.

I started out this blog early this year with definite goals in mind:  to start writing again, to hone my craft in the pages of this blog, to work towards a certificate in writing from a local college, to start exercising with an aquafit program, to attend a Bible study regularly.  In short:  to start moving forward.  To put the past behind.  To explore options.  To re-enter the outside world.

At first, it seemed like everything was coming together.  I started the blog.  People even read it!  I took a course in grammar via computer - enjoying the interaction with others in a "safe" environment i.e. the class message board.  I regularly attended a water walking class at our local rec centre which meant I was getting out regularly and interacting on a very basic social level with others i.e. hello, good-bye, how are you this week?  I attended the Bible study faithfully.  Never missing a week.  That was hard being in a room with roughly 25 other women.  Ironically, the Bible study was on Grace Fox's Moving From Fear to Freedom video series.  My original intention when invited to attend this group was simply to get out and start being around people.  Socialization.  Little did I suspect that I would be thrown into confronting fears I didn't know I had.  Fear of people.  Fear of rejection.  Going back time and time again was hard.  Not because of the people.  Because of the fears.  Because of the lies I'd internalized from the severely stressful situation in 2011 which has changed my life - for better or worse.

I found these people scary.  Which would make them laugh manically if they heard that.

So where am I going with this?

Where am I going indeed?

Recovery is not only hard work.  Definitely not for the faint hearted.  But it's also not a steady forward movement.  It goes forward and backward - sometimes unexpectedly.

It's erratic.

I ask your understanding at the erraticism of this blog as I struggle through this morass daily.  As I keep moving unsteadily and erratically forward.

Thank you for walking with me in this.