Post Workplace Abuse: Working through and processing events

My safe room.  It may not look like much, but it's a place where I feel comfortable, where I have all the "comforts of life" (more or less), where creativity happens and, mostly importantly, where healing happens.

Needless to say I was not only in a world of hurt when this staff member from my church left my home that day, but also badly in need of processing what had just transpired in my safe room.

Processing for me is where recovery begins.  I've been accused of being over-analytical and analyzing things to death, but at the same time this ability to analyze and process things has been one of the major strengths my therapist has discerned in her walk - and work - with me.  I analyze and process things so that I can pull back and look at the event(s) from a distance.  To distance myself.  To get a better grip on it.  To diffuse the incredible hurt and emotion involved.

*******

Processing doesn't always occur in any order.  It just is.  So here are some of the thoughts I've processed since that visit:

One of the most important things I've learned throughout the post-recovery from workplace abuse and post-aftermath of loss of a loved one journey(s) combined, is that people don't always stay in one category i.e. "safe" or "unsafe".  They can change categories at any given time based on their own circumstances.  A person who was once safe and supportive cannot be expected to stay at that level when they themselves are going through their own traumas, their own issues i.e. a sibling who is also going through the loss of the same loved one, etc. 

People have their own assumptions and perceptions which they are most likely totally unaware of.  Because assumptions and perceptions simply are.  They're part of us.  Most people have not had their assumptions and perceptions thrust at them as something bad so that they haven't had to really look at what assumptions and perceptions are in order to break free from lies.  In short, most people are not me and are not working through all the lies, the hurts, the misperceptions, etc. that I am. 

People are not mind readers. I thought that because my thoughts were so loud, almost screaming inside my mind, that they were so loud others could "hear" them, i.e. pick up on them.  I have had to learn that that is not so and that I have to use my words even with those closest to me like hubby.

Most importantly, I analyzed that day that the staff member who came into my home had no knowledge of trauma.  What it is.  How it affects others.  She was looking at me and my behaviour from what she and others who have not been wounded by trauma would assume and perceive.

I internalized that day that although this person had badly wounded me, she had done so through ignorance of a major issue in my life.  She was not a "bad" person.  She probably didn't intend to do as much damage as she did.   In fact, to this day, she still may not understand the incredible hurt and damage she did.  She simply didn't understand the basics.  In short, she was the wrong person to come into my home that day.  She didn't have the tools she needed to build a foundation with me.

I also realized that she had no idea of what my background in the church had been.  That when I had started attending six years prior, I was totally a basket case due to what had happened in the church prior.

How I started out trying to be a shadow.  I didn't want to draw any attention to myself.  I didn't want people to notice me or talk to me.

I had done all the "right" things in my former church.  Attending faithfully.  Volunteering.  Going to small groups.  Praying.  Giving. At the time, the lead pastor came to our door furious with me, I was even almost single-handedly feeding a family of five.

In the end, none of that mattered.  The only thing that mattered was that I had thrown my Bible on the floor in the church library in front of someone whose classification still remains a mystery.  The lead pastor originally classified her as a visitor but since she was in the library to "job shadow" me that day in order to volunteer, I would wonder about that.  When I voiced my concerns about that classification to the lead pastor, he quickly amended it to being new, very new. Whatever.  *shrugs shoulders*

I had worked hard for six years regarding trauma, PTSD, etc.  I had had significant recovery in those six years by working hard with my new therapist, by being consistent, by researching, reading.  It cost me time and money.  Money for gas.  Money for continued therapy.  None of which was covered under any existing health or benefit plans.  I did it because it was important to me.  Because I didn't want to stay stuck.

You name it, I probably did it.  As regarding this particular issue with my former church, eventually I forgave all those involved which was a long process.  As regarding the issue of feeling comfortable in a different church, I had eventually liased with the then interin pastor who has since go on to the mission field and is still in contact with me to this day.  He and his wife were invaluable in the process of being able to call our new church a church "home".  When he left for the mission field, another staff member took over.  We both saw his role as giving me the Biblical perspective.  He was not there as my therapist.  His role in my life was also invaluable.  He attended a session with my therapist and myself about trauma and we could both see how he was trying to wrap his mind around concepts that were foreign to him.  He too left the church after a few short months.  His replacement was supposed to take over that support role.  A role he never embraced which led us to this meeting in my home with a staff member who had no clue.

In the aftermath of that meeting in my home, my safe room, that day, I realized that all that knowledge was gone.  None of it had been passed on.

In the six years I had been in that church up to that time, I had joined a small group.  I came in afraid of my own shadow and slowly began to feel safe and build up relationships.  The group ended.  I guess I assumed that when the former leaders of the group found another small group, they would invite us in.  That didn't happen.  I discovered inadvertently one day that there was another small group which met on weekends and had included the former leaders of our small group in their small group.  Maybe I had at long last found another small group home.  I verbalized as much - and I saw the mask come down over the eyes.  It turns out that this group was by invitation only.  They had to know you.  They didn't know us.  Discussion closed.

These were all things this staff member who came into my home with her own judgements, perceptions and assumptions had no way of knowing.  She had no way of knowing where we had started off from.  She had no way of knowing that we had indeed been affiliated with a small group which had stopped and had never been reconnected to another one.  She had no way of knowing that I had regularly attended the women's meetings nor the seniors' luncheons.  She had no way of knowing about trauma.  She had no way of knowing anything that transpired after the one minister left.

She had no way of knowing.

*******

And this is where I end for today.  I am emotionally and physically exhausted with the effort of writing this post.  Every part of me has been screaming to leave it.  To stop typing.  To stop thinking.  To lie down.  To do something else, like watch a DVD, pick up some knitting.  Whatever.

Yet, I know that if I do that I may not start again tomorrow, or the next day, or the next.

At the writer's conference in June, one nugget I learned was to be consistent in my blog.  Since I've started writing five days a week to continue that way.  Also, to be consistent in the time I publish my blog - which since I write it after waking up in the morning and have been sleeping in lately has not been consistent.

I ask you to bear with me as I both walk the path and write about the journey at the same time.

Here is a pictorial view of what my path looks like at the moment.

Grab your hiking boots and come with me.

Until tomorrow ....

Road construction in my "hood"

Post Workplace Affirmations: The Value of Affirmations in Recovery

I am going through a period of intense exhaustion these days.  Whether it's from doing too much, pressing the envelope too far, or other factors, I don't know.  I just know that it's all I can do to get up in the morning, get dressed and then attempt to be consistent in this blog.  So far, being consistent is winning; getting dressed is losing.

Yet, I feel that it is good to be consistent.  To write daily as I've started this blog as a daily blog five days a week.  I feel that there are people who like to read the daily updates on this blog.

I'm still not 100% sure where I'm going.  There is a wealth of information about trauma, PTSD, workplace abuse that I can write about.  To do so would take a very long time.  Just building the underground, the foundation for people to understand as they either walk through these things or attempt to walk alongside someone who is going through these things.

Then there's the dailyness.  The things that happen in any given day which either help - or hinder - me on my road to recovery.

I hadn't quite decided how to approach all these things in one blog, how to include the dailyness while not getting distracted and following rabbit trails along the road to recovery from workplace abuse - specifically my road to recovery post workplace abuse.

Today we go back in time to that period when the staff member from my church came into my house with what I believe are false assumptions and perceptions.  A time when others who didn't even know or have contact with each other, affirmed the very qualities the staff member dismissed.

By the end of 2012, I was sunk in depression.  Along with the ever constant pain both physical from the broken wrist and emotional from the grief of my mom's death and trauma from workplace abuse.  I felt like I was in a deep hole from which I would never emerge.  It was too deep for me to climb out of on my own.

I have what I call a "patchwork" support system.  One person here, another there:  a friend I've known almost three decades, hubby, daughter, daughter's mom-in-love.  Various assorted others who pop up here and there.  Small.  Very small.  It works because we make it work.

But sometimes more is needed, and this period of time in my life and in my recovery was one of those times when I needed the proverbial village to get through.

It came at the tail end of that dismal period in 2012.

It came in the form of unexpected notes and phone calls.

I don't know if I can remember everything but I will try.

The first one came when I received a note from a young mother who I've befriended in the past.  When her daughter was born, I made her a special afghan and brought over a homemade meal (I was still able to cook at that time.)  I received a thank-you note from her.  Imagine my surprise and gratitude at receiving this note of appreciation at that particular time in my life as the "baby" was by then 14 months old!

Let me go back a bit to more than a year prior to the Fall of 2011 when I was still reeling from the impact of the abusive workplace situation.  I was taking a walk with one person who has walked with me through most of the saga from the first episode of workplace abuse onwards.  She probably knows more about me than I know about myself.  We were talking about my confusion about who I was directly after the second episode of workplace abuse as the adversaries in the workplace had successfully launched a petition accusing me of many things including being a major stressor in the office.  Being Christians, we often use portions of the Bible to express things.  This friend quoted a verse about knowing the truth and having the truth set you free.  I think she meant it from the point of view of God showing me the truth about who I am in Him.  I received something a little different.  A different perspective.

I had a really strange dream that night.  The first part of which is irrelevant to this post.  Also too wordy and complicated to recount.  However, towards the end of this dream, young mothers, children and some fathers started appearing.  All with hand made blankets.  Made by me.  One young mother said that she had been pregnant and a stranger in town and I had given her this blanket and it meant so much.  Others had similar affirmations.

I began to realize that the truth was that I had a lot of value.  That I was a very giving person and that people appreciated it.

Then, I received a phone call from my daughter telling me she'd run into a woman neither of us had seen in a few years.  A single mother of four whom I had supported during a time of extreme neediness and turmoil in her life by providing food.  Almost single-handedly I provided groceries for that woman and her growing children for the better part of a year.  She still remembered with thankfulness.

The weekend after the disastrous meeting with the staff member from my church when I was still reeling from the impact of the words said, I received a phone call from my niece.  Because of an autoimmune disease, she was told it was not in her best interests to have children, so she and her husband started the adoption process years before eventually being successful in the adoption process.  While they were still in the process, when no baby was on their horizon, I took out my trusty, dusty crochet hook and started to make one of my favorite patterns.  One reserved for special people as it's very time consuming to make.  It has a border of puffed hearts around it.  As I crocheted it, I prayed for the child who would eventually be enfolded in it.  I got a sense that the child I was praying for had not yet been conceived and that the birth mom would be a teenager.  I also felt the baby would be a boy.  On that last I was wrong.  

I gave that blanket to my niece for Christmas that year even though it was kind of strange as no baby was yet on the horizon.  But she understood.  Her phone call was to tell me that her daughter who was by then six years old had found the blanket and asked her mom about it.  My niece replied that Aunty Cassie had made it before she was ever born and prayed for her when she was making it.  To that, my little great-niece matter-of-factly replied:  "Oh, so that's why I'm here."

Out of the mouths of babies, eh?

I kept in communication with a man I've known for years who had just found out that his mom had terminal cancer and was having trouble dealing with his new reality.  I sent him the prayer afghan I had started to make when my own mom was dying and which was originally intended for her.  He let me know in these calls how much that simple act of caring meant to him.  How he found comfort in it.

It was these affirmations that gave me a handle to hold on to at a very dark time in my recovery period.

Ironically, it was these affirmations that came flooding in at the same time the staff member from church came to tell me how worthless - or worth less - I was and that the things I did for people under the radar - the caring, the concern, the hand made gifts some of which took quite a while and cost quite a lot to make, the on-going prayer - were worthless.  They didn't count; therefore, I didn't count.

In her mindset given the perceptions and assumptions she came into my house with, I didn't qualify for help, for outreach from the church.

In retrospect though, I have to ask the question which perspective, which set of perceptions and assumptions, was correct?

I know what my answer to that is.  What is yours?

My mom on her last birthday wearing the shawl I had made for her during that sweltering heat wave.  The niece I had made the diamond bordered special afghan for before she was ever conceived.

Surviving Workplace Abuse:

Today we continue on the journey of debunking the lies:  perceptions and assumptions.  From the other side.  From the side of those who observe us.  From the side of those who rather than getting acquainted with us and our stories and attempting to find heathy ways to walk alongside us in our journey rely on what they see and, most importantly, what they've been told by others.

Relying on someone else's perceptions and assumptions on the matter rather than investigating for themselves and making their own perceptions and assumptions based on something more solid - like a relationship with the individual involved.

This is my story.  Uniquely mine.  Told from my side of the equation, the side that has gotten bruised, battered and very muddied through the journey.  The side that has somehow continued to get up in the morning and chose to focus on recovery.  Even after seeming defeats.

That side.  That story.

*******

Remember the earlier postings about the earth cam?  The saga of the search for this seemingly elusive piece of technology in North Myrtle Beach and subsequently finding it in Myrtle Beach?  How we stood in front of that building talking on the cell phone with our daughters back in Ontario?  How people passing us had no idea there was an earth cam in that location and that people from all over the world could see them (and us talking on our cell phone) as they passed?  I'm guessing that the people who observed our behaviour that day, the ones who had no clue there was an earth cam there, had some perceptions and assumptions of their own about us.  We were nuts.

Assumptions and perceptions.  Based on their senses.  What they saw.  What they observed  And their knowledge - or lack of it in this particular case. 

My journey of unrelenting hurt, pain, exhaustion, inability to do even the simplest tasks continued on throughout the fall of 2012.  So much so, that I've blocked out whole pieces of that particular time.  I remember only the bigger things like the first Thanksgiving after Mom's death and feeling overwhelmed and inadequate even trying to put on a very simple meal for immediate family members only.  Likewise, I remember falling out of the bathtub and breaking my wrist.  The excruciating pain. The hospital journey.  Again, the unrelenting pain.  The times I met with a friend who was walking through a painful journey of her own with cancer and the talks we had - until I broke my wrist and could no longer drive.  I remember the same person coming over on one of her good weeks immediately after I broke my wrist with a plant, a home made card, and a meal.  A meal ironically which had been given to her by our church.  Because she too was down for the count.  She too had no resources to cook and do things.  I remember this incident so clearly because she gave out of what she had in a time when she was needy herself.

Similarly, there is another time, another incident which occurred at the very end of that year, that period of time in 2012 which is forever seared in my memory.

Finally, after three months of being ignored and feeling abandoned, a staff member from the church called and asked to come over.  I had had previous positive interactions with this staff member and felt that she was safe.  Perceptions and assumptions which turned out to be false.

Things started out well.  I tend to be a visual person, so I wanted to tell her the story of bereavement and post bereavement visually through pictures on my computer and the things I made. My own show and tell.

In short, I let a person who in retrospect turned out to be unsafe into my safe place.  My safe room.  My sanctuary.

First clue.  She wouldn't sit on the comfortable chair provided.  She stood over me.  Looking down on me.

Second clue.  Body language.  Looking down on me.  Arms folded across her chest.  Stiff.  Unyielding.  Definitely not relaxed.

I was sharing with her the emotion of how abandoned I felt when suddenly she said:  "I wonder if you realize when you hurt others."

I felt like I'd been slapped on the face.

We weren't talking about me hurting others.  We were talking about my excruciating hurt.

With that simple sentence, she turned things around.  Frankly, I had no idea what she was talking about.  Who had I hurt?  When?  How?  And what did that have to do with helping me?

We suddenly shifted from my hurt to unknown others.  And that somehow when I'm in such a world of hurt that tears are cascading down my cheeks like Niagara Falls, I'm supposed to deal with others' hurts.

My perceptions and assumptions allowing her to enter my home were (a) that she was a safe person and (b) that she was there to problem solve ways in which the church family could come around me and support me during this time in my life.  Maybe even offer an apology for not being there in the first place.

I was wrong.

Having gained the advantage, the power and control over the situation, she continued on in this vein.  Standing.  Looking down on me.  Body language tense.

I showed her the things I made.  She told that this was not who I am.  With these words, she dismissed something very valuable to me.  My right brain therapy.  What I do.  How I cope with my situation.  Most importantly, how I bless others.

I was told that I hurt others in the church, and that is why no one wanted to talk to me.

Slap.  Slap.  Slap.  Verbally not physically.

I was told that my friend who was going through a very serious physical illness was worthy of church help because they had been in the church for years, her parents went to the church, they had been in a small group, she had volunteered with the children's ministry, etc.

Similarly, I was told in as many words that I was not worthy because I did not belong to a small group.  I was not involved in ministry.  I was not doing the things that they considered worthy in their criterion of evaluation.  The fact that for most of my tenure at the church, I was actively working on recovery and was not in a place where I could do these things was not taken into consideration.

More slaps.  More hurt.

I was told that I was abandoned because I had "weak" relationships.

At that point, I began to realize that this woman had absolutely no idea of where I had been when I first came to that church six years prior.  Of the injury from the former church.  How extensive it was, the steps I'd taken through the years.  That I had once been part of a small group and that it had folded.  Most importantly, she had absolutely no idea of trauma.  In addition, I realized that people who were part of the church in my earliest days of attendance who had walked with me and had even attended a session with my therapist on trauma so that they could walk with me had all scattered to other places, other posts.  One went to the mission field.  One felt that his "shelf life" had expired after the church had appointed a new minister and left.  All the knowledge about trauma left with these people.  Ditto all the knowledge about the steps I'd taken and the progress I'd made.

I also realized that the church I had walked into six years prior was no longer the church I attended now.  Same building, yes.  But the focus had changed from acceptance and helping wounded people to something else.  A different focus I'm still not sure of.

Gone.  This woman had no clue.  She hadn't been there in that position at that time.  She didn't know.  She came into my home with "knowledge" based on faulty perceptions and assumptions.

I was also confused.  I don't know what Bible this woman reads, but this is not how my Bible reads.  Giving to others so I can receive back?  Not in the Bible. 

Knitting and crocheting chemo hats, prayer shawl, afghans and giving them to others across Canada and the U.S. who were going through their own difficulties, who could not repay for my gifts, did not count. Ditto: praying for others did not count.  Investing time and energy in those who were outside the church body and could not possibly repay me also did not count.  Probably because these were things that the church could not see and, therefore, could not objectively evaluate or quantify.  These were things they would only know if they were walking with me.

She did ask how the church could support me in my journey given the circumstances.  That is always a hard question to answer as my experience has shown that once I voice my viewpoint I become (a) vulnerable, (b) I'm not expecting the question so I bumble and stumble and (c) I am placed in a position where the other person can easily shoot down.  To say no.  In short, I become vulnerable.

This is what happened in this situation, in this very room where I write these blogs, where I knit and crochet, where I feel safe.

It would have been so much better if that person had come into my house, my safe place, with a plan already formulated of how they could support me better in the upcoming months in place.  A plan we could discuss and modify.

I felt that having someone regularly reach out to me via phone as in every week or two to see how I was doing and if there were any needs they could meet, would help a lot as it was in the silence, the absence of human contact that I was having so much trouble with.

Her answer:  No, we don't do this.

So where did this leave me?  

Nowhere.

During most of this conversation, I was deluged in tears.  I was still crying uncontrollably when she left.  Her face dispassionate as though I were some whiny kid trying to get something I didn't deserve.

I cried for the best part of 20 hours.  I couldn't sleep.  I felt so worthless.

Somehow I made it through that miserable night.  In the morning, when I felt it was late enough that I would not awaken my daughter, I called her.  As I've said before, she has walked with me through this journey even when she was hurting herself and it was probably not in her own best interests.  She was appalled at some of the things that had been said especially about knitting and crocheting being not who I am. She understand the hurt, the devastation, the vulnerability.  She too was confused as she said:  "But that's what you do and how you bless people."

While we were still on the phone, another call came through from someone we both know and are close to.  Someone who has walked with me in this journey.  Someone who doesn't always understand everything, but has learned to listen, to ask questions, to love.  I switched to her call.  It was like the two were unknowingly tag teaming to get me back to a stable platform, a healthier place emotionally.

The fog began to lift.  I began to slowly come to terms with the visit.  To understand the dynamics that had been in place.  The misperceptions.  The faulty assumptions.  The lies.

However, the hurt, the injury, the disconnect with my church remained.

*******

I'm going to stop here for today as remembering this is taking its toll on me.

I was left with many impressions and questions after this meeting.

The most crucial question I had was turning around this person's question, Do I realize when I hurt others?, to Does she realize when she's hurting others?  Did she not know how badly she hurt me?  Especially when she could see the tears?

She had badly injured me during a time when I was very vulnerable.  Yet, she didn't seem to either realize it or care.

Questions that arose in my mind after the fact were:  "What was she doing in my home?, What was her purpose, her objective, that day? Did she come to help me?  Or did she come to confront me?"

She was going on a sabbatical for three months just three days after this meeting and would be completely severed from the church body for that period of time as in no communication with people from the church and no attendance at the church, so there was no continuity, no follow through.  Given that circumstance, why was she in my house?

Perceptions and Assumptions.  I believe that she came that day with her own set of perceptions and assumptions.  Those she had gained through others.  Others who were conspicuously absent on my journey.

Until tomorrow ....

Recovery from Workplace Abuse: Perceptions, Assumptions, Injuries, Coping Strategies

"Downtown" Stratford

Yesterday was my Stratford day.  My counselling day.  The day when I go in and touch base with the woman who has walked with me through this entire episode of my life.  A woman who has told me that she has learned a lot about trauma just by walking with me through this.  Which says a lot as the reason I chose her in the first place was that she was already familiar with trauma.

Trauma.  Both the core and the bane of the problem.

The core, because as with a physical illness that's what this injury is all about.  A bane because so many people don't recognize it for the debilitating illness it really is and/or don't have a clue how to deal with it.  So they usually either ignore it or walk away.

Adding to the complications of both walking through it and attempting to recover from it is that often the person finds that for emotional and/or physical reasons they feel more comfortable inside their own home, their own physical surroundings where they can create a safe space.

Out of sight.  Out of mind.

*******

That was my scenario, my situation, in a nutshell during that period of time.  And prior to that period of time as I'd had to severely draw back and limit all outside activities when the chronic, physically debilitating phase reared its head in the fall of 2011.

Out of sight, out of mind.

I adapted to my situation as best I could.

I learned there were all sorts of pre-made foods in the stores.  Unfortunately, most of them which made complete meals in themselves were in the form of pasta such as lasagne.

Now, don't get me wrong.  I love lasagne.  I love pasta.  But when that's all the options there are for meals that can be simply popped into the oven from the freezer, it gets boring.  Monotonous.  What I would have given at that time for a meal of roast beef and potatoes!

I did discover that there were frozen options for mashed potatoes.  Ditto other options such as bagged salads.

We ate those bagged salads a lot.  We ate lasagne and other meals in a bag, box, whatever often.

I coped as best I could ...

UNTIL ...

I fell out of the bathtub one morning and broke my wrist.

All bets were off at that point.

If I thought I was in a world of hurt before, I REALLY was in a world of hurt physically now.

My ability to take care of myself before the broken wrist had been limited to physical fatigue, feeling overwhelmed much of the time, depleted cognitive skills which made it difficult to impossible to read and follow instructions i.e. recipes.

I still had all of that.

But now I had added on extreme pain plus a cast that limited my ability to do common things like drive a car.  Did you know that it's illegal to drive a car with your arm in a cast?  It is.  It's also pretty well impossible as it's impossible for a casted wrist to grip anything.  Which is probably why it's illegal.

That cast prevented me from gripping anything with that hand - which happened to be my dominant hand.  I couldn't grip a knife to cut anything.  I couldn't grip a manual can opener to open cans to fix lunch.  I can't manage to grasp a spoon to dig into the coffee bag to get out coffee grinds to make coffee.  Try fixing even a simple lunch under those conditions where opening things is impossible.  I dare you.

I've been accused many times of being resilient.  Of having good coping skills.  Of learning new ones as needed.  I plead guilty to that and throw myself on the mercy of the court.

If I knew I needed a can opened, I would have to plan in advance and have hubby do it before he went to work.  The dear person who drove me to and front counselling would often step inside and do things like slice cheese for me.  Often that would be my lunch for the day.  I learned to open the cat's canned food by leveraging a knife under the tab and exerting pressure.  I would be breathing heavy at the end of the process, but I would have done it!  And the cat would eat another meal.  I learned to find a shallow tray, lay my measuring spoon on it and pour the coffee grinds into and over it using my left hand to measure the coffee into the basket.  I couldn't handle pouring water into the coffee maker using the bin provided (I don't have a coffee maker with a carafe which would have been easier), so I learned to take a common plastic drinking glass, fill it up and pour it into the reservoir as many times as was needed to make a pot.  I learned to use my left hand for as many things as possible.  I learned to communicate via the computer using the old-fashioned, one finger approach - using only the left hand. People learned to decipher my typos.  Any one of these things would leave me completely exhausted.  All of them together was more than I could handle.  I became more and more physically depleted necessitating more and more bed time.

My therapist said that I needed to rest in order to heal.  Both physically and emotionally.  But how?

Given my circumstances ... how? ... was the cry of my heart.

My counsellor asked me if I'd let my church know that I'd broken my wrist.  I snorted and said no.  I was already bitter about being left alone to my own devices during a time when I needed support more than I'd ever needed it in my life.  I asked my counsellor, why should I let them know?  If they weren't inclined to step up to the plate and support me with the grief issues, then why would they choose to support me now?  She said that physical was different.  They would understand that.  Try them.  Give them a chance to come alongside you and support you.

So I did.

I was I hadn't.

Yes, I got a meal delivery. One.

The person who brought over the meal was the same one who had brought the first delivery over.  In hindsight, I believe (as in perceive and assume) that that original delivery was done under duress.  They didn't understand the situation and were doing it only because I had made noise.

This person came into my home, looked at me with my bright blue wrist and blurted out:  "So you really did break your wrist!"

Many thoughts went through my mind.  One of which was:  "So I need to provide a doctor's note in order to get help?"  Another one was:  "Why did you doubt me?  Did you think I would make something like this up?"

I didn't say any of those things.  

I did get her to put the food items in my fridge.  

This, though, may have led to another misperception and assumption in the line up as my fridge was bulging with food.  Food which I had no way of preparing.  As someone verbalized much later on in that phase of the journey while the cast was still on, I had food.  I just didn't have hands.  She never came back.  No one from the church office or the caring committee ever called me to see how I was doing or if I could use another delivery.

I had food, but I needed hands to convert that food in the fridge, the raw materials, into a bona fide meal.  Just as the yarn in my stash isn't going to magically become a scarf, etc. until needles are applied.  Needles with hands attached to them.

Which leads me to another huge problem in the recovery process.  Knitting and crocheting are my right brain therapies.  Those I use to help keep me stable.  With my wrist in a cast, it was impossible to knit or crochet.  I had lost, at least for a time, the ability to do something which I needed to do in order to heal emotionally.  Those who are knitters themselves will understand fully.  Those who are not, will not understand.

I had a husband. But husbands, especially those who are working a physically demanding job, can only do so much.  They come home tired and hungry after a long day's work.  They want to come into the door, smell a good meal on the stove and say:  "Smells like someone loves me."

Instead, the poor guy came home day after day to a house where it was obvious that nothing was on the stove for supper and had to start preparing a meal for both him and his wife.

In the original stages, the poor guy had to dress me.  I figured out how to bathe myself (remember what I said about being resilient and coping skills?).  The one thing though that I needed help with that I couldn't figure out on my own and he refused to do was wash my hair.  We found a hair cutting place which was willing to wash my hair for just a few dollars as opposed to the approximately $40 fee most places charged.  We found ways to cope.  But each way took a toll a me.  A physical toll on an already depleted body.  Plus, an emotional toll on a person who was already feeling worth less than others.

As my counsellor said, I needed to rest in order to heal.  However, without more in the way of practical support, that was not possible.

As I've mentioned from the book which became my Bible, my handbook, during the earliest phases of recovery Helping Those Who Hurt:  Compassion and Practical Ways to Offer Comfort, a needy person can easily suck those who walk with them dry causing them to burn out.

I came to realize that those who walk with me need to take care of themselves.  They need to be sure that whatever they choose to do will not burn them out.  I realized that not only did these people who were already walking with me before the death of my mom, before the broken wrist, could only do so much.  It would be unfair of me to expect them to take on more.  I chose to value them for what they were already doing.  I chose to thank them for each thing they did for me.

I needed more people to come alongside me at that time to do a designated task.  What ever they felt they could do without burning out.

For example, I would have loved for someone to call me every week or two just to see how I was doing.  It would have made my day to have a handwritten note or card in my mailbox, especially if it was regularly.  Anything to let me know that people cared.

It didn't happen.  Was it because people didn't care?  Or because they didn't know?

I prefer to think the latter.  I prefer to believe (i.e. perceive and assume) that there are caring people who would have stepped up to the plate if they had known, if someone from the church office had communicated the need and asked.

I prefer ....

*******

As I wrote this segment today, I realized how hurtful this could sound to those who did walk with me.  The lady who drove me to Stratford and doctor's appointments.  The friend who had lunch with me and even came by to help me plant spring bulbs in my garden in honour of my mom.  The friend who herself was walking through a horrible time with a dread disease and wanted to be there for me, but couldn't.  The neighbours who put sympathy cards in my mailbox when I first came back after my mom died.

Believe me, I appreciate you.  Thank you for being in my life.

Until tomorrow....

Post Workplace Abuse: Beginning to look at Perceptions and Assumptions from a different angle

On the road to recovery, there are no signposts pointing out directions, destinations or mileage.  However, there are choices on which direction to take - or not take.  There are always choices.

There are always side trips on the journey or even rabbit trails.

Some are more productive than others.

The problem is, there has been no logical order on my path to recovery.  It seems like I work on this a bit and then get side-tracked to that, and then back again.

Writing this blog, helps me put the places visited into both perspective and a semblance of logical order.

For example, I had an incident in late 2012 which gave me a totally different perspective on the lies of perceptions and assumptions.  Even before I started tackling them in early 2013, I realize now that I was started to look at lies and assumptions and realize that I was not along in having them.  

(If this opening sounds a bit like deja vu, it is.  I started this particular post then decided to follow a side path for a few blogs.  The path where physical recovery and emotional recovery merged for a bit.  I'm glad I did as I feel the last few posts have created a background to go forward into this segment.  A view of perceptions and assumptions from the other side.  What others perceived and thought of me during this time frame, this part of the journey and how that impacted both my journey and their ability to come alongside me and help me - or rather not come alongside me and not help me.)

*******

I've noted before a crucial aspect of recovery after workplace abuse; after trauma:  life does not stop because one has experienced trauma.  It continues to go on. Whether good or bad, it continues to go on.

In my case, life went on with continued damaging psychiatric injury by interactions with unsafe people and also with my mom's death in August 2012.

I've noted in two different blogs, a previous one about life intervening and the six and a half worst weeks of my life how my church was not there for me when I went through what became one of the most difficult periods of my life - the last three months of the year of 2012 - when the grief from my mom's death combined with the psychiatric injuries I'd already received.  Factor in the huge amount of travelling involved from where she died in Upstate New York to where she was buried in North Carolina - and back all in four days - plus the toll of being with her the last two weeks of her life in a place where I had limited access to my usual support network and you've got a tremendously stressful period.  A period likely to have tremendous impacts on my life.  Unless the support was available.  And it wasn't.

I realized then - and I realize now - that I was in a what I call a "bubble of grace" during the two weeks prior to her death, the period immediately after, even during the trip to North Carolina and back.  A bubble that ended with my arrival back home.

The grief process for me didn't begin with my mom's death, in reality it began when I arrived home after all was said and done.  It was then that the enormity of my loss along with the affects of the psychiatric injury began to really make themselves known.  It was then that the "bubble of grace" I'd experienced expired.  It was then ....

I realize now long after the fact that what I call the "bubble of grace" ended and reality began when I returned home because I was back to life as I knew it.  A life that had been interrupted by these events for more than a month.  A life that had already been changed and altered beyond recognition by workplace abuse and was still in the process of being rebuilt.  Not fully formed yet, still very much in a state of flux.

I came home expecting people to reach out to me.  To call.  To send cards.  Maybe even flowers.  I wanted one person - just one person - to send me flowers.

It didn't happen.

While in Upstate New Year, while my mom was dying, I had used precious time away from my mom as she didn't have wifi at the computer to let my church know what was happening and that I needed support while it was happening.  I even gave them the phone numbers they could reach me at.

It didn't happen.

I did get a very mild email in response saying that it was good that I was with my mom.  Nothing more.  It left me feeling dismissed.

I needed a "Jesus with skin on" and all I got was a bland email.

For the amount of grief I was going through, it was insufficient.  Inappropriate.  It didn't come anywhere near the heart of the matter.  It didn't come from her heart to my heart.

And that was it.

Nothing more.  No follow up. Not even when I came back.

My mailbox was empty.  My phone didn't ring.  Even my email was empty.

I felt lost and alone in the land of trauma combined with grief.

The exhaustion came back big time and I became completely unable to function.  I couldn't take care of myself.  I couldn't cook.  I couldn't think.  The cognitive skills were completely down.  My life became limited to one room in my house - the one I now call my "safe room".

I couldn't even knit anything more than straight rows back and forth.  Back and forth.  Anything that required thinking was beyond what I was capable of at that point.

My church attendance since the physical and other affects began in 2011 had been sporadic as most times I was physically and/or emotionally incapable of sitting through an entire service.  People scared me as well, so I found attending church challenging.  When I finally felt well enough to attempt going to church again after returning home from Mom's funeral et al,  the first person I saw greeted me with a huge, peppy smile and cheerful greeting and then flitted away.  I burst into tears.  I felt like no one cared.  No one recognized the grief I was going through.  It was like everyone expected that since by now a couple of months had passed between my mom's death and my arrival back home, back at church, that everything was okay.  That the grief had magically passed.  If anything, I learned at that time that there is no "one size fits all" in grief.  Since I was away, it was as if the grief had been put on hold for that time of funeral services, travelling, sorting out her apartment, etc.

The real job of working through grief began with my arrival back home.

And no one seemed to realize that.

I felt so lost.  So alone.  And that's just a beginning of how I felt.  Feelings I still don't know how to describe it all.

That first day back at church, I saw the pastor of caring and sharing and started crying again.  I asked where was the support I needed?  Where were the meals?  Where were the cards?  Where?

In hindsight, I don't think he expected that.  I don't think he was prepared for that.  And I don't think he was in a position emotionally himself to be able to cope with that.  You see, he was a survivor of some sort of trauma himself.  He himself was on the road to recovery.  I'm guessing that, like me, he was one of the invisible wounded.  Unlike me though, he had a position of responsibility within the church community which necessitated dealing with people.  Hurting people like myself.  Hurting people like him.

After that "outburst" in a corner of the church atrium, I did receive a delivery - one delivery - of meals.  The caring committee also put a card in my church mailbox - which I received weeks later when I was finally able to return to church again.  (I don't know if you see a problem here with putting a bereavement card in the person's church mailbox when they're unable to attend church, but I do.  Big time.)

The person who delivered the mails, herself going through an extremely difficult journey in her life, seemed to think that since I had family in the area that I should be OK.

Do you see where I'm leading with this?  Do you see the beginnings of this thread?

We all have our own journeys.  Our own difficulties.  Our own hurts.

Our own situations impact on how we perceive others.  Also what we're told.

I have no idea what this pastor told others.  I do think that this woman who delivered the meals came in with the idea that I was demanding something that I had no right to have i.e. that I was demanding meals when I was totally capable of taking care of myself.  I just wanted a freebie.  Maybe she was told to "just humour me".  I don't know.  I just know that I felt the delivery didn't go well and that there was no continuation, no follow up, from there.  It wasn't a beginning.  It was more like an end.  A door slamming shut in my fact.

No one from the church had talked to me.  No one in the office had made any effort to contact me after my return.  No one had any idea of the world of hurt I was in.  And I think they preferred to keep it that way.

A healthy person might well say at this point, "Well, why didn't you call them?  Why didn't you make your needs know?"

The answer to that goes back to trauma.  To the specific things that had happened during my sojourn through and immediately after workplace abuse.

My inability to tell people how badly I was doing was also rooted in the fact that just a few weeks before my mom's death I'd been in a place where someone I had thought was safe, someone I loved and admired, chose to take out his/her frustrations and aggravations on me causing more major damage in my life.

Taken at a park like area in Sault Ste Marie, Ontario alongside the St. Marys River.  

*******

As I've said before, workplace abuse is not vague.  It's very complicated.

So is recovery from workplace abuse.  There are so many ins and outs, it would be easy to feel like you're in a continuing soap opera.  One that goes on day after day for years and years with little change, little progress.  Any progress appears to be made in minute increments.

Many people have little patience with that.  If they cannot see immediate progress, they get frustrated and move away.

I feel like this part of the blog is moving slowly.  Maybe too slowly.  Perhaps I've learned too much about laying the foundation, the underground, from my plumber hubby.

Today, I've laid more of the foundation of the story of trauma.  Monday, I will continue on the journey and see where it leads us.  

Life lived.  Lessons learned.  Two small steps forward; five big ones back.

Until then ....

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 ....

Confronting the Lies Regarding Perceptions and Assumptions - finding the webcam - Part II

Today, we continue the search for the Earth Cam.  A search that involved all sorts of perceptions and assumptions - and skill sets.  A search which became a pivotal point in my journey towards recovery.  The part of recovery which realizes what the lies were and becomes aware that they were just that:  lies.

I've chosen today's and yesterday's pictures of the red walking tour line in Salem Massachusetts because I wish recovery were more like these pictures.  A line.  A bold, red line at that.  Marking clearly the way to go.  When to walk straight.  When to turn.  Etc.  With lots of neat things to pass by and enjoy on the way.

Unfortunately, recovery - especially recovery from trauma and PTSD after workplace abuse - is not like that.  It's neither clear cut nor straightforward  We have to make it up as we go along.

We have to learn to trust our perceptions and assumptions as to which way to turn, what to do, what not to do.  We have to learn to trust our instincts ... which at its basest perceptions and assumptions are.

*******

Obviously (if you've read the Togetherness post), you know that we did find the Myrtle Beach earth cam - eventually.

But how?

What happened to change my/our perceptions and assumptions as to where it really was?

A minor thing.  Something inconsequential really.

I simply picked up a brochure to read in the washroom, opened it and Voilla! there was a picture of the boardwalk we had seen from the earth cam.

I knew then that the key to finding the earth cam was to finding the boardwalk.

No address was given in the pamphlet.  So I went to the computer and started doing google searches.  It took me a few minutes and a bit of trial and error (drat those perceptions and assumptions on key words to use!), but after a bit I found it!

I found it!

On the computer.

I had a location.

Second challenge.  To get the car to go there.  Or rather to get the driver of the car to go there - as he had his own perceptions and assumptions as to where we were going and kept veering off to the beach way too soon.

The boardwalk area is in the heart of Myrtle Beach.  The city, in fact both cities, are laid out in a grid pattern made easier by the fact that the cross streets are all sequentially numbered.

Finally, we got to the area ...

... and started walking towards the beach.

It was right there.  The boardwalk I mean.  Now to find the earth cam.

It was Hubby who found it.

The first words out of his mouth were:  "There's the flags we saw."

He raised his arm pointing at the flags, then pivoted around with his arms still raised ...

... and stopped still pointing with his arm raised, "There it is!"

We had found it!  It took both of our skills ... perseverance, computer, practical, obersation, etc. ... but WE found it!

It also took both of our combined perceptions and assumptions as well.  After all, he was the one who clued in because of the flags that we were in the exact right spot.  If we were at the spot with the flags, then we had to be at the spot with the earth cam.  If we were seeing the flags, then we needed to realize what angle we were seeing them from on the web and deduce the location from that perception, that knowledge, which is exactly what he did.  It's called deductive reasoning.  It's a skill.  An asset.

Hubby standing at the place where we made the phone calls.  Notice that he's wearing a U.S. t-shirt.  Maybe so that people passing by will perceive and assume that we're just crazy Americans - not the crazy Canadians we really are?

 The next morning we came back, cell phone in hand and called each of our daughters in turn, asked them if they were close to a computer and then instructed each on how to access it - and us.

We talked - and waved - to each.  It was hilarious as people walked past these two weirdos waving at the sky ... or was it a building?  They didn't know.  They had no clue.  While our daughters watched the whole thing from Canada.

They had their own perceptions and assumptions - based on what they were seeing.  And also on what they were not seeing.  The earth cam.

One couple stopped and talked to us so we pointed out what they were missing.  They too were from Ontario - which gave them bonus points in our eyes - and in our perceptions and assumptions.

They were staying for the winter and had passed that point many times - and never seen the cam - because they weren't looking for it.  They didn't know it existed.

 One of the first things, Mr. Observant Hubby noticed the first night we found the earth cam was that the small white Christmas lights which we had seen from Canada were still on the railings.

The next morning, they were gone.  Actually, we discovered that they were in the process of being removed.  We found and spoke with the young guy who was taking them down and said we'd seen them from Canada - on the earth cam.  He had been there for two years and had never noticed the earth cam even though he worked in the building right beside it!

Right around the corner from the earth cam

Perceptions and assumptions.  We all have them.  We cannot really navigate through life without them.  Our perceptions and assumptions include feeling pain and knowing that we need to do something about it; when to get off the highway; even things so base as hunger and the need for the washroom.    There's nothing wrong with them.

Never has been; never will be.

Ironically, even those in the workplace who sneered at me because of my perceptions and assumptions had their own.

Add caption

 And so I bid you farewell today.

Have a nice day wherever you are.

See you tomorrow ... as we are once again exploring the path (or rather paths) leading to debunking the lies.

Another facet of perceptions and assumptions coming up.

Until then ....

Post Workplace Abuse: Confronting the Lie "Perceptions and Assumptions" Part 1

 The road to recovery post workplace abuse, is not always a road.  Nor is it always well-defined or even in a straight line.  Sometimes it's like a dirt path across a field. Sometimes it's an offshoot of a well-defined path. It can even be a sidewalk or a staircase.  Or climb up a mountain.  It's always changing and evolving as the survivor passes through from one piece of recovery to the next.  It's also different for each survivor as each one of us comes to the path with different experiences, different strengths, different weaknesses and different injuries from the experience.

Whatever.  

Our paths are usually pretty vague.  And not very popularly travelled.

*******

Today, we're continuing on the path of debunking the lies we internalized during the abusive situation.

I say "we" because, while the lies I internalized which have been holding me back from full recovery are specific to not only my situation but to this one particular situation (note that I had two back to back workplace bullying situations and the lies were quite different in both), each one of us has our own version of the lies we internalized in our own personal and unique situation.

We are alike in that we're on the same journey towards recovery from a horrific situation in our workplaces.  Yet, we are also different in that our injuries, our lies are unique to us.  Specific to our own situation, strengths, weaknesses and personality.

So today I present to you, my loyal reader, the beginning of my journey debunking the lie key I internalized in my own situation:  perceptions and assumptions.

*******

Lat week, I reposted a post about an experience hubby and I had shared at Myrtle Beach in 2013 called Togetherness.  Today, I will revisited the same place, the same timeframe, even the same experience - from a totally different perspective.  That of debunking the lie.  The lie regarding perceptions and assumptions.

My journey toward confronting head on that lie began, whether by intent or coincidence I cannot remember, in January 2013.

I had swallowed that lie hook, line and sinker.  So much so that whenever I said something that was not a hard fact and could not be verified by hard evidence, I would always add the codicil but that's just my perception and assumption.  Meaning it had no value.  Devaluing myself, my thought processes, my cognitive skills, etc.

My dear hubby who has been my longest and most loyal support would say something about my perceptions and assumptions being amazing.  However, I could neither believe nor internalize that at the time.

Hubby loves to watch an earth cam of Myrtle Beach.  Before we left, he showed it to one of our daughters who was going to house and cat sit for us.  She remarked that it would be fun if we could find it and then call her from that location and watch us talking to her.

Me, I was sceptical.  But out of that simple statement, the great "Myrtle Beach Earth Cam search" was begun.  We spent our week at North Myrtle Beach searching for this earth cam - which proved to be very elusive - at first - for us indeed.

First of all, we had a misperception.  We thought it was in North Myrtle Beach which is where we were.  Why?  Because at one point there had been a web cam at one of the resorts in North Myrtle Beach and we had even located it once.  For another, the earth cam page had originally been (mis)labelled as North Myrtle Each - for whatever reason.

So, we ended up looking for this elusive earth cam in the wrong area.  Approximately 20 miles north of where it actually was.

Needless to say, we didn't find the earth cam - at least not in the original part of the search, but we did find areas of North Myrtle Beach - and environs - which we had no idea existed.

Like these and dunes at the very, very end of North Myrtle Beach.

A fishing pier - which, of course, we'd never seen before.  I had the opportunity to take lots of pictures of this area which in and of itself was a piece of recovery for me.

Note:  most of these pictures reflect late afternoon sunlight as my energy was so low that I had to rest most of the day in order to go out for even an hour or so late in the afternoon.

I'm not sure what this is called whether it's a creek or part of the intercoastal waterway - which we hadn't known before existed either.

It began in that rugged beach area I've just shown in pictures.  Again something I would never had seen or experience had it not been for our search in the wrong area for this earth cam.

The vista at this far end of the beach at North Myrtle Beach totally fascinated me reminding me in some ways of South Padre Island in Texas:  the dunes, the wildness, the isolation.

We also found an area of North Myrtle Beach where homes are built with their own boat docks to cruise the intercoastal waterway.

We found the intercoastal waterway which we had never even heard of before.

We found a boardwalk over a salt marsh.

A salt marsh

Incredible photo opportunities.

a red-capped woodpecker

even a flying blue heron

All of this because we were searching in the wrong place.

But, alack and alas, no earth cam - because we were searching in the wrong place.

I began to give up on the idea of finding this earth cam.  I was having so much fun starting to experience and enjoy life on the search.  The search itself turned out to be more fun than actually finding the objective.

I had gained so much positive that finding it would only add the whipped cream and cherry topping on the sundae of our experience.

I learned later, much later, that perceptions are based on the information that we have available at the time.  My perceptions of where to look for the earth cam were based totally on its having been originally labelled as North Myrtle Beach and our experience of finding the resort-based cam years earlier.  Was there anything wrong with my perceptions and assumptions?  Not really.  They were simply based on the information I had at hand at that particular time.  Nothing more.  Nothing less.

Tomorrow, we continue the experience.

See you then.