The Day I Turned The Corner

Ironically, the day I turned the corner on my journey towards recovery from workplace abuse was the day I got fired from my volunteer position at the Humane Society where I'd been petting kitties for more than a year and a half.  I got bitten.  A serious no-no.

While being fired is definitely not fun and definitely not positive, for some reason it propelled me forward rather than stalling me, propelling me backward or putting me in a spin.

One major reason is that it was not personal.

Workplace bullying is definitely personal.  They find your weaknesses and exaggerate them.  They gossip.  They go on your Facebook and take what they see there to management.  They craft petitions disguised as complaints and sign them.  People believe them.

Cats don't do that.  For which I am very very thankful.

Neither do the people caring for the cats.

However, the management type people feel that it is not in the cat's best interest if a volunteer gets bitten.

Before you get too confused or irate, let me explain what happens when a cat in their custody bites a human being.  Immediately, if it's reported and it is law that it be reported, it has to be reported to the Board of Health.  Then the cat has to be put into quarantine for ten days during which time, only the staff can interact with it.  It cannot be adopted.  It cannot be socialized by volunteers.  Etc.  It's stalled, sidelined for ten days.  And it still has to be fed and cared for.

I get that.  To a degree.

I had been in fear of getting bitten again.  Yes, again.  This was bite number three.  However, in my defence, bite number two was one day less a year from before bite number three.  That, however,  was not taken into consideration.

Policies had changed while I was volunteering at the shelter due to a contagion which went through most of the population both feline and canine at the shelter.  New policies restricted the volunteers' interaction with the animals meaning, in effect, if the new policies were obeyed, the animals received far less social time with volunteers than previously.  These new policies also meant that if I was in an area with less social cats, that I could not move into another area as I might cause cross contamination among the cat population.

Volunteering had become more stressful and less fun.  Yet I continued.

Yes, I tried to talk with what I call the volunteer volunteer (a volunteer herself who managed volunteers) but she was not inclined to listen.

So when I got bitten that fateful day in December just before Christmas, I was afraid of the worst happening.  Being fired.  But me being me, I still had hope that reason/logic would prevail.  Or maybe that that prince in shining armour I read so much about when I was a child - and still seem to believe in - would come upon the scene.

Logic/reason didn't prevail and Prince Charming was noticeably absent.  Rebuffs, blame statements and Human Resources along with the volunteer volunteer were present.

The dismissal could have been done better as it turned out to be two against one.  Not good odds in my book.  Especially when I'm the one.

I cried.

I was hurt.

I also stood up for myself, even though I wasn't heard.

Yet, there was something in me that said that this could be a good thing.  There could be something better coming up.

I also realized how much healing had happened in my journey towards recovery in the nineteen months I had been alone, on my own petting cats.

I had gone from being very fearful of human beings to being able to casually converse with staff and sometimes the public.

Why?  Because as I said before it was not personal.  Everything was based on the cats and their welfare.  For me, it was good and I began to enjoy positive interactions with human beings and at the same time becoming less fearful of people.

It had been a safe place.  One where recovery could occur.

Immediately after the dismissal when I was still hurting, with all my being I wanted to find out what other shelters' policies were "after the bite".  Did they dismiss volunteers for being bitten or where they more reasonable?  But I didn't.

I wanted to look up other volunteer opportunities with animals.  But I didn't.

I wanted to write a letter to the newspaper or at least to the Board of Directors of the shelter or file a written complaint against the volunteer volunteer and the Human Resources director.  But I didn't.

Why?

Because I decided that the first thing I needed to do was to allow myself time to grieve my loss which I hadn't done during the two back to back workplace abuse situations.

Then there was Christmas less than a week away.  I felt that getting through Christmas before acting on anything would be the best thing for me.

As I allowed myself time and space, I began to realize that it was almost laughable.  Almost.  Like who gets fired because they get bitten?  Besides me, that is.

I also realized that there had been significant healing in my life and perhaps I was due for a change.

Also, people reached out to me and said come and pet my fur baby.

So I did.

A new door has started to open.  A door which includes fur babies to be sure and also people.  People who also have needs.  People who enjoy my presence and having an adult to talk to while the kids are in school and the dog is being petted.  Yes, you heard me right.  Dog.  I'm a cat person, but not my world has also expanded to include not only people but dogs.

As I continue on in this period of my recovery post workplace abuse, I see two things.  One that somehow, somewhat I turned a corner at the end of last year.  Two that this phase of my journey of recovery is about living life as it happens.

Do I dare say enjoying life?

Things have been happening recently on my journey of recovery that I never thought seven years ago when things were at their worst with the workplace would ever happen.

Living Life as It Happens: the Day I Got a Big Surprise

On June 1st the #GCCCanada started.  Again as last year my goals are the same: 100 km and $500. 

As many of you already know #GCCCanada has become a large part on my personal journey towards recovery from workplace abuse.  It gave me the motivation to get on my adapted bike, now named Freedom Hope, and start challenging myself to ride.

In my younger days, I used to ride a 5 speed Schwinn which was built like a Sherman tank and just about as heavy, somewhere in the vicinity of 5-10 miles a day.  I wanted to do that again.  However, ongoing challenges with balance issues - and other brain related things - prevented that.

UNTIL I decided to change the way I was attempting to ride.  I went to a local bike store, talked with one of the young men there and together we came up with this: 

Heading back from where we turned around on the group ride.
Wearing my colours proudly.

A regular 7 speed bike with adult training wheels for the balance problems.

It works.

However, after relearning how to ride in a local parking lot - going round and round and round again in both directions, I stopped riding again.

I wanted to actually be able to go places, to ride to a coffee shop, to ride out of town, even to ride to do errands.

However, the terrain wasn't allowing that to happen.

Completing my first group ride ever - the Cataract trail
(again something I never though I could do).

What I call my "hood" is triangle shaped and composed of dead end streets inside the area.  Bounding my "hood" are major arteries, some in town, some now, one river and hills.  In any direction I go, there are hills.  Some more challenging then others.  But hills nonetheless.

I got discouraged.  When I get discouraged I get frustrated.  When I get frustrated, everything stops.

One day, a few years back, I saw the Great Cycle Challenge Canada, a ride to raise funds for research for pediatric cancer at Sick Kids hospital in Toronto, on Facebook.  What was different about this fundraiser from others is that rather than meeting at a certain time, on a certain day, and riding a set route, the participant sets their own goals, both distance and kilometres.  The rider has the entire month of June to achieve her goals and can change them at any time.

This sounded like a possible to me.  So I signed up in 2016 for the first time.

My goals were: 50 km and $50.

I had no idea if I could meet those goals.

I not only met my goals but way exceeded them.

I rode 225 km in that challenge and raised $244.40.  I learned that I could do things I never knew I could do.

I found places in my "hood" that I never knew existed.  I even rode in traffic and on hills.  As my borders and boundaries expanded, I began to come alive as never before.

Pumped up, I signed up in 2017 for a second go round.

This time my goals were 100 km and $500 (gulp).

I definitely didn't know if I could meet either goal - especially the $500 one.  I self funded myself at the very beginning so that other, potential donors, would know that I was willing to put my money where my goal was.

The Great Cycle Challenge features different riders at times, almost all of them on 2-wheeled bikes, proudly sporting their jerseys, with details such as how much they're raised and how many km they've ridden.  I wanted so very much to have that kind of recognition and acknowledgement.  I wanted to belong.

I did meet my challenge of 100 km.  I did meet the  $500 goal a little past the middle of the month of June BUT when I ordered the much coveted jersey, it didn't come and didn't come.  Shipping labels were created but the jersey did not arrive at Canada Poste.  For more than a week, I waited checking the tracking information frequently.  Finally I e-mailed the Great Cycle Challenge - and got no response.  Then I started phoning them - and got the easy answers: it would be taken to Canada Poste for the next shipping which would be soon.  I asked them to follow up and get back to me.

They didn't.

I got frustrated.  I got discouraged.  I stopped all cycling.

Eventually, I did get the coveted jersey, the last day of June.  My anticipation of wearing the jersey proudly for the rest of the challenge, ended. 

So it was with a lot of conflicted feelings that I signed up for my third consecutive year with the Great Cycle Chgallenge Canada.

With the same goals: 100 km/ $500 donations.

Only I decided that I wasn't going to bust my butt to get the $500.  Or if I did, if I really wanted the jersey, I would see how far I could go on the donations before the challenge started on June 1st and I would self fund so that it would arrive in time for me to wear it while riding.

Note:    In this challenge, we set our own goals, we ride any time we want, wherever we want during the month of June.  For that reason, most of us never meet each other and we ride alone.  That is why I coveted the jersey.  That is why I got so discouraged when it didn't arrive.  I wanted to belong.

Freedom Hope and myself getting ready to ride.  A word of explanation: a lot of cyclists raise their bikes above their heads in a victory pose.   With Freedom being clumsy and heavy, this is my adaptation of the victory pose.

Last week, someone from the #GCCCanada called me, as they always do before the challenge begins, to check up. At the end of the conversation, the lady asked me if I had any thing to comment. For once, I said: "Yes". I went on to tell her that their marketing strategy was geared to what I call the "lean and mean", meaning the tall, fit, mostly younger ones with long legs and lighter weight two-wheeled bikes who can cycle rings around me and who can raise more than $1000 in donations BEFORE the challenge starts. 

 I told her how the #GCCCanada has been a vital force in my ongoing road to recovery and told her about the "brain injury" from stress in the workplace that had prevented me from being able to ride again and how a local cycle shop (#KingStreetCycle) had adapted a regular bike for me. I told her some of my victories. She listened! 

I told the listener about last year and the jersey. I told her that since workplace abuse was about isolation and exclusion and also about lack of appreciation, I got discouraged and quit riding. I told all this and more to the listener on the other end of the phone. Then Tuesday, I got a notice from the #GCCCanada that they were gifting me the jersey for this year because they are impressed with my story of recovery! 

A selfie taken on my first ride for the challenge this year in the parking lot where I relearned to ride.

The coveted jersey arrived two days later, on June 1st in time for me to wear it during the challenge.

My new "biking" shoes.  A find at a garage sale I was passing.

But things haven't ended there.  That simple act of acknowledgement spurred me on to do things I didn't believe I could do.

Like raise the entire $500 without resorting to self funding.

Like encouraging me to get on Freedom Hope proudly and ride.

What can I say? I never lost my sense of humour and here it is in full.
Posing with Freedom Hope in my jersey and helmet with bling stilettos.
It doesn't get much better than this.

I know I'm not the meanest or the leanest.

I realize that in reality I'm short and sassy.

Or maybe I should say, strong and courageous.

I'll never be the top of the back.  Rather I'm more the cow's tail. Moooooove.

But I'm OK with that.

I'm learning to be OK with being me.

Sequel to "A (perceivbed) Bully in the Pharmacy: Passive Aggressive Behaviour and Bullies

So often a blog posting writes itself perfectly, flowingly ... in my head.  But doesn't translate to the written word.

This has been the case with this blog posting which was intended originally to be a sequel to the prior one about the (perceived) bully in the pharmacy as I came to realize through analyzing that one incident how much passive aggressive behaviour, especially on the part of one coworker whom I've designated as B, was part and parcel of what happened to me in the workplace.

But first, I felt I needed to lay a groundwork as to what passive aggressive is and how it manifests itself.

Because it is passive rather than aggressive, it is covert rather than overt and not easy to recognize.

Today, I want to dwell and enlighten both myself and my readers as to what passive aggressive is and how it manifests itself.

I hope you will bear with me as I journey this side road on the journey of recovery.

*****

Passive Aggressive Behaviour.

We've all heard about it.  Many of us have experienced it.  Without recognizing what is going on.

I know that I didn't recognize it when it was happening to me in the workplace.  Worse.  Neither apparently did my coworkers, management and HR.

I don't even know if the coworkers involved in the behaviour recognized that they were engaging in passive aggressive behaviour.  After all, it's like the couch in the living room.  Always there yet not noticed.

But really, in many ways it's just a word.  Because it is much easier to define then it is to recognize.

So let's start with a definition of passive aggressive behaviour and go from there.

According to the dictionary:

pas·sive-ag·gres·sive

adjective

adjective: passive-aggressive

1. of or denoting a type of behavior or personality characterized by indirect resistance to the demands of others and an avoidance of direct confrontation, as in procrastinating, pouting, or misplacing important materials.

According to a PsychoologyToday.com article by "5 Signs That You're Dealing With a Passive-Aggressive Person… and the most effective way to deal with their perpetrators" by Berit Brogaard D.M.Sci., Ph.D, the five signs of passive aggressive behaviour are:

1. The Silent Treatment
2. Subtle Insults
3. Sullen Behaviour 
4. Stubbornness 
5. Failure to Finish Required Tasks

Another article, this one by the Mayo Clinic, includes the following as signs of passive aggressive haviour:

• Resentment and opposition to the demands of others
• Procrastination and intentional mistakes in response to others' demands
• Cynical, sullen or hostile attitude
• Frequent complaints about feeling underappreciated or cheated

I've provided links to both of these articles which I heartily encourage you to read to get a more thorough understanding.  Using the search words "signs of passive agressive behaviour", there are numerous articles some which give seven signs, some which give more.  It looks like passive aggressive behaviour is much more complicated and prevalent than the normal person would see.

It appears to be one of those kinds of things that you have to experience in order to understand. 

It also helps if someone points it out to you.

Which happened some years ago when hubby and I were eating out at a local establishment which is well known in our area.  We'd gone there for years and enjoyed it.  It's a bit of a drive - into Mennonite country - but was well worth the endeavour.

Until ...

We went one evening and I noticed something amiss happening in the room we were in.  No tables were being set up with cutlery.  Even after the server set the food on the table in front of the patrons, she did not bring cutlery.  Even when one man became irate and asked her for cutlery, she didn't bring it.  I flagged her down and informed her she should bring this patron - and the rest of us - cutlery so we could eat our food.  At that point, she did relent enough to bring that one table the utensils needed to enjoy their food - after they'd starred at it for what seemed like a very long time.

I expected her to comply and bring us cutlery before she brought us our food.  I was mistaken in that belief.

I don't know if you the reader can understand how hard it was to have a platter of roast beef, mashed potatoes, gravy and vegetables in all their glory set in front of me - with nothing to eat it with except my hands.

I exploded at her that I had tried hard for this not to happen.  She left.  The expectation on my part being that she would bring the utensils needed to eat the food which was teasing my sensory glands.  It was like torture to have this wonderfully smelling appetizing food in front of me with nothing to eat it with - except my hands.  

Finally I resorted to eating my roast beef and mashed potatoes covered with gravy with my hands.

Messy but it worked.

Eventually another server entered the room and I flagged her down and asked her to look at our table and tell me what was wrong with the picture.  She didn't know.  Until I pointed out that the utensils needed to eat it with were missing.

She brought the cutlery.  I didn't have to eat my entire meal with my fingers.

However, this behaviour continued with our server at every single table she worked at in that room.  She never did give people their cutlery until well after she'd served them their food.

I had a session with my amazing counsellor soon after that experience and she asked me if that server had been wearing a white bonnet meaning she was a Mennonite.  She said that the Mennonites were really good at passive aggressive behaviour. 

That was how I'd realized that this server's behaviour was passive aggressive.

That was the basis for how my being able to recognize passive aggressive began.

The behaviour was passive on her part while it became aggressive on mine.

Because I became aggressive in my pursuit to enjoy my meal in a timely fashion, I became the wrong doer.  She  became the "innocent" victim of this very aggressive customer.

She became the winner.

*****

I'm going to stop her now and continue on this passive aggressive theme in my next blog post eventually (hopefully) revealing how it manifested itself in the workplace through the one coworker "B".  But first I want to reveal and examine other instances of passive aggressive workplace.

The (perceived) Bully in the Pharmacy

Bullies are not confined to the workplace - or the schoolyard.  They're not confined to being your coworker, supervisor - or your schoolmate.  They can be anywhere and everywhere.  They can be your neighbour, your pastor, another rider on the bus ... anybody at anytime who happens to cross your path whether for a brief period of time or, as in the case of a neighbour, schoolmate or workmate, long term.  

A bully can be anyone.

You're not going to be able to recognize a bully by how they look.  But rather by how they act.  By their behaviour and characteristics.

I had an experience last week at a local pharmacy while trying to get my husband's prescription filled, I want to describe in this blog post why I believe I was interacting with a workplace bully.

Note: I used the word perceived in parenthesis in the title because in a sense it is my perception that this person may be a workplace bully.  However, my thesis that she is a bully is based on her behaviour and how it matched up with my experience with bullies in the workplace.

*****

As most things in life, this is part of a story. As you probably know by now, I like to tell things in a story.  As part of a whole.

Hubby needed to get his license renewed and needed a medical.  Hubby does not go to the doctor until absolutely necessary which in this case was for this medical.  I have no idea when was the last time he darkened the doors of the doctor's office.

He also doesn't like to take medicine which, again, is a contributing factor in this story aka drama.

His BP was high so the doctor asked him to restart the medication he was on and which he had not been taking, for a short period of time and then come back and see him on a specified date to see what effect being back on the medication had on his BP.  New appointment made.

So far, so good.

He discovered that the medicine he had on hand was old.  Very, very old.  As in last time refilled was 2015.  We're in 2018.

Oops.

Not so good.

So he dutifully went to the pharmacy he uses, a large chain type, to have it filled and got an earful and a refusal from the pharmacist.

She not only refused to fill it - which was reasonable - but she also refused to fax a prescription request to the doctor insisting, no demanding, that hubby see the doctor.

Ummmm.  Do you see a problem here?  Hubby had already seen the doctor and wasn't about to take another bite of time (unpaid) off work when he'd seen the doctor just two days before and had another appointment in 12 days to see him again.

Hubby is also going to take the path of least resistance so when the pharmacist says no, he's not going to go any further.

But he is going to fume and fuss.

This is where little wifey, me, comes in.

I dial the doctor's phone number and handed the phone to hubby.  I also had it on speaker phone before I handed it over.  The receptionist advised him to ask the pharmacist to fax over a prescription request and they would go from there.

You would think this would solve the problem, right?

Wrong.

Here is where the bully enters stage left.  Or was it stage right?  Or was she on the stage the entire time?

Again, I dailed the phone number, put it on speaker phone and went through all the press 1 for this, press 2 for that, press 3 if you're going to H-E-double hockey sticks (this one part of my weird sense of humour) and handed him the phone.  He began explaining the situation and what was needed to the person on the other end of the line who cut him off midstream saying that they could not possibly fill the prescription.

I took over the phone and explained in a no nonsense way what the physician's receptionist had said to do and that we wanted them to fax a prescription request over.  The phone call ended.

I assumed that this person would do as requested BUT I had my doubts.

Several hours later on my way back from my errands that day, I found myself passing that pharmacy so stopped by to enquire the status of his prescription.

Oops!  Not one of my better ideas.

I found myself talking to the same voice, same mannerisms, same rushed talking as I'd heard on the phone with my husband.

I was asked if we'd received a phone call to say that the prescription had been filled and given the perception that a person was not to just come in unless they had received a phone call.

It turned out the person had never sent the requested fax in the first place.

She indicated that the word "fax" was incorrect.  That us or the doctor asking for a fax was just plain wrong.  So I switched to the word "call".

She denied that our conversation several hours earlier had ever taken place.

I kept explaining in logical order the timeline of events, that hubby had seen the doctor, what the doctor wanted, the series of events both in his personal visit and later phone call several hours earlier.

At that point, she told me I was getting upset and I had to go "over there".

I pointed out that I was trying very hard to be calm.  At which point, she went "over there" to the pharmacist spewing words like fast flowing lava from her mouth.

The pharmacist was the same person hubby had talked to in person earlier.  So I went through the entire timeline once again.  That hubby had seen the doctor, what the doctor's wishes were, what the doctor's office had said to do about the prescription being very old.  Eventually, the pharmacist relented and sent a fax requesting a new prescription for hubby.  But only AFTER she had requested that the first person send the fax and be refused.

These are all signs of a bully in the workplace.

Turning the tables to indicate that the other person is wrong even when they are right; denying events or conversations; talking over people; refusing to listen especially refusing to listen to logic; accusing the targeted person of being emotional, in this case being upset, even if they are not showing outward signs of being upset.

All of these things - and more - conspire to put the bully in a position of power and control and reduce the target's power and control over the situation.

*****

I was a customer.  Someone who may or may not cross her path again.

I don't work with this woman; however, I came away with the distinct impression that I was dealing with a workplace bully because in my experience one person is never completely in the wrong while the other is completely in the right.

There were too many things that just didn't add up.

Along with that impression came the question:  "Is this person targeting someone inside the pharmacy staff, in that little office, to bully?"

In my experience in the workplace, I observed the same kinds of behaviours that were being inflicted on me consistently and constantly also being lobbed at others on occasion as this (perceived) bully in the pharmacy was lobbing behaviours at me, a customer she's never seen before in her life - and probably will never see again.

I wonder ....

The Day The Laptop Died

At the Height of the Storm

I'd like to say that it was a day like any other day.

But it really wasn't.

It was a day which began with me feeling weak and shaky.  Day two of feeling weak and shaky.

A day when so many things went sideways.  Little things in the reality of life, I guess.

But still frustrating things.

I call this ...

... The Day The Laptop Died.

*****

I'd accepted a date more than a month ago to babysit the grands while their parents went to a wedding.

When I accepted this date, neither hubby nor I realized that he would be on call that weekend.

Oops! First mistake.

One of the grands has just been diagnosed as being on the autism spectrum - high functioning but still with quirks.  Another has high anxiety.  Each condition has to be acknowledged and worked with.

My daughter is wonderful dealing with these things.  Hubby does pretty well as well.  Me?  I'm hopeless.  Give me a place on the couch, a book, my laptop to work with and I'm fine.  Interacting with people especially young people even if they're very special young people in my life is something I am not well suited for.

Yet, even being willing to go outside my little hidy hole, my home, and interact with other people for a prolonged period is a huge sign on the road to recovery.

We also have no idea of what my physical condition is going to be at any given time.  It changes daily.  Sometimes hourly.

In order to prepare, I basically did two days work in one day - even though I was feeling weak and shaky when I woke up the day before.

By the time the day before the babysitting adventure was over, I had done the grocery shopping (normally a Saturday chore done with hubby); the week's laundry (again normally a Saturday chore); prepared a meal for the next day and the Friday evening meal as well.

Each task done slowly and mindfully with rest breaks in between.

You would think that with all that preparation I had it made in the shade.

However, life is what happens when you have other plans.

Unfortunately.

It seemed like the day of the actual babysitting regardless of my preparation was destined to go sideways from the start.

I had a small crockpot of bean dip in the back of my SUV which turned over on the way to my daughter's house when I had to jam on the brakes when the driver in front of me suddenly reduced his speed from 60 khm to 30 khm.

Very unhappy face here.

We had quite the  mess to clean up right off the bat.

I had brought five chocolate bars one for each of us, three grands and two grandparents, which I laid out on the kitchen table.  Unfortunately, part of autism involves sensory over logic.  So four of the chocolate bars "mysteriously" disappeared.  Which made the one grand I haven't mentioned, the middle grand, furious.  Sibling rivalry ensued.

Hubby got called out just a couple of hours later for a service call.  He never did return except to come back quickly to eat supper and unplug the toilet.

Yep, that's right the plumber had to do a "service" call at our daughter's home that day.

Thing gone wrong #4.

The little one with autism refused to eat the food I had prepared because I hadn't learned the nuances of his brain.  He doesn't like tacos.  Calling it taco filling caused him to go into his "I don't like" mode.  I learned later if I had called it burrito filling or even savoury meat filling, things might have gone differently.

And then, to top off all the frustration and aggravation of the day, somehow water got spilled on the kitchen table where my laptop was residing during a physical dispute between the two youngest grands.  It turns out that the middle grand was in the younger grand's (the one with autism) space and caused him to act out.

Oh dear.

The laptop went blank and all my coping mechanisms went with it.

All the plans I had in my head went down with the laptop.  I couldn't watch DVDs on the laptop.  I had numerous blog postings both in my head and started on the laptop which I had planned to work on that day.

I was effectively dead in the water.

Another unhappy face.

No hubby as an alter ego who is much better and more interactive with the grands, their parents at a wedding, the toilet, the previous aggravation - all these conspired to bring me down.  When I saw down, I meat DOWN.  Waaayyyy down emotionally.

Even so I still had to carry on and get through the day and worry about the laptop later.

Actually I didn't worry about the laptop later, I worried constantly about what I was going to do if I had to replace it.

And then to add insult to injury as they said, when all was said and done, the day was over, the parents had returned and my son in love was carrying things out to my car, a container with salad fixings fell on the asphalt of the parking lot spilling it's contents on the parking lot.

At that point, I totally gave up.

I don't want to adult any more.  I'm going to child.  Or maybe cat.

*****

I discovered things about myself that day.  Not good things.

I started back into the negative self talk about not being good enough which is a step backward.  Or maybe two or three steps backward and had to be corrected.

Even though in my mind I knew it was nothing more than an accident, I wanted to blame people.  More specifically I wanted to blame the one with autism.  But is it his fault that which I have a basic understanding of the condition, I don't know the specifics of how to deal with him when things go awry?

It's kind of like me with PTSD and trauma and most people don't even have a modicum of understanding about these conditions.  They simply lay blame and back off.  They don't want to deal with it.  Not only are my conditions misunderstood by the majority of people but I feel that I am misunderstood when things come up.

I also discovered how dependent I am on my schedules and routine and that anything, no matter how small or insignificant in the daily flow of life for other people, has the power to push me off the path towards recovery at least for a while until I can pull back enough to regain my equilibrium.

Regaining equilibrium. 

A key factor on the road to recovery.

*****

Other life circumstances have occurred since that fateful day: a wind storm with hurricane strength winds accompanied by a power outage; the destruction of my new tubular vinyl greenhouse in said windstorm; a piece knocked off by ornamental lighthouse during the windstorm; seedlings tossed about and needed to be repotted.  All of which require not only time and attention but energy on the road to recovery.

To top it off, I got called for jury duty selection which I attended yesterday.  I was not selected this time, but all of us who were not selected or excused have to go back again.  

The lap which was out of commission for five days has been seen by a technician who got it rebooted; however, the laptop has been declared vintage by the manufacturer so parts are no longer available.  Some of the keys on the keyboard don't work, so we have activated what is called a workaround in the workplace.  We bought a cheap, plastic, huge keyboard and mouse combo.  It may be clumsy but it works.  At this point that is all that matters.

The lighthouse has been put back together and repainted.

The tubular greenhouse has been put back together; however, the vinyl covering is kaput so we are currently working on a workaround for that.

The seedlings?  Some of them have survived; some did not.  Those that did will be in the process of being repotted as it is too early yet in my climate to plant them in the garden as tempting as that idea is.

Did I mention that summons for jury duty selection?  That too has come and gone since the day the lap-top died.  Since the wind storm.  It too has come and gone.  And I've survived once again.

Life is what happens when we have other plans.

Recovery happens in how we face those challenges.

After the Cleanup

Transitions

Just like as in life itself, there are seasons on the road to recovery.  Not as predictable as the cycle of Fall, Winter, Spring and Summer, but still there are seasons.

Seasons that come and go, sometimes without warning.  Not in a predictable sequence.  Yet, they are there.

A friend who met me in a writers meet up she is heading likens this season in my life as seeing Suzanne start to bloom as is Spring is coming in Suzanne's life and in her journey towards recovery.

Here in southern Ontario, we're attempting to move from winter to spring but with some upheavals in the process.  Such as the ice storm here two weeks ago.

Today, my blog will be mostly in pictures.

Starting with the ice storm.

Footsteps

A new addition: my vinyl greenhouse

View from the window after the ice storm

View from inside the (cold) vinyl greenhouse during the storm.

Another view from inside.  I just happen to like this picture which is why I've included it.

 Fast forward in your minds.  Two weeks later.  After the clean up from the ice storm.  After the shovelling out.  After the storm has passed and the sun began to shine and melt the sleet, ice pellet, rain, freezing rain and snow mess. 

This is what I found under all the mess.  Still alive.  Not only alive but thriving.  The ice storm and accompanying freezing temperatures and snow, etc., didn't detour what was in the ground and coming up from the ground one bit.  It only strengthened them and made them all the more beautiful once the bitter cold departed.

The following pictures were mostly taken on Saturday.  The transition from winter to spring is still ongoing.  Changing daily.  One day I'm sure the worst of winter is behind us and Spring is ... well ... spring.  The next day, it's chilly again.  Cloudy.  The sun has gone AWOL or UA or whatever term you like.

Yet, Spring is coming in its own way, in it's own time and schedule.

Miniature Iris planted last fall

A Hellebore which had started to bud before the storm and picked up right where it left off when the storm hit.

Close up of the hellbore

Hyacinth

I've forgotten the name but again one of the earliest spring flowers

Closeup of the miniature iris

Daffodil (duh!) getting ready to bloom any day now.

This picture included just for fun: a black capped Chickadee which just happened to fly into my car the other day.

So what am I trying to convey to you, my reader, in this blog which is mostly pictures?

It is just this, recovery is happening.  Daily.  Slowly.  In it's own time.  I can't rush it.  I can't plan it.  

At times, I have to simply endure it.

At other times, I can enjoy it.

Above all, I can cherish the memories of the journey and be proud to call myself a survivor.

Until next time.

Recovery Is Always The Darkest ...

After a series such as I've just finished writing, it is always difficult for me to switch gears and start over.  Either with another series or with individual posts on various relevant topics related to either workplace abuse, it's aftermath or recovery.

There are so many different facets.  Partially because each situation is distinctly unique in its own way and because each individual has a different background, personality, etc. and, therefore, handles things differently.

Yet, there are also commonalities among us such as the chronic which slips in unannounced and largely at that time unnoticed after weeks or months.

*****

My last post left off after we returned home after a two week camping trip in what is called the "near North" of Ontario which is where I became aware of symptoms and their coming impact on my life.

I don't think I realized at that time just how far reaching and long lasting these impacts would be.

I thought that these symptoms would pass.  That I would get better, feel "normal" soon.  By "normal", i mean what for me was normal.  Regaining my sense of self, my energy, emerging from the fog of depression.

Unfortunately, these things did not happen.

In fact, recovery more than six years later is still on ongoing process.  An ongoing battle if you will.  The symptoms, at least most of them, may be not as severe as there were in those bleak days post returning from that vacation, but they're still there.  Still needing to be reckoned with.

I look at those months post that vacation as black.

I thought at that time that if I kept on with what was now a normal life/routine for me attending church, women's weekly Bible study at the church, etc. that I would come out of the fog of depression.

The problem is that my body was clamouring with unmet needs at that time as well.

I realized that I had to modify my behaviour/plan when I went to a weekly women's Bible study even though I really wasn't feeling up to it because I wanted to continue doing what I normally would do.  My face felt flushed.  I wanted to leave.  I saw a friend leaving early and wished I could too.  

At the end of the meeting, the leader asked for prayer requests and I asked for prayer as my husband had just been laid off suddenly from his job of 14 years.  My agreement with my former employer was about to expire so while I had been worrying about how we were going to downsize from two paycheques to one; I was now faced with the fact that we would be doing from two to zero.

It that doesn't depress you, nothing will.

One lady asked me what I had done.  I hesitated, unsure how to answer her question when another lady piped up and said "Not you, your husband."  I started to cry.

I felt so misunderstood.  So dismissed.

I left the building sobbing.  I got into my car and drove around to the back of the building.  I wanted so bad to die.  I felt so worthless.

I called my husband who dropped everything and came to where I was.  I called my adult daughter who stayed with me on the phone until my husband arrived.  (Thank God for cell phones.)

I realized during the aftermath of that incident that I could no longer go on as I had been.  But I was confused: when the problem is emotional the recommended path towards healing is to keep on with your regular routine whether you feel like it or not.  If you eat at a certain time usually, then continue doing that.  If you regularly participate in an activity, then continue on with that activity.  I had done it before and it had worked to keep some sense of normalcy in my life.

But now, my body was screaming at me to lie down, to sleep, that it could not go on any longer.  So what does one do when both the physical and the emotional are present at the same time?

I asked my therapist and she promptly said: "The physical always takes precedence."  If you have to lie down, then lie down.  If you are physically unable to do certain things, then listen to your body.

So I listened to my body which was telling me that it had absolutely no energy, that it was weak.  Sometimes I would feel so weak I would shake.

At times I was unable to stay out of bed for hours.  Day after day, I would be forced by  my body to lie down.  At times, I couldn't read or sleep.  I was able to pray though and that helped.

Talking to people was exhausting to me.  Sitting up was also exhausting.  I could only sit for about an hour or less.

I contacted my pastor to let him know that I was not angry at anyone (in fact I had taken steps to let the woman know who had caused me to cry that I was not angry with her or anyone else), but that I would not be attending church for a while simply because I was physically unable to get up, to get dressed, and to face a lot of people.  It took weeks before he responded.

I voluntarily stopped driving as my cognitive skills were so low that I felt I wasn't safe behind the wheel of a car.  Hubby drove me to out of town counselling appointments.  If he was unavailable, I was able to get others who were willing to drive 45 km each way so I could have my counselling appointments.

Hubby became my caregiver during those months.  

Whatever needed to be done, meals, whatever, he did.

Eventually, I was able to go out again in small, carefully controlled doses.  We went to church but arrived after the service had started which minimized the anxiety of noise from chatter and dealing with people.  We stayed as long as I felt able to which at the beginning was I think about 15 minutes.  We did things carefully and mindfully.  Eventually I started going grocery shopping with hubby.  I could not walk in a straight line.  My balance was gone.  Hubby would put a grocery cart in front of me to hang on to and it became my version of a wheeled walker. 

Hubby was my protector and encourager.

Of course, there are always people who have issues with how someone is handling their problems.  Some people felt that if I just got up and started doing, pushed through, I would magically get better.

Problem is, my body objected strenuously to that advice.  I tried it.  It hadn't worked.

Eventually, those black weeks morphed into grey.  Dark grey but still lighter than black.

Recovery comes slowly.  It is so slow that it cannot be measured unless one looks back over time and sees where they came from and where they are now.

So it has been with me.

*****

I will stop here for now.  

Someone I met recently who is going through his own journey of recovery told me that while he likes my writing style, he has problems with my content as it triggers him.  It is too close to his experience.

Yet, if you or someone you are close to has come through workplace bullying, perhaps it will help you to look at your loved one with different eyes.  Eyes of compassion.  Eyes of acceptance.  Eyes, even, of love to encourage them and help them on their road.

The Last Stop on the Chronic Journey

KOA Kampin Kabin in Saulte Ste Marie, Ontario where we spent the night
before this part of the adventure

Entering Bear Country

We now begin the last segment of this narrative which involves a double narrative - actually a triple narrative if you include the photographs: the narrative of our travels along with the narrative of the increasing chronic affects/symptoms.

I find it fascinating that this last segment is in bear country as I've always identified myself as a bear such as calling myself mama bear when my children were young and inneundos about the "den" such as not being the youngest bear in the den, etc.

Killbear Provincial Park

However, here we're talking about real life, flesh and blood, growling bears.  Right in our campground.  But fortunately not in our campsite - that we know of.

We're well familiar with the practices involved in clean camping as we did canoe camping prior to this adventure.  Everything that has any smell to it, not just food but deodorant, soap, etc., goes in the locked car or up a tree if you're in the back country with no access to your car.  All coolers, stoves, etc. are also locked in the car.

We'd camped at Killbear Provincial Park years ago when our children were still young.  We saw a bear cub scampering around which was removed.  We never saw a bear that time.

However, this time was different.  Things had changed in the intervening years since that camping trip in the 90s and this one in 2011.

Bear Spray
We've never had to use it so don't
know if it works

As I mentioned, we never saw a bear ourselves this time but nightly we heard the air horns go off meant to scare the bear away.  We talked to people who had been involved in bear encounters in the park.  One man told us that the bear was at the back of his truck ignoring him completely and trying to pry the cover on the bed of the truck loose to get at the goodies underneath it.  Here we were camping in a small tent which a bear could easily rip apart.  There was nothing solid between us and the wildlife. 

Our Camp Site At
Killbear Provincial Park

Scary.

I did what I always do in such situations: i did everything I knew to do and then asked God to take care of the rest.  It's worked in the past; it worked in this instance as well.

We slept and awoke safely in the morning.  There was a camper on the site next to us so they had solid walls between them and any wildlife.  The woman told me in the morning that she'd wondered how we were doing in our little tent.  I told her about doing what I knew to do and then asking God to do the rest.  But she didn't understand what I was saying.

Waiting for the Sunset

You can probably sense a theme in my ramblings about this trip in that we were largely revisiting places we'd been before.  Places that provided at least a semblance of a comfort zone.  Being in our small canoe camping tent rather than our larger one as it created a sense of comfort and safety.  During that time, small became better than large.  Isolated better than crowded.  Nature better than cities.

Tandem Kyack

I could tolerate people in small doses and large distances.  For example, in the next campsite or further along the beach.  But close up and personal, such as in the washroom ... NOOOOOOO.  Hypervigilence, anxiety, fear.  They all came crowding in.  At that point, as these were still in their infancy in my chronic experience, I didn't have the coping skills I've developed since.

Kyacking Georgian Bay

As long as hubby was with me, I was more or less OK.  However, hubbies aren't allowed in the women's wash room.  That I had to figure out how to handle on my own.

Fatigue was also getting increasingly worrisome.  I went to sleep early.  Very early.  And woke up as tired as if I hadn't slept at all.  I often had to lay down mid down unable to move.

Interesting Rock Formation

Yet, contrasting the physical affects was the incredibly rugged yet peaceful scenery we were surrounded by.

Hubby had been wanting to try a tandem kyack, so we did.  It was a beautifully calm day, the day we rented it.  But the weather changed drastically over night and the wind came up.  So the day we took it out at Snug Harbour, the weather and the water were anything but calm.

Sunset

But we went out anyway.  I loved it!  In a kyack, you're down low close to the water and your lower half is enclosed.  The kyack rolled with the waves.  I found it exhilarating.  Like being in a down low, roller coaster with no fear of running off the tracks.

Hubby found it too enclosing for his longer legs.

But what an experience!

Even though that was probably the last of my limited energy for a while to come, I have that memory and those pictures to look back on.  To enjoy.  To remember that even in the bad times, there is something good, something enjoyable.

We left and went to nearby Parry Sound, again another "comfort zone" for me and checked into a motel we'd been to several times before.  By that time, I was so fatigued that I had to rest for several hours lying prostrate and unmoving on the bed before I could even contemplate going out for a meal.

My best purchase ever: a rope hammock so that I could lie down outside rather than in the tent when I couldn't do anything else.

The rugged landscape of that area

Our tent site which while not frequented by a bear during our time there, was visited by deer.

Ready to capture the sunset.  Each day was different.  A final farewell to our adventure.

While this post is the ending of that particular trip, that short segment of my life where the chronic symptoms began, it is not an ending, but rather a beginning.

A beginning of the real journey post workplace abuse towards recovery both physical and psychological.

I hope you will continue with me on the journey.