On the Road to Recovery: Trying Something New

Last month I did something new. 

Not exactly exciting but new – to me.  

More like frightening to be sure.  Way outside of my comfort zone.  Way outside of my little safe place.  The room where I live probably 80-90% of my waking life.  The room where I write, where I knit, where I watch DVDs.  Where my life is safe.  Predictable. Where I am in control.

I started writing this blog posting in a small café in my hometown.  I was sitting in a room in a small cafe with other writers who are writing.  Some chatting, but mostly writing.  Most strangers to each other.

My first meet up meeting ever.

The first meeting for this writers meet up.

All of us were getting our feet wet so to speak.  All of us united together to find a place to write. A few hours without other distractions or disruptions.

For me, the motivation was multiple:  (a) to start writing again; (b) to write without the seductive siren call of the yarn (as mentioned before I can't knit and write at the same time.  Ironically, I wanted to bring my current knitting project with me. That's how hooked I am on creating with my hands); and (c) to start going into the outside world again, to socialize with others.  To socialize with others with whom I (hopefully) have something in common.  In this case writing.

It went well.  Our gathering spot is a local cafe which has a side room with a long table.  Some of us met in this room which proved to be a quiet spot; some met in the main room where there was more noise and activity.

Me ... I found a quiet corner in the side room.

I wasn't ready emotionally to meet people, to fraternize, to socialize, to talk.  I just wanted to be there, to write, to observe.

I just wanted to dip my little toes into the waters of the outside world and see how they reacted.

First I was scared.  Okay, terrified is a better word.  I was going to back out but I told one friend and that one friend encouraged me to go.  She said: "If you don't go, you'll always wonder what you missed."  She was right about that.  What she didn't realize was that if I didn't go to the first ever meeting, I would probably never go.  I would remain scared.  I would prefer to stay in my safe world.  My safe room.

So I got up and went.

Originally, I was frustrated.  As in really frustrated.  I couldn't get on the net.  So yes, I could write using Word but I couldn't write on the net, directly onto my blog - which is what I wanted to do.  Having my laptop with me, I didn't bring pen and paper so the old fashioned way was out.  That was another frustration.

On top of the above, people scare me.  Okay, scare is another understatement.  After my experience in the workplace, people terrify me.  I didn't understand then what people were capable of and I definitely don't want to repeat the experience.

So right away, I had two strong emotions vying for my attention: terror and frustration.  Not a good combo.

But I stayed.

Eventually, I settled down enough to find another way.  To write on Word and then upload what I wanted to onto my computer at home.  It worked.

I got home and had a headache for the next few days.  But mixed with the physical pain, probably caused by the stress of going out on my own, was another feeling:  pride.  I had faced one of my demons, starred it down and had survived.

I. Had. Done. This.

And if I had done this, this one small thing, I know I can do more.  Little by little.  Step by step.  Piece by piece.

I haven't written since that afternoon in that little cafe, yet I think I made real progress on the road to recovery that day.

I. Went. Out.

I. Left. My.  House.

I voluntarily walked into a situation that was scary and stayed.

Today is again the third Thursday in the month.  The day designated for the writers meet up.

Today, I am here again in this quiet room at this big table with other writers. We're a very quiet group.  Yet, there is comfort in quietness.  There is safety in quietness.

It's not so scary at all.

YAY!

Post Workplace Abuse: Glimpses of Recovery in the Journey

Life post workplace bullying tends to resemble a large-scale construction project like the one currently nearing completion in our neighbour.   Unlike this construction project, our "reconstruction" project has no beginning, middle or end.  At least, not one we can see with our eyes.  Yet, the signs of recovery are there.  We just have to look harder for them.

********

As I was pondering what to write about today, one theme kept recurring to me.  Life post workplace bullying.

What does life post workplace bullying look like?  Really look like?  Is it all dark and gloomy?  It's definitely not all fun.  There seem to be periods of both intertwined in the journey.  Sometimes in the same day.

There are flare ups, to be sure, such as what I've been experiencing with our mail situation, yet even in the middle of those flare ups, there were still positive signs of recovery.  Such as two days ago when we needed some groceries and hubby was too worn out from working.  Since he now has three jobs to try to pay the bills, it's hard to schedule a day off and he gets tired working seven days a week.  We needed groceries - and I felt alert and alive enough to go out alone and get them.

For most people, this is not noteworthy.  In my past life this was never a problem.  In my present life, I rarely go places alone.   But two days ago, I went out alone without a backward glance - or a qualm.  For once, I felt strong.  Even after a week fraught with strong feelings of anger, rage, etc.  Fraught with flashbacks of the past and a resurgence of physical affects, I felt emotionally stronger than normal.  I'm not sure why.

I chose to go to a different store than normal, one smaller.  One unfamiliar to me.  One where you have to bag your own items.  No one does it for you.  Other than the fact that the stress from the episode of workplace bullying has caused eye problems and while I can see the "big" pictures i.e. large things like people, carts, etc., the small details are a problem.  Especially in a different store.  I needed honey.  Where was the honey?  It was hard for me to see individual items and read the signs.  So I slowed down and took it easy.  I decided it would be an adventure.  And it was.  Eventually I found everything on my list - and a few things that were not - and headed to the cashier.  As luck would have it, one cashier was just finishing up with a customer.  And she had a smile to die for!  In addition, she was kind and had a radiant personality.

One of my daughters called while I was out and was shocked to hear that I was grocery shopping alone.  Unaided.  Unprotected.

I was proud of myself too.  I went out, alone, unprotected and survived!  Hubby?  He'd been worried and was just glad I made it home in one piece - rather than in pieces.

It's incidents like that that give me hope for full recovery.  That show me in concrete ways that though I felt I was relapsing with all the "yucky" emotions and symptoms reappearing, that in the midst of all the bad, yucky stuff, there are concrete, irrefutable signs of recovery.  Those are what I need to look for.  And focus on.  Not the other, transitory stuff like emotions.

Emotions come and go.  There is really nothing bad about them per se, I've learned.  It's what the person chooses to do with them.

*******

I think I'll stop here today and simply bask in that one moment of concrete recovery.  Something that I've not been able to do before.  Something, that even though I'd had an emotionally - and physically - bad week shows that recovery is still slowly happening.

There are more stories about seemingly small things.  Things like going into what I felt was the whale's belly (referring to Jonah in the Bible) when my daughter accompanied me to Canada Post's distribution centre yesterday to pick up our accrued mail.  

Life ... is what happens when we have other plans.

Life has thrown me several curve balls - and continues to throw them regularly just to see what I'll do with them.

Until tomorrow....

Post Workplace Abuse: Life Goes On ... and on and on and on

As I've pointed out before in this blog, life doesn't stop because you're going through trauma.  Life goes on.  Hour by hour, day by day, week by week, month by month and year by year.  Deaths, birthdays, life changes, illnesses, etc.

Saturday, I experienced a significant milestone on my journey:  my 65th birthday.  I am officially a senior citizen now.

Significant events cause me to look back over the past year and realize what the most significant events in my life were.  What means the most to me now as opposed to a year ago, two years ago, etc.?

What means the most to me now is family ... and friends.  Those people who have walked with me closely in this journey.  Those people who have never given up on me.  Like my husband, my daughter, her husband, my grands.

Today's blog will be about my birthday in 2013 ... just because ....

The trailer their gear was stowed in

The children's song goes "the wheels of the bus go round and round, round and round, round and round.  The wheels on the bus go round and round all day long."

So did the wheels on the bicycles of a group of people of all ages and from all walks of life who rode from Sea to Sea last year raising funds for poverty and awareness of poverty.  They lived out of baskets (two each, I think) on this trailer for the summer.  They slept in tents and on floors mostly.  And they rode their bicycles six days a week through every kind of weather imaginable - except for snow.

They started in California last year, rode through deserts and very, very hot weather, so hot that the tour had to be suspended for a few days and the riders and their bikes driven to another point around the very hot weather.  On August 9th, 2013 (my birthday) they drove through our area stopping for the night within a few miles of our house.

I had wanted to drive my bike with adult training wheels to meet them ... but was not able to do that.  My body simply had not recovered enough strength to do that.  I had wanted to have someone drive me to the nearest interesection so I could wave at them as they rode by and possibly hand out goodies.  That didn't happen either.

What did happen, though, was that my daughter and grands came by and we went to their stopping place for the night and gave them a variety of chocolate bars.  We even got to meet some of the riders (the early birds, the go-getters).

A rider picking out his candy bar.

Ok, Cassie so what does this have to do with you and your birthday?  Nothing really.  Yet it had to do with my journey of recovery.  I loved to bike, but last year it became evident that I

Early birds got the responsiblity of throwing all the gear i.e. tents, sleeping bags, etc. out of the trailer.

This was significant to me because although I was, and am still, totally incapable of doing such an arduous undertaking, my heart was with these guys and I was following their adventures from the beginning of the ride to the end via their blogs.

An early bird setting up his tent.  As I recall this was quite a victory in this man's life as he had had to leave the tour earlier due to heart problems and had recovered significantly enough to rejoin the tour.  Cool, eh?

And this was just the start of my celebration last year.

We then went to a local fast food Mexican place in our area and bought take out Mexican food to enjoy at home.  While there, my daughter and grands explored the back yard.  Just prior to my birthday, we'd had several bad windstorms and the privacy fence between our yard and our neighbour's up close to the house had been blown down resulting in a pile of boards to be inspected by curious grands and daughter.

Also to be written on by one very mischievous daughter - with help from her daughter.

And then there was my garden.  The Rose of Sharon was in bloom (it's not this year as we had such a late spring).

Smiling at me in all their glory as if to say "Happy Birthday".  We're glad you've survived another year.

The black-eyed Susans which, in and of themselves almost make an outdoor, living bouquet blooming in profusion where they're planted.

But that wasn't the end of the day.  We decided on the spur of the moment to have a laid back, low key birthday party in the park bringing in food from a favourite take-off which specializes in Southern barbecue at its best.  Because frankly I wasn't up to anything else, so my family determined to make my day a celebration even with my various limitations.

It turns out that my birthday was a special day for other people as well.  Me and my camera.  I could not resist taking a picture of this bride and groom as they were having their wedding pictures taken in the park.

And, of course, there were the gardens in the park in full bloom.  Beautifully landscaped.  It seemed to me that day that they were there for my pleasure.  To soothe my battered soul.

Whatever....  I did enjoy them though.

And then the family started to show up.

Hubby, daughter, the grands, son-in-love,  and his parents.  All there just because they value me.  Just because they wanted to celebrate this special day with me.  Just because ....

I felt loved....

Bonus!  They even bought and brought an ice cream cake to the park to make the perfect ending of a good day.  How they kept it from melting is a well-kept secret.

Unfortunately, the party ended very early as the fatigue was in full force that summer and I became too tired to sit up.  I guess that when the birthday girl has to leave, the party's over.

But it was good while it lasted.

Very good.

*******

I chose to remember last year's birthday in this blog rather than the most recent one two days ago, because it was another milestone on my road to recovery.  The realization that life - and enjoyment of life - is not over just because a person is still in the process of recovery.  Life can still be good.  Full of challenges, yet still good.  Different - yet still good.

As I look back on this year a year ago, I realize what is most important to me at this stage in my recovery. 

My family.

Because they're the ones who are in it for the long haul.

May God bless them richly.

Until tomorrow ... where we'll see where the deranged mind rambles next.

Post Workplace Abuse: The Significance of Trauma in our Lives and our Recoveries

There are quite a few possible postings waiting, not so patiently in my mind, to be explored after writing my last posting about the visit by the church staff member. 

The two most pressing issues are:  trauma and continuity.  Both of which not only played a large part in what happened in my safe room that day but in my journey towards recovery.  

Of course, there are always perceptions and assumptions.  If you don't understand the role trauma plays in a person's entire life - in my case post workplace abuse - you simply will have no idea where the person is coming from, why they say the things they do and why they act the way they do.

*******

 As I've said before, I love H. Norman Wright's book, Helping those Who Hurt:  Compassionate and Practical Ways to Offer Comfort, because he writes in language which everyone can understand.  Because he knows what he's talking about.  Because he doesn't preach.  He simply explains.  You don't have to by a psychologist or psychiatrist to understand what he is saying.  This particular book which I bought early on in what I now call Phase I of my recovery process - after the first episode of workplace where trauma ate at me like a cancer because it was undiagnosed and, therefore, untreated - has been invaluable in my recovery process.  I call it my "Bible".

So today, looking into trauma I will let Mr. Wright do most of the speaking.

H. Norman Wright writes:

Trauma has many effects.  It shatters our beliefs and assumptions about life, challenges our belief that we have the ability to handle life, and tears apart our belief that the world is a just and orderly place to live.  That's quite dramatic, isn't it?  Whether it's your friend or you, here is what to expect:   

Trauma leads to silence: I don't have the words to describe it.

Trauma leads to isolation:  No one seems to understand or enters into the experience I had.

Trauma leads to feelings of hopelessness:  There was no way to stop what happened or the memories of what happened.  (chapter 7, pg. 75).

And this is just for starters.

In chapter 6, pg. 70, he goes on to write under a subheading called "What's Trauma Like?"

What we used to see as a safe world is no longer safe.  What we used to see as a predictable world is no longer predictable.  

Before I make any comments about either of the two quotes above, I'm going to add one more which I feel is pertinent to understanding trauma and it's impact on the victim.

Perhaps not as obvious is the emotional wounding caused by trauma.  Our psyche can be so assaulted that our beliefs about ourselves, our life, our will to grow, our spirit, our dignity, and our sense of security are damaged.  ... In trauma they have difficulty bouncing back because they feel derealization (Is this really happening?) and depersonalization (I don't know what I really stand for anymore). (chapter 6, page 71).

Bingo.  Bingo.  And bingo.

All three of these quotes reverberate at the very core of my essence.

My beliefs and assumptions about life, especially about life being fair and orderly, were ripped apart in the workplace by four years of escalating bullying.  By four years of increasingly being put on the proverbial hot seat for everything I said or did.  Even my beliefs, i.e. being a Christian, were called into question and ridiculed.

At the end, my co-workers were running to the supervisor consistently with frivolous complaints such as saying hello to a co-worker (I kid you not, it really happened and I got grilled for two hours about that one), telling a co-worker who was standing in the middle of our small office, talking loudly and over me and waving her arms "I'm sorry, you hurt me.  I'm sorry.  Good-bye." As I then walked out of the office after my shift was done.  I got a phone call at 8:21 the next morning inquiring about that one.  By the time I walked into the workplace later that day, it had already gone to HR. (That resulted in my first stress breakdown.)  What?  And then there was the trainee who decided she didn't want to be trained and ran towards the supervisor's office because I had simply told her that we didn't do something she was doing.  The supervisor had already gone home for the day, but I knew how this was going to play out from previous experiences.  The supervisor felt that I was the problem.  I was in error.  She had already asked me such questions as:  "How do you think I feel when I come in to an email like this?" (referring to the email from the co-worker who was waving her arms and talking loudly.)

How does she, i.e. my supervisor, feel?  Is that really the question here, how she feels?

I don't think in hindsight that that was the real question here.  The better question would be how do I, the accused, feel about these complaints.  This consistent barrage?  How do I feel when a co-worker accuses me of disrespect when I say hello?  And, more importantly, why does she feel that she can do that?

My world, my beliefs, were shaken to the core by these events and many more.  My world was no longer a safe place.  Certainly, my work situation was not safe for me.  My subsequent actions, my thoughts, reflected that.

I had always felt that if you treated others respectfully, they would treat you respectfully.

Not true.  Not in this workplace.

And there is more.  Much more.

But for now, I will stop and let you chew on what I've written today.

*******

Emotional trauma is real.  It's not like physical trauma where you can see the injuries, the blood, etc.  But it's there.  Hiding inside.  Invisible to the naked eye.  But there.  Real to the person who has experienced the trauma.  

Recovery from trauma takes time.  It takes effort.  It takes energy.  It takes people walking alongside you to hold up your leaning side.

Most of all, it takes knowledge about trauma and its affects/effects to be able to work through and walk through all the things trauma has thrown at you.

If only ... the staff member from my church had brushed up on what trauma is and what it does, she could have been more understanding, more empathetic and, most importantly, helpful.

Until tomorrow when we take another step ... or maybe even two ... on the journey home from workplace abuse.

Post Workplace Abuse Debunking the Lies: When Life Intervenes

Life intervened with a crash - literally - one day in late November 2012.

I was already on a stretch on my road to recovery which at that time resembled more of a struggle with a very strong opponent who was determined not to give up any ground then a road or a path.

Then came the crash.  I broke my wrist.  I wrote a post about that period of time in my life called The Worst Six and a Half Weeks of my Life which talked a bit about the impact of my mom's death on my journey and how during the fall of 2012 I was literally unable to function - before I fell and broke my wrist.  Also, how because my journey is through trauma and PTSD post workplace abuse rather than a physical cause such as cancer, it was not understood by those around me who would have been in a position to offer some help i.e. my church and, therefore, I was virtually walking through it alone, unaided.

Today though, I want to look on the impact that one slice of life, that of breaking my wrist, had on debunking the lies.  In a way no one would ever have thought - least of all me.

When all was said and done and the cast came off revealing a swollen, painful mess, it became apparent that I would need therapy to regain the use of my wrist.

By that time, we had no benefits.  Mine had ended with my job more than a year earlier.  My husband's had ended with his.  Yes, you heard right.  We were both jobless - and for all intents and purposes still are - at the same time.  His job of 14 years ended with the decline of development in our area which was concurrently at the same time my exit package from the workplace ended.  So we had gone from two incomes and two sets of benefits to 0 - in the same timeframe.

Hubby managed to get a job for six weeks here, another part-time for a while there, etc.  At the time I broke my wrist, he had been working steadily for a company for the better part of a year and things looked promising.  In fact, according to the promises made at the interview, he was to receive benefits after three months.  By the time I broke my wrist, he had worked there for over six months. By the time the cast came off and therapy was needed, he had worked there approximately - or almost - eight months.

So the perception and assumption would be that he had benefits through his employer which would cover therapy for my wrist.  However, I had a niggling sense that something was not right.  Nothing I could put my finger on, just a sense.  I couldn't even put it into words really at that time.  And I still can't now - over a year later.

Wrong.  His boss had never signed him up for benefits.

Worse yet, when we inquired if he had benefits, he was laid off two hours later.

Although we asked directly and were told that his lay off had nothing to do with the inquiry re: benefits, and my need of them for therapy, I'm afraid that my entire cognitive, intuitive skill set along with logic and common sense were screaming big time that the lack of benefits was why he was laid off.

So there we were.  Our sole income suddenly yanked out from under us.  No benefits.  No pay check.  No warning.

*******

I'm sure you've all heard the saying:  "When life gives you lemons, make lemonade."

By that time, I was very tired of making lemons with some very sour lemons - and I'm not all that fond of lemonade to begin with, so I took the first part of one saying and the second part of another and came up with this one:

"When life gives you lemons, get the hell out of Dodge!"

So we did.  We went to North Myrtle Beach because I needed desperately to think, to pray, to get my head together.  I needed to get out of the situation here for a while.

This is actually where the great search for the web cam described in yesterday's blog occurred.  This is where the beginning of confronting the lie about perceptions and assumptions began.

This is where life began to change for me.  Where a significant piece on the road to recovery began.  Not in a 180 degree circle in one full sweep.  But slowly. One small pivot at a time.

Using our combined skills to find the earth cam and to realize that there was indeed a skill set there.  That we had to act upon our perceptions and assumptions not only to find the thing, but also in life.  As well, the beginnings of the realization that everyone has their own set of perceptions and assumptions and that does not make them bad people.  It simply makes them human and able to navigate through life.  It is what it is.  Perceptions - and assumptions - are what they are.  Period.

*******

Today's post serves as a bridge.  A piece of background.  A sort of passage from one experience in the side path of debunking the lies of perception and assumption to another side path which not only is equally valuable but led to another breakthrough in debunking the lie.

Today, may you enjoy whatever path in life you find yourself on.

Until tomorrow ....

My Key to Recovery post Workplace Abuse: Debunking the Myth ConcerningPerceptions and Assumptions

I cannot remember the first time I heard the phrase "perceptions and assumptions" from my supervisor's lips.  I only remember the impact.

The words were clearly enunciated.  The middle syllables on both words - cept on perceptions and sumpt on assumptions - were stressed with the p's and t's at the end of both syllables clearly enunciated.  To my psyche, the stressing and enunciating had the effect of a cell door clanging shut.

Which was probably the desired intent.

To demonstrate power and control.

To shut me down.

To render me powerless and defenceless.

If that was the intent, it worked.

Each encounter left me not only feeling bruised and battered emotionally and shut down, but also confused.

What was wrong with the thoughts I was expressing?  With the way my mind worked?

I was trying to present my case in a rational and logical way, and it was not working.

Why?

I clearly remember one occurrence.  (Remember this is only one incident out of a long series of related incidences.)  My supervisor had arranged a meeting with HR at the suggestion of her supervisor.  My "perception and assumption" of the meeting was that it was to see if we could move forward on the issue and bullying.

I spent hours writing a letter which I handed out to both my supervisor and the HR rep.

While we were engrossed in our meeting, the HR rep was listening.  My supervisor was busy reading.

What she read did not make her happy.

One incident I outlined in the letter was the behaviour of one of the major players in the situation.  My "perception and assumption" based on what I was witnessing in the workplace was that she was doing very little in the way of work - while I was busy working my head off.

This person would sit at her computer - when she sat at all - and go on the net, check out this and that, etc.  It became a cat and mouse game as I kept trying to see if she was actually doing any work.  With very little success, I might add.  If she was actually working, she kept it very well hidden.

I had brought up this lack of work activity to my supervisor many times as a major concern.  Her response?  Beside being that it was all about my "perceptions and assumptions" was that I was not to be noticing her at all - which according to my "perceptions and assumptions" is very difficult in a small office with no walls dividing work stations - and that we both had jobs to do and we were both doing them.  End of story.  End of conversation.

Really?  We're both doing our jobs to our supervisor's satisfaction?  When only one of us is doing any real work?

Now here is where a real assumption does come into play.

For my mind, it's not a hard jump to take what I've observed about my co-worker's work - or should I say non-work? - related activities, my supervisor's statement that we both had jobs to do and are doing them to the assumption:  If this is true, then her job is to do nothing work-related.  Followed closely by the thought:  "Where do I go to apply for such a position?"  I mean to show up, sit at the computer for eight hours and surf the net, text message my friends, talk to them on my ever present cell phone, plan my vacations and get paid for it? Hey! This sounds like a dream job (except I'd get bored too easy if I had nothing worthwhile to do).  I said as much in this written document.

My supervisor took issue to this and on her way out the door of the meeting room pronounced:  "Perceptions and Assumptions" before sashaying out.  She also said she wished that I had talked to her about this before I wrote it.  To which I responded:  "I have.  Many times."  There was no further response except to watch her backside swish as she went out the door.

The HR rep never followed up.  At least not to me.

The situation continued unresolved and unchanged for several more years.

Years in which the situation increasingly escalated.

I am working hard to keep this post focused on my key point (no pun intended) re: perceptions and assumptions, which it is not easy.

Workplace abuse aka bullying is very complicated.  For one, there are many different players involved from the bullies to the bystanders to those who should have known better i.e. HR, management and even the union.  It would be so easy to go off onto a tangent at any given point.  

In fact, writing this series is bringing up so many thoughts, memories, etc. that the only way I can focus on the this one key point is to write all the other intrusive thoughts down to give them their time, their opportunity to be heard later.

*******

Tomorrow, July 1st, is Canada Day.  For those of my readers who live in Canada, enjoy your National holiday to the fullest.

A Victory Blog - in Pictures

This is a blog in pictures - with a few captions.  I'm a visual person.  I think, I see, I feel, I communicate in pictures.  Here is my victory....

Enjoy.

The location.

A house converted into an amazing yarn shop - with perhaps the best selection locally

Knitting in public.  Semi.  Sort of.  We were outside in the parking lot which runs alongside and behind the shop.  Cloistered away from the bad big world.  Creating - at least for a few hours - a (safe) world of our own.  Inhabited by the best people on the face of this earth:  knitters (and those who love them anyway)

I won a mug!  My very own momento to remember this victory.
Karin, the proprietor, hiding behind the mug.
I love this woman's hair!

Kate Atherley
Designer.  Her patterns are featured on Ravelry
http://www.ravelry.com/designers/kate-atherley
Knitting instructor

Super Kate!
The theme of the day was super heroes.
So here is Kate wearing her special super hero cape.

This shawl is one of Kate's designs called the Waverley Shawl.  It is asymmetrical.
I got Kate to show me how to wear it.

Another way to wear it wrapped around the head with the hood of your parka over it to keep your head warm on cold, Canadian winter nights.

The yarn dying demonstration by Indigo Dragonfly - creators of hand dyed yarns.
Held behind the shop, these artistes, demonstrated how they dye their yarns.

The Artistes at work doing what they love best - creating color ways with dye.

Cardinal Ruby in the making.  A blend of reds with a touch of black

The girls from the Breast Cancer support fund.

The resident (and friendly) photographer for the day.

Beth Graham
In charge of the Super Hero name generator booth
For the magnificent sum of a toonie, we were able to generate a superhero name for the day - complete with sticker on our nametag.
I was Amazing Superpurler.
Amazing - that's what my therapist always says I am.  She's said it so often, I'm beginning to believe her.
Super. That's cooler
Purler?  Well, there are only two stitches in knitting - so I'm told - knitting and purling.

Notice: how very (non) threatening - and friendly - all these people are.

A safe place.

On the Journey Back: A story of victory

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

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

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

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

It was a victory to be savoured.

And hopefully repeated.

A huge step on the road to recovery.

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

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

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

Life was becoming fun.  Life was good.

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

Relationships had been reinvented.  Restored.

I saw life completely differently than I ever had before.

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

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

But ....

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

They were out for blood.  My blood.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Welcome back me.  I've missed you.

Post Workplace Abuse: A slice of life on the road to recovery

On a recent journey to a small lake-side town in Ontario, I came across this wooden staircase leading down to the outlet to the lake.  I'd never seen this staircase before so I HAD to try it.  To see where it led.  To experience the adventure.  Maybe just once.  It fascinated me.  Not just the staircase itself, but also where it would lead me to.  Would it be a place of interest and discovery?  Or not?  Life on the journey of recovery is like that.  A path never taken.  Never the same way twice.  Always on the brink of discovery.

I had written my last post weeks ago intending to get a move on and start writing - and posting - my blog again.

BUT ...

It didn't happen.

I had wanted to write five or six posts in advance to take the pressure off.

BUT ...

It didn't happen.

Why?

A good question:  why?  A question to which there are at the same time many answers and yet no answers.

My life is an on-going journey.  Like quicksand it comes and goes.  Slipping through my fingers like sands on the beach.

Lately, I've been stuck in what I call the "land of lethargy".  A place where interest fades and initiative lies dormant.  Ditto creativity.

A land where nothing holds interest.  A land where sometimes even watching a 45 minute show on DVD proves challenging.

A land where books are unread, where projects lie unfinished, where pictures are not taken, where blog postings and emails are not written, phone calls not made, intentions not followed up on.  A land of blah, blah and more blah.

YET ...

At the same time, it is a land where there are victories.  Maybe small ones in the scheme of things.  Maybe things most people would not consider a victory, never having walked this particular path, but victories on the road to recovery all the same.

For me, a victory is being able to cook a meal for hubby and myself on a daily basis.  To have that energy, that ability to plan even a simple meal is an amazing victory.  For me.  And for those who know me - and love me anyway.

To take interest in the garden.  To be able to plant new plants - even if it takes me nine days from purchase to final planting - is a victory.  Weeding - also a victory.  Finishing knit and crocheted projects - also a victory.  At one time, I had six on the go at the same time.  Why?  For two I have been lacking the cognitive skills to interpret the patterns even though I've done those patterns before.  For the others, I lacked the interest.  Knitting and crocheting became chores.

Ditto writing.

It became a chore as well.  Something I felt I HAD to do rather than a source of creativity.
If I feel I HAVE to do something ... well ... it gets shelved.

Ahhh, procrastination.  How I love you!  And how I have mastered your fine art!

I got side-tracked originally because I was trying to lay the foundation of what bullying is from a research perspective.

Yet, while I do use research to understand, to grow and to heal, my life is largely a series of daily challenges and incidences.  Victories and, yes, failures.

It is these I want to share with you, dear reader, along with the research.  Along with the foundation.  Interwoven in the threads of this blog.

Just as I am in the process of becoming whole and healthy, so is my blog in the process of becoming.

I ask you to bear with me and join me in the journey of walking through towards recovery from trauma, from PTSD, from workplace abuse.

At the bottom of the stairs, the outlet from the river to the lake.  There were also men working, probably dredging to make it deeper and more navigable.  Across the outlet, was the harbour BUT there was no footpath or bridge to get from here to there - easily.  I had to go up and around which turned out to be a long, hot walk.  I never did make it to the "other" side so to speak.  Once I got up to the road which would lead me across via the town bridge, I was exhausted and headed back to our lodgings.  Recovery is like that.  Isolated moments of beauty.  Times of exhaustion.  Times of rest.