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!

After a Writing Hiatus on the Road to Recovery

Hello!

Again ...

After a long - very long - absence.

Where have I been?

Nowhere really.

Home.  In my little safe place for one.

Knitting.  Crocheting.  Reading.  Watching DVDs.  Playing WebSudoku.  Lots and lots of websudoku.

Sleeping.  Lots of naps due to increased fatigue.

Out and about.  Here and there.

Roaming the nieghbourhood as I'm able.

Taking rides here and there with hubby.

Taking pictures - lots of pictures.  (Is the pope Catholic?)


Sometimes camera in hand.  Sometimes not.

Living life events:  birthdays, anniversaries, holidays, festivals ....

Living life.  The life that's left to me.

Or should I say the new life I'm in the process of creating for myself.

I've been doing everything, it seems, except writing.

Writing is work.  It takes energy.  Which ebbs and flows - seemingly at will.  Unpredictable at best.  Debilitating at worst.

Processing.  Processing.  Processing.

Which takes up energy as well.  Which is in short supply.

Yet there comes a time, to shake off the lethargy and the sadness and tap finger to keyboard to see what, if anything, comes out.

So today, I take the plunge once again.

This may not be the blog posting you've come here to read.  Or come to expect.  But how does one take up the keyboard after months of not only absence, but months of hard work and processing?  After months of intervening experiences - some good; some bad - and life.

I look at life similar to the way I look at a river - continually ebbing and flowing, always the same in some ways, always changing and different in other ways.  Depending on the weather conditions, time of day, lighting, etc. 

Life on the road to recovery is similar to that river.  Always there.  But always ebbing and flowing depending on what is going on at any given time.  Constant; yet constantly changing.

So here I am again.

More on the road to recovery in later posts....

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: Triggers: What brings up the yucky stuff?

There are many facets of recovery post trauma.

One of them is that forgiveness is not always a completely "done deal".

We feel that we have moved on.  Come to terms with parts of the past.  Yet, these ugly memories have a mind of their own.  They come back at inopportune moments when we least expect them.  They rear their ugly heads.  They don't whisper; they don't shout.  They scream for attention.

Triggers.  They bring up the "yucky stuff" when we least expect them.  They bring back all the feelings of anger, rage, helplessness, voicelessness.

*******

None of us are immune to this phenomenon.  I believe we process things as much as we can at any given time and then we feel that they are laid to rest forever.  But they're not forever dead and buried.
Why?

Partially because they're stored in parts of our brain like my photos are stored on Picassa.  There ready to be retrieved when the time is right or, in the case of trauma victims, ripe.

Partially because there is more processing, more recovery yet to be done on the road home.

A wise friend of mine recently told me that she thinks that some things never completely go away.

Some things never completely go away.  Trauma is one of them.  The memories are stored in our brains waiting to resurface when the right trigger comes along.

*******

For the last few weeks I've been struggling with the resurgence of a lot of "yucky" stuff which has thrown me off-balance more than once.  Making me exceptionally vulnerable to triggers which bring up all the "yucky" stuff.

It began with the blog posting entitled Surviving Workplace Abuse:  My leaving story - part 3:  When bullies take control posted on September 8th.  It was probably the hardest blog I've ever written.  It took me three days and left me reeling in it's wake.  Struggling to breathe through all the toxic fumes it brought up.  All the helplessness I felt.  The voicelessness.  That all my power and control had been forcibly stripped from me and given to others.  Others who probably could have cared less - at least about my well being.  All these things came back in force.

That single blog summed up my experience with workplace bullies, their tactics, the toxic atmosphere in the workplace and how it spreads to others.

That single experience in the donut shop was perhaps the most crushing blow I experienced.

I could not even leave the toxic workplace on my own terms.

And yes, I've suffered from the repercussions, the shock waves of that single incident ever since then.

I think writing that post was both good and bad.  Good because it finally got my experience out in the open.  I've come out of the "closet" of being bullied as an adult in the workplace by other adults.

Yet, at the same time it has left me vulnerable in ways I could not have expected.  Vulnerable to triggers I had not yet identified in my journey towards recovery.

Take a few incidents that happened just last week for example:

I've talked in recent blogs about my need for routine as a coping mechanism.  One of my routines is to watch TV series either on the net or on DVD.

On Tuesday I keyed in a TV web site I've used hundreds of times in the past only to discover that it had been blocked by Bell who happens to be my internet service provider.  The frustration I experienced was overwhelming.  After four days of not being able to get into this site, I finally contacted Bell.  After more than an hour with several different people and departments most of them not very helpful, I came away very frustrated.  The frustration escalated to anger.  There was nothing I could do about the situation.  I would have to get Bell to be my service provider for my TV.  Problem.  I Do. Not. Own. A. TV.  Nor have I for the entire 34 years of our marriage.  I. Cannot. Get. A. Service. Provider. For. TV. Without. Physically. Owning. One.  The Bell representatives could not understand this simple concept and it left me feeling helpless, voiceless, with no control over my life.

Sigh.

I felt like I was in the grips of a huge, uncaring monolith that only wanted what it wanted and was determined to get it at all costs.  Paid TV subscribers.  No more "freebies" as in internet access to this particular TV website which Bell apparently has some connection with.  In other words, I felt helpless in this situation once again.  I felt voiceless.  I felt like shit.

I realize that this is a very little thing in the lives of others who are going through other struggles in the world.  Yet, it loomed so very large in my small, isolated, world.  It prevented me from using my coping techniques.

If that wasn't enough, later in the afternoon of that same day, we found a notice in our mailbox that our carrier had complained about "safety" issues in our neighbourhood arising from our street being used as a detour route during a construction project on another street in our area and that our home delivery was being suspended until further notice pending their "investigation".  I felt then - and continue to feel now - that Canada Post is unlikely to realize certain aspects of the situation such as it being a temporary situation which has been on-going for five months now and has approximately one month to go.  So why a complaint now resulting in a cessation of service when the end is in sight? 

What triggered me in this situation?  The lack of power and control.  The helplessness.  The voicelessness.  The fact that there was nothing I could do to change the situation.

It brought up all the "yucky" stuff from my workplace where one individual who didn't want to do the job she was paid to do went to I don't know how many people and got them all to feel that she was the victim here because I wanted her to do her job.  She seemed to know all the right buzzwords to get everyone in the office to become allied with her.  That was my trigger.  In my mind, I am perceiving a Canada Post employee who may not like her job, knows all the right buzz words to use to everyone on her side to deprive an entire street of mail service.  Just. Because. She/He. Can.

The word "investigation" in itself is a huge trigger to my already vulnerable psyche as I've been through several "investigations" during the bullying scenario at work.  I've seen how investigations can be completely subjective and biased.  How they can be manipulated to get the outcome the investigator wants.  In short, I have no faith in any organization to do a fair and unbiased investigation.

This incident fed into all the wounds which I thought had been closed and healed.  Apparently, they're not completely closed or healed.

Again, I felt helpless, voiceless in the face of this monolith called Canada Post.  It doesn't matter what I say.  They're going to do what they're going to do irregardless of any facts based on one person's complaint.

Brain fog has ensued.  Lethargy.  Itching all over from the inside out.  The scalp.  The eyes.  The skin.  You name it, it's there.

And then, the final kicker?  I've applied for life insurance and was turned down.  The company claims it is because of my history of anxiety which is due to the workplace bullying.  Sigh.  At this point, there is no fight in me left.

I'm tired.  I'm discouraged.  I'm ready to lie down and give up.

******

Yet, there is hope on the horizon.  The last person I talked to at Bell the other day was able to help me figure out a workaround to the block.  In addition, the block appears to have been lifted by Bell the day after.

We're still not receiving home delivery of mail; however, it appears that the Postal Service has heard from many people on our street who have been affected by the delivery stoppage.  None of them happy.  Most of them expressing their displeasure rather forcefully.  Canada Post is indeed looking at a permanent solution for a temporary problem - which I am not happy with.  They are planning to rush through the installing of a Community Box so we will get our mail again.  However, I feel that this one person's complaint has fed into Canada Post's ultimate agenda:  to suspend all home delivery with the implementation of Community Boxes.  

I hate agendas.

And the life insurance?  That is still pending; however, it appears that another provider has been found.

Triggers.

I've worked these last seven years with a fair amount of success to identify my triggers: however, this past week, I got blindsided by a few I had not yet identified.

Once identified, the same triggers will not have the same power over me.

I hope.

Until tomorrow....

Surviving Workplace Abuse: Disrupting the routine and going outside the comfort zone

Another routine disruption accidentally led to an early morning walk along the river.

Today, I would really prefer to be anything by blogging.  My routine has been disrupted for several days, which doesn't allow me the structure I need on this road to recovery.

Now don't get me wrong.  Having my routine disrupted isn't really a bad thing.  Or entirely a bad thing, as it takes me out of my "comfort zone" in small bites thus allowing me to get insight and glimpses into how I am progressing on the road to recovery.  But, it does make getting back into my normal routine a bit harder.

Right now, every fibre of my being is crying out for DVD therapy, rather than blog i.e. processing therapy.

I don't want to think right now.  I don't want to try to form thoughts into words and words into sentences that make sense.

I just want to veg.

Going back into the theme of routine disruptions, take Monday for example.  I had something on hold at the library to pick up - which is very much in my comfort zone - as well as a part to repair our vacuum to pick up at a mall on the other side of town - which is no longer in my comfort zone.

I designed a plan.  I would take the bus to the library, pick up the item being held, then take the Express bus across town to the mall, pick up the part and then retrace my steps, thus combining the familiar with the unfamiliar.  It seemed like a plan.  A good one ...

Until ....

Until hubby was having breaky and we realized that a lot of the items he puts in his lunch were down to zero.  I ended up getting very creative in putting things - and yes, they were edible - into his lunchbox which in itself is a disruption to our normal routine as he usually fixes his own lunch.  At that point, I realized that I needed to try to figure out a way to include a wee bit of grocery shopping - without a vehicle to load them into and without a grocery store being on my direct route.

Solution?

What else does a mother do when she has a quandary like that?

She texts her adult daughter and asks for help.

Adult daughter replies that she has to go grocery shopping herself, so we can do it together.

Hey!  I've just got a new plan in the formation.  One that has real possibilities of working.

When daughter picks me up, she asks where I want to go.  I wanted to go to the store I normally do my shopping at because I am familiar with it.  It's in my comfort zone.  However, she needed to pick up some non-grocery items and had a time limit.

Solution?

We chose to go to a WalMart which if half grocery items and half the other kind of stuff.  It was definitely not in my comfort zone, but it was logical.  So that is what we did.  (I am nothing if not logical.)

I don't know if I've mentioned it or not in this blog, but I have been having trouble focussing clearly with my eyes since around the time I had the stress breakdowns at work.  I've seen the optometrist several times and my vision has not changed.  She has suggested that stress can cause visual problems and also that I had the beginnings of cataracts.  So which is it?  Cataracts or stress?  Either way, it drives me nuts when I'm in an unfamiliar place looking for items such as was the case on Monday.  I felt like I was in a fog mentally and also in a fog visually.

It was fun though, as WalMart has different brands than I usually buy and I had fun picking out different cat food for one very persnickety cat.

After shopping and making a detour by my place to drop off my groceries and her place to do the same, she deposited me at the library and went on her way.  So,  my original plan A went back into effect.  And it worked.  It worked well, I'm happy to say.

Am I stronger for the experience?  I don't know.  It's too soon to tell as frankly I'm tired and feel worn out.

Yet, there's a part of me that wants to do a thumbs up victory sign like I did when I successfully confronted my "favorite" nemesis - the Observation Tower in Parry Sound, Ontario - and won!

So today, even though I'm tired, even though my mind feels like it's filled with cotton batting rather than brains and really doesn't want to function, I still feel that I'm on the winning side.  Recovery, mostly unnoticed, is happening.

Until tomorrow ....

Surviving Working Abuse: Another slice of recovery on the journey

The Observation Tower in Parry Sound

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Man, I wished I was like those two ladies.

Overlooking the harbour area

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At the bottom, one happy camper

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

Another victory on my road to recovery.

Surviving Workplace Abuse: My description of the typical bully

Warning signs.  We see them in many places.  Take, for example, this sign set up on the beach on South Padre Island, Texas.  The surf was definitely up and there were signs similar to this one 

up and down the beach with a red flag attached to a sign telling what colour flag meant what. 

A closer look reveals that red meant heavy surf and dangerous conditions.  The highest level of warning there was.  Definitely a dangerous condition.  Definitely a stay out warning.  One most people will take heed of.

I was in the middle of abusive workplace situation #2 at that time, and I've often wondered what would happen if we put cautionary signs up for our workplace.  What would they look like?  Perhaps:  "Caution: toxic atmosphere present"?  Or how about:  "Enter at own risk:  Bullies work here"?

We all know that signs like this would never happen.  

Why?  

Besides the fact that it's not politically correct?  

Because the bullies are, in my opinion and from my experience, a protected species.  They are also, unlike the surf conditions I witnessed that day in the Gulf of Mexico, which were visible to the naked eye and, therefore, very easy to identify with - or without - the signage.

Workplace bullies are not that easy to identify.  They're sort of like the printer in the office - a part of the scenery.  Here is my basic description of what the basic female workplace bully looks like:

• A woman in her 20's, 30's, 40's and 50's with long, short, medium length blonde, brown, auburn or black hair – and anything in between.  Including grey, tinted, highlighted, etc.  
• She would be short, average height or tall, slim, average build or stocky and of average to high intelligence.  
• She has a high school, trade school (college in Canada) or university education.  

In short, there is nothing to make her distinguishable from anyone else. 

She does not have two heads, conspicuous warts, buck teeth or any other anomaly.  What makes her different from the average co-worker is not her physical appearance or description, but rather the baggage she's carrying inside her.  The insecurity.  The deep down emotional wounds and scars she carries with her from way back, maybe even childhood.  These are the same insecurities and inner wounds that compelled her to bully as a pre-teen (my assumption).  Unhealed and tended to, these insecurities and wounds are still there.  Motivating her to continue the cycle of passive violence.  Not only will the people around her not recognize these inner wounds, but most likely the bully herself is not even aware of what is causing her to behave in this way.  It's like the furniture in her bedroom.  It's part of the scenery.  It's part of her life. She may even say, “This is just the way, I am.”  She might even go further and say to the target, “I've learned one thing that you haven't.  You can't change people.  And this is just the way I am.”

Sad but true.  

The bully is in denial.  Denial about her bullying.  Denial about the pain inside of her that causes her to lash out at people she deems as weaker than herself.  Denial about the seriousness of her actions.  Even denial about her own part in the on-going workplace drama.  

In her eyes, there is nothing wrong or abnormal about what she is doing.  Since she feels that she is doing nothing wrong, she feels further wounded and victimized if the target brings the behaviour up to management.

She - and possibly her friends - become involved in the vicious cycle of retaliation against the target and her claims.  She presents herself to those in authority has being articulate, well-spoken, etc.  She is perceived of in the workplace as a nice person.  She is in a way like the proverbial Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.  She presents herself to management and indeed everyone else in the workplace with the exception of the targeted co-worker as one person - a very likeable one at that, while she reveals all the junk inside her to the selected target.  Others in the workplace are simply not able to comprehend what is happening to the one person in the workplace who becomes the target, because they simply don't see it for themselves.

This is one reason why there will never be signs placed in the workplace warning employees of the presence of bullies.  They simply are not easy to identify.  Even when the situation gets out of hand, like mine did with most of the workforce in one office involved, people in high places tend to believe that it is the bully who needs protecting from the target.  When that happens, the tables become turned and it is the target who becomes perceived by just about everyone as the bully. 

*******

This is not the post I meant to write today.  I meant to go into the on-going saga of what happened after I had the second stress breakdown and was way too fragile to work.

Yet, the words seemed to flow from my fingertips - and the pictures selected themselves.

It also outlines the dynamics that were present in the workplace at the time I had the two breakdowns and puts the context of everyone's subsequent actions in perspective.  It is, in effect, background for the next part of the story.  How I left the workplace.

I think it's important to realize that no matter what these people did, they are still human beings.  From my observation in the workplace, they are wounded human beings.  One of the huge differences between myself and them is that I have recognized my woundedness - even before the situation in the workplace started - and took steps to begin the process of recovery.  Those I worked with, did not.  Why?  Because they could not see their own woundedness and their own part in the on-going office drama.

In the end, they got to keep their jobs.  For a while.  Until the workplace close.  And I got to continue on the path of recovery.  Ultimately, who was the winner?

Until tomorrow....

Man of War jelly fish on the same beach as the signs above.  Definitely not something one wants to tangle with.

Post Workplace Abuse: Life in the Trenches Dodging .... More of the Story

Some days you're the statue, some days you're the bird.  I felt like I was the statue during this time.

Going away for a few days didn't change my situation, my reality at all.  I was still in the early throes of a stress breakdown.  I stuttered.  My cognitive skills were impaired.  Yet, at the same time, it gave me what I needed to muddle on and through.  It gave me just enough of a break to pull back from my new reality so that I was no longer actively in crisis.  Maybe not too far away from it, but a bit removed from it.  Able to cope.  Maybe barely.  Maybe not too well.  But still able to cope.

Coming home, it took me a few days to be strong enough to access my emails and discover what the phone calls a few days previously had been about.  Something about a posting I'd made on my Facebook, that it was an ethics violation and demands that it be removed immediately.  These emails were sent over the weekend while I was away so, of course, since I didn't get them immediately, I didn't delete the "offending" Facebook comments in the demanded time frame.  I sensed anger in the emails because my supervisor specifically mentioned frustration that I was not answering my phone and, thus, she could not talk to me voice to voice and was forced to resort to writing.  Maybe because she didn't want a written record which would be copied and kept?

On my part, I was under the assumption that once I was signed off on sick leave by a doctor that the workplace was not to contact me except for matters dealing specifically with the sick leave i.e. short-term disability forms, when I would return, etc., the mechanics of how long I would be gone and when I would return, that sort of thing.  But nothing personal.  Nothing dealing with discipline.  I was under the assumption that that sort of thing would have to wait until I was well again and back in the workforce.  I was wrong.  Or rather, if I was correct in my assumptions, HR and my supervisor never got that "memo" as my story reveals.  I kept responding to their emails that I was off sick and needed time to heal and asking them to respect that.  They didn't.  They just kept finding new, innovative ways to come into my home via phone calls or email.

Reading my supervisor's emails, I was thoroughly confused.  I had nothing on my conscience, so I asked my supervisor for clarification.

It came in the way of screen shots. Of my Facebook page.  Not just the current one that they found offensive, that the bullies identified with and saw themselves in, but ones made more than a more previously at the time of my first breakdown talking about going into ER and what it was like.  My supervisor was monitoring my Facebook.  Not only that, I felt she (and they) were like peeping Toms peeping in on my most private thoughts and feelings via the computer rather than a window.

I felt violated.

I know that my profile was public until that incident so that it was not invasion of privacy in reality.  Because Facebook is public.  Anyone can access it until you set your privacy settings so they can't.

But still, I felt violated.

I lost more of my innocence that day.  More of my belief that people, in general, were good and kind and respectful.

I lost more trust - especially in those I worked with and for.  I realized that I was caught up in something that was way beyond my control.

I felt like a very little boat in a very big sea caught in a storm with huge waves washing over me and threatening to capsize my little boat.

It was tough.  Very tough.

I am so glad that I didn't experience this a few days earlier as was intended by my supervisor or I would probably have been overwhelmed completely.

In that moment, FEAR came in - and stayed for years as an unwelcome guest in my soul.

I no longer trusted people - and over time that extended to people in general.

Basically, I had these strong reactions because, in effect, I'd been successfully bushwhacked by my opposition.

If I could draw, I would express my feelings by drawing a picture of the outside, brick wall of a building with no windows, resembling the production part of the compound I worked in with pairs of arms reaching out of it.  Workplace bullying reaching outside of the workplace.

 I no longer felt safe even in my own home because I had no idea what these people were capable of doing.  If I'd had fear of retaliation in the workplace before, I was now terrified of what retaliation outside the workplace could look like.

I have no idea why someone(s) unidentified decided it was appropriate to look up my Facebook file. I have no idea why management and HR felt it was appropriate and didn't ask appropriate questions and discipline people.  I only know that doing things correctly, i.e. seeing a doctor, getting booked off work, not communicating to anyone i.e. co-workers in the workplace except those I needed to keep informed that I was off and for how long, didn't work.  I felt like all my efforts to protect myself were futile.

I believe now and believed then that I was cyberstalked by these people.  I mentioned that in a follow-up email to my supervisor.  To no avail.  By that time, I feel I had been so thoroughly devalued in the workplace, my character so thoroughly assassinated, that no matter what I said, no matter how much truth it might hold, it was automatically disregarded.

The possibility of being cyberstalked, the probability of inappropriate office behaviour and misuse of company time and equipment was blown off as not being a significant issue.  My behaviour and only my behaviour was the issue.  Even when sick.  Even when in the throes of a stress breakdown and trauma when the victim is acting in what they think is a normal manner in an abnormal situation.

What I was experiencing, my friends, was not a normal situation.

This was when the fear not only descended but blanketed me so completely that I no longer felt free and happy and alive in my body.  I felt constricted.  Emotionally paralyzed.  I was afraid to venture outside the house even to a near by shopping mall as I was afraid one of these people might see me and perceive that I was stalking them perhaps?  My therapist and I have talked about this fear many times over the intervening years.  She felt my fears were irrational.  But in light of what happened after the fact, after I was in effect no longer in the workplace, I could not shake these fears.  They became a constant part of my emotional make up, my new reality.

Spontaneity left.

This was when I entered into what I now call the "shadowland" with all traces of who I really am removed from my Facebook and from my personal day-to-day life as well.  My Facebook made private.  Status updates changed.  I no longer shared anything even remotely public via Facebook.  

It's taken more than three years of working consistently through all the effects and affects of the entire trauma before I realized that I do have a story to tell - and I have a right to tell my story.  To work through the pervasive fear and begin to live life more fully again.

I have no idea what my former colleagues might think if they do chance upon this page.

We're all gone from that workplace now.  All of us.  The building we once worked in is closed.  Everyone has had to leave either in retirement or finding new employment.  Scattered to the four winds (hopefully).

After years have intervened, the question still remains that if these former colleagues did access this blog, read it, and see themselves in it, would they be willing to jeopardize what they have now in order to further victimize me?  I don't know.  I hope not.

Only time will tell.

Until Monday.  Have a good weekend.

Post Workplace Abuse: A significant discovery

This picture taken in early June at the World Wide Knit in Public Day at my local yarn store is the me, the Cassie, that is emerging from the darkness of the world of workplace abuse.

I say emerging because while this picture, this one moment in time caught on the camera, would pretty well say that I am well!  I have arrived!  I have made it!  The truth, the reality, is somewhat different.

True.  I have more good days than bad.

True.  The sparkle has returned.

False.  All the affects have not completely disappeared.  There are still challenges to be faced.  Lessons to be learned.  Progress to be made.  Take my birthday trip to the CN Tower in Toronto with my immediate family in attendance for example.

*******

Taken from the Skywalk on the way back to Union Station from the CN Tower.  Another angle, another perspective.  Note the dirty windows and how they impact the clarity - or rather lack of - in the picture.

I learned more about myself, my progress from last year to this year and areas I still need to work on, to conquer, during that outing on my birthday.

Interestingly, the most important piece of the puzzle came to me when we were in a small, fast food, take out, Mexican place near the CN Tower.  It was small.  It was crowded.  It was noisy.  Which is not a good combination for me.

I started to stutter.  Stuttering has been part and parcel of the affects since the very beginning of the first stress break down while I was still employed.  At times, it was so bad that I could not communicate at all.  At one point, early on I went to visit my best friend in the U.S..  I had identified her as a safe person.  I was right.  I stayed with her for nine days.  Nine days in which incredible healing occurred.  In that nine days, the stutter left.  I could talk clearly.  My cognitive skills started to return.  However, recovery I've learned is an up and down, backwards and forwards progress.  Never static.  Always moving and changing.  Affects come and go.  Usually, though, when they reappear they reappear at a lesser level of both intensity and duration.  That is part and parcel of what I mean when I talk about milestones.

Yes, the stuttering reoccurs from time to time in moments of great stress yet it doesn't stay around as long.  Plus I'm learning what causes it and how to cope with it when it does rear its ugly head.

I see the return of stuttering - and other affects as well - as a marker:  a marker that I'm feeling stressed and overwhelmed.

So it was that day in that fast food place.  I realized that I was totally overwhelmed.  I was way outside of my comfort zone.  I was encountering a lot of firsts that day:  my first subway ride, my first time in Union Station in Toronto, my first time on foot in Toronto, my first trip to the CN Tower.  A lot of firsts for one day, eh?  Especially for a person recovering from trauma.

I realized for the first time that many times I'm actually processing in my brain what I want to say at the same time I'm trying to say it.  In other words, there is a lot of mental energy going into the simple act of conversing with someone - even someone I consider a safe person.

That piece of the puzzle which fell into place in that Mexican fast food place is a valuable nugget in my process of recovery.

The block of fast food restaurants where ate at in Toronto.  Note all the Blue Jays shirts.  There was a Jays game in the Rogers Centre right next to the CN Tower that day.

It explains why when I go out for a bit, I often come home exhausted and ready for a nap.

It explains why when I talked with my new neighbour for 10-15 minutes one day, I got so exhausted I ended up taking a two hour nap.

It explains why talking on the phone is so hard for me and why it is easier for my to type i.e. text or message, than it is for me to talk to someone face to face - or phone to phone.

It also explains why when the words don't come, that I start to get overwhelmed and tired.

In short, talking, conversing, making sense is hard work.

So hard, that it overwhelms me - and when I feel overwhelmed I get tired and irritable.  A bad combination as the barriers start to break down.

That one bit of insight explains a lot of things.  Puts things into perspective.  More into focus.

Much as I would like to go out and explore new places on my own, I'm not ready yet.  I need safe people around me.  I could never have navigated the subway system on my own.  I needed the support of those close to me.  I needed to realize that they were stronger than I was and to rely on them and rest in their strength.  I learned to give up control, stop trying to lead all the time and simply follow.

In order to do that, I needed to be able to trust these people.  Trust them with my life - or at least my recovery - if need be.

What one thing made that possible?  Understanding.

They understood. 

I don't know if a regular, normal, "healthy" person can understand the wealth of power there is in that one word:  understood.

My family - even the grands young as they are - understand which is a priceless gift.

Same block, different angle, different perspective

 *******

I feel I've said enough for today.  It's time to stop.  To rest.  To continue on the road to recovery.

As I've said before, recovery is hard work.  Yet, at the same time it is not all gloom and despair.  Life can still be good.

I've learned to look at any given day as always having the potential to be a good day even if/when there are bad spots in it.

I've learned not to focus on one bad incident and let it ruin a perfectly good day.

Similarly, I need now to learn not to focus on one horrible work situation which is over and done with and allow it to ruin a perfectly good life.

Until tomorrow ....