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....

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.

On the Road to Recovery:

This picture, taken on Good Friday at the Elora Gorge, Elora Ontario, caught my fancy.  Spring was definitely coming.  At the top spring flowers bloomed in abundance.  Yet, here in this one spot sat frozen in time, at least for the moment, an ice pillar.  Water frozen as it flowed.  I felt a kindred spirit to this ice pillar as my emotions are at times frozen in the past.  In the place of abuse.  Wanting to thaw in the warmth of the sun, but for some reason unable to.

I have a blog almost finished.  Almost ready to push the publish button.  In.  My.  Mind.

Nothing on paper, or rather computer screen - yet.  And yet, when I push the new post button and stare at the blank, white screen, nothing happens.  The words refuse to come.  I just sit here starring at the screen.  Trying to will myself to remember what my fruitful mind was thinking even just a few moments ago.

And that, my friends, is one of the reasons there was such along time period between blog postings.  The disconnect between the active, fertile mind and the fingers.  The flow that isn't there.

If only ...

If only, I could plug a USB port or flash drive or something into my mind and let my thoughts actively flow onto the screen.

If only ....

But we all know that "if onlys" are not reality.  They are imagination.  They are dreams that don't come true.  They are regrets about life.  How it happened.  How it played out.

If only....

If only, I had realized what I was up against at the work situation sooner and devised a "safe" plan to get out.

But are there any safe plans when mobbing is occurring along with gossip, backbiting, slander, defamation of character?

Where everything appears to be being filtered through the mind - or more - of one very unhappy individual(s) and then passed around behind my back for general office consumption?

If only...

I'd had the courage to walk out.  Yet I realized later that that would have only caused more problems as these people - the clique of five - were watching me like hawks.  I'm sure if I had turned off my computer, left a note on the keyboard and walked out, they would have swooped upon my desk like hawks intent on their prey or like vultures after roadkill as soon as the door closed behind me and called the manager.  Thus controlling the the view.

I thought of giving my two week - or whatever - notice.  But instinctively knew that because of the exclusion, isolation and silence, two weeks would seem like an eternity and leaving would not be accompanied by well wishes or even good byes.  It would be accomplished in silence.  Being ignored.  Walking out like a dog who has been whipped - and whipped soundly.  Thus bringing more damage.

I truly believe now in retrospect that there was no way to get out of that situation unscathed.  The problem was to try to find a way out that would cause the least damage possible.  If there was one.

What has brought this on?  This reflection?

Part of my path to recovery has been to join some on-line groups regarding workplace abuse.  One currently has a thread going, quite an active thread I might add, on how a target of bullying recovers.  Interestingly enough and yet not surprisingly, there are as many opinions as there are contributors.  At first, most of the contributors where what I call "clinical" - posting their theory rather than the reality of what a target goes through.  Yet, there were others like me who had been - or maybe still are - in the trenches of workplace abuse.  Posting from our reality.  Our experience.

Yet, while there are some commonalities among us, there are disagreements as well.  Depending.  On. A. Lot. Of. Things.

This was the post going through my mind.  Almost written.  A post about my thoughts on this thread about recovery.

Tomorrow.  Or the next time I post - since tomorrow is Saturday and I don't usually post on weekends.

Now where is that USB port connection in my brain to plug into the computer?

This picture was taken the same day as the one which begins today's post.  Same river - the Grand River.  Different location.  The river running through the small town of Fergus, Ontario.  Both pictures represent facets of my emotional state during the process of recovery.  Sometimes I feel frozen in time like the ice pillar.  Other times, my mind is racing with thoughts like this picture of the swollen spring river racing through the town of Fergus.  I feel like I'm coming out of a frozen state and into something different.  Bear with me and travel with me on the road to recovery.

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. 

Workplace Abuse: The on-going journey of recovery

Several months have elapsed since my last post.

Why did I stop?

Was it intentional?

Did life's events overwhelm me?

Or was I processing life's events - trying to figure out where I was ... and ... more importantly ... where I am going from here?

I find that writing a blog while I'm on the process of recovery provides an interesting paradox.  There are times when I can either write the blog OR I can process the events, feelings, thoughts, etc. that I'm dealing with at that moment.

I can either be in the moment.

Or outside, looking in figuring things out.

I can't seem to do both.

My journey is not always a straight forward path.

There are days it resembles this frozen path along the Grand River.  Slippery.  Dangers of falling.  Slow going.  The picture is pretty with the setting sun shining on the frozen snow But the reality is not as pretty.  The reality is that it's slippery.  There's a real danger of falling.  Each foot has to be placed very carefully.  It helps to have a companion on the path to hold onto.  To help keep me from falling - again.  Putting one foot on top of the other.  Being observant.  Nay ... sometimes being hypervigilant.  Looking out constantly for danger.

Sometimes unseen danger.

There are dark places, along with places of incredible awe-inspiring beauty.

There are mountains and hills on the way alongside the valleys where incredible growth occurs.

There are the nights of tears before the morning of joy arrives.

There are days of incredible loneliness and times of bonding with family and friends who have stuck along for the journey.

My journey is never static.  Each day, sometimes each hour, is different.

Never the same.

Some good.  Some bad.  Some so so.

So I took two steps - or more - back for a time.  To process.  To think.  To work through the events, the thoughts, the victories ... and yes, the failures as well.

On this journey of recovery from workplace abuse, from trauma, there are no signs to warn of possible danger such as this picture taken in Scotland (above).

Nor are there signs to tell us where we are and point out points of interest.

No road maps.  No signs pointing out the direction to go.

Nothing tangible.

There is no chemo, no radiation, no medication, no medical tests to diagnose the illness, all of which make the journey more difficult - at least for me.

Support is hard to find and keep as people get frustrated especially as the acute became chronic and there was no immediate, long-term improvement.

Just a constant, on-going journey.  Long term, it's been a steadily increasing journey of recovery.  Long-term recovery.

Looking back, I can see it clearly.  So can those few who have walked it with me and didn't quit or walk away.

Moving in the present, seeing it is more difficult.

So, in the last few months, I've been doing the looking-back thing.

Being introspective.

Looking back to see where I've come from on this journey.

Looking forward to seeing where I'm going to now.

What will the road ahead bring?

What will be around the next corner?

I have no idea.

But together, we'll find out.

A Jumping Off Point: my bibliography on the road to recovery from workplace abuse

After the last several posts, so many ideas - or rabbit holes - present themselves.  Which way to go?  At this point in time?

Months earlier, I was writing the saga of Workplace Abuse situation #1 and got as far as being walked out the door.  Just as the workplace dropped me outside the door like yesterday's smelly garbage, I dropped the saga at that point.  It was too hard to think about.  To remember.  To write about.  To share.

How best to describe the eighteen months of sheer devastation, confusion and secondary wounding which followed?  Especially as I had no way of understanding what I was going through at the time I was going through it?

And how, do I describe that time, that devastation, that secondary wounding to people in such a way that they can understand it?  That they get it?

After eighteen months of pure emotional agony, I reached a crisis point.  A where the rubber meets the road point.  A point where something HAD to happen, HAD to change - or there was no point in going on.

In order to make that time period make sense, I've decided to jump ahead a bit and write down my bibliography.  These books/authors became what I call "hidden" mentors in my battle to not only survive but to recover.  To come out of the utter devastation of my life and find a way to rebuild.

Remember on this journey of emotional destruction and devastation, there are no contractors to call.  No architect to draw up plans for construction crews i.e. electricians, plumbers, bricklayers, carpenters, etc. to follow.

It's all been a trial and error process.

Sometimes I think largely error.

So today, I share with you the resources I've used in this journey.

In later blogs, I will be referring back to these resources, probably one at a time, in order to lay a foundation for the recovery process and to make more sense, by those who know, of what is involved in the journey.

Most of these resources, with the notable exception of the first two which are written by mental health professionals, are by Christian authors - some of whom are also mental health professionals.  Which makes sense since I am a Christian.  However, even if you are not a Christian, there are things which are appropro to everyone - no matter what your belief system is - or is not.

I invite you to continue following along with me in this on-going journey of discovery and recovery. 

Here is my bibliography:

• Trust After Trauma:  A Guide to Relationships for Survivors and Those Who Love Them by Aphrodite Matsakis, Ph.D.
• Invisible Heroes:  Survivors of Trauma and How They Heal by Belleruth Naparstek
• Helping Those Who Hurt: Reaching Out to Your Friends In Need by Dr. H. Norman Wright
• Why Do Christians Shoot Their Wounded?: Helping (Not Hurting) Those with Serious Emotional Difficulties by Dwight L. Carlson
•  Forgive and Forget:  Healing the Hurts We Don't Deserve by Lewis B. Smedes 
• Healing Grace for Hurting People by Dr. H. Norman Wright and Larry Renetzky, LMFT
• The Process of Forgiveness by William A. Meninger
• The Bully, the Bullied, and the Bystander by Barbara Coloroso
• A New Kind of Normal by Carol Kent 
• When I Lay My Isaac Down: Unshakable Faith in Unthinkable Circumstances (Pilgrimage Growth Guide) by Carol Kent
• Between a Rock and a Grace Place: Divine Surprises in the Tight Spots of Life by Carol Kent
• Moving from Fear to Freedom:  A Woman's Guide to Peace in Every Situation by Grace Fox
• Surviving the Storms of Life:  Finding Hope and Healing When Life Goes Wrong by H. Norman Wright, Matt Woodley & Julie Woodley
• Putting Off Anger:  A Biblical Study of What Anger is and What to Do About It by John Coblentz
• Safe People:  How to Find Relationships that Are Good for You and Avoid Those That Aren't by Dr. Henry Cloud and Dr. John Townsend
• Hurt People Hurt People:  Hope and Healing for Yourself and Your Relationships by Sandra D. Wilson Ph.D.
• Fool-Proofing Your Life:  An Honorable Way to Deal with the Impossible People in Your Life by Jan Silvious

And no, you are not required to read them all.  There will not be a quiz.

After the storm, the clean up begins.  After the abuse, recovery begins.

A Friday Story

Journey on the road to recovery

As one posting has led to another this past week, flowing freely from the mind to the fingers, from day to day, so can the seemingly random events of our lives.

Several weeks ago, I wandered into the local independent book store in our area to show my daughter the books I wanted for Christmas.  Entering the store, I saw a poster that intrigued me.  Wild Writers Literary Event.  I loved the way the title of the event described it.  

Wild Writers.  OK, cool.  

Literary.  Hmmm.  Not so cool. That kind of puts me off.  

Literary, I'm not.  

Wild, yes.  

A writer?  I hope so.

Event?  

What is a literary event?  Does this mean the same as a writer's conference?  Only, maybe, on a smaller, more local scale?

I was intrigued.

So I went.  There I connected with a woman who runs writing workshops locally once a month.

One thing led to another, so I signed up for this workshop - and was well enough to go.  Yes!  Victory.

During the workshop, the presenter, a local travel and newspaper writer, read a piece she had written seemingly spontaneously about a slice in time on one of her many travels.  Maybe a ten minute experience she had on one of her travels which probably took longer to write out than it did to experience.

It intrigued me,

My fertile mind thought, "If I can find one story a week and write it up for my blog, it will add human interest."

So I started looking for a story to write about.

What I got, was not what I expected - or wanted.

A part of my road, but definitely not as tranquil, scenic, pleasant or peaceful as the picture above.  Not really the kind of story I wanted to share.  Definitely not uplifting.  But true.  Oh so true.

I wanted something uplifting, off beat, humorous.  Maybe quirky even.

But that is not what I got.

As most of you know, I've been down for the count (mostly) for the last two years.  Staying close to home.  Tired to the point of exhaustion.  Depressed (seriously at times).  Lethargic.  Psychiatric injuries that mimic brain injury to the point where cognitive skills, balance, speech, etc. are seriously effected.  Anxiety.  Panic attacks.

And then I had a breakthrough.  Two months or so ago.  A huge breakthrough.

My pre-workplace abuse personality, that irrepressible, hopeful, enthusiastic side of me came back.

It felt so good to feel good.

I was able to do things I hadn't been able to do for a very long time.

Life was starting to be exciting, to be good again.

But.I.Am.Still.Fragile.  Unfortunately.

I look normal But.I.Am.Still.Fragile.  I know I've repeated this statement twice in two sentence but bear in mind that when something is important to an individual, they tend to repeat it for emphasis.  To get the point across.

I may look normal and act normal for the most part But.I.Am.Still.Fragile emotionally.

I decided to get my feet wet (or shall we say wetter as going to the writer's "literary event" and following up with a writing workshop was also getting my feet wet by foraying into the outside world) by attending a senior's event at my local church.  I had attended it before the workplace abuse and subsequent injury got to the point of no return.  Where going out among people was too difficult to even attempt.

To me this was a huge victory on the road to recovery as I had not been able to attend these events for the better part of a year.

It took some planning as I needed a ride which those who run the event could not provide.  So I found a way to provide my own.

I got up.  I got dressed.  I put on my smiley, happy face because indeed I was so thrilled to be able to go out again.  To be ready to socialize.

I envisioned being able to share the joy, the sheer victory of what was going on in my life and have others, who knew me and knew of my journey even though they hadn't walked closely with me, share in it and be blessed.

My ride arrived.

We got there.

I went in.

Hung up my coat.

Joined the line entering the room.

Picked up my name tag.

Paid my fee for the lunch.

And then I looked around.

At all those tables.  Fifteen in all.  Chairs for eight each.  Each one with one, two or more people sitting around them.

I knew from past experience, that people have already formed groups and that some, if not most, of those seemingly empty chairs already have names attached to them.  Informally of course.  No visual such as a name tag, purse, jacket, etc. to warn me off.

I went to the first table.  One I had been welcomed to put my feet under many a time.

I was met with smiles.  Joy even.

But when I asked if there was a place for me at the inn - er, excuse me, table - I was met with dismay, confusion and much discussion.

It appeared that the seats were saved.  But they were trying to decide if there was one without a name attached.

It was then that another woman came up.  Asked the same question I had.  Without waiting for a reply, however, while I was still standing there waiting for one, she took off her jacket and sat down.

Immediately my mood shifted from one of joy, of victory, to - well - I felt like I'd been punched in the gut.

I felt rejected.

I felt powerless.

I felt worthless.

And I felt worth less than all those empty chairs with invisible people attached to them.

All the ugly emotions, all the lies I internalized from the workplace abuse situations, reared their ugly heads.

I turned away to find another table.

The next table I approached had two people sitting at it.  Six empty seats.

No, all of them were taken - by invisible people yet to arrive.

I went to a third table with again, maybe two or three people sitting there.

They dickered and dibbled and dobbled (if there are such words) before finally saying that there might be one seat available.  It took another bit before they figured out which one.

Gracious the response was not.

By this time, all the positive feelings had evaporated.  I was hurt.  Anger was beginning to rear its ugly head.

I went up to those at the table processing the money, etc. and said I have a major complaint.  I went to the person in charge of the event.

He exploded at me.  He told me I was ludicrous.  There were plenty of empty seats.  (Oh yeah?  You go and try to find one that isn't filled with "invisible" bodies.  Oh yeah, I forget.  You don't have to.  You're the leader of the event.  You have a seat reserved for you.)

By this time, I was so hurt, that I couldn't stay.

I left.

Outside the door was the senior pastor.  I stopped to tell him what had happened.

He immediately made excuses for the man in charge saying he was sure this person hadn't meant anything by it.

He went on to do some serious secondary wounding - in a well-meaning way of course.  Out of ignorance.  The compassion was there; but the knowledge of trauma was not.

He then told me, compassionately of course, that if I found a church that met my needs I was welcome to go there.

I was devastated.  Hurt beyond words.  Tears freely flowing.

Tears that would not stop or be quenched.

A major setback on the road to recovery.  A major blow to my re-emerging pre-workplace abuse personality.

Sometimes I feel like this statue in Ottawa with the bird standing - and defecating - on its head

This post has already gone on longer than I want my posts to go as I want them to be in short bites.  However, this incident, this story, highlights the pitfalls on the road to recovery those of us who have been affected by trauma, PTSD, workplace abuse, etc. follow.

Lack of understanding of what trauma is and how it affects the victim are paramount in our journey, leading to incidents like the above where secondary wounding occurs.

And also, how those who could make a difference, who are in roles of leadership in groups, churches, etc,  by learning about trauma and how it affects its victims, choose to ignore the reality of trauma in the lives of those around them.  

In settings where ignorance of trauma reigns, misunderstandings leading to real injury are inevitable.

There are resources available.  A lot of them.  Both on-line, in book form and in human form - i.e. people who are well versed in trauma and how people victimized by trauma heal - and don't heal.

That is the purpose of this blog.  To help others on the road to recovery learn that they are not alone.  

To help those who walk with them (and you truly are special) to learn more about walking with the traumatized.

And, perhaps, just perhaps to encourage those who know someone who is traumatized to start researching what it is and reach out a hand to one who is struggling.

I invite you to join with me on this road to recovery.

What I've Learned on the Road to Recovery Post Complex PTSD, Part 2

       Today is the second half of the list I wrote several years ago re: what I've learned in this journey.  Although several years have passed since I wrote this and there has been a lot more water i.e. trauma and damage under the bridge, it is just as valid now as it was then.

      Sometimes, it's good to look back.  And remember.  Where I've come from ... and where I am now.

¬ I’ve learned that while some people don’t smile, a surprising number do.

¬ We laugh a lot more.

¬ We share inside jokes.

¬ I’m learning to recognize the hand of God in things.

¬ I’m more thankful.

¬ I’m quicker to express appreciation for small things which mean a lot.

¬ I’m more spontaneous.

¬ I’ve gained confidence.

¬ There’s usually a bounce in my step that was never there before.

¬ I’m learning that I’m “wired differently” and that’s it’s OK to be different.

¬ I feel more accepted by myself and by others.

¬ Sometimes I have to pinch myself to make sure that it’s real.

¬ I’m learning to savour the good moments like a gourmet chocolate and not to devour them quickly.

¬ I discovered by accident that if one takes a few steps back, the scene/perspective is totally different and different things come into focus that were not seen in the close up view.

¬ I’m learning to face my fears and break their power over me.

¬ I’ve learned fears are irrational.  They have nothing to do with facts.

¬ I’ve learned it’s absolutely awesome to face the fears head on and start to conquer them.

¬ I’ve learned I can lean on my best friend, my husband for support – both physically and emotionally – if I let him be that support.

¬ I’ve learned my husband has his own insecurities, I have mine.

¬ I’m learning the power of forgiving others.

¬ I’ve experienced God’s grace and mercy when I was finally able to forgive those who have wounded me deeply.

¬ I’ve learned that we can only show God’s grace and mercy to others once we have experienced it ourselves.

¬ I’ve learned that once we experience God’s grace and mercy, it flows through us freely.

¬ I’ve learned that I cannot expect grace and mercy from people who have never experienced it.

¬ I’ve learned not only to identify my supports but to rely on them in times of crisis

¬ I’ve learned to take the time to enjoy moments of companionship with people I love watching the moonlight dancing on the water, hearing the call of the loons, seeing rain ripple on the water standing snug and dry under a huge tree …

¬ I’ve learned to take a step back when thoughts of anger and rage assail me and look at things more    objectively.    

I'm sure that if I were able to update this list now, there would be more to add.

However, I'm still in a state of flux, a state of recovery.  Not any two days in a row are the same.  Each has different trials, different joys - and, hopefully, different growth.

I'm not the same as you.  You're not the same as me.  Our growth and recovery will be different in the specifics - but yet there should be some commonalities.  The commonality of people dealing with the phenomenon of trauma, complex PTSD, recovery from workplace abuse in whatever form it took with each individual.  And, unfortunately, coping with a reality which is not widely understood by those around us.

And so, I leave you, dear reader, today with these thoughts:

Recovery.Is.Possible.     

You.Are.Not.Hopeless.    (Nor.Are.You.Helpless.)

You.Are.A.Person.In.Process.

Celebrate.Yourself.

What I've learned on the road to recovery post complex PTSD

      Yesterday was a terrible, horrible, very bad, no good day.  It was a day in which my re-emerging personality was bruised and battered, almost to the point of annihilation.  It was a day where tears and judgements prevailed.  It was a day that I am still recovering from. More than 24 hours post "whatever", my eyes still feel encrusted with tears.  Tears that still threaten to spill out.  A pervasive sense of loss.  A desire to retreat from the world and hide under my bed.  A strong feeling of wanting to give up.  Quit trying.  Quit working toward recovery.  

     It was in this frame of mind that I remember this piece of prose that I had written years ago - maybe around 2010 when what I call phase one of recovery was having its glorious work.

     So today, this is what I want to share with you.  Things that I've learned on this road to recovery.

¬ I’ve learned that good can come out of bad things

¬ I’ve learned that the relationships that are the most important to me are my family

¬ I’ve learned that my husband does care for me; he may not understand me or know what to do in certain situations, but he does love me

¬ I’ve learned that I am loved.

¬ I’ve learned to value, honour and respect my husband.  And he is responding in kind

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¬ I’ve learned to put the crocheting, knitting or the book down and talk with my husband.

¬ I’ve learned to pay attention when he wants to talk about things that don’t really interest me because they do interest him and that shows I value him

¬ I’ve learned that the only person I can change is myself.  But when I change myself, others change towards me as a result.

¬ I’m learning to trust God in the small things because if I can trust Him in the nitty-gritty aspects of my daily life, then I can surely trust Him in the BIG issues.

¬ I’m learning to talk to God just like I would to a real person.  I find it hard but I also find it exhilarating as He directs my petitions and thoughts in completely unthought of directions.

¬ I’ve learned that I am not stupid.

¬ I no longer tell myself that I’m stupid.

¬ I’ve learned that I do have talents and what some of them are.

¬ I’ve learned that my strengths are more numerous than my weaknesses and to concentrate on them.

¬ I’m learning to say I’m sorry when I’m wrong – and work to make things right.

¬ I’m learning to work on relationships and seeing the rewards of hard work in that area.

¬ I’m learning about trauma and how it affects people in general and how it affected me in particular.

¬ I’ve learned that I’m pretty typical of people who have been affected by trauma.

¬ I’ve learned that there is life after trauma – and that it can be good.

¬ I’ve learned that detours can be fun – if you let them be.

¬ I’m learning not to take things personally (although some people from yesterday might disagree on that one).

¬ I’m learning what my triggers are and that helps me not react to things as badly.

¬ I’m enjoying life a lot more.

¬ I’ve learned that although I might go through a rough patch, overall I am doing well.

¬ I’ve learned that it’s more common to hear than it is to listen – and how destructive and wounding that can be.

¬ I’ve learned what secondary wounding is and how to recognize it when it is happening to me.

¬ I’ve learned what people who are experiencing trauma are going through and what kind of support and encouragement they need.

¬ I’ve learned that relationships take effort.

¬ I’ve learned that people respond to initiatives.

¬ I’ve learned that good relationships are built slowly – one block at a time.

And that is where I will leave you, dear reader, today.  The rest of the list on Monday.

May you have a good and blessed weekend.