The Story Continues: Stress in the Workplace

This picture can be viewed in different ways.  One of them being on top of the world.  Another might look down and think 'it's a long way down, I hope she doesn't fall'.  Some might think it's precarious or dangerous.  Others might wonder 'how the heck did she get up there?'  I think maybe the workplace is like that as well.  It all depends on how you see things and, perhaps, where you are in the pecking order.  The problem is:  the higher you get, the longer the fall.

I worked later than the other office staff, so after everyone else had left for the day, my supervisor came to my cubicle and started out by saying, "I'm sorry if I was too harsh, BUT" ... and continued her tirade from before.  I was focussed on the first part, the part that sounded like an apology while she was focussed on the 'you were loud' part and, therefore, came to the conclusion (or judgement) that I was unprofessional.

To compound things, one lone tear started to sneak out of my eye.  And that apparently was the unpardonable sin, at least to her.  I cried.  Therefore, I was unfit to work in that office.  Period.

That lone tear came up negatively again and again over the next few months.  Always as a judgement.  I cried.  Therefore I was unfit.  Emotional.  She never wavered in her assessment - or judgement.  She never considered the extreme stress I was experiencing in the workplace doing one and a half jobs.  She never considered the fact that I was navigating those uncertain waters on my own with extremely limited training and almost no support - especially from her.

As one thing led to another, one incident to another.  I felt like I was constantly under the lens of a microscope.  Her microscope.  Her lens.  Her world - or rather workplace - point of view.

I made mistakes.  Which since my training was inadequate and the procedures for this job were totally different from mine, should have been a given.  After all, as I indicated in another posting, the learning curve went straight up.  Most people are allowed the odd mistake.  But I, apparently, am not most people.

I felt isolated from my co-workers.  Not because of anything they said or did.  Quite the contrary.  I was very well liked by not only my immediate co-workers in that upstairs office at the back of the plant but also by everyone I liaised with as well.  Even members of the Executive (way off in the "high tower" of the front office) had heard of some of my more noteworthy successes.

But it was never enough.

I was the one who was different.  The one on contract.  The one who was not allowed to have any frailties - or be human.  The one continually being ostracized by my supervisor.

The misfit.

The focus was not on my achievements.  Not on my strength of character.  Not on the fact that I got up in the morning day after day, got dressed and trudged into the office under adverse circumstances BUT on other things.  Things that really didn't have anything to do with my ability to do my job.  Things which had a lot to do with my supervisor's personality and point of view.  With her judgement.  With how she felt the universe should run - and how her subjects (er, employees) should act.

I felt caught in a vise.  Actually two vises:  one was the vise created by my supervisor's perceptions and expectations and my attempt to prove myself worthy.  The second:  the time factor.  The days were slowly and steadily counting down to the end of the year which was also the end of my contract.

Day followed day with no word as to whether I would be kept on or let go.

Day after day, I tried to prove (unsuccessfully) that I was not only a good employee but a great one - and should be kept one.

Day followed day.

Exhaustion became my constant companion.  Confusion followed.  Anger came in as well.

At that time and in that place, I was an angry person.  I now realize that I had been an angry person for years - but that is now. This was then.  As the stress in the workplace caused by both the overwork and the abusive relationship with my supervisor escalated, my emotions went all over the map.  Fortunately, this was confined to out of work experiences and places as I was not inclined to make my supervisor have any more grounds against me than she already did.

I sat in my cubicle and did my work.  Unfortunately my supervisor's cubicle was right next to mine.  I could hear most of her conversations, and she could hear mine.

In retrospect, I think that close proximity was the death knell on my tenure at that workplace.  Before more cubicles were added to our lage, roomy office (which with the advent of something like six more bodies along with their respective cubicles and work stations lost its spaciousness and roominess), my desk was in the far corner opposite my supervisor's.  I find it ironic that all these issues with her and my personality flaws came up immediately after the move across the room to the cubicle beside hers.

More and more as the days went by, I felt like this derelict canoe.  Unworthy.  Not able to float anymore.  Stuck.  Destined to the scrap heap.

As I've indicated, this series is taking a lot out of me remembering that dark time.  That dark place.  Yet, as I'm looking back I'm also seeing more and more what happened there in light of workplace abuse, workplace bullying, which I was unable to see at that time.

Tomorrow, I'm going to give myself a wee break from the pressure of writing a daily narrative about my first experience with workplace bullying.  A delightful young lady called Sparrow is going to come in and write her thoughts on a totally different topic.  I hope you enjoy Sparrow.  I'll be back with you on the on-going journey on Friday before taking another wee break for the weekend.

I solicit your comments.  What you like.  What you don't like.  What brings you here.  Would you like to see more pictures?  Hear more (non-abuse related) stories?  You're the reader.  You count.

Psychological Recovery Mirrors Physical

On my journey, I've often tried to get people to understand what is happening within me and the challenges I face by drawing parallels between physical injuries/illnesses and then comparing them with the emotional/psychological situation/injuries that I face.  Sometimes it seems to work.  Then there are the other times....

Today's blog is going to feature such a journey; a traumatic journey in the physical realm.  A journey widely followed by people in our area.  One which anyone can understand.  A traumatic event which has changed not only a young girl's life but her family's as well.

Their journey began one bright sunshiny May day.  A normal day. Filled with normal things.

Until ....

A garbage disposal truck driver got distracted for just a minute - and found a stopped school bus, lights flashing in front of him.  He tried to avoid a sure collision by attempting to pass on the right.  A young girl was getting off the bus.  His truck hit her slender body, throwing her 30 feet down the road.

Lydia Herrle is a survivor.  Her story is well-known in our area.  The community came together.  People prayed.  They tied green ribbons around trees, poles, fence posts, you name it to show their prayer support for this family.  Her family set up a blog to keep the community informed of her condition during the tense first days after the accident and continued making progress reports daily for months.

A year after the accident, Lydia is a miracle in progress.  Still recovering.  Still with no certainty that she will recover fully, her family is grateful for the Lydia they now have.  The Lydia that lay motionless in a coma for months.  The Lydia they thought they would never see again.

A huge part of Lydia's remarkable recovery is her own drive and stamina.  Her desire to get well.  To work hard.  To set goals and work to achieve them.

Lydia had to start at the beginning.  She had to relearn how to eat.  How to walk.  How to brush her teeth and her hair.

Those who us who suffer from psychological trauma are also on a journey of recovery.  Our journey is less understood.  Certainly there are no headlines.  In  many cases, people are not even rallying around us to support us through prayer.  No green ribbons lining the roadways.  We are invisible to those outside the situation just as our plight was invisible to those who worked with us.  The bystanders.  The onlookers.  HR.  Management.  The Union.

Our injuries are not as cut and dried as broken bones and brain injury.  Nor are there therapies to help us advance, to regain what we've lost in many cases.  We're on our own to figure things out as best we can usually with no to limited support.

We are actively discouraged from telling our stories.  From becoming visible.  Sometimes this discouragement comes from well-meaning people who just don't understand.  People who think we're whiny.  Or that we just won't let go.  Other times this discouragement comes from those who caused the damage in the first place.  It also comes internally from fear of what these people might do if we come out of the closet of workplace abuse.

We are perceived in a negative way as though we were somehow the cause of the trauma that happened in the workplace and has affected us and our families.

Yet, I see so many parallels in Lydia's journey back from physical trauma and my own from complex PTSD.  Recovery is a long process.  For her, it involves different forms of therapy.  Her recovery is a 24/7 situation as she is continually working on going forward.  Challenging herself.  Resting.  It involves her entire family.

My recovery is also a 24/7 situation since I began the first phase in 2006 with an amazing therapist.  A journey of continually attempting to move forward.  Challenging myself.  Resting.  Learning to involve my family and lean on them for support.

This blog is taking a turn at the moment as I re-align it to move forward and invite others into not only my journey, but the journeys of those around them who are recovering from an abusive workplace.  Those who have been made to feel that it was something they did wrong.  To bring workplace abuse and recovery from workplace abuse out of the closet and into the open.

I hope you will continue with me on this amazing journey.

Blogging 101

Dear reader:

 After publishing this blog for over a year, I finally decided to take a Blogging 101 course to see what I'm doing right - and what I'm doing wrong.  Actually, from what I'm learning, it is a surprise that I have any readers which means that I am very grateful for each one of you who takes the time to click on this poor old bear's blog - and read it.

What possessed you to click on this URL, to look at this blog?  What intrigued you?  Was it the title?  Was it one of the key words?  What are you looking for in your reading pleasure in a blog? 

Was it the word “deranged” which made you think of a psychotic blogger; one who rambles on without rhyme or reason? Or was it a totally different reason - like you already know me and have been involved in a part of my journey - even vicariously.

Whatever your reason for being here, I am glad you have come into my den.  Or is it lair?  Spider web, perhaps?

What is a deranged mind anyway?  Perhaps it is different things to different people.  My mind has always been independent.  Marching to its own drummer.  Going its own direction.  Sometimes switching focus on a dime.  People sometimes hard to follow my conversations, as I don't always say what they expect.  Or think in a conventional way.  I am different.   Proudly so. Therefore, I don't always fit in.  During this journey, I've learned to live with that.

This blog has changed direction - or perhaps more accurately gained focus - within the year and a bit that its been in existence.

When I started in January 2012, I simply wanted a forum for my writing style and technique.  As time went on, I became more and more away of the damage workplace abuse had wrecked in my life.  It was six months after the fact when the symptoms of severe stress started wrecking havoc in my life.  Altering the landscape of my existence beyond recognition.  Like Cologne during WWII completely destroyed during an Allied blitz attack.  Rebuilt.  But never to be the same as before.

Before the abuse started and continuing while it escalated, I was already involved in therapy with an amazing therapist.  Thus began the most amazing adventure of my life.  An adventure that didn't follow any logical progress, but leaped all over the map from one place to another ... and then back again.  Learning to value myself.  Learning to value others.  Discovering who was important in my life - and who was not.  Admitting that to those who should have been important ... and had not been.  Forgiveness. Trauma.  Confronting long term fears.

Even during the abusive situation, life was fun.  I was having a great time.  Reinventing relationships with Papa Bear, the cubs, sibling bear.  Seizing the moment for all it was worth.

Even when I was completely isolated by my co-workers, I continued to seize the moment and learn more about myself and how to handle these situations.  I learned that I did not need others to know my self-worth. I learned that I enjoyed myself and didn't need others to affirm me.   When my co-workers refused to talk to me and excluded me from office chat, I would simply talk to others in other departments.  I found ways to cope.  Time after time.  I worked things out in therapy, read books, analyzed the situation, attended conferences.  
And I grew - emotionally.

For the first time in my life, I was truly a happy camper.  Even in the midst of on-going, escalating trauma, I was happy.

Shortly before the end came, a worker from a different department said "What are you on?  You're always smiling.  No one can be that happy."  I grinned.  I tried to frown - but it just wouldn't happen.  Everyone (everyone not in my department that is) who was in the vicinity was laughing with me.  A splash of happiness in the cesspool of life (title of a book by Barbara Johnson).

And then the opposing faction raised the heat and began going to management and HR accusing me of things.  Even the union became involved - on their side.  Every small mistake was reported.  Small incidents which should have been kept between two people became fodder for office gossip after being reported to management.

Called into the office repeatedly.  Having to explain myself.  Phone calls at home.

Finally, I had two back-to-back stress breakdowns.  While I was "recovering" from the second one, out of the office, on short-term disability, the opposing faction wrong up a petition and submitted it to management and HR.  I never did walk back into the building again.  I was not allowed to.  Too ill to even think, devastated, crying uncontrollably, I signed away all my rights in a local donut shop with only the union representative present.

Since then, my journey has changed.  My landscape is filled with craters, darkness, fear of people, fatigue.  Even affects that resemble brain injury.


And yet, it's not all gloom and doom.  Never has been; never will be.

I continue the journey.  The journey of recovery.

I invite you, old reader and new reader alike, to join with me in my journey.

To rejoice when I rejoice; to weep when I weep.




I also invite you if you're new to this blog to peruse my old posts and visit the places I've already been.

Thank you for joining me in the journey.

Looking forward to see what's around the next bend in the journey.