People: The Ultimate Challenge on the Road to Recovery from Workplace Abuse

Bonnie, the lady who made it
possible for me to attend
Write Canada 2013 and who
rejoiced with me in my victory this year.
P.S. I gifted her with the scarf this year to thank her for
her help last year.

People.

They scare me.  Whether it's one or two or a whole bunch of them at once.  They scare me.

Scratch out the word "scare".  Replace it with the word "terrify" and we get closer to the truth.  Which is why attending such events as World Wide Knit in Public Day at my local yarn store and Write Canada 2014 are such milestones on my road to recovery from workplace abuse.

A piece of background.

In January of 2012, when I was still very much in the throes of all the affects from my abusive situation in the workplace and very much struggling just to keep my head above water, I decided to try to get some (hopefully safe) socialization in the form of a book/Bible study called Moving From Fear To Freedom by Grace Fox, a Canadian author and speaker.   The leader of our group was also a writer and had apparently been to Write Canada 2011 where she met Grace  Fox.  Thus, the choice of Grace's work for our book/Bible study.

Ramona, the prayer warrior who
prayed me through Write Canada 2013
and looked out for me during this
year's conference.  I felt safe around her

As I've noted in previous posts, I'd been confronting my fears during phase 1 of my recovery process, before the rubber hit the road in the workplace of abuse.  I had confronted fears of heights, open stairways such as observations towers and closed in spaces such as elevators.  So, I thought I didn't have any fears to work on or confront.  I was just attending to try to get out more.

I couldn't have been more wrong.

About not having any more fears to work on.

It took me several weeks to realize why I was feeling such heightened anxiety at even the thought of going.

I was terrified of these people because I had deep-seated fears of being rejected.  Which is not surprising when you realize that rejection was at the core of both of my abusive workplace situations.

Heidi, the bookstore manager - or something like that.
Also dubbed the chicken lady as she and her husband own
a poultry farm and she has fantastic chicken jokes to liven
up the sessions.
Between the two of us we make up the long and short of it.

During the course of that study, I learned that these were people just like me.  Many of them had the same fears that I had.  We were all in this together.

Now fast forward ahead from 2012 to Write Canada 2014.

My recovery has progressed to the point where I felt ready to face that fear head on.  I had been taking smaller steps, now I was ready for that giant leap in the form of a three-day conference.

Going to a conference like this is so different from a workplace situation.  There are common threads among the attendees which make it easier to relate to each other.

First, we are all writers.  Some published.  Some just beginning.  But we all have that one thing in common.  We all have the love of the written word in common.  These people were just like me in that respect.

Sandra Orchard, novelist, author of Deadly Devotion and
Blind Trust.  She was also a faculty member at this year's
event.  She is modelling another one of my scarves.

Second, most of us are Christians - of one variety of another.  Just like me.

Third, most of us are Canadians.  Just like me.

Then there's the creativity which moves us to write - and also express ourselves in other forms of creative expression such as knitting, photography, etc.  Just like me.

Most of all, we're just people who are on our own roads.  On our journeys through life's difficulties.  Just like me.

When you look at it through that lens in the camera of life, these people don't look so scary after all, do they?

They're Just. Like. Me.

And probably you too.

Warts and all.

More tomorrow.

I hope you have enjoying this blog and getting something worthwhile from it.  I appreciate your comments and thoughts as I continue on these journeys ... blogging and recovery.

May God bless you richly as you walk your own journey on this path of life.

Write Canada 2014: An adventure on the road to recovery from Workplace Abuse

Write Canada 2014.

I cane.  I saw.  I stayed.

I pushed my limits ... and had a whale of a time.

I reconnected with people I'd met in 2013 ... and made new friends.

I took pictures ... and gave away home made gifts to those I had connected with last year and others I met this year.

I came with business cards listing my blog ... and handed them out unashamedly.

I told people unashamedly and boldly what my platform is:  workplace abuse.

I told my fellow writers and attendees about my blog.  I was not ashamed that I'm with all these people who have written books, published books and/or are editors and article writers.

I. Am. A. Blogger.  Maybe in the future I'll expand.  But for right now I. Am. A. Blogger. on the way to recovery.

I learned that I'm not exactly a Christian writer.  I'm a Christian who writes.  There's a difference.

I picked up some really good nuggets unexpectedly - including the one above.

I came away tired both mentally and physically.  OK, OK, let's make that exhausted as my bed and I have been best buds since I got home.  But hey! it's a good tired.  A good exhaustion.  Because it means that I did something challenging on the road to recovery.  Healing occurred.

I came away with hope.

Hope that I can build this blog into something more.

I came away with the realization that I not only have a story to tell but that it's everybody's story.

My story is the story of everyone who has gone through workplace abuse.  Yes, there are differences in the specifics, but there is a common thread between my story and your story.  Or the story of the loved one you are trying to navigate this journey with.

Add caption

We are all travellers on the same journey.  We just take different side trips and have different means of getting there.

Note:  This is not the blog I intended to write today.  That posting in its infancy ended up being cut and pasted onto a new blog.  I'm sure it will see the light of day sometime ... even probably sometime soon.  But for now, I wanted to reinforce the victory of this experience.  The positive.  Forget the prose.  Forget the background.  

Experience the present.

That is what I did this past weekend at Write Canada 2014.

See you tomorrow for more of the story.

Post Workplace Abuse - Which Direction to Follow on the Road to Recovery?

After the conference, I resemble this signpost in front of the Wellend Canal (Ontario) where the big lake boats come through heading from Lake Erie to Lake Ontario (or vice versa) - destinations and miles pointing this direction and that.  Now to decide.  Where do I want to go from here?  Which dream do I follow?  Can I follow more than one dream at the same time?  For the first time in a long time, I feel like the world is my oyster, my very own oyster, for me to go out and pluck.  I feel whole - at least for the time being....

I find myself at a crossroads todays.  With signs pointing towards different, distinct destinations.  Which sign, which thread should I follow in this blog?  Which will be the most valuable for me and my reader at this point?

Will it be the continuing story of abusive work situation #1?

Will it be the thread I had inserted into that narrative about symptoms which should make you aware that abuse either is happening to you (or your loved one) or has happened?

Or ... contestant #3 ... will it be a short series about the writer's conference I attended last weekend?  Which is in and of itself a huge milestone on my journey towards reclaiming my life post abuse.  But at the same time, it propels me back into the present, into where I am now post-abuse and into recovery.  It skips the major trauma, impact and subsequent learning about workplace abuse.  It skips the past which makes the present relevant.

Or will it start one place and veer off into a slightly different direction between returning to the main theme?

We shall see.

Since abusive situation #2 ended and recovery - or what passes for recovery - began, I've resembled  the canoes - or rather the canoeists (since canoes are inanimate objects and have no volition of their own) - in this picture taken on the Eramosa River ironically also in Guelph, Ontario.  Spinning my wheels in terms of what direction to go.  Paralyzed by my inability to grab my paddle, steer my canoe and move forward in a productive way; therefore, going in circles, running into other canoes, clumsy and possibly not entirely safe for the other canoeists.  Needing to find the right tool.  The right way.  To move forward.  But hindered by the past.  By the memories.  By the accusations that run through my brain again and again and again.  Especially when I'm out in the wide world.  There's always that voice that says:  "You were fired."  Or:  "You can't fire someone because you don't like them BUT they did."  When out in public, I feel like there is a sign above my head pointing out that I was ultimately fired in abusive situation #2 because I dared to say I was being bullied.

Attempting to break the fetters of my mind and my memories was my purpose in pushing my envelope and going to this conference, and I succeeded.

I went out among people.  Real people.  Scary people.  People who would laugh at the mere idea that they could be scary.  And I succeeded.

These people didn't know my past.  They didn't know the things I was accused of.  No one cared about what other people thought or felt or perceived or assumed about me.  All they cared about was that I was (a) there and (be) a writer.  Nothing else mattered.  I had a fresh start in a sea of people who were just like me:  writers, Christians, perfect in our admitted imperfection.  Not coming together as know-it-alls, even those who have been published or were part of the faculty, but coming together to learn more from each other.  As equals.

It was refreshing.

It was healing.

"Safety" is huge in the life of a survivor of workplace abuse.  Our world came crushing down on us in ways we could not understand then and still cannot understand now.  Our world was no longer safe.  And that feeling of unsafeness continues as we stagger on.  Nothing appears safe to us any more.  And that is why it is very possible for survivors/victims of workplace abuse to have agoraphobia.  A condition which limits us greatly and will continue to affect us throughout our lifetime unless we get therapy.  Unless we voluntarily find a safe way to push the envelope.

Therefore, I brought with me my safe person:   my niece, my Angel, my ballast, my protection.  However, we both perceived very shortly after arriving and signing in, that we were in a "safe" place with "safe" people.  (If someone there wasn't safe, they never showed themselves to me!  Or to her for that matter.)

Because my niece aka my buffer was with me, the affects didn't matter so much.  She was there to shield me from the worst - and to remove me if things got so bad within me that I couldn't stay.  She took notes when I was too fatigued to go to another session.  She made friends of her own - and shared some of them with me.  She had a smile on her face the whole time.  She enjoyed herself to the fullest - which made my soul beam and smile and enhanced my enjoyment.  I realize now that her presence allowed me to appear more normal than I actually am in this situation.  And, therefore, to be perceived as a normal person.

Normalcy:  that illusive something that most of us strive for - which is after all, just a setting on your clothes dryer (Patsy Clairemont).  As a victim of workplace abuse, I was singled out, or targeted, for certain behaviours such as exclusion and isolation, verbal abuse, gossip, slander, character assassination - and if that wasn't enough, at the very end cyberstalking.  Because I was accused of many things in workplace abuse situation #2, I perceived myself as not normal, damaged beyond redemption.  Worth less than the others in the workplace.  And that perception continued on until just recently when I realized that I had been operating under the assumption that not only was I worthless, a throwaway, but, more importantly, that I was worth less than others.

In this conference, I was neither worthless nor worth less than others.  I was an equal.  I was valued not because of what I had to offer or what I had written, because except for this blog, I haven't yet.  But for who I am.  A human being - just like them.  A writer in the process of becoming - just like them.  A Christian attempting to work out my own salvation - just like them.

I came away with a feeling of acceptance.  A feeling of worth.  I am just as worthy as anyone else - and that includes those who abused me in the workplace.

I came away with many impressions regarding my writing, where I want to go to from here, possible ways of getting there - which I haven't explored in this blog and which I may not explore per se but may become evident in my writing, my focus down the road.

I came away with this:  My name is Cassie Stratford and I AM A WRITER.

I am a writer because I write.

And my favorite one of all, the benediction at the very end of the conference:  Go forth and write.

I have found my direction.

Time Out ...

... from recovery for a wee respite to indulge in photos, walks and other enjoyable things.

A very wise bear (aka one of my cubs) advised me early on in my process of recovery to discover my passions.

Passions.  The things that make me tick.  That put that spark and sparkle in my face and eyes.

What are they?  

Photography for one.  Writing.  Creating/crafting.  Travel.  Walks.  They all interrelate.  The camera goes with me whenever I travel or take walks.  I've learned that photo ops come at unexpected moments so to always be prepared (like a good former girl scout shout).  Furthermore, I also write about those times.  Those times of brief respite from the daily task of recovery.  Those times of joy and wonder.

Sometimes the best photo ops are found in my own back yard.  Take this one I shot Saturday April 6th of two robins in my lilac tree.  A cold morning.  It almost looks like Mama and Papa Robin are having a discussion which probably started out with Mama Robin taking Papa Robin to task (in a snarky Robin chirp):  "Why did you insist on coming here when we could be in Myrtle Beach sunning by the ocean wearing my brand new bikini, enjoying the surf, sand, sun and warmth?"

Later the same day, Papa Bear and I went on an adventure to the local annual Maple Syrup Festival in Elmira, Ontario.  Our annual pilgrimage.  Camera in tow.   Although we went early, people were there in abundance.  Everywhere.  The main street was blocked off and filled with all sorts of vendors selling all sorts of products from food and crafts to ... well ... maple syrup.  Not just any maple syrup, mind you, but locally made maple syrup.  On the way to the festival, we passed trees with sap buckets and collecting lines.  Just the week before, I had my first taste of maple sap which tastes like slightly sweetened water.  Even with the crowds, it was a good day.  And being able to relieve it over and over again via the pictures makes it even better.

Then there's the crafting, my favorite right-brain activity which has helped to keep me sane while enriching others' lives at the same time.  Those who read my other blog, The Naked Knitter (http://knittingaunatrurel.blogspot.ca/) are acquainted with this passion.  Last weekend, in between watching birds in my backyard and attending the Maple Syrup Festival, I was engaged in my least favorite task of creating - doing the finishing.  Weaving in the ends so that the finished work will not unravel.  Making the fringe for the afghans on the right and left in the picture (identical pattern - made with different yarn weights and hook sizes so that one is a youth afghan and one is for a baby).  Afterwards, the passion to take pictures asserted itself with this whimsical idea of hanging them on the clothesline.  This way, I will always have the pleasure of reliving the thrill of seeing these three afghans take shape beneath my fingers long after they have been sent far away to a new (hopefully forever) home.

Then there's the creative spark of the bear who shares my den:  Papa Bear.  His spark usually manifests itself in the humorous.  The unexpected.  I bought this container of playdough for use in my on-going therapy re: broken wrist.  The idea was to squeeze it thereby adding flexibility to my stiff fingers.  Also to pull it apart which uses and strengthens other muscles.  Papa Bear, though, had other ideas.  More creative ones.  I laugh every time I see these fingers pointing out of the container (and yes, I did leave them be).  I couldn't resist.  The playdough is or more value (laughing value) to me in this shape then it is in its regular shape.  After all, playdough is cheap and there is more in the store.  Fingers?  Well ... if provoked I guess I can always give the provoker the finger....

I had more pictures lined up to share, but decided to end with this one in the interest of keeping this posting short enough to keep the reader's interest all the way through.  Books are good.  But not if they're a blog posting.  I managed to capture this little guy on a walk about a week or two ago, on the St. Jacobs (Ontario) Millrace trail.  We often walk this trail.  Although I'm not usually able to walk the full length and back anymore, even a small outing is good.  Getting a photo op like this one exhilarating as these little guys flick and flitter about.  Never staying still for very long.  Always on the move.  Camera shy. They refuse to pose.  Impatient.  But I finally managed to catch one on camera   Which makes me the winner ... at least this time.

These are the things that give me joy.  That put the spark and sparkle back in my eyes.

These are the good times.  The mini vacations from life.