1692 Salem Witch Trials - An extreme scenario of bullying.

Above is a picture of a display at the visitors centre in Salem, Massachusetts, a town known for centuries in the United States for its 1692 Witch trials in which 20, in all likelihood innocent, human beings were murdered, 19 hanged and one pressed to death (tortured) for not cooperating.

Over three hundred years later, the infamy of those days lives on.  In history books.  In references to the town.  Etc.

Salem itself, as a tourist town, capitalizes on its infamy in many ways.  Unhealthy ways to me.  There are now shops specializing in occult paraphernalia.

But that's not what the witch trials were all about.

Salem isn't where witches trod.  It is where ignorance and superstition lived.  Where lives were ruined and snuffed out on the accusation of others.  Where innocent people were accused, jailed and ultimately executed on the say-so of others.  Their cries of innocence unheard and unheeded.

Now, more than three centuries later, people are beginning to realize that what happened in that time to those people was wrong.  It was not about their being witches.  It was about other things.

Things like being bullied.  Things like being unfairly accused.  Things like being voiceless and faceless.  Unheard.  Judged unfairly.

The victims of the massacre are no longer considered witches, perpetrators, but are considered victims.

In 1992 the town of Salem erected a memorial to those who were murdered in the name of justice in 1692.  The memorial is at one side of the cemetery.  

It comprises a stone wall with shelves or benches alongside it.  One for each of the victims.  Their date and method of execution.

To get into the memorial, the visitor has to step across a stone pathway in which are permanently etched the last words of the accused. Words such as:  " I am wholly innocent"; "I was wronged."  Words that went unheard at the time they were spoken but now, three centuries later, reverberate across the corridors of time with their strength, their power ... and their futility.

As a victim/survivor of workplace abuse, I could feel the oppression in the air surrounding Salem especially in that corner of the town where their memory lives on via the memorial and some of their last words and protestations.

As a victim of workplace abuse, I could relate.  As I said before, I felt the oppression.  I also felt almost unbearable sadness and despair.  Similar to current victims of workplace abuse, it didn't matter what these victims said in their defence.  They were ignored.  It was what others said.  The others had all the power - and used it.  The victims were powerless, voiceless.

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Here are some of the last words of those executed in this travesty of justice: Brave Words of Some of the Accused Witches All of Whom Were Executed "I am an innocent person. I never had to do with witchcraft since I was born. I am a Gosple woman." Martha Cory (March 21, 1692. From the Rev. Parris account of the examination at Salem Village Meeting House.)

The lord above knows my Innocencye ... as att the great day win be known to men and Angells. I Petition to your honours not for my own life for I know I must die, and my appointed time is sett but the Lord he knowes it is that if it be possible no more Innocent blood may be shed ..." Mary Esty (September 1692. Written while in prison awaiting execution.)

"If it was the last moment I was to live, God knows I am innocent ..." Elizabeth How (May 31, 1692. From the Rev. Parris account of the examination at Salem Village.)

"Well! burn me, or hang me, I will stand in the truth of Christ ..." George Jacobs, Sr. (May 10,1692. From the Rev. Parris account of the examination at Salem.)

"Amen. Amen. A false tongue will never make a guilty person." Susannah Martin (May 2, 1692. From the Rev. Parris account of the examination at Salem Village Meeting House.)

"I can say before my Eternal father I am innocent, & God will clear my innocency." Rebecca Nurse (March 24, 1692. From the Rev. Parris account of the examination at Salem Village Meeting House.)

"The Magistrates, Ministers, Jewries, and all the People in general, being so much inraged and incensed against us by the Delusion of the Devil, which we can term no other, by reason we know in our own Consciences, we are all Innocent Persons." John Procter, Sr. (July 23, 1692. Written while in Salem Prison.)


"... I fear not but the Lord in his due time will make me as white as snow." John Willard (May 18, 1692. From the Rev. Parris account of the examination at Salem Village.)


For most last words of the victims of these witch trials, check out this site:  https://sites.google.com/site/historicsalemwitchtrials/last-words

Today, a play is performed in Salem called Cry Innocent about the trial of the first person accused, condemned and executed as a witch:  Bridget Bishop.  An unpopular woman.  Prone to gossip.  Not very well liked.  So when she was accused, people went along with the accusations.

In present day Salem, the tickets are sold for the play, a "town crier" announces the arrest of Bridget Bishop and the charges again her.  Actors drag a struggling "Bridget Bishop" down the street vainly crying out her innocence and outrage towards the charges.  The people (audience) who are witnessing this event, fall into the procession behind the accused (actors) to make their way to the hall where the play is performed.

I had a strong reaction watching this procession.  All these people falling into line.  Blindly following the leader.  Believing the accusations.

That, my dear reader, is the core of what workplace bullying, neighbourhood bullying, church bullying, etc. is made of.  People blindly following those who are stronger, louder.  People not bothering to stand back and think for themselves.  People caught up in plausible lies.  In the emotion of the moment.  Feeling they are part of something - whatever that something is.

Whatever the dynamic, lives are irreversibly ruined.  

You might say:  "That was then. This is now."  You might also say:  "You're being a bit dramatic here, Cassie, don't you think?  Workplace bullying doesn't resemble this kind of scenario."

It doesn't?  Think about it.  One person (usually at a time) is selected to be the target of accusations, gossip, exclusion, etc.  One by one the bystanders join in.  It doesn't matter what the target says, to whom or how often.  He/she is tried in the court of public opinion, convicted and "sentenced" (the usual form in the workplace being fired).

So what? you might say.  That person is alive.  They can get another job.

Can they?

What about the damage done?  Are you aware that many targets of workplace abuse commit suicide?  Because they've believed the lies rampant in the workplace.

What happened in Salem Massachusetts all those years ago in 1692, was a form of bullying, purging of people that didn't fit in, people who weren't well liked, etc.  It continues on today in many forms.  Most of them not easily recognizable.

Post Workplace Abuse - Life is Largely What You Make of It

Today is my birthday.  I am 64 today, although I pride myself on not looking my age.  

Yet every year takes its toll on me whether good or bad.

As you know from reading this blog, the last few years have been lalapaloozas.  Yet, at the end of the day - or is it year? - I'm still here.  Still trucking - or is it toddling - on?

Having good days - and bad days.

Yet, the good days, the good times are what I try to focus on.

Take last year for example.

Over a thousand miles (if I wasn't, it sure felt like it) away from home on the Eastern Seaboard of the US in Salem, Massachusetts for the much anticipated wedding of my nephew.  Most well known for its (now infamous) witch trials of 1692.

A piece of U.S. history.  A thriving tourist town.

Usually we celebrate birthdays with a family barbecue in our backyard.  In the last several years, family has become more and more important to me.

But last year, family was in various stages of transit from home to Massachusetts for the wedding.  Those who were already in Salem were the principals in the wedding, focussing solely on the next say's event.  The wedding took precedence over everything - as well it should.

The Friendship, a replica of a War of 1812 frigate, permanently moored and open for tours

Yet, during the last few years if I've learned anything I've learned that life, largely, is what you make of it.  I've leaned that while I cannot change anyone else, I can change myself.

I couldn't stop the adversaries from targeting me, from excluding me, from gossiping, slandering, defaming my character to anyone who would listen and ultimately to libel.  

I couldn't stop them.  I can't change them.  

But I can choose to recover.  I can work lifestyle changes which lead to a healthier, happier mind frame.

I can change myself.

And so, on this day which was probably not important in the scheme of things to anybody but myself and a small circle of friends, we chose to celebrate where we were and with what was at hand.  With my long sufferin' hubby who promised more than three decades ago to love, honour and be my travelling companion through the journey of life.

First up, explore Salem, find a restaurant for a birthday lunch, explore Salem some more, take pictures, walk around, take more pictures.

Doing one of my favorite things:  exploring.  Okay two of my favorite things:  taking pictures.

There was so much to see.  So much history.  Especially in the area we were in.

To celebrate, we took a cruise aboard a replicate of a War of 1812 frigate around the harbour area.  A sailing schooner.  

Something I've never done before and will probably never have the opportunity to do again.

An old rope shed at the mouth of the harbour

Enjoying the scenery.  Being with my best friend and hubby.

An interesting tidbit:  there are various versions floating around about who won the War of 1812 - depending on which side of the U.S./Canadian border you live on.  The Americans say they won.  Us Canadians know that we won.  The most interesting take on who won was by the captain of our sailing vessel:  the Indians won.

Take your pick.....

Historic buildings are everywhere, especially in the harbour district.  I loved this eagle atop this building.

Words cannot adequately describe the voyage, so I will let the pictures tell the rest of the story.

Aboard the Fame, a replica of a War of 1812 Frigate, for a tour around the harbour

Give me a lighthouse and I'm a happy camper

Ahhhh, the peace and tranquility of living in the moment.  Since it was a sailing schooner, no noise.  Heaven.

Getting a decent picture of this lighthouse became my personal challenge for the day.

The scene on the river heading back to where The Fame is moored

The cruise ended all too soon and we de-boarded.  Walking back to the hotel - and real life.  Our interlude ended.

Yet more adventures await us.  Some good.  Some not so good.  The wedding the next day.  Family.  Travelling home again....

The death of my mother two weeks later.  But that's another story for another time.

Life ...

... is largely what you make it.

Trite ... but true.

Today, I choose to make this the best birthday ever.  

Why?  

Cause I'm alive to celebrate it.

My Family; My Support System In the Journey of Recovery from PTSD

In the recovery process, family has become very important.  These are the people closest to me.  These are the ones who walk with me day in and day out - whether they want to or not.  These are the ones who hear my tales both of woe and of victory.  These are the ones who encourage me to keep on keeping on no matter how discouraged or depressed I get.

It was a level playing field, so to speak, when we all came into the journey of PTST, trauma and ultimately recovery eight years ago.  I say a level playing field because none of us knew what had just happened.  We were all clueless.  In many ways, we were all stuck in our not knowing, our cluelessness.

We all thought that like a flu it would all just go away sooner or later.  Hopefully, sooner rather than later.  What none of us realized at that time was that what had happened was more in the realm of a "major event" than a minor illness.  That it would take time - a lot of time - to rebuild and recover from the losses.  Making it even harder was that unlike a major physical event such as a flood or a tornado - or even wind damage, all the damage was internal, invisible.

So when these people who have suffered with me and walked alongside me on a long-term basis, made a request, I wanted to honour that request.

My two oldest grandchildren were taking a huge step in their faith journey by deciding to be baptized.  Not in a church building, but in a lake at a church camp where the family would be that weekend - the Civic Holiday weekend.

So when these people who are closest to me and have borne the brunt of my journey through trauma expressed a desire that I be there, I wanted to go.  It was important - both to me and to my family - for me to figure out a way to make this happen.  Not going was not an option.

If these people can be there for me and walk with me through a journey fraught with emotional landmines, then surely I can make the effort to be there for them when a once in a lifetime event occurs.

A significant event in both the life of the family as a whole and the lives of the two grands as individuals.

Narrative, words, fail me so I will let the pictures tell the rest of the story....

My two oldest grands and their parents in the lake - receiving instructions

Whoever said "ladies first" didn't know my grandson, as he took the plunge (literally) first.  (My youngest grand's head in the foreground)

I don't know what it was like in the early church when people went under but here in this location at this church it was a joyous occasion with shouts and cheers

Nest up - my granddaughter.  I would give a lot more than a penny for her thoughts at that moment, looking down at the water and knowing that it is COLD ... and she was going to get colder momentarily

Looking at the various expressions, joy, excitement and - I'm not sure how to read my granddaughter's face, really says it all.

A day of emotion.  A day of joy.  A day of victory.  A day of determination - not only to follow Christ in baptism but also the sheer grit it took to be totally immersed in lake water on a cold, windy day.

I'm glad I went out of my comfort zone to experience this momentous occasion with those who have shone me sacrificial love.

Thank you for inviting me into your lives and into experiences like these.

Enjoying the Civic Holiday Weekend while Coping with Severe Stress Affects

What's in a name?  The first Monday in August in Canada is commonly called Civic Holiday, a chance to enjoy another three-day weekend in Canada.  It goes by several names according to what city or province you live in.  But the idea is the same:  celebrate; enjoy; live.

Three day weekends become problematic when you're coping on a daily basis with "altered abilities" caused by unrelenting, escalating, brutal stress over a period of years. When the energy tank in your body gets so deleted that there are no reserves left.  When at the best of times, you're running on fumes.

That is me.  My life.  What I deal with daily.

You've heard the saying that "the eyes are bigger than the stomach?"  Or the Biblical quote:  "the flesh is willing but the spirit is weak?"  In my case, it's the opposite:  my spirit is willing BUT my flesh is weak.  What I want to do, what my mind tells me I can do, I find I can't.

Learning to live with this - and live like this - has been a difficult change for me.  I once did.  I now be.

So we came to yet another long weekend, thinking of options.  What can I realistically do?  The key word being "realistically".

My mind fumbled through several options finally deciding on a visit to the Toronto Zoo - about an hour or so away from us.  A day trip.  Bringing, of course, two indispensable items:  hubby and my camera.

Before even leaving the house that morning knowing that (a) energy is severely limited and (b) unpredictable as in I can go from feeling physically and emotionally on top of the world one minute to having trouble breathing the next, we formed a "plan".

The panda exhibit is on.  Two pandas on loan from China.  Therefore, the plan was to see that exhibit first and then go from there, monitoring the energy levels constantly (almost sounds like I'm a car with an oil leak, doesn't it?)

It was a good plan.  Especially considering the wait for the interactive exhibit.  We became part of a long line snaking around lines formed by ropes before finally entering the building.  Following hoards of like-minded people, we snaked through the exhibit before finally funnelling through the bamboo tunnel.  Each step getting us closer to our intended goal:  the pandas.

Success at last!  The two pandas, one male and one female, are kept separated.  Above is the female who was enjoying the Toronto sun; while the male was kept inside with a separate (crowded) viewing area.

Leaving the panda exhibit, emotionally I felt good.  Physically was starting to get challenging.  We decided to "bite the bullet" and find the zoomobile and ride it around rather than walking.  A good choice EXCEPT that it took a lot of walking to get to the next zoomobile location.

By that time, I was thoroughly tired and ready for a rest.  Breathing coming in spurts.  I was starting to look longingly at those who were using mobility devices.  But I persevered - and had a riot taking pictures.  (So, what else is new?)

By the time we got to the zoomobile stop, I was barely able to function.  I broke out in a sweat all over trying to access the machine for tickets.  A feat only accomplished with the assistance of my long sufferin' spouse (and part-time sherpa).

The zoo has renovated its Eurasia exhibit and the only way to see it is on the zoomobile - so besides the practical consideration of not physically being able to walk any further, the zoomobile allowed us to see a part of the zoo we would not have otherwise been privy to.

The train actually goes through gates into the enclosure.  Taking pictures on a moving vehicle proved to be a challenge - but a fun one.

As we wove around the zoo on the train, it became more and more evident that walking around was not going to happen.

So we rode around - a couple of times.

It was actually more fun the second time around as we knew what we were going to see and could try to get the camera ready in advance.  It was also fun knowing that I was coping with the limitations imposed by my altered abilities - and coping well.

Pictures like this one.  Experiences like this are what keep me going.  Even when the body wants to lie down and say:  "I quit."  These good times spent with my best friend (who also happens to be my husband) are what give me hope for a better - which in my case translates to less challenging - tomorrow.

Accepting that I now have limitations which are not easily understood because they are not linked to an organic cause has not been easy.  Yet, it's a necessary part of the recovery process.

What will my world look like?  What will my "new normal" level out to be?  I'm not going to know unless I keep on keeping on.  Muddling through.  One day, one experience, at a time.

This day, it was the zoo.  Tomorrow, it might well be something else.

Going home through Toronto we came to a slow down - rather a bottleneck.  Bumper to bumper traffic creeping along.  We saw a cloud of smoke.  Not one but two fire trucks raced past us.  At one point, we saw flames.  By the time, we crept past, this was all that was left of the commotion.

Needless to say, someone was having a rougher go of it at that moment than I was.

For that I am thankful.

Civic Holiday - a 3-day weekend in August

In May, Canada has its Victoria Day long weekend while the US follows the week after with its Memorial Day.

In July, Canada has it's Canada Day celebration on July 1st while the US follows four days later with its Independence Day celebration.  (Note:  how Canada has its holidays first and then the US follows suit?)

In September, both have Labour Day - on the same day.  Which is because Labour Day is an international holiday not a national one.  (See the things you learn while on a guided tour on Labour Day?)

But August.  Poor August.  The lone month in the summer that is marginalized by not having a long weekend.

What to do?

Us enterprising Canadians figured out a way.

Create a holiday.  Just for us.  No reason except to give us a long weekend every month in the summer.

Works for us.

In fact, it works well.

So today, most Canadians, including yours truly, are off wandering around enjoying our Civic Holiday.

Some go camping either alone or with groups such as their church.  Others, go to the beach - of which they are plenty here in our area of Ontario.  Others go to places like Niagara Falls or Toronto - or the Zoo.

We've done a little of not quite everything but a smorgasbord of activities to be sure this weekend.

Saturday was the Toronto zoo which is featuring a panda exhibit.

Sunday we wandered toward Lake Huron to a small church camp at an inland lake where our oldest two grandchildren were baptized

Today, we're in Owen Sound just wandering around as we slowly head back to home base.  To work for hubby.   To more on the journey of recovery for me.

To life as we know it - and experience it.

So today, I am having a break.  Yes, the physical stuff intervenes irregardless of whether it's a holiday or not.

Yet, I'm giving myself a break.  A break from processing.  A break from the hard work of recovery.  A time to relax.  To enjoy.  To be me.

I'll resume processing tomorrow.

For today ... well ... for today it's all about rest and healing.

See you tomorrow.

With pictures.

Invisible Victims of Workplace Abuse - Our Loved Ones

When I first started this blog - and this particular posting which has been on the back burner for quite a while - I used the moniker Mama Bear.  As I learned about how to blog, I realized that Mama Bear was no longer the best moniker to use.  However, I still felt the need for invisibility - at least from those who abused me in the workplace, so I changed my moniker to a nom de plume:  Cassie Stratford.

I started this post during the Mama Bear phase and now I am finding it too difficult to rework this post to reflect the change from Mama Bear to Cassie.  From Papa Bear to ????  So, for today, I will revert back to the bear image and analogy and write about Papa Bear:  a hidden victim of workplace abuse.

Papa Bear, wanders around the den.  Lost without his companion, his mate.  Concerned.  Blaming himself for his mate's condition.  Thinking that there is something he could have done - nay should have done - to protect his lifelong mate from the stressful situation which caused the damage, the weakness, the extreme fatigue, etc.  The list goes on - and on - and on.  Und so weiter.

Mixing my metaphors, Papa Bear is very much like a male goose whose mate has been killed.  Sitting beside his lost mate.  Grieving his loss.  Not moving.  Bereft.

He feels adrift in a restless sea without oars, paddles or rudders.  Certainly, no instructions on how to help his mate.  He shoulders the burden alone.  He is caregiver and babysitter (or rather bear sitter) all wrapped into one.

In a physical illness, the knowledge of what to do comes naturally.  If a person has the flu, it's pretty obvious.  Bed rest.  Fluids.  Acetaminophen (or Tylenol), chicken soup, etc.  These are all givens.


If a leg - or other body part - is broken, a visit to the local emergency room is necessary and a cast or splint is applied.

Bandaids for cuts and scratches.  Antibiotic salve to prevent infection from developing.  Antibiotics for bacterial infections.

But there are no casts, bandaids, salves or antibiotics for wounds caused by emotional trauma.  There are no magic wands.  (If there were, someone out there would make a fortune.)  All Papa Bear can do is sit with his injured mate and pray for recovery.  All the while struggling with his own bewilderment, his own sense of loss.  Feeling helpless.  Useless.  A failure because he could not prevent it from happening.

He is as much a victim as his mate.

Although, my Papa Bear feels helpless much of the time, he has shown strength and courage in the face of adversity.

He has stayed with me through it all.  Walked with me every step of the way.

And he has learned about trauma - and what it does to the victim/survivor - the hard way.  Up close and personal.

He has had his own unique way of dealing with it.

When things got really bad.  And I mean really bad.  Like I was suicidal and ready to give up.  He simply put a camera in my hand and we went away for the weekend.  He let me call the shots.  Where we went.  Where we stayed.  What we did.

He gave me back a sense of dignity and, more importantly, control over my life.

He affirmed me when my sense of value and self esteem were so badly attacked that I had nothing left internally.

He gave me hugs - even when I was unwilling and stiff as a board.  ("Which begs the question:  How do you hug a porcupine?"  The answer:  "Very carefully.")

No, he's not perfect.  He's been just as bewildered as I've been.

But he's been there.  He's told me stories of his work place and affirmed many times over, until I finally started to get the hint, that mine was not "normal".  That there was something drastically wrong with the situation I was working in.

He would call me at a set time every work day while I was still in the abusive work situation (#2) to give me a break from the overwhelming exclusion and isolation.

He kept telling me that the reason I didn't fit in was because I was an eagle and they were turkeys.  The two don't mix.

He fed the eagle analogy with words and pictures.  Telling me what an eagle is.  Why they're different.  And that they're solitary.  Majestic too.

When my work mates were having a supper which included everyone but myself (directly in front of my work station), he would go out to a fast food restaurant and bring me my own treat to enjoy.  Solitary, but good.  Even better because he was going out of his way to do something nice for me and to make a bad situation a little better.  He didn't have to.  He did it because he loved me.

After a long, hard week of exclusion and isolation, he would sometimes meet me after work with a special treat - a Tim Horton's coffee made especially the way I liked it.  Just for me.  To make up for all the times, the rest of the small office had enjoyed coffee as a group in my presence without me.  (Ever been a coffee addict watching everyone else drink a Tim Horton's coffee?  Smelling the aroma?  But not allowed to taste the goodie?  Try it.  You won't like it.)  Once he even brought the cat because he knew she would comfort me.

Small things?  Maybe.  Maybe not.  They let me know that I was not alone in the battle.  That I was not as bad as I was purported to be in the office.  That outside the workplace I had value.  I was loved.  I was cared for.

After the work situation ended.  After I'd had two back-to-back stress breakdowns with resultant damages, he watched me go from a person who could do things, to one who had trouble even putting on a simple meal, stringing words together to make a sentence....

From a person who had a lot of outside interests, to one who prefers to stay inside, sit at the computer, write and knit.

From someone who was outgoing and gregarious to someone who is afraid of people.  Who thinks the stranger behind her in the grocery store is scary and someone to be afraid of.

He's been there when I've felt so overwhelmed that the irritability has come up and spilled over.

He's been hurt too.

Yet, he's been there.  Every step of the way.  To the best of his ability - and personality.

He may have felt like it, but he's never given up.

This blog posting is dedicated not just to my ever lovin', long sufferin' spouse, but to all the family members who are walking with their own survivors of abuse - whether it be workplace, marital, church, neighbourhood, etc.  You rock, guys!  Don't ever give up.  You are the world - and probably the only note of sanity in an insane world - to your loved one.

My rock

The Reality of Psychological Trauma and Complex PTSD

Trauma is hard for me to write about.  Why?  I'm not really sure.  (For an excellent read on psychological trauma, please click on the link.)

Trauma appears to be a term that is widely used, but just as widely misunderstood.

Rather than being a diagnosed illness, it is more of a concept for most people.  Even, and perhaps especially, those of us caught in its throes - and the people closest to us who are walking - and hurting - alongside us.

Even among professionals, there are differences of opinion.  For some professionals, a person can only be suffering from PTSD if they've had a life-threatening experience.  Which would mean that the young child who at five had a six year old try to strangle her is definitely a potential candidate for PTSD.  But would also mean that the adult who has been continually isolated and excluded in the workplace is not.

By the same token, the person who was consistently emotionally and psychologically battered by verbal abuse in the home, the workplace, the church, the neighbourhood, wherever, is not a candidate for PTSD according to those who define psychiatric disorders in the DSM: Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders.

However, there is an increasing amount of literature on the net about psychological trauma.  About something calledcomplex PTSD which is not in the psychiatric bible, the DSM.

Yet, whether it is recognized by professionals or not, psychological trauma and complex PTSD caused by repeated non-life threatening occurrences such as repeated molestation, angry outbursts by parents or significant others, bullying at school or at work, etc. is real.  At least to people like me.  People who have gone life a lifetime of these experiences.

Even with those traumas which are recognized as such, i.e. death in the family, car wreck, fire, etc., I've heard people after after a few weeks use those infamous words:  "Let it go."

Many people incorrectly assume that there is a time limit to grieving or to healing after a traumatic event.

Many people also, just as incorrectly, assume that all the victim (or survivor) needs to do is "just let it go."

I heard that phrase so many times, times too numerous to count, in the initial days, weeks and months post the first abusive workplace situation.

In those days, I felt a compulsion to talk about what had happened.  Probably ad nauseum.  It was so fresh in my mind.  Even months later, it was continually before me.  When I went to bed at night, on waking in the middle of the night, first thing in the morning.  It was continually there.  Always there.  Never taking a break or a holiday.  More importantly, never letting me take a break or a holiday from the psychological ravages of workplace bullying.  Six weeks after the contract ended (or was I fired?), it still felt as fresh as if it had just happened the day before.

I felt compelled to talk about what had happened, but so often did not get the chance.  When I did, the person might listen for a short while and then, predictably, as I went on, their face would change.  I could see that they had had enough.  And then inevitably, I would hear the words:  "Just let it go."  And they would turn - and walk out of my life leaving me emotionally bleeding all over the floor.

It is hard to describe the impact those four words, spoken over and over again, by a variety of people, over an eighteen month period of time, had on me. 

But I will try.

First, I felt judged by these people.

I felt they were telling me that I had failed.  That there was something I could do, but was willfully refusing to.  That I was the author of my own confusion and tremendous hurt.

I felt alone.

After the pronouncement, these people would inevitably go back to their own worlds - and leave me along, hurting, in mine.  I realize now that I was trying to get people to recognize the deep hurt and walk with me on my journey.  But none of us realized it at that time.  I could not tell them in so many words that I needed someone - or ones - to walk with me through something none of us could understand.

I felt confused.

Not only did I have no understanding at that time of what had happened to me in the workplace and it's long-term affects on me, I had absolutely no clue as to how to heal.

I felt lost.

No one who said those four words, "just let it go", gave me a blueprint from point A to point B on how to accomplish that.  I had no clue how to just let it go.  However, I assumed that they did and that there was something obvious that I was missing.

And I tried.

You don't know how hard I tried.

During those eighteen months, and especially in that initial period post workplace abuse, I did everything I knew to do.  Everything that had worked in the past.

I prayed.

I tried to forgive the people involved.

I tried to move on with my life.

I even got a new job rather quickly.

I kept on with my life as I knew it.  Inviting people over for barbecues and bonfires.

I even went back to a counsellor that I had seen off and on for many years.

But nothing worked.

Nothing offered long-term relief from the pain.

The pain accumulated over time.  Never going away.  Multiplying as the days, weeks, months went on.  Never taking a holiday, a break.

If I only knew then what I know now.

I know I'm leaving you at the top of a cliff today, but I see no way around it.  It's time to close for now.  Tomorrow is another day on this journey of healing. 

Rest assured, tomorrow will come.  We will get through this.  We will survive.