Victory on the Journey: A Victory in the Making

The Picturesque Guelph (Ontario) Bible Conference Grounds where Write Canada! is held

Apparently this is a week that will go down in history as Victory Week in the life of Cassie Stratford.

The last two blogs have been about the amazing victory of last Saturday.  Venturing out in public, alone, unsupervised, unchaperoned, without my ever-present protector, encourager and supporter - my ever-lovin' and long-sufferin' hubby.  (He would have looked sort of out of place at a knitting thing attended by mostly women.  Especially as he doesn't knit.)

Today, I am venturing out again alone into the world that once contained so much fear.  This time for a three day writers conference in a nearby town.

The key word here is alone.

Except for very occasional short outings for counselling - which is a very safe place with a very safe person - and/or doing a few errands in the uptown core, I don't get out much.

When the damage hit its height around 2012 and into 2013, I felt safer and more comfortable at home holed up in the smallest room in the house - beside the bathroom that is.  Even I'm not so wacky as to want to hang out in the bathroom for extended periods.

This room which I later started calling my "safe" room has everything I need in it - except bathroom and cooking facilities - to maintain life as I live it:  my computer, phone, DVDs, yarn, patterns, needles, hooks, books, a space heater and a fan.

The only thing it lacked was people or rather socialization.  During that time period, most of my socialization needs were met either through my poor hubby, family members, or social media.  I even took a few writing classes via the net.

But healing has now progressed to the point where it's time to press the limits a bit.  To grow.  To change.  To expand.  To experience new things.  To start socializing.  With real people.

Always with a plan B and even a plan C which I hope I won't have to use.

So today, I go alone into the world.

I went to this conference last year - with a companion/caregiver who just happened to be a very special niece that I had bonded with along the journey.

Yes, I was scared.  Partially of the people.  But also of the affects I was continuing to have such as lack of balance which would come on suddenly, extreme fatigue, shortness of breath, difficulty communicating as in sometimes the words wouldn't come or if they did they would come out wrong or I would start stuttering badly.

It had been a dream of mine to attend this conference and I had already put it off one year (2012) thinking that I would be magically better by the time it rolled around again in 2013.  But I wasn't.  So I decided to bite the bullet and find a way to go.

I wrote them, described my difficulties and threw myself on their mercy.  These gracious people made a way for me to attend.  They allowed me to bring a caregiver.  As she was there to support me and not to attend the conference as such, they waived the registration fee for her and she was allowed to attend paying only for her meals and lodging.  Because of the cause and nature of my difficulties, she was allowed to attend my classes with me.  We were joined at the hip so to speak.

My "caregiver", my niece, my friend.
I cannot thank you enough.

I cannot thank them or my niece enough.  Because other attendees came with a friend or daughter or whoever, a niece/aunt combo wasn't considered abnormal.  To the casual observer, we appeared to be two family members with a common interest who were out to learn more about their craft, thus not raising any red flags.  And because of her, I was able to act more normal, to feel normal, to relax a bit and enjoy.  She was there constantly.  Poor girl.  As I indicated earlier, the two of us were more or less joined at the hip.  Where I went, she went - except to the bathroom of course.  Even I have my limits - and pride.

We both had a great time.  I came away last year with a sense of pride and accomplishment.  I had faced a major challenge - and succeeded.

I was tired, very tired, exhausted in fact - but very, very happy.

To me, going to this conference was like facing my personal Mount Everest.

The 12 months between last year's conference and this year's has been filled with ... well ... life.  Good and bad.  Up and down.  Forward and backward.

BUT....

The most amazing happening in these last twelve months is that my pre-workplace abuse personality has come back from wherever it went on its long vacation.

With its reappearance, a lot of the major affects either disappeared altogether or dwindled to much lower, more manageable levels.

I'm ready to embrace life again.

To meet challenges.

To see where it takes me.

Look out world!  Here I come!

Note:  This will be my last blog of this week as internet connections there are iffy at best with so many attendees trying to use their computers at once.

See you next week with hopefully another tale of victory on the journey!

A Victory Blog - in Pictures

This is a blog in pictures - with a few captions.  I'm a visual person.  I think, I see, I feel, I communicate in pictures.  Here is my victory....

Enjoy.

The location.

A house converted into an amazing yarn shop - with perhaps the best selection locally

Knitting in public.  Semi.  Sort of.  We were outside in the parking lot which runs alongside and behind the shop.  Cloistered away from the bad big world.  Creating - at least for a few hours - a (safe) world of our own.  Inhabited by the best people on the face of this earth:  knitters (and those who love them anyway)

I won a mug!  My very own momento to remember this victory.
Karin, the proprietor, hiding behind the mug.
I love this woman's hair!

Kate Atherley
Designer.  Her patterns are featured on Ravelry
http://www.ravelry.com/designers/kate-atherley
Knitting instructor

Super Kate!
The theme of the day was super heroes.
So here is Kate wearing her special super hero cape.

This shawl is one of Kate's designs called the Waverley Shawl.  It is asymmetrical.
I got Kate to show me how to wear it.

Another way to wear it wrapped around the head with the hood of your parka over it to keep your head warm on cold, Canadian winter nights.

The yarn dying demonstration by Indigo Dragonfly - creators of hand dyed yarns.
Held behind the shop, these artistes, demonstrated how they dye their yarns.

The Artistes at work doing what they love best - creating color ways with dye.

Cardinal Ruby in the making.  A blend of reds with a touch of black

The girls from the Breast Cancer support fund.

The resident (and friendly) photographer for the day.

Beth Graham
In charge of the Super Hero name generator booth
For the magnificent sum of a toonie, we were able to generate a superhero name for the day - complete with sticker on our nametag.
I was Amazing Superpurler.
Amazing - that's what my therapist always says I am.  She's said it so often, I'm beginning to believe her.
Super. That's cooler
Purler?  Well, there are only two stitches in knitting - so I'm told - knitting and purling.

Notice: how very (non) threatening - and friendly - all these people are.

A safe place.

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.

Keys to Recovery from Workplace Abuse

As the small plane rose higher and higher in the sky, objects on the ground became smaller and smaller finally fading away as the plane rose too high to see individual objects, giving its passengers a great view of the topography passing by below us.  So it is with memories - both good and bad.  They become smaller and smaller in the distance.  Even those about workplace abuse.  Recalling them distinctly becomes harder as time passes ... IF recovery occurs.

As mentioned in my last post, my thoughts have been turning recently to the topic of how the target of workplace abuse overcomes and recovers.  Without becoming bitter.  Or worse yet, becoming a bully themselves.

As a friend used to say:  a tall order.

How indeed?

As I'm sure I've mentioned before, there are no magic wands.  No quick fixes.  Along with no surety that recovery will ever happen.   

It's a long, slow process.  One step at a time.

During this process, I've often thought of a saying on a magnet I saw years long:  if you can't walk, crawl. 

I've amended that saying to:  if you can't walk, crawl; if you can't crawl, go back to bed; if you can't sleep, pray.  If you can't pray, you're in a bad spot.  During the last three years of recovery from workplace abuse situation #2, I've been in all of these places at one time or another - except perhaps the last one, not being able to pray.

I've been journeying on the road to recovery from my second experience of back-to-back workplace abuse for approximately three years now.  Before that, I was working actively with a counsellor recovering from the first incidence of what I now know to be workplace abuse.  The one that I narrated in this blog in 2013.  The one that happened without my knowing what was happening and, therefore, caused a huge amount of damage.

Ironically, things got so bad in my life because of this first incident that the second incident of workplace abuse started about the same time as I found the counsellor who has been able to help me, who has walked with me steadfastly through it all, who has never belittled or blamed me or shut me down.

And that, dear reader, is the first of a what might be a long list of things which help the target/victim/survivor of workplace abuse recover:  support.

Support in the form of a therapist.  

One well-versed in trauma.  One who also has the same value system as the target.  

Actually, I like to use the word victim at times, because by the time, you're paying for a counsellor, there has been so much damage in the "target's" life that the word victim, to me, is more appropriate than target.

The word "target" just doesn't have the same impact that the word "victim" does.  The word "target" simply cannot convey the pain, the devastation, the destruction that the victim of workplace abuse experiences.

To me, I feel the word "target" can be appropriate when talking about the behaviours that the adversaries i.e. bullies are using against their victim.  For example, I can say that I was targeted for certain behaviours in the workplace by these people, which in my case were isolation, exclusion, gossiping, backbiting, slander, defamation of character, etc.

When it got to the point where I had two back-to-back stress breakdowns and was no longer capable of stringing words together in a sentence, walking in a straight line, cooking, etc., than I think the word "victim" becomes appropriate.  When talking about people who have cancer or have been in an accident.  We don't call them targets of cancer or targets of an accident.  We call them victims.  And rightly so.  When they have passed the crisis, the acute phase of the illness or injury and are carving out a new life for themselves, then they have entered the survivor phase.

We don't want them to linger or languish in the victim mode or mentality, but we want it to be clearly known that it was not their fault that they got cancer or were broadsided in an accident by a drunk or careless driver, etc.

However, I digress.  Let me get back on topic.


To recover and ultimately become a survivor, the individual also needs a support system in place around them.  I had been steadily building one up during the first three years of recovery.  Mine is small - and basically patchwork.  A husband here; a daughter there; said daughter's mother-in-law....  There have been others who come and go or who walk with me intermittently, but these three were the first.  The ones who have stayed around the longest, the ones who have stuck it through - and even learned how to support and encourage me through the process.  (My daughter likes to say that most of what she knows about trauma, she's learned from walking with me during this time.)  These are the ones who have "sat shiva" with me when the hurt was so deep that words could not help.

As the journey progresses, I've gathered more supporters/encourages along the way in various places:  Facebook, church, more assorted extended family members, reconnection with former friends ....

Here a little, there a little....

Research.  

When I first started to realize that I was being bullied in the workplace, I did not want to believe it.  So, I did what my analytical, university-educated mind directed me to do:  research.  In this case, looking up what bullying is - and is not - on the web.  I learned as a university student who had to write many research papers in her time, that I was not looking for the one article or site that aligned with my thoughts, feelings and experiences on the subject, but rather many sites and authors who said similar things.  Who corroborated and supported each other's findings.

This research helped me to understand "the nature of the beast" so to speak.  What bullying is, who does it, who the targets are and why specific people are chosen (most of this in earlier posts in 2013).  It showed me that it wasn't because I was a terrible person that this was happening to me but rather it had more to do with the people who were doing it - even going so far as to hint that at least some bullies are sociopaths - people who are incapable of feeling empathy for their victims or remorse for what they've done.  It showed me that rather than being a bad person, I was chosen because I had the characteristics that these people lacked and wanted.  They felt threatened by my cheerful attitude, strength, resilience. ability to perform my job, etc.

A sense of humour.

My therapist has always remarked that she has been impressed by me as I went through this as my admittedly weird and wacky sense of humour never completely deserted me.  It came close a few times, but I could almost always see the absurdity in what was happening.  Even when it seemed that everyone in the workplace including HR, management, the union on down was intent on destroying me, I could almost always see the fallacy, the irony, the illogic of what was happening and make comments about it that would cause people who were walking with me through it to snort.

Faith:

I don't mention much about my faith in this blog as I want it to be a resource for all individuals who are going through workplace abuse, or have been, and those who work with and support them; however, my faith is an intrinsic part of me.  My faith was the balance, the stabilizer as I walked through that increasingly dark time.  It was one of the major factors which enabled me to survive, which literally made the difference between life and death.  Death in the form of suicide - which I don't mention in this blog at all as it's such a dark topic.  But that thought was there too.  It was my faith, my belief in a God who loves me, who knows me - and loves me anyone, that enabled me to first survive and ultimately to begin to thrive in my new circumstances, my new reality post workplace abuse.


Discovering the Lies:

Workplace abuse attacks the target at the very core of their being - who they are.  As such, it does irreparable damage to the target/victim's view of themselves.  The lies are different in each situation.  With each target.  In my two back to back encounters with workplace abuse, the lies were different both times.  The first time, I was "emotional" because I shed one tear once.  That was not acceptable.  I was incapable of making decisions - because I wanted to know a specific time and date of the expected delivery of a product before I set things up, ditto wanting specific instructions on what my boss expected of me, i.e. what were the parameters of my decision making abilities and getting only vague answers in return.  There was also an element of isolation and exclusion in that situation as well as my immediate supervisor would have no interaction with me at all during working hours - even when necessary.  During my research post that situation, I discovered that her complaints and criticisms were simply a part of my personality make up.  Nothing bad about that.  It's simply what makes me, me.

In situation #2, the lies boiled down to three words which were always in one phrase:  "perceptions and assumptions".  That one phrase was always said in a sneering, demeaning, belittling tone of voice.  I was made to feel like a five year old who had been caught doing something very, very bad - but was never sure what it was.  

In order to fully heal, I've had to not only realize what the lies were but to learn the truth behind the lies in order to be set free from their power.

Discovering your passions and interests

Now for the fun part.  Part of the recovery process involves finding out who you are.  Who you really are.  Deep down inside.  

What turns you on?  What gets your crank going?

For me, my three passions are:  writing, photography and creative arts in the forms of knitting and crocheting.

My interests go all over the place from reading to travelling to gardening to music.

I find beauty in nature - the setting sun, the flowers that bloom, the thunder of the surf on the ocean, listening to praise music or classical ... or ... my all-time favorite ... Celtic.

These are the things that give me relief, that give me peace in the journey.

Multi-facted:

Lastly, as you can see from the above, the process of recovery is very multi-faceted.  It is not just comprised or therapy solely.  Or research solely.  It is a composite of all the above.  And more.  Much more.

Recovery from trauma in the form of workplace abuse is complicated.  There's no "all size fits all" in the process.  

Flying home from Belize, I captured this picture of Placenia and the narrow strip of land which connects it to the mainland.  Having seen it close up during my visit, this view made more sense in the continuity of things as do certain aspects of workplace abuse.  They make more sense when viewed from afar after the fact.  And also contain much less power to hurt.

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.