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.

"Storm Damage" Post Workplace Abuse

The damage that a storm, or any natural (or unnatural) event causes is instantaneous.  And visible.   Anyone can see it.  Depending on how violent or visible the event is, the  media pick it up and plaster pictures all over the print media, TV and the internet.

Our first reaction was exhilaration on experiencing the storm firsthand while driving through it and then later through seeing the damage firsthand.

On seeing our backyard for the first time after the storm, we were thankful that it was our neighbour's tree which had snapped and not ours.  We were secure in the knowledge that he would tend to it as soon as possible.  It was nothing more than an annoyance in our lives.  Nothing major.

We went out to survey the damage around the town which at first added further exhilaration.   Then as we saw more and more of the extent of the damage and began to perceive that restoring power was not going to be a quick fix, we began to comprehend the seriousness of the situation.  And the situation became just a little more major in our estimation - but still more on the annoyance level than anything else.  Still nothing really major.

We began to wonder:  just how long is this going to last?

Just how long are we going to be inconvenienced by this?

Just what measures should we take to live through this happening?

We got out the flashlights.  Note to self:  make sure that all flashlights are in an easy to locate location.  Another note to self:  make sure they are all working and that more batteries are stocked and stored nearby in that central location to make location easy.

We got out the radios.  Note to self:  Make sure to stock batteries for radios in that central location.  Also, make sure to note where said battery powered and hand cranked radios are located.

One of our immediate needs, more immediate than a light source, was food.  Without power and not having a gas stove, what were we going to do?  How extensive was the damage?

Not knowing, we made do with crackers, cheese, sandwiches and potato chips - which was a good decision since the power didn't come on until the next morning.

Again, we may not have been aware of everything at that time as in how long it was going to last, when would power be restored, etc., but because it was something natural, something more or less obvious, the situation we were dealing with and the steps needed to deal with the situation were fairly obvious.  And really, for the most part, it was more of an annoyance, a blip on the screen of life.

With abusive situations, the victim finds themselves dealing with unseen damage.  All the damage is internal.  Hidden inside the body - and mind.

The situation is not obvious.  Even to the victim of the abuse.  Many times, the victim is not aware that they went through the emotional equivalent of a severe storm and battering to their mind and body.

There are no overt trees or power lines down.

However, inside where the person truly lives, they are living in a chaotic mess.

Verbal assaults have totally destroyed their self esteem.  Stress and overwork have done a number on their energy levels and with resultant chemical imbalances in their bodies.

First there is the acute phase which can be a stress breakdown with stress symptoms such as stuttering, impaired cognitive abilities, making mistakes both at work and outside of work.  These are just a few of the symptoms I experienced in one or both of the abusive work situations I lived through.  Similar to when the physical storm I've described in our region first hit.

Next, usually months later, comes the chronic phase in which physical symptoms such as (in my case) extreme fatigue, lack of balance, inability to think or talk, etc.  start to manifest themselves.  Even long-term illnesses can crop up during this time because of the high levels of stress the victim has endured and how these high levels of stress have impacted the victim's body's ability to cope with life's demands heal itself.

Because of the nature of the beast - the beast of workplace abuse, that is - survivors cannot just make out a list of needs to fill like we did with the physical assault of the storm.

When I was walked out the door of that company that day in March 2005 and the door closed firmly behind me, I unknowingly started the trek through a minefield of trauma and PTSD.  Things I never in a million years ever dreamed would invade my world.

Not only did they invade my world due to the abusive workplace situation and its equally brutal end, but they made themselves quite a home in my life.

Never even bothering to introduce themselves.

What many people, even myself, perceived at that time as nothing more than an annoyance, a blip on the screen of my life, was something much more destruction.  More lasting.  More detrimental.

This is the beginning of a series going through the initial wasteland of emotions, untreated and undiagnosed trauma and PTSD which lasted eighteen months.

A period where confusion and hopelessness reigned.

A Week After the Storm: The Cleanup Continues

On July 19th at approximately 6 p.m. a storm swept through our area.  The rain slanted sideways.  Rain poured in torrents off the windshield of the car.  Even with the wipers on at their highest setting, they couldn't keep up.  I pulled to the side of the road.  The traffic lights a block ahead of our stopped vehicle went out.  At that point, we didn't know the extent of the damage or the extent of the power outage.  We just kept going on, hoping that eventually we'd come to a working traffic light.  We didn't.   As we progressed, we started to see trees down along our route home.  Some even in the road.  Cars gingerly maneuvering around them.  When we got home, it was therefore no surprise to see that our power was out.  For how long, we didn't know at that time.  We went into the back yard and this is what we saw.  It was our first hint of the massive destruction which had taken place in our area as the storm cut in a straight line through.

Since the power was out, we decided to get in our car and take a ride around.  Trees were down all over the area.  People were already out checking on the damage.  We saw where large trees had come down taking power and phone lines with them.  We saw power crews already working on some of the worst of the damaged area.  We saw neighbours helping neighbours.  We saw a fire truck across a street, blocking it, because of a downed power line.  We saw areas where there was little to no damage and all the power they could wish.  Where life was normal.  Then we re-entered the damaged zone where life was anything but normal.  

Yet even there, life was going on.  Not the same way as normal.  People were responding as normally as possible to an abnormal situation.  One restaurant stayed open.  Having what they called a parking lot party.  In one area, neighbours were out with reflective vests, guiding traffic through a street down to one lane because of a downed tree.  Others sat in groups on their porches.  Making the best of the sudden change in their situation.  Like us, hoping it was only for a short while before power - and life as we know it - would come back to normal.

A week has passed since the storm.  It took several days, but the power has been restored to all the homes.  The tree in the picture above is now stacked cordwood by our neighbour's shed.  Yet, the sound of power saws continues to punctuate our neighbourhood - and will for a while.  Many trees are still down.  Jagged stumps of what had once been majestic trees stand in people's yards.  On my walk, I saw a line which I can only assume is a cable line still down, held more or less in place by a piece of tape, a new pole lying on the ground, waiting for the crews to get around to it.

We've heard that it will take a month to get around to taking care of all the downed trees.  Those still on the ground are withering, the leaves turning brown without the lifeblood which once pulsed through them - before the storm.  Before the devastation.

Why am I going on about a storm in my area?  What does a storm have to do with me?  With my chosen topic of recovery from workplace abuse?

I've decided to use this analogy of the storm, its suddenness and lingering devastation as an analogy of trauma.   

Stayed tuned to this blog site for more tomorrow.

Post Damage and Workplace Abuse - Life Is Complicated

Damage in our neighbourhood after the storm on July 19th

Oh me!  Oh my!  Three days have passed since you've heard from me.  For a blogger recently committed to blogging every weekday, Monday to Friday, five days I week, I've failed miserably this week.

Why?

I'd love to say that I was in some exotic location doing something memorable:  in the Himalayas climbing Mount Everest (is it in the Himalayas?). Hmmm.

Or perhaps, on a beautiful Caribbean island wearing a bikini, lounging on the beach, long, silky hair lying luxuriously along my shoulder like a sleek mane.  Oh yeah.  Wait.  I don't have either a bikini or long, silky hair.  Nor does my hair lie luxuriously, sleekly on my shoulder when it was long.  It more or less resembled a brillo brush.  And the body shape?  Let's not go there.  OK?

So where have I been?

And what have I been doing?

Enjoying a day at the "new" splashpad with the grands.  I call it "new" because it wasn't there 30 years when my kids were kids; therefore, it is "new" - at least to me.

The most exotic locale I've been to lately has been the local park with my daughter, all three grandchildren - and my camera.

Or was the most exotic locale the local library?  Hmmm.  Maybe the grocery store?

I think you get the picture.

There is nothing "exotic" about my life at the moment.

Indeed, for the most part I've been holed up, not just in my house but in the room I consider my "safe" place.

I've been watching DVDs, knitting or rather tinking (which is knit spelled backwards and is basically unknitting what you've knitted).

Working yet again on a set of both physical and emotional symptoms that crept up uninvited.

Grief.  Weariness in the journey of recovery.  Wishing it were over.  Wishing my life was what it used to be in terms of things I could do.

But wishing is ... well ... just wishing.  It's reality that keeps bombarding me and slapping me up aside the head (rather thoughtless of it, don't you think?)

It's my altered reality that I have to deal with on a daily basis.

And this week, I've let that altered reality get me down.  I've let it take over.

I've let it ....

Yet, there's the other side of the reality.

I've persevered in the knit piece shown above (anyone in the market for a pink baby blanket in say the year 2015?).  It is now 21 inches long (isn't that the approximate length of the average newborn baby?).  In some ways, it's just like me.  Imperfect.  Mistakes and corrections to those mistakes knitted into the very fabric of the piece.

Isn't life like that, though?

Full of mistakes.  Things that we wish hadn't happened?  Things we regret?

We can't undo our mistakes.  There is no delete button in life.

But we can knit on.  We can incorporate our mistakes - and their corrections - into the very fabric of our lives.

So today, I put fingers to keyboard once again.  I look at the blank page - which is intimidating in its blankness.  I let my fingers drift across the keys.  And yes, I looked at the pile of pink knit on the chair beside me.  

I'm in my "safe" room.

I'm doing what I love best.  (Or rather two of the things I love best:  writing and knitting - NOT at the same time).

I am alive.  I am able to face today.

I put one finger to a key and press it down.  Then another and another.  Before I know it, I have a word, then a sentence, then a paragraph.

Eventually I have a blog posting.  Today's blog posting.

I am able to face today - and it's challenges.

For that I give thanks.

Life is often what we make it.  On July 19th, a severe thunderstorm with high winds barrelled through our area.  Leaving downed trees and power and phone lines in its wake with resultant power outages.  Here is how one neighbourhood restaurant dealt with what life gave it that day.

Life Post Trauma and Workplace Abuse ... A Piece of the Mosaic of My Life

... is what we make it.
... is complicated
... is challenging

And these are just a few of the qualities of life post trauma and workplace abuse.  It can also be:

• good
• like the weather; if you don't like it stand on the corner for 15 minutes and it'll change
• tiring; it takes a lot of effort

Life post trauma and workplace abuse has many faces:

It can be so wearying and take so much effort that you feel like you're slogging through a very muddy field and not just any type of mud, but that which clings to you and tries to suck you down, grounding you in place, not allowing you to move forward - or sometimes even backward.  Stuck.

Yet it can also be exhilarating with a sense of excitement and expectation..  What is just around the corner?

My life specifically, post trauma and workplace abuse, is a mosaic.  Composed of dark colours, bright colours and some neutral colours.  A composite of life.

Unknown relative at the family reunion reading a copy of my mother-in-love's book

Take Sunday for example.  The annual family reunion for my mother-in-love's side of the family.  Held yearly, it has taken an extreme effort of the will to attend.  Why?  Because of the huge physical and emotional debilitations I deal with every day of my life.  Because of the hypervigilance that goes with me everywhere I go.  Because at the very core of my being after workplace abuse demolished my self esteem and devalued me, I am not only afraid of people, but of rejection.

A whimsical picture taken at the reunion in 2012

I feel like I have nothing to offer.

So then, why did I make the effort to attend?  Why indeed?

Because these people, including and especially my mother-in-love, insisted that they wanted me there.  Why?  I have no idea.

But I decided to honour and value her.  Together, my ever lovin' and long sufferin' spouse, also my constant comrade in my escapades, put together a "plan".  A plan of how I could cope.  How we would handle things if I started to fall apart either mentally of physically.  An escape plan if I got too tired or if I started not being able to think or talk.

Yet, these people, some closely and some distantly related, cared so much that they not only expressed verbally that they were glad that I had managed to come despite the disabilities - or "altered abilities" - that are not visible to the naked eye, but they enfolded me with love and concern.  As far as they're concerned, everyone has their challenges.  And if I'm related, even by marriage, I'm part of the motley crew.

The best part of the day - FOOD!  And lots of it!

To top things off, my ever lovin' and long sufferin' husband who walks with me and takes care of me when I can't take care of myself, came up with the idea of making pulled-pork in the crockpot as our contribution to the supper.  An easy, as in really easy, dish to make.  Especially when said husband goes with me to buy the meat, washes the crockpot and takes the fat off the piece of meat.  Anything that involved physical energy and labour, he did.  Anything that involved plugging in a crockpot and lying on the couch, I was able to do.  (And no, that part was not documented in pictures.)

It may not seem like much, but for me having been stripped (at least for a time in the workplace and immediately post workplace) of all value, to be warmly greeted, to be valued, to be wanted means a lot and helps immeasurably with the healing process. 

To be able to contribute something - even in a small way - adds an extra dollop of whipped cream to the experience.  To hear people say:  "Did you see the pulled pork?" and head back for seconds makes me aware that I not only have value but am still able to contribute something worthwhile to the overall experience for others.  They don't need to know who made the pulled pork.  Seeing them snarf it up was all the thanks I needed.

I tire easily, so we headed home shortly after the meal.  I fell into bed immediately.  And spent most of yesterday resting and regrouping.

Yet, despite the debilitations, despite having to constantly monitor my activities to ensure that I can keep on going in a semi vertical position, it was worth it.

A small piece in the mosaic of healing post workplace abuse.