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.

A Jumping Off Point: my bibliography on the road to recovery from workplace abuse

After the last several posts, so many ideas - or rabbit holes - present themselves.  Which way to go?  At this point in time?

Months earlier, I was writing the saga of Workplace Abuse situation #1 and got as far as being walked out the door.  Just as the workplace dropped me outside the door like yesterday's smelly garbage, I dropped the saga at that point.  It was too hard to think about.  To remember.  To write about.  To share.

How best to describe the eighteen months of sheer devastation, confusion and secondary wounding which followed?  Especially as I had no way of understanding what I was going through at the time I was going through it?

And how, do I describe that time, that devastation, that secondary wounding to people in such a way that they can understand it?  That they get it?

After eighteen months of pure emotional agony, I reached a crisis point.  A where the rubber meets the road point.  A point where something HAD to happen, HAD to change - or there was no point in going on.

In order to make that time period make sense, I've decided to jump ahead a bit and write down my bibliography.  These books/authors became what I call "hidden" mentors in my battle to not only survive but to recover.  To come out of the utter devastation of my life and find a way to rebuild.

Remember on this journey of emotional destruction and devastation, there are no contractors to call.  No architect to draw up plans for construction crews i.e. electricians, plumbers, bricklayers, carpenters, etc. to follow.

It's all been a trial and error process.

Sometimes I think largely error.

So today, I share with you the resources I've used in this journey.

In later blogs, I will be referring back to these resources, probably one at a time, in order to lay a foundation for the recovery process and to make more sense, by those who know, of what is involved in the journey.

Most of these resources, with the notable exception of the first two which are written by mental health professionals, are by Christian authors - some of whom are also mental health professionals.  Which makes sense since I am a Christian.  However, even if you are not a Christian, there are things which are appropro to everyone - no matter what your belief system is - or is not.

I invite you to continue following along with me in this on-going journey of discovery and recovery. 

Here is my bibliography:

• Trust After Trauma:  A Guide to Relationships for Survivors and Those Who Love Them by Aphrodite Matsakis, Ph.D.
• Invisible Heroes:  Survivors of Trauma and How They Heal by Belleruth Naparstek
• Helping Those Who Hurt: Reaching Out to Your Friends In Need by Dr. H. Norman Wright
• Why Do Christians Shoot Their Wounded?: Helping (Not Hurting) Those with Serious Emotional Difficulties by Dwight L. Carlson
•  Forgive and Forget:  Healing the Hurts We Don't Deserve by Lewis B. Smedes 
• Healing Grace for Hurting People by Dr. H. Norman Wright and Larry Renetzky, LMFT
• The Process of Forgiveness by William A. Meninger
• The Bully, the Bullied, and the Bystander by Barbara Coloroso
• A New Kind of Normal by Carol Kent 
• When I Lay My Isaac Down: Unshakable Faith in Unthinkable Circumstances (Pilgrimage Growth Guide) by Carol Kent
• Between a Rock and a Grace Place: Divine Surprises in the Tight Spots of Life by Carol Kent
• Moving from Fear to Freedom:  A Woman's Guide to Peace in Every Situation by Grace Fox
• Surviving the Storms of Life:  Finding Hope and Healing When Life Goes Wrong by H. Norman Wright, Matt Woodley & Julie Woodley
• Putting Off Anger:  A Biblical Study of What Anger is and What to Do About It by John Coblentz
• Safe People:  How to Find Relationships that Are Good for You and Avoid Those That Aren't by Dr. Henry Cloud and Dr. John Townsend
• Hurt People Hurt People:  Hope and Healing for Yourself and Your Relationships by Sandra D. Wilson Ph.D.
• Fool-Proofing Your Life:  An Honorable Way to Deal with the Impossible People in Your Life by Jan Silvious

And no, you are not required to read them all.  There will not be a quiz.

After the storm, the clean up begins.  After the abuse, recovery begins.

A Friday Story

Journey on the road to recovery

As one posting has led to another this past week, flowing freely from the mind to the fingers, from day to day, so can the seemingly random events of our lives.

Several weeks ago, I wandered into the local independent book store in our area to show my daughter the books I wanted for Christmas.  Entering the store, I saw a poster that intrigued me.  Wild Writers Literary Event.  I loved the way the title of the event described it.  

Wild Writers.  OK, cool.  

Literary.  Hmmm.  Not so cool. That kind of puts me off.  

Literary, I'm not.  

Wild, yes.  

A writer?  I hope so.

Event?  

What is a literary event?  Does this mean the same as a writer's conference?  Only, maybe, on a smaller, more local scale?

I was intrigued.

So I went.  There I connected with a woman who runs writing workshops locally once a month.

One thing led to another, so I signed up for this workshop - and was well enough to go.  Yes!  Victory.

During the workshop, the presenter, a local travel and newspaper writer, read a piece she had written seemingly spontaneously about a slice in time on one of her many travels.  Maybe a ten minute experience she had on one of her travels which probably took longer to write out than it did to experience.

It intrigued me,

My fertile mind thought, "If I can find one story a week and write it up for my blog, it will add human interest."

So I started looking for a story to write about.

What I got, was not what I expected - or wanted.

A part of my road, but definitely not as tranquil, scenic, pleasant or peaceful as the picture above.  Not really the kind of story I wanted to share.  Definitely not uplifting.  But true.  Oh so true.

I wanted something uplifting, off beat, humorous.  Maybe quirky even.

But that is not what I got.

As most of you know, I've been down for the count (mostly) for the last two years.  Staying close to home.  Tired to the point of exhaustion.  Depressed (seriously at times).  Lethargic.  Psychiatric injuries that mimic brain injury to the point where cognitive skills, balance, speech, etc. are seriously effected.  Anxiety.  Panic attacks.

And then I had a breakthrough.  Two months or so ago.  A huge breakthrough.

My pre-workplace abuse personality, that irrepressible, hopeful, enthusiastic side of me came back.

It felt so good to feel good.

I was able to do things I hadn't been able to do for a very long time.

Life was starting to be exciting, to be good again.

But.I.Am.Still.Fragile.  Unfortunately.

I look normal But.I.Am.Still.Fragile.  I know I've repeated this statement twice in two sentence but bear in mind that when something is important to an individual, they tend to repeat it for emphasis.  To get the point across.

I may look normal and act normal for the most part But.I.Am.Still.Fragile emotionally.

I decided to get my feet wet (or shall we say wetter as going to the writer's "literary event" and following up with a writing workshop was also getting my feet wet by foraying into the outside world) by attending a senior's event at my local church.  I had attended it before the workplace abuse and subsequent injury got to the point of no return.  Where going out among people was too difficult to even attempt.

To me this was a huge victory on the road to recovery as I had not been able to attend these events for the better part of a year.

It took some planning as I needed a ride which those who run the event could not provide.  So I found a way to provide my own.

I got up.  I got dressed.  I put on my smiley, happy face because indeed I was so thrilled to be able to go out again.  To be ready to socialize.

I envisioned being able to share the joy, the sheer victory of what was going on in my life and have others, who knew me and knew of my journey even though they hadn't walked closely with me, share in it and be blessed.

My ride arrived.

We got there.

I went in.

Hung up my coat.

Joined the line entering the room.

Picked up my name tag.

Paid my fee for the lunch.

And then I looked around.

At all those tables.  Fifteen in all.  Chairs for eight each.  Each one with one, two or more people sitting around them.

I knew from past experience, that people have already formed groups and that some, if not most, of those seemingly empty chairs already have names attached to them.  Informally of course.  No visual such as a name tag, purse, jacket, etc. to warn me off.

I went to the first table.  One I had been welcomed to put my feet under many a time.

I was met with smiles.  Joy even.

But when I asked if there was a place for me at the inn - er, excuse me, table - I was met with dismay, confusion and much discussion.

It appeared that the seats were saved.  But they were trying to decide if there was one without a name attached.

It was then that another woman came up.  Asked the same question I had.  Without waiting for a reply, however, while I was still standing there waiting for one, she took off her jacket and sat down.

Immediately my mood shifted from one of joy, of victory, to - well - I felt like I'd been punched in the gut.

I felt rejected.

I felt powerless.

I felt worthless.

And I felt worth less than all those empty chairs with invisible people attached to them.

All the ugly emotions, all the lies I internalized from the workplace abuse situations, reared their ugly heads.

I turned away to find another table.

The next table I approached had two people sitting at it.  Six empty seats.

No, all of them were taken - by invisible people yet to arrive.

I went to a third table with again, maybe two or three people sitting there.

They dickered and dibbled and dobbled (if there are such words) before finally saying that there might be one seat available.  It took another bit before they figured out which one.

Gracious the response was not.

By this time, all the positive feelings had evaporated.  I was hurt.  Anger was beginning to rear its ugly head.

I went up to those at the table processing the money, etc. and said I have a major complaint.  I went to the person in charge of the event.

He exploded at me.  He told me I was ludicrous.  There were plenty of empty seats.  (Oh yeah?  You go and try to find one that isn't filled with "invisible" bodies.  Oh yeah, I forget.  You don't have to.  You're the leader of the event.  You have a seat reserved for you.)

By this time, I was so hurt, that I couldn't stay.

I left.

Outside the door was the senior pastor.  I stopped to tell him what had happened.

He immediately made excuses for the man in charge saying he was sure this person hadn't meant anything by it.

He went on to do some serious secondary wounding - in a well-meaning way of course.  Out of ignorance.  The compassion was there; but the knowledge of trauma was not.

He then told me, compassionately of course, that if I found a church that met my needs I was welcome to go there.

I was devastated.  Hurt beyond words.  Tears freely flowing.

Tears that would not stop or be quenched.

A major setback on the road to recovery.  A major blow to my re-emerging pre-workplace abuse personality.

Sometimes I feel like this statue in Ottawa with the bird standing - and defecating - on its head

This post has already gone on longer than I want my posts to go as I want them to be in short bites.  However, this incident, this story, highlights the pitfalls on the road to recovery those of us who have been affected by trauma, PTSD, workplace abuse, etc. follow.

Lack of understanding of what trauma is and how it affects the victim are paramount in our journey, leading to incidents like the above where secondary wounding occurs.

And also, how those who could make a difference, who are in roles of leadership in groups, churches, etc,  by learning about trauma and how it affects its victims, choose to ignore the reality of trauma in the lives of those around them.  

In settings where ignorance of trauma reigns, misunderstandings leading to real injury are inevitable.

There are resources available.  A lot of them.  Both on-line, in book form and in human form - i.e. people who are well versed in trauma and how people victimized by trauma heal - and don't heal.

That is the purpose of this blog.  To help others on the road to recovery learn that they are not alone.  

To help those who walk with them (and you truly are special) to learn more about walking with the traumatized.

And, perhaps, just perhaps to encourage those who know someone who is traumatized to start researching what it is and reach out a hand to one who is struggling.

I invite you to join with me on this road to recovery.