Refections on Workplace Bullying: Was one (or perhaps more) of the bullies psychopaths or sociopaths?

Hubby has been - and continues to be - my greatest supporter and encourager on the journey towards recovery post workplace abuse.

The other day he found this BBC documentary on psychopathy which he not only found interesting but felt might be relevant to understanding my situation with my former co-workers.  Were they psychopaths?  Was one of them a psychopath and the rest followed the leader?  What about sociopathy?  Were one of more sociopaths?  Or is there even a different between the two terms?

I'll probably never know the answers to any of those questions.

At one point in the documentary, words such as cunning, manipulative, charming, lying, remorseless, lack of empathy and more float across the screen while the commentator continues talking.

Those words floating across the screen brought up memories of specific incidents in the workplace.

I remember the look in one person's eyes.  The person I now believe was the instigator.  The person behind the scenes.  The one who got everyone "motivated".  Her eyes looked, to me, dead.  No life there.  No emotion.  No empathy.  I felt like she was looking at me with all the compassion she would look at an insect - which is none.

I felt something was very wrong with the scenario.  Couldn't she see what she was doing to me?  Why didn't she feel anything?

It felt as though something were abnormal somehow.  But I didn't really know what.  And even if I did have my suspicions, by that time this person and the others who made up the clique - or mob - were so much in control that I didn't dare say anything.

In another situation, one of the co-workers was in a meeting with myself, HR and management to discuss and try to resolve the situation.  The co-worker actually said:  "I don't know why I'm here."  ?????  She didn't know why she was there?  She wasn't aware of what she was doing to me?  I has trouble with that statement.

Yet, if she a sociopath - or had some of the traits of one - she would not be able to see or feel the damage she was doing.

The word sociopath, came to my mind in that incident and in others.  But by that time as I've said before, I didn't dare voice anything.  Anything I said was automatically dismissed.  Sloughed off.  While anything they said was given credence.

It was a huge imbalance of power.  One I never truly understood.

I heard the phrase "he said/she said" ad nausea during this time.  Because these incidents happened only between two people with no witnesses, the manager took the stance that because nothing could be verified, it didn't happen.

I vividly remember one incident in which two of my co-workers, neither of which was talking to me at the time, were present.  Actually, it was worse than that.  They totally ignored me.  It was as if I didn't exist.  This particular day, I started choking at my desk.  One of the workers from another department who was in the cafeteria in front of my desk, came running over to see if I was OK.  He arrived just as the blockage cleared and I was able to breath again.  Neither of the co-workers in the office with me made any effort to come to my aid.  Why?  Didn't they notice that I was in distress?  It bothered me.  A lot.

What would happen if I had a medical emergency in the office such as a stroke due to the brutal stress and my already high blood pressure?  Would they notice?  Would they come to my aid?  Would they call 9-1-1?  Or would they ignore me?

Those were questions I was afraid to find out the answer to as I was afraid the answer to all but the last question would be "no".  They would not come to my aid.  And yes, they would ignore me.

I often wondered if something did happen to me and I died in the workplace, would the manager say that nothing had happened because there was no evidence?  No evidence except a dead body, that is?

I know that thought is extreme and macabre.  But because the situation had spiked my blood pressure to dangerous levels twice between in the workplace, I felt I had cause for concern.  What if I stroked out sitting at my chair?  Would anyone notice?  Or would they just let nature take its course?

I'm glad I never had the opportunity to find out.

Back to the beginning of this post.  What is the difference between psychopathy and sociopathy?  Or is there a difference?  Looking at the research, it appears that they are one in the same for all practical intents and purposes although psychopathy tends to be used when there is criminal activity or intent with sociopathy describing individuals who tend to be able to function normally in society.  Normally except for the psychological damage they inflict on unlucky others.

The documentary also asks the question if it is "nature" i.e. something the individual is born with or "nurture" the environment they were raised in.

It differentiated the two as believing that psychopathy is something in the brain the person was born with while sociopathy is more connected to the environment.

Whatever.

If you look at the symptoms, you will find that both conditions have the same symptomology.  To be confirmed as a psychopath, a person has to have a minimum of 26 out of 40 some symptoms.

Therefore, if my former co-workers had one or two symptoms - or even more - they would not have qualified as either psychopaths or sociopaths.

Yet, the presence of several symptoms in combination are distressing - and cause for concern in the workplace - whether the person is indeed a psychopath or a sociopath.

*******

This is a hard piece for me to write.  Or even think about.  It brings back too many unpleasant memories.  Also, it could be construed as borderline libel IF it's written (which it is), malicious (which it's not) and untrue (which truthfully I don't know).

At this point, I'm simply verbalizing something that's been on my mind for a long time.  Perhaps something that needs to be brought out of the workplace, out of the secret, hiding place, and into the open.

If it's true that I was up against one or more sociopaths, it would stand to reason why these people wouldn't back down and simple let me leave quietly, licking my wounds.  Why they felt they had to go to the extreme of formulation a petition disguised as a complaint while I was off on medical leave after my second back-to-back stress breakdown.

It also explains why I've lived in fear of what these people might do if they discover that I'm starting to come out of the "closet" and into the open about what happened to me - from my perspective - in the workplace.

It explains a lot.

Post Workplace Bullying: Chronic lingerings from the abuse

A random picture from my trip to Belize last winter

Yesterday, I wrote about "If I could do anything post workplace abuse, what would I do?" in which I wrote that I would travel, take pictures and write.  In that order; however, all rolled into one ball.  One package.

What is holding me back from realizing that dream?  From making this a reality.  I have the vision.  I have the skills.  I have the equipment i.e. the camera and the laptop.   I'm pretty far along on the road to recovery.  Or at least, I like to think that I am.

So what is holding me back from making my dream a reality?

In short:  the lingering affects of the workplace abuse.

Let's face it, I'm not the same person I was before this all happened.  Or even during.

I used to be a high energy person.  Extroverted, even.  I used to be highly articulate.  Not any more.

The two back-to-back stress breakdowns I experienced while still employed left me initially in an acute state of disrepair.

Some months later, the acute became chronic.  I still, three years and counting, work with the chronic, lingering affects of the bullying, the brutal stress on a daily basis.  Each time I feel like I'm getting stronger and should be able to start reaching for my dreams, something comes along to knock me down - again.  Recently, it's been the on-going, unresolvable situation with the mail which knocked me for a loop because it triggered.

Another place (the jetties at South Padre Island, Texas), another time.  Before.

I'm not the same person I was.  Physically.  Emotionally.  Spiritually.  Financially.

The two aspects that have been impacted positively are emotionally and spiritually.

The two that have been impacted negatively are physically and financially.  Both of which play crucial parts in my plans - or should I say attempts - to rebuild my life.  I no longer have the physical or financial resources to do the things I want to do.  I don't have the money to buy a plane ticket and fly to wherever.  Physically, once I get there, I would probably have to lie low and rest.

You've probably heard the saying:  the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.

Well, there you have it in a nutshell.  My spirit is willing.  Very willing.  It can think of all sorts of ideas and feel strong enough to carry them out.

But the flesh, unfortunately, has other ideas.  It isn't able to carry out what the spirit dreams up.  It keeps going on "strike" at inopportune times.  It demands naps.  It gets shaky.  The mind still has affects that crop up regularly.  Confusion, poor cognitive skills - meaning sometimes I can't think straight or get a complete sentence out of my mouth.

With all these things going on in my mind and body at will - their will, not mine - how can I even think of committing myself to being some place at a specific time and date to take pictures.  Especially, how can I even think of going on a trip with a group of people where I'm not there as a participant but in an official capacity as their blogger and photographer?  Would I be able to fulfill their expectations satisfactorily?  Would I be able to fulfil my own expectations?

*******

The other day, hubby took me on a day trip to a place we've been before:  Hamilton mountain - which is not really a mountain per se but is part of the Niagara escarpment.  There's a park up there overlooking the industrial area of Hamilton (Ontario) and Lake Ontario.  It's a great spot for picture taking.

We had a great time, but had to cut our outing short as I was getting tired.  By the time, we got back home I was more than ready for a nap.  In fact, functioning was out of the question until I got that nap.

Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever get "well" - meaning well enough to maintain a normal routine which involves going outside my house, my safe place, interacting with others?  Even earning money?  Or am I doomed to stay on this iffy, on again-off again road?

I get frustrated regularly as I walk this road I never asked to go on.  The grain of sand in my shoe wears me out.

Yet every so often, I see glimmers of hope shining through.  Those glimmers of hope are what I cling to when I have a relapse and things go dark again.  They keep me going.

Until tomorrow....

Post Workplace Bullying: If I could do anything, what would I do?

Belize topography from the air

In a past post, I focussed on what brings me joy in the journey.  What good things can I focus on?

My synopsis?  Flowers, taking photos, writing, creating, taking photos, writing ....  All of these things float my boat.  Or light my fire.  To use cliches.

I ended the post expanding on that theme with a question I've been asking myself for most of this past year:  If I could do anything in the whole wide world post workplace abuse, what would I choose to do?

In other words:  what turns my crank?  Or floats my boat?  Or lights my fire?  (Hey! I like, really like, those cliches.)

The clock tower in Punta Gorda, Belize

Besides photography, writing and creating?

One word:  travel.  I am, and always have been, fascinated by other places.

The market in Punta Gorda, Belize

 I would take my camera and laptop - and maybe my closest friend and ally, hubby, and visit places and people who intrigue me.  I would photograph them and tell their stories.

Putting all three of my most dominant, creative interests together in one career path.  If I could do anything in the world with the skills, interests and talents which I already have - and the equipment such as my camera and laptop - I would liaise with people or groups going on trips to become their group's "official" (non professional event) photographer and blogger.

Punta Gorda sits right on the Carribean

Why?  Because I've always been avidly interested in people, etc.  I'm a people person, which is probably why the bullying I endured in my last two workplaces where I was always deemed deficient in some way or another by people damaged me so badly.

This idea started percolating in my brain as I was thinking of ways of pursuing recovery + a possible writing career + a possible photography career.

I'm not a professional photographer.  Far from it.  But you've got to admit I take a lot of pictures which form a fairly comprehensive view of the experience.

And some of them turn out good.  Really good.  I'm also comprehensive and take lots of pictures of various things from different angles.  I've learned that recording a trip for posterity is not all about the scenic photos, the places, etc.  It's about the people too.  So when I took that trip to Belize last winter with one of my sisters in law to visit others in hubby's family who were already there, eventually I realized that my pictures, my recording of this amazing trip wasn't all about  me.  Far from it.  it was about all of us.  So, I switched my focus from scenery, etc. - although I got lots of those pics too - but started to think of what those I was with would like.  Pictures of them.  Character shots if I could get them.  Pictures of things they would enjoy seeing.  I became known as the "woman with the camera".

All the pictures in today's blog were taken during a trip I made to Belize last February - mandatory camera in tow.

Almond tree

And there were stories we shared.  One of my favorite, shared stories and experiences concerns this tree.  Walking along this road by the Caribbean Sea with my mother in law on my first day in Punta Gorda, she pointed out this tree and told me it was an almond tree.  I'd never seen  an almond tree up close and personal before so I was fascinated - and, of course, took a picture of it.  The next day, I was walking along this same road and came to this same tree with my sister in law who was not with us the previous day and shared with her my newfound knowledge.  There was a man and his family sitting under the tree, so she turned to the man and asked him:  "Sir, what kind of tree is this."  "A shade tree," he solemnly confided.

Although the rest of the pictures in this blog posting perhaps don't have the same shared memory with a close friend or family member, each one tells a piece of the story of the adventure in their own right.

Scenes I've never seen before - and may well never see again.  Scenes that stirred something in me.  Such as this picture of tranquility by the Caribbean.

Or this shack which we walked by each time we went to visit my sister in law who was down there for the winter. It looks unliveable - especially to the Western mind.  However, we actually saw someone resting underneath it one day.  Who waved to us as we passed by.

And then there's this truck - which I assume is not in use any more.  However, in a place like Belize, you never really know, do you?  I was fascinated by it's derelict condition and the vines growing in it and through it.  I'd never seen anything like it before in all my travels.

There's the main street of the town where my sister in law and I had quite a bonding adventure and experience.

The restaurant that looks like nothing more than a shack but has delicious food inside.  Also a dock where we met the boat which took us on a memorable trip to an island in the Caribbean.

And lastly, being able to indulge my passion for photographing birds - especially pelicans - of which there was an abundance there but none here in the northern inland locale I live in.

Memories.  These pictures, this blog posting, are steeped in memories of an experience, a good experience on the road to recovery.  A shared experience.

These pictures are not all about me.  They're about all of us who were part of that shared experience.

These are just a small taste of the pictures I took during that trip.  Pictures which have taken on a life of their own in a sense as I gave them to the others in our group electronically and they have been shared with others.

Pictures which bring back, not just for me, but for all of us, the essence of that experience.

If I could do anything, this is what I would do.  Travel.  Take pictures.  Blog about the experience.  And, most importantly of all, share it with others.

Until tomorrow....

Post Workplace Abuse: The difference between the outside veneer and the inside reality

How I look on the outside to most people

As I wrote in yesterday's blog, appearances are deceiving.  What looks really good, whole and put together on the outside, may not be what is going on on the inside.  And probably isn't.

I remember years ago witnessing an incident in our church where the Sunday School teachers were gathered together with the pastor to learn more about their classes as the current Sunday School year had ended and a new one was to begin.  When he mentioned the specific classes, he blithely stated that one had been cancelled due to small numbers.  I noticed the teacher in question maintained a stoic face, i.e. her expression did not change at all, but she took a quick step backward almost as if she'd been slapped.  She was a mainstay in the church.  One who was always there with a smile on no matter what. Quick to help out.  Quick to give.  Faithful.  Now her faithfulness over the years was "rewarded" ... by what amounted to an unexpected, sudden, and public dismissal

I wondered how she was taking it.  If she was OK.

BUT ...

... I never got up the nerve to ask her how she was doing.

Instead I observed her over the weeks to come.  She looked OK.  Outwardly, she was her normal self.   She came to every service faithfully escorting her elderly mother just as she'd done for years.  Neither about her outward appearance or behaviour seemed changed.  Outside, she was the same person she'd always been.

Inside may well have been another story as she was dealing with a category #5 hurt (using the hurricane scale with #1 as the least destructive hurricane and #5 the most).

 A few months after that incident, she stopped going to our church.  No fanfare.  No announcement.  She simply wasn't there anymore.  A woman who had been a rock to our congregation including our pastors.  A woman who was faithful in her attendance even with an aged ailing mother to care for.  Even when the Sunday School class that she'd taught for years was suddenly and publicly taken away from her.

Gone.  Suddenly gone.

And I'd never taken the initiative to show my concern.  To ask her how she was doing.  Really doing. Inside where it counted.

Instead I looked on the outside for clues.  And there were none.

To this day, I regret that I didn't go up to her and ask her how she was.  Show my concern.

Several years later, it was my turn for such action.  However, I did get advance notice.  Probably because I was friends with the pastor's wife and had actually said:  "Is he going to restart my class with other teachers without telling me?"

He did.  And he did.  BUT he did tell me first.

His exact words were:  'I want someone younger."

Ironically, if age were a factor than he would give himself, his wife, the organist, the pianist and probably a whole host of others the axe.  All of them significantly older than myself.  So that was just a smokescreen for something else.

It hurt.  It hurt a lot.  Even though I saw it coming and halfway expected it, that didn't stop the raw hurt or the raw emotion.

I did my best to cover it up and remain faithful as my predecessor had done.  Only in my case, I started experiencing horrible, almost constant migraines.  Attending church under the circumstances became a battle for me.  The hurt almost palpable BUT invisible to those around me.  We left the church a few months after that.  By that time, it was obvious something was wrong because of the constant pain of the migraines showing on my face.  But no one connected the dots.  Only one person asked me how I was doing - and that was on the last Sunday we attended.  By that time, it was too late.

We tend to look on the outside.  If a person is up, dressed, has their hair combed and doesn't stink, we seem to feel that they're OK.  We don't go beyond the surface.

Maybe because we don't want to be intrusive.

Maybe because we really don't want to know.

Maybe because we're afraid of what we'll hear.

Maybe because we really don't have the time or the inclination to get into someone else's world, someone else's hurt.

Maybe ....

Having now been on both sides of the spectrum, if I were to do it again, I would reach out in a low key manner to that woman.  I would tell her that I was there and what I saw.  I would ask how her she was doing with the elimination of her class.  I would tell her how much her faithfulness to the church impressed and inspired me.  That no matter what the pastor thought or did, she mattered and that was valued.

In short, I would let her know that I cared about her and her well-being.  I wouldn't judge her.  Although I might have a few choice words to saw about the pastor.

But I would definitely be inclined to stop looking at the outside appearance, the outside veneer, and go deeper.

What I really feel like inside most of the time

*******

I don't want to pastor bash in this blog.  That is not my intention.  It's also not my intention to give Christianity and Christians a bad name.  Especially since I are one. (Although after some of my experiences, I tend to believe that Christians are a bad advertisement.)

However, since I am a committed Christian many of my experiences, both positive and negative, have occurred within church settings.  The story told here could easily have occurred within any setting, any group of people.  It's just the one that I witnessed.

Years later, I ran across this woman at the local Farmer's Market.  Since I had long regretted my lack of action immediately after the incident, I took the opportunity to let her know that I was sorry, deeply sorry, that I had not gone up to her and asked her how she was.  Let her know that I cared.  It was then that she told me her story.  How she felt inside under the put together appearance.  How hurt she had been after all her years of service to the church to be put out to pasture so to speak so suddenly and publicly.  And how unexpected that announcement was.

I got a second chance to let that woman know I cared.  But most of us do not.

If you know of someone in your life who might be hurting, I urge you to go beyond the surface, beyond the well put together outside and let them know you care.

Until tomorrow....

Recovery Post Workplace Abuse: Appearances are deceiving.

Me on a a good day.  I appear to have it all together.
(at the World Wide Knit in Public Day last spring)

I've learned many things on this journey.  Some I've already written about in earlier - much earlier - posts, yet it appears that there is always something else coming down the pike to learn.  Just as the journey is ongoing and doesn't seem to ever stop or end, so goes the learning curve.  There is always something new to learn on this journey.

As I've written in an earlier post, during this time frame I've been thinking about friends.  Not just how to be a friend, as I wrote about in an earlier post about a woman who not only impacted me greatly in a positive sense by being my friend when I needed one but also by teaching me how to be a friend.

I've been thinking seriously about friends because of an experience I had during this past year.  I tried to be a friend to someone.  Someone hurting.  Someone who badly needed a friend.  I thought that with all the things I've learned on the journey of recovery that I could walk with her and help her in her journey towards recovery from her life circumstances.

It didn't happen.

The relationship turned out badly and I eventually had to walk away from this hurting person, hurting her even further in the process (which I'm not proud of).  I learned that I'm not as strong as I thought I was.  While I may have been strong enough to walk with her on her journey, I was not strong enough to carry her.  Heck!  I can't even carry myself!  Even hubby can't carry me.  Nor would I expect him too.

Yes, I have had an amazing amount of recovery, but there are still those pesky weak spots within my make up.  Those "Achillies' heels" in my makeup which make me vulnerable in some ways.

I learned something important during this time frame.  Appearances are deceiving.  To the outside eye, a person who doesn't know me, where I've come from, my struggles, etc., I appear pretty good.  In the vernacular:  I clean up pretty good.

To the panhandler on the street, I look like a good target - especially when I'm having a good day and have that bright smile on my face.  One of the luxuries I've managed to keep during this sojourn through trauma and drastically reduced financial income is my once-every-eight-week hair appointment with a good stylist.  So, unless I'm coming due for another session with her, I look pretty good together, even on days when I'm wondering if I have the strength to get on the bus and go back home.

When I'm having a good day, I come across as being very positive.  Being a woman who knows, in a positive sense, who she is.

I bought lots of nice clothes, etc. when I was still working and had money to spend, and I enjoy wearing them now.  In short, I don't look like someone whose life is a daily struggle to recover, to get on top and stay on top.  To the uninitiated, I look like I have it all.

Similarly, to this person who I tried to cultivate as a friend, I had things she didn't have - and wanted badly.  Friends.  A support system.  Family.  Most of all, a husband.

I tried to explain to her that it wasn't always like this.  I've worked hard for years on these relationships.  I've been with a competent therapist for seven years now paying every single cent of her fee from my own pocket with no outside help.  Because recovery is that important to me.

Things haven't magically or mysteriously fallen into my hand.  I've worked hard for every single particle of recovery I've experienced.  At some points I've worked on recovery 24/7 - and gotten weary.  Yet, I've persevered.

Because. It. Is. That. Important.

As I've healed and gotten slowly stronger, I've been able to go out and do things with hubby. Things I enjoy - like taking pictures.  Things which help in the healing process.  Outings which provide good memories to think back on.  Positive things.  To the outside observer, with our bantering behaviour, etc., we appear like any other middle-class, "mature" couple.  No one would guess the journey we've been through on this road to recovery from emotional trauma.  Not unless we clued them in.

Four projects - one hat and three headbands - being blocked

Then there's the right brain stuff.  I'm a left brain type of person.  My mind is constantly active.  Thinking.  Analyzing.  Trying to make logical sense out of the illogic that happened to me in the workplace.  Without some sort of intervention or therapy, I will never get any rest from this constant onslaught.  Therefore, I knit.  I crochet.  I write.  I watch DVDs.  I take pictures.

I blog.

I do these things not because I can financially not work and, therefore, am able to indulge myself in my "hobbies", but because this is the way I stay sane.  This is the way I work through all of the turmoil.  I find peace when I've got those needles in my hands.  When I see the finished product, I feel like I've accomplished something.  When I place an article I've made in a loving home, I feel like I've contributed something to the outside world.  It helps me see that I have value.  I have worth.  And there's always another project - or two or three - in my mind to start when the current one is finished.

The latest project on my needles (photo taken just a few minutes ago):  a Santa hat

Appearances are deceiving.  Very deceiving.  No one lives a charmed life.  I hope I haven't just busted your balloon with these words that no one lives a charmed life.  But it's true.

Life happens, no matter what we've planned.

Until next time (hopefully tomorrow)....

Post Workplace Abuse: Therapy

Today is what I call my "Stratford" day - the day I travel to nearby Stratford, Ontario and see the counsellor who has walked with me through this entire journey - or at least the last seven years of it.  The reason I'm still alive.  The reason I'm doing as well as I am.  The woman who provided a safe place for me to vent my emotions, explore my feelings and be myself.  The one place I felt unconditionally acceptaed even when I was at my worst and expressed feelings that would shock others.

No, she's not a saint.  She's just a person, same as you and me.  However, she's a person who knows about trauma and is thus equipped to deal with trauma's victims.  She has also undergone her own traumas.

Plus she shares the same faith as myself.  In fact, she has told me several times that in the early days of her practice, she felt that it was her doing the healing.  Until she had a talk with God.  Or rather he had a talk with her and told her that it was not her doing the healing but Him doing the healing through her.

And that is what makes her both amazing and unusual.  She doesn't try to force her will on her clients like my first therapist did.  The one who became abusive because I was not "moving forward".  I was not healing.  I was stuck.  She never realized that her methodology was what was holding me back and preventing recovery from happening.  As I recover step by painful step, I now realize that this first therapist was probably frustrated and was venting her frustration at me, thus victimizing and abusing me further.  I also realize that I am now getting to where  I realize this first therapist probably wanted me to be BUT her methodology was not going to get me there.  Unfortunately.

I've gone through some very significant healing in the last year.  It was almost exactly a year ago that my personality - the real me, the me hidden inside and scared to come out - reemerged.  It was strange, scary and exciting - all rolled into one ball.

In the weeks and months that followed the reemergence of the "real" me, I've found myself able to do things I couldn't have done before.

I travelled to Belize alone.  Travelling alone wasn't planned but when it happened, I was able to deal and deal well with the change.  I was so proud of myself.  And so where those who love me and support me.  Actually, I think there were really, really worried when they found out that I was travelling alone but rallied around me through iPhone and computer during the journey so that I never felt alone.

I was able to work more in my garden this past summer.  I still have weeds, but I really enjoyed the flowers and even added to the garden.  In my mind I'm starting to have a vision of what I'd like "Mom's" garden to become.  Not today, not tomorrow, but eventually.

The creativity is reemerging big time.  I'm able to do more around the house and, most days, I can cook.  I can even read recipes!  And patterns!  Most of the time.

I've been continuing to work on those relationships close to me:  my family; hubby's family whom I have grown to love and cherish during these past years; friends.

For years, I kept people at arm's lengths.  Acquaintances more than friends.  For the past several years, I've been working on changing acquaintances into friends.  Real friends.  I've been learning what it means to be a friend to others.  It's hard work and it doesn't happen overnight, but it's well worth the effort.

I can sense that my days with my counsellor are numbered.  We've been backing off for the last several months from every two weeks, to every four and now to every six.  Knowing that at any time if the condition worsens and I feel I need more help, I can change things.  My therapist has given me power and control over my therapy.  She has given me the gift of being in charge of my own recovery.  She has been my biggest cheerleader.

Cheerleaders are important, very important, in the process of recovery.

Today as I go back to see her, I have a lot to discuss.  A lot has happened in the last six weeks.  Things, like the sudden stoppage of our mail delivery and the triggers it pushed within me, have come close to unhinging me.

Yet, I know that at some point I need to become strong enough to stand alone with only occasional help - or with help from friends and family.

I need to learn to walk on my own two feet.

I need to realize what has pushed my buttons and learn how to defuse them for future situations.

I've definitely felt weak these last weeks physically, emotionally and spiritually.  Yet, I sense that this is part of life.  Even the lives of those who are "normal".  Who haven't been traumatized by workplace bullying.

So today, I get dressed and head out to Stratford - the place were recovery started.

Surviving Workplace Abuse: Moving past the trauma

Last week began with high hopes to put the resurgent traumas behind me and move forward - even if only a little bit.  One tiny step at a time.  To learn to live with "what is" rather than with "what I want it to be".  To form new coping techniques to fit the situation I am in at present.

By this, I'm referring to what to some might call the "grain of sand in my shoes" - the on-going situation with the mail delivery - or rather lack thereof.

It has hit me - and the other residents on my street - hard because there was no way any of us could have foreseen this.  We were well and truly blindsided when a new postie, who apparently wanted this route, took over and discovered there were some difficulties she hadn't foreseen  i.e. the detour which has caused more traffic on our road.  She was unprepared to work in this situation, even though she had wanted this route, and very quickly, probably within days, of taking over the route played the "safety" card.

With a powerful union such as CUPW (Canadian Union of Postal Workers) behind her, using the safety card guaranteed her of several things.  One:  that she would be granted her wishes of not working the parts of the route she didn't like.  Two:  that there would not be any repercussions for her.  No discipline.  No write-ups.  Nothing negative on her record.  Three:  that she cannot lose her job or her route.

Because she's played the safety card, no one can take over the route.

She is untouchable.

She has all the power and the control.

Even when she jeers at residents and taunts them when they ask when they're going to get their mail delivery back, she is untouchable.

Even though she apparently has trouble delivering the right mail into the right boxes on the parts of the route she is delivering to.

She can severely impact our lives, our routines, even our health because of her "rights".  Not only the rights she has due to government safety legislation, but also more extensive rights under her binding union agreement.

She has the right not to walk on the grass.  Which to me makes no sense as the grassy area adjacent to the road is city-owned and is safe.

She has the right to make a "safety" complaint without fear of reprisal.

She has the right basically, from my perspective, to do what she pleases.

She has the voice.

She has the power.

Any complaints we make such as allegations based on my research that she is a toxic employee or that she is incompetent because of the misdelivery of mail fall in deaf ears.  We are not Canada Post employees; therefore, we have no rights.  Period.

We are left with nothing.

No power.  No control.  No voice.  No representation.  No communication as to what we can expect.

Not even the community mailbox which we were promised would be delivered and installed within the first week.

We are left up in the air to wonder what is going on.  Will we ever get our mail back once the construction on the street below us is completed - which should be soon?  Or will this continue?  Is the stoppage permanent?

I was told two weeks ago that the community boxes were being shipped.  Unfortunately, the postal supervisor did not inform me exactly where those boxes were being shipped to.  Wherever, they're going, it apparently isn't to our area.  We still don't have them.

We are entering our fourth week of the situation and coping as best we can.  One resident is stopping by the distribution centre once a week and picking up the mail for 15-16 residents and delivering it to their doors.

*******

I began last week with high hopes of putting this behind me.  Of working through the trauma.  Of finding creative ways to cope with our altered situation.  Of resuming my life, post workplace abuse, as I know it.  Of writing my blog daily again.

But ....

... life intervened as it has a habit of doing.

I got sick.  The shooting in Ottawa, my nation's capital happened.  A relative in hubby's extended family passed away.  The funeral for this relative.  A birthday celebration for an aged relative, also in the same part of the extended family.  And I can't remember what else.

The mind stopped working.  The body was definitely having its issues and taking its time getting back to normal - whatever normal is.  

The creative juices stopped flowing.  Lethargy became my constant companion.

But today, we start a new week.  A fresh slate.

Today.

I will only have this day once in my entire life.  As I start it, I ask myself:  "What will I make of today."

That is a question only time can answer.

Until tomorrow ....