Tag Archives: shame

For the team

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This job was a good and a hard experience.  I’ve been wondering why I put up with sexual harrassment.  First it was a whistle in the hall.  Then it was winking.  Then he paced outside my office a couple times trying to get eye contact-which I refused to give him.  Then the last time in the coffee room, I was standing next to the coffee maker and he wanted next to the creamer and he (I guess) shimmied me out of the way. But it was a full body side contact that was excruciatingly uncomfortable.

I confronted him a million times in my head, actually I did every morning on my drive to work.  I thought about how I would say it.  I didn’t feel like I could go to my boss without confronting him first, because I’m a “big girl” and I should be able to fight my own fights.

The other problem was logistical.  We rarely ran into each other.  So, I would be ready, and then ready, and then ready and then finally relax and then he would be there.  Since it was both of our jobs to be out of the office pretty much, we rarely crossed paths so when we did it was an issue.  You just couldn’t time it.

I was retisent to confront because at every corporate job I have ever had, I have dealt with sexual harrassment.  And since I am obviously the common denominator, I wanted to know if there was something in me that attracted this.  But, should I start lopping off parts of my personality?

Last night, I was thinking about it and there were like 40 guys there and three women.  The guys had this great comaraderie.  I didn’t want to spoil it.  I knew that if I told that it would be a big deal, there would be paperwork and drama.  And I didn’t want to be the new girl who changes the culture.  The feminist in me was having a rally and trying to burn my own bra in protest, it was itchy.

I thought about all the women empowerment speeches I’ve given and I felt really ashamed.  I sure feel powerful when I have a microphone, where is my voice without one?

I realized how much I had emotionally invested in keeping the peace amomg the men-folk, at my own risk.  I realized how much punishment I still take (self imposed) to keep peace, even when there shouldn’t be peace.

There shouldn’t have been peace.  I didn’t need to get bothered at work because I’m female and then not talk about it and be nervous and hypervigilant about it because I’m me.

Next time, and I’m sure there will be a next time.  I’ll just try to tell the truth.  But the truth makes me wanna hurl, I’d rather just take the cathartic beating and get the confrontation over with.

yesterday

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OK: Here’s the lead up…

Therapy: I was seeing a therapist and she was ok.  But I was about to get insurance in 2 months through my work.  I didn’t want to bond with her.  I asked her to refer me to a therapist in the same program who took my future insurance so that when the insurance came we could transition.  This took forever, and then the New Year turned and I wasn’t reenrolled in the program.  Now I have no therapist and don’t qualify for the program.

Work:  This has been a terrible sales month.  In fact, last month was awesome.  This month terrible for everybody.  I was also working through a sickness for two weeks.  This shouldn’t make me worry, but this month is the end of my three month probation.  And I am ill at ease.  So my hypervigilance, paranoia, the whole ptsd package has been kicking in.  And without therapy to balance it, it’s been even worse.  Pretending not to be a crazy person at work has been excruciatingly exhausting.

Also, a coworker has taken to whistling, winking and now there’s been a rubbing incident that I need to deal with.  I wasn’t in the mood for sexual harassment.  That is one of the main reasons I became self employed.

My boss wanted me to revisit the church industry project and since I’m a pussy, I said yes.  I tried.  But that really led me to sitting in the car for two hours crying.  My job was to walk into a church and say hi.  I couldn’t move and I couldn’t get out.  I was just so terrified of who was behind that door.  I was terrified of the list of 30 more churches I had to see that week.

I was supposed to meet up with my boss to do a few together, but when we communicated it was obvious I was crying in the field (how embarrassing).  So I was sent home to “take care of myself”.

I wonder if I still have a job.

I wonder if I should have a job.

I wonder if I can have a job.

I sure need revenue.

But I can’t have a job right now where I am social every day.

I don’t know what to do.

I’m so angry, because it wasn’t too long ago when I had my business and I could do anything and everything, or so if felt.  But I really think I could hide a lot of this stuff because we were creating our own reality.

I have noticed a lot of entrepreneurs are survivors of trauma as well.  Maybe being the master of our own reality is how we coped.

Spiritual Self Abuse?

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A lot of veterans with PTSD can’t stop watching war movies.  It is very common for people with PTSD to have trouble avoiding media that involves the subject of their trauma.  If I see a documentary on cults or religion or bible history, I will watch it obsessively.  I can’t watch movies like “Passion of the Christ” because I can’t watch violence without becoming seriously upset inside for hours.  So, I generally stick to documentaries, etc.

This is compulsive behavior for me, and since I got dealt OCD from my PTSD and have been living in a lot of stress with a new job and no stuff…  It’s been acting up.  Like my eating disorder and trichotillomania (2 not 1 for those keeping track at home) have been acting up.  I’ve been really angry for this mess of wiring in my head, and I’m still hunting for a good fit in a therapist.

“Well, you’re in the Bible belt”, is something I hear a lot at work.  And I need to learn to not let my compulsions out of my mouth via words at work.  Because one of the most successful industries here is the “church industry”, and I have been tasked with a project involving the “church industry”.  I could have turned it down in the beginning, but I didn’t want to and I was so intrigued.  But it would have been the most self-loving thing to do.

While working on this project, it’s brought a lot of churchy energy around me.  People see me working with media and iconography.  I am really into it, because I am marketing to churches and I can’t wait to see if it works.  I am so fascinated by this challenge, you know and nauseated.  People come into my work space and talk and then they talk to me about their faith.  I should probably put up some kind of boundary, but I don’t because I am sickly fascinated by how every one of them has translated and integrated a book differently.  It’s so interesting.

Yesterday was a hard day though.  I got whistled at in the hall.  I believe this was meant as a compliment.  I almost lost my shit.  To me it feels like.  Don’t forget that someone is always watching you.  Even when you think you are alone in a hallway, someone is watching you and sexualizing you.  Don’t forget you are never safe.  I told my coworker and he said that was an awesome compliment and he wishes he would get whistled at.  So that sucked.  Yesterday when this coworker said, “well you’re in the Bible belt…”  I told him that I never wanted suspenders so bad.

Then when wrapping up phase 1 of my project (yay I get a break!!!).  Someone was talking to me about their beliefs and it was ok.  He’s an animated talker.  I was sitting, he was standing.  He was talking about how people think that god the father will punish us forever in hell.  Then he said, “would a father punish a child forever?”  When he said that he was moving his arm for dramatic effect, his arm was over my head and I was looking up.  This had the effect of making me very small feeling.  His arm was coming down repeatedly (like ten times) and his hand was in the exactly grip that Pastor’s was when he was holding the PVC pipe.

I didn’t cry.

I talked to him about his loving views.  He smiled and went away.  Defense systems passed the test and all was well.  I came home about 5 hours later and lost my shit.  It was a bad day at work.  I didn’t want to go to bed, because we can’t sleep together and I really wanted to snuggle up.  So I’m up after 4.5 hours sleep ready to bang out the last day of the work week.  Tired, fragile.

know what sucks

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My mom was here for 9 days and although I love her dearly, it was so hard. She’s been gone almost 2 weeks and I am still taking the big panic attack drugs. I can’t calm down. E touches me and I jump.

My brain isn’t a safe place to be. I cry at the drop of a hat. And I haven’t allowed myself to blog because I’m scared it will hurt her feelings.

But this is mine. And I have to be here. I have a flag.

Please don’t drop a hat.

That didn’t go well at all

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Two and a half hours of a complete inventory of my traumas.  A description of trauma highlights, it’s more fun if you imagine it in slow motion replays with John Madden doing the voice overs.  Then the inventory of all of my coping mechanisms and self medication strategies as well as other random psych questions.

I tried to describe my PTSD to her and I described the dissociative state where people are talking and it’s like I’m underwater and I can’t hear them.  I try to pierce through the water.

I think my open mindedness got me in a few places…  She asked if I see and hear things other people don’t and I said, “how should I know?”

She said I was going to be monitored for a couple of really scary diagnosis.  And I started to cry, a lot.  She told me to let go of the stigma and to work with her.  And I told her that those were the diagnosis I feared the most.  Basically this is a nightmare coming true moment.

She said that she wasn’t diagnosing me, just monitoring me.  At this point, I don’t want to go back.  I want to kick her in the shins and run away and maybe knife her tires.  But that’s not polite in the south.

I came home and cried for a very long time.  I didn’t want to tell E about what she said.  But I trusted us and did.  So it was good.  All of the behaviors that may look like the other diagnosis are also a part of PTSD.

But she is right.  What’s more important?  Recovery and proper treatment or ego?  I’ll do treatment as long as I’m sure I’ve got the right diagnosis.

Here’s a new feeling

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Rage.

I have to say that I’ve done a lot of work to peel off the whys of abuse.  I’ve walked many paths.  I’ve marveled at so many people’s rage.  I didn’t get it.  Now I do.  In the last month, starting in the middle of the road trip, I do.

Rage.

So many friends have had rage because they couldn’t protect me.  I said it was fine.  But from a different vantage, from this different angle, I see different pathways and how history that I thought I knew – form different pictures.  I want to throw up.

Now I know more and can see patterns and history and a much larger picture is coming together.  And this picture is not redeeming: I am learning how some families struggle with certain demons for generations.

The more I speak out, the more I can see back and am aware of what created the environment that makes a family susceptible to a cult.  A family is taught shame and secrets.  A family is taught that they are so flawed that there is no hope for them.  I want to know where this dark mythology started in my blood.

I have deep compassion.  But I have rage.  Because these lies have scarred just about everybody I love.  And now that I see the patterns, now that I am 3,000 miles away – I can see clearly.

Rage.  It took a lot of therapy to find mine.  And it was hard to name, but I drew a straight line to it in a cliche shower epiphany this morning.  Now that I know it, I can’t unknow it.  I’m straight up pissed off.

It’s not just why me and why my family.  It’s why anyone.  I want to start with me and mine.  Only love and compassion will fight this.  This is beyond morality and judgement, they doesn’t exist in this level.  There is only love, non-judgement and compassion.

I have to dig deeper, ask questions, publicly gut myself and write about it.  I have to be someone who sheds light and helps it stop.

ever since June 3rd

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I’ve had an email in my inbox that I’m terrified to read.  Turns out I’m not the only one who writes about the pain of the church.  One of the other people wrote their story and emailed it to me.  And I’m totally gonna read it.  But I’m scared.

I guess, I feel that their pain will be more real if I read it.  Maybe, it’s easier to think that it’s easier to contain if I’m the only one talking.  Maybe it’s cause I’m a Leo.

A double click will keep my commitment.  I feel like such a hypocrite, publishing tomes of my memories and not being able to read theirs.  But when I was showering, I thought about something else.  It’s bigger than me.  I think that reading their story will make mine times two. And open an exponential door into a monstrous house of pain.

If I hurt this much and they hurt this much – and there were 40 families.  That’s just too much.  It’s too big.  I feel like it’s opening the front cover of a really big book.

I also feel like this whole thing is a mystery.  I hear so many stories about how the church ended, how it crumbled.  But I don’t know 100% because I’m the one who walked away.  I got disowned by my family and excommunicated, yes I engineered it.  And yes that played a big part in exposing a lot of the BS going on.  But I’ve learned there were so many other factors at play.

So, after walking away from rubble it’s scary to walk back in and excavate and see what really went down and what the damage was.

But, dang I feel like a hypocrite for not being able to read that email.

way back machine 2

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Setting:  I’m 14.  We are in the pastor’s office.  He is in his big chair.  I am on the couch.  I was in trouble because it was found out that I hugged a boy that I was in a play with.

Pastor: So tell me what happened.

Teen Feisty: I saw C after rehearsal and he said, “give me a hug” and I did.

Pastor: That’s it?

Teen Feisty: yes.

Pastor: So, if any guy asks you for any sexual favor you give it to him?

Teen Feisty: What?

Pastor: He demanded a hug.

Teen Feisty: Well, he said it casually.

Pastor: And you gave it to him?

Teen Feisty: Well, yes.

Pastor: And that seems ok to you?

Teen Feisty: yes.  We all hug all the time.

Pastor: He’s different, he’s worldly.  When we hug it’s because of our love of each other and God.

Teen Feisty: Everyone there knows me and wouldn’t hurt me.

Pastor: A hug can be a sexual act.  Think about it, Suzi.  Your breasts were on his chest.  Your breasts were on his chest.  What did it feel like with your breasts on his chest?  Did it feel good?  Did you feel like a woman?

Teen Feisty: I didn’t think about it that way.

Pastor: What did it feel like?

Teen Feisty: Just a hug.

Pastor: You are getting big breasts, and every man that wants to hug you is going to want to feel them.

Teen Feisty:  What?

Pastor: You are not to talk to him again.

Teen Feisty: We’re friends!

Pastor: Better to lose a friend now than to be found unworthy later.

way back machine

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The setting:  I am 11 and I had a rash or something on my thigh.  Our pastor wanted to look at it because he had medical training and it probably didn’t need a doctor’s visit.  I am in the pastors big leather chair wearing a shirt and my underwear and a towel over my underwear.

Pastor: OK, let’s see the rash

(I show him and am careful to keep as much as possible covered because it’s at the top of my inner thigh.  I am really scared.)

Pastor: Hmmmmm.  It doesn’t look too bad.  Is it itchy?

Little Feisty: yeah.

Pastor: WHAT?

Little Feisty: Yes.  Sorry, Sir. Yes.

Pastor: It’s probably from your tights and dancing.  Do you wash them?

Little Feisty: yes

Pastor: Are you clean down there?

Little Feisty: What?

Pastor: Show me how you wipe after you go to the bathroom.

Little Feisty: um….

Pastor: You can show me over the towel.

(I pantomime for him, and it feels awful)

Pastor: OK good, that shouldn’t cause a rash.

Little Feisty: ok

Pastor: You might need to dance without tights for a while and I’ll have your mom sit you in an oatmeal bath.

Little Feisty: ok

Pastor: We need to have a talk.

Little Feisty: About what?

Pastor: Well, you’re in the older school with the older kids.

Little Feisty: yes

Pastor: And you’re the youngest.

Little Feisty: yes (I was very self conscious about being in my underwear and a towel)

Pastor: Do you like any of the boys?

Little Feisty: What?

Pastor: Do you think any of them are handsome?

Little Feisty: (I was silent for a long time, because I had two crushes and I was not sure where this was headed, but I had to come clean once I was asked) yes

Pastor: who?

Little Feisty:   J & B

Pastor: What does it feel like?

Little Feisty: What do you mean?

Pastor: What does it feel like when you are around them?

Little Feisty: I feel happy.

Pastor: What else?

Little Feisty: um…

Pastor: Do you feel it physically?

Little Feisty: I guess?

Pastor: where?

Little Feisty: um…. well (and I started to cry) I feel something in my vagina a little bit.

Pastor: What does it feel like?

Little Feisty: A little warm and tingly.

Pastor: And do you masturbate and think about them?

Little Feisty: NO

Pastor: you don’t?

Little Feisty: no

Pastor: You need to be very careful, you are growing up.  And getting toward a dangerous age.  Masturbation is a terrible sin.

Little Feisty: I don’t do it.  I know it’s a sin and I never have.

Pastor: I’m going to go talk to your mom, put on your pants.

Little Feisty:  ok

Then we went home.

OMG TMI

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“Really, Suzi?  Wow.”

I’ve heard it a million times.

TMI!!!

I thought of this when I was blogging yesterday about what do you tell a client about PTSD.  What do you have to tell a client or a boss about a trauma, a disorder or a mental illness?  I don’t know.  Mine makes me kinda flippy outty and tactless and times.  There’s the crying.  People kind of notice.  There’s the good days where I’m not triggered.  Or the OK days where I can bottle it down into a nice little coal in my gullet.

But gullet coals aside…  Why the oversharing?  Why the saying too much?  It’s been hard on relationships because I’ll be out to dinner and the start a relationship with…”so the other day in bed…”  Keeping it classy.

So, I was thinking about it, and talking (too much jk) about it.  And then I went to therapy and danced and screamed about it, and it hit me.  Not literally.   But the cult maintained control over us by brainwashing us into over-confessing everything.  We were trained to tell every thought and every feeling, or we would feel awful-nauseous.  If we ever saw someone from the church and had a bad thought about them and didn’t tell them, it was a sin and we had to tell them before the next communion or it was like the sin was locked in forever.

By making us a self policing congregation it really cut down on enforcement.  Which is actually good business automation practice if you think about it-but back to the cult…

So, I am in pain if I allow myself privacy.  I feel like I am lying to you if I know something that I haven’t told you.  It’s misery.  And if you confess before something gets found out the punishment is somewhat lessened.  There is a constant paranoia scan in my head that is looking for wrongs committed…

So, this over-confessing still makes sense.  I’ve adapted it a little.  In the past few years, Ive been more jokey about it so that I can still make sure that I’ve said everything but in a jokey way so that I don’t get looked at like I’m a martian all the time.

I’m practicing privacy now.  Which is one of the reasons I’ve been so silent on the blog.  I’ve been evaluating again: what do I want to say?  Why do I want to say it?  What do I want to get out of this?

And so I don’t know that I know what I want.  But I know I have more to say.  And this is my forum.