Mercury in retrograde

When life lands a punch, it's a doozy. I am over excitement and surprises; I want a nice, quiet little world tucked away from all things that set the boat to rocking. But this is life, and we always have something to contend with, don't we? 

I recently faced one of the strangest experiences that left me feeling incredibly vulnerable, and suddenly, I understand much of what I've always thought I was too strong, too smart, too educated to fall for. I found myself making excuses for another's behaviors, justifying them in some sick way, and Scott had to tell me over and over that the actions I have taken are justified, that I am not blowing them out of proportion, despite what others want to play it off as. I have had to work hard to convince myself that it is okay, and then I look back on patterns of behavior, on patterns of actions, both mine and this other person's, and my stomach wrenches and I fight the gag reflex.

The anxiety that has made me sick, the nervousness I felt, the desperate desire to keep others around, are not good signs. I doubted my intuition, which has never let me down, because I feared making mountains of molehills, of distorting proportions of the situation. And I am ashamed of this and yet still terribly embarrassed that I caused an "issue," even as I was sat down and told over and over that I didn't, that my actions were warranted and necessary.

I sat and endured, buffered, and accepted that this was "how it goes" and that it was "not uncommon behavior."  But I knew this wasn't true; I have had difficult, and I have worked with difficult before. This was not that; this made me uncomfortable, nervous, anxious.  I knew to keep distance between, to defuse and intercede, to quell the storms as best I could. It took this person acting out in front of others and these others' very real concern for me to push me to action. And so I did; I reported the actions as we are told so often to do, I described discussions and interactions, I copied and sent emails, and I described in detail to the smallest minute the incident that made me walk to my car with my keys in hand as a weapon, contemplating if I could get a good hit in with my travel coffee mug, and realizing how very much at a disadvantage I was and how utterly vulnerable at that moment.  I chastised myself for going soft in these years in Oregon. I no longer had my Chicago edge. Perhaps I just finally realized that, truthfully, I can be harmed, even being strong and aware. It finally hit home that something could happen to me, and it made me very afraid.

It is a gross culture of acceptance that I refuse to embrace and bow down within. I was actually told, by a man in a higher position of authority, that I should have done more, could have done more, and that my situation did not "rise to the threat of a risk."  Never mind that all signs pointed to risk, threat, volatility, and more. Another told me that I made myself prey; I cringed as he, in an attempt to clarify a point he was trying and failing to make, yelled and threw a chair to make a demonstration that was appalling, given that I already felt threatened by another.  For the first time, I fully understood victim blaming, even in this small scale that I had to handle, and it made me sick for days. Thankfully, for my sanity and safety, others recognized and trusted my instincts, defended me, supported me and interceded for me. I have defended every action I took or didn't take, making my case as though I were the one on trial and not the one who acted and made me feel this way.

A small part of me hated me for "allowing" this to occur and for being weak. I fought the darkness, the jitters, and apprehension and uneasiness, and the stress dreams for a week. I felt I had rocked the boat, finally sending it tipping over, and I hated that. I worried I was being hyperbolic and simply failing at being able to handle this person and the situations that arose. I worried it, analyzed it, worked it over, and exhausted myself with the amount of energy that one person took out of me. I wrung my hands, stuttered; my voice pitched high, and I struggled to find words to express myself. I was frustrated. I was a wreck.

And yet, it came to an end, if a tenuous and uncomfortable one because others really did not want to deal with it. I am a bit more battered and worn for it, but it is finally over.