The gardener and the anti-personnel mine field. A story of bullying and the flowers that grow through concrete.

Today's blog piece in the #BeTheRippleBlogs series is a piece from someone who would like to remain anonymous, her pen name for this piece is 'The Constant Gardener'.

Over to our author:

---

The gardener and the anti-personnel mine field. A story of bullying and the flowers that grow through concrete. 
​

You've been a constant gardener for many years. You plant, organize, water, design. You love to take walks at the end of the day and admire the work. Not just your work, but the work of your fellow gardeners. Together you exchange ideas and expertise to bring the garden to its full glory and grace. In turn the owner of the house is sometimes delighted, often seduced at the symmetry, the sweet perfumes and the peculiar ravishing elegance of the work well-done. What is so carefully manicured instills pride and respect from the neighbors and friends.

You've known all seasons in that field. You have adapted. You have considered the impact of rain on the magnolia tree. You know which area gets the most sun in a day and have planned accordingly. A flower can only bloom in a supportive environment.

Sometimes during one of your walks, you speak with the owner of all the learnings you were careful to obtain so that the garden would thrive and shine with exquisite splendor. The owner speaks to you in ways that comfort you. The owner seems to understand and acknowledge the need for careful attention and smart actions that will sustain a healthy garden and healthy gardeners that will continue to show up on this shared labor.

When a chief gardener is hired to evaluate how things are done and transform the garden into a next generation garden, you don't think much of it at first.

As you walk down a small path one morning, a detonation startles you and then what seems to be a shell scratches your skin, leaving it bloody and somewhat painful. Knowing your way around this familiar ground, you disinfect your wound and move on.

It was an accident and won't happen again. You have known that field for so long, and the owner too, this place is safe and if it wasn't safe you are convinced that the owner would address the problem.

After several anti-personnel mines have exploded and injured you, you think it's time to ask other gardeners if they face the same problems. They do. Their description of events and injuries are all the same as yours. There was no warning sign, no change in the appearance of the grounds. It could happen in the morning, in the afternoon. In zone A, B or C. It started to get troubling and confusing.

Other gardeners spoke up about the new issue to the owner. He said he would look into it seriously. You trusted him. He knew about flowers and gardeners from his education and training, and often publicly defended them, pledging for dignity and honor.

But you waited and you did not hear from the owner. Other people started calling you in tears to describe their wounds and the circumstances surrounding the events. By then, you knew those were not incidents or accidents. It seemed someone planted those anti-personnel mines, underneath the grass. And it seemed the owner knew, but for some strange reason you sincerely could not understand, those were not addressed.

You presented a written document to the owner, with dates of events of explosion of anti-personnel mines. You remained factual but advised that the problems started with the arrival of the chief gardener he had hired. You expressed your concern for yourself, your teammates, the health of the garden because anti-personnel mines are toxic and pollute their environment.

The owner referred you to the other owner, this one in charge of investigating dangers inherent to the garden as a location.

It was such a strange thing to describe injuries and obtain barely a reaction. No apology. Did they not believe you? What about all the others? You were not the only one to have sustained injuries? With your common recollections of events that were similar, why did you get the distinct impression they were patronizing and not taking the matter seriously? Was it because the anti-personnel mines were hidden? Was it because the chief- gardener repeatedly confirmed to them that there was no problem? Were they lazy or mean? Whatever the answer to that question was, you began feeling very strange.

The fact that you never knew when you would step on an explosive device started to torment you. You wish you had a map of the area, so you could mitigate the risks by working around them. You started researching the chief-gardener, in hopes you would understand that person's psychology , leading to reconciliation and harmony? If you understood why that person planted those mines, perhaps you could find a way to dissuade the behavior?

The next blow became all you could think of. Why? Because those blows hurt. They would leave you in pain and unable to work for the entire day after they exploded. And they would leave you so confused as to why this was continuing despite genuinely raising the presence of a danger to those people whom you believed would protect you.

Your gorgeous garden lost its splendor in your eyes. You saw the flowers but did not take in their beauty. Perfumes became too strong. The animals attracted to the garden and simply wanting to play became a nuisance to you. Unable to bask in the morning glory, light and majestic hues of sunsets, your appreciation for beauty dead and your ability to live in the present moment challenged, you became dull, anxious, emotionally numb but sad at the same time. You'd never lived anything like it, really. Like an external force taking over you.

Giving you insomnia, nightmares.

Now it's about me.

An ugly and desperate miasma of toxicity was permanently enveloping me and making me doubt my sanity (because the owners and the chief-gardener dismissed the possibility of anti-personnel landmines populating their grounds).

Several months into being injured a thought crossed my mind: I don't want to live like this. What if I can find a tie and put it around my neck and..It was June. I remember that moment acutely.

I went to see a doctor. It's not dying that I wanted. I wanted to stop feeling the way I was feeling. I wanted the pain to stop.

After a medical leave I returned to my garden, but in another section. One that had no toxicity.

Still fragile, but hopeful, caring for me. Relieved that my allegations were believed and acted upon. Relieved that I had my place at the dignity table. That my value was acknowledged, seen and supported.

I did not get an explanation, or apology. From anyone. But the action of being placed in a safer patch of garden spoke more than words ever could. I could not smell all the flowers still, but a new one every day.

Few months later, the largest and most dangerous type of anti-personnel mine exploded underneath my steps. A lethal mix of dismissal, trivialization and betrayal exploded my mind within seconds. I never saw it coming. As if someone removed a rug or patch of wood under me and I fell and fell and fell..down the dark hole of shame, uselessness and deprivation of dignity. With nowhere to grasp and no one to help me.

Upon learning I was placed back into the environment that hurt me, by people who were cognizant of the depth of the injury sustained, I lost contact with reality.

It's called suffering a psychotic break. You know when you hurt yourself physically and the pain is so sharp you faint? It's a defense mechanism. The same is true for the mind. If you can't cope with the violence of the psychological wound inflicted to you, your mind faints. It's a defense mechanism.

I wish I could express adequately the pain and torment and confusion this state brings to a person. Yes your mind vanishes, but it's not an all-inclusive in the Caribbean. More like a dry, very dry unwelcoming scary desert filled with snakes, spiders and hyenas checking you out as their next meal.

What woke me up? After several days, I saw the hand of my partner touching my naked feet. I had either been sitting on the couch or sleeping before that. No food or so little, no water (gave me an UTI), no showering, no talking. Just me contemplating the void in silence.

For the following three months, I started to experience the full magnitude and blow of PTSD. Noises coming up from the street would alert me into this panic mode, unable to rationalize that NO these people on the streets would NOT come in my house and hurt me, that it was ridiculous, that I was safe etc. The pattern was: full blown panic attack, lying down on the bed holding a pillow and in the dark waiting for my nausea to go away, sometimes vomiting. Followed by intense and desperate cry that would leave me exhausted and numb.

My therapist calls those: trauma vortex.

No one, and I mean no one could enter my bubble. My partner could not come close to me when we were standing, I would cripple down in fear. Any sudden and or loud movement, noise, anything would startle me sometimes to the point of vomiting.

Dropping my phone on the floor and the noise it would make would plunge me in alert mode and state for minutes, then followed by hysterical crying.

For 3 months, my only and constant thought was: I need to be safe. I am safe. This is safe. Stunned. Traumatized. Stuck. Stuck in the freeze mode of reactions to real or perceived dangers.

My mind no longer controlled my body. My body had reactions of its own. That I couldn't control.

It's been six months since it happened and I have gone outside of my house 5 times only. For very short times. I dissociate around some people, or if stressed suddenly.

Of course, I am medicated heavily. Anti-psychotics. Anxiolytics. Antidepressants. Sleeping pills.

My therapist says that when I feel anxiety or fear cripple me, I have to acknowledge it, let it pass naturally. I should not try to block my feelings. That the repeated cycle that concludes with a return to a calm state will imprint in my body and consciousness that I am safe. And the more cycles are completed, the more permanent imprint of safety will replace my trauma.

He also said that trauma lives in the body. We cannot see it or X-Ray it. It's not a tumor or a broken bone. But it lingers around and invades other parts of your life and self. Trauma is cumulative. Trauma is something that was done to you. It is not your fault. You are not weak. Too sensitive. Susceptible. Exaggerating. Bullies decide to hurt other people for reasons that belong to them. My hope is that one day, everyone understands that a psychological injury like PTSD as a result of bullying is a violent blow to the psyche.

If it was a physical injury, like someone deciding to break your two legs just because they feel you are in the way, the perpetrators would be severely condemned and fired. The targets would receive empathy and care.

But words are invisible. PTSD is invisible. Weak and self-serving callous lazy humans profit from that grey area many legislations still offer them. Employment laws are not equal in the world. Humans are the same everywhere, wherever they are located. We all long for the full recognition and acknowledgement of our dignity.

One morning not long ago I realized that I, as a flower, was growing through concrete. The green pastures of my life's work had turned cold, hard, boring and lifeless. The significance of those words hit me: you cannot heal in the same environment that hurt you.

Instead of trying to find cause, reasons, argue, I decided my time had come.

If I can grow through concrete, I can grow through much more than I ever envisioned.

Both in the good and the bad.

That I must water my own garden and not someone else's.

Some patches are not meant for us after some time. Mental peace is a currency, and my price I will not bargain ever again and with anyone.

The chief-gardener and the owner of the land. What matters to them are apparences. Even what we cannot see can have destructive powers. Rotting is a process in time, invisible but undeniable.

Toxic wastes carelessly dumped in the ocean attack the coral and marine life. Toxicity is not always visible to the eye. It is still undeniably there.

Bullying in the workplace is the next MeToo. There was a time where boys will be boys was a sentence affectionately uttered to explain sexual harassment.

Locker room talk.

Bullying is not an invention of the lefty woke movement.

Bullying is not incivility. It is not a conflict of personality or an abrasive management style. And words, psychological abuse and violence, are as damaging as physical violence.

I started to walk in my own garden lately. It's small, wild, disorganized.

I will invite other gardeners to walk with me, by my side.

Together we will find ways to create awareness around anti-personnel mines and the damages they inflict every single day everywhere in the world.

Perhaps those who plant them will learn a thing or two.

Hopefully the gardeners will learn to recognize the traps, the patterns in time so they never have to endure the pain I experienced. 

---

Thank you so much to our author for sharing this emotive piece. The piece clearly demonstrates the devastating impact of workplace bullying and the ongoing effect it can have on an individual's life.
​
If you are not yet a member of the #BeTheRipple community, we would love you to join us. You can find us on Twitter: @BeTheRipple2020 and/or in our LinkedIn community: Here

If you have been impacted by bullying or harassment of any kind, please speak to someone you can trust at work or outside of work and get some advice from your organisation or externally. You do not have to put up with people treating you unfairly or unkindly, at work or in any other setting.

You can find expert guidance on PTSD and bullying/unfair treatment in work at the following links:

https://www.ptsduk.org/​ 

https://www.itv.com/thismorning/articles/post-traumatic-stress-disorder-helplines​

https://bulliesout.com/need-support/employees/

https://www.acas.org.uk/if-youre-treated-unfairly-at-work/being-bullied

https://www.gov.uk/workplace-bullying-and-harassment

https://www.cipd.co.uk/knowledge/fundamentals/emp-law/harassment/factsheet#15763

https://www.supportline.org.uk/problems/bullying-in-the-workplace/
​
https://www.nationalbullyinghelpline.co.uk/employees.html


​If you would like to submit a blog for this series, please send your work via email to: hello@joannasuvarna.co.uk.

Stay safe

Jo