Tag Archives: child abuse

Trying to Be (In)Visible

 

A couple of weeks ago, I was driving along with all my windows open and the Fluffy Dog in the back of the car, when an impatient driver raced up behind me. I had seen her coming in my rearview. You know the kind: weaving in and out of traffic, trying to get the advantage of one more carlength. I needed to be in the next lane anyway, so I signaled and and pulled into the gap to my left to let her race by, at which point there was a blaring horn and I realised that the same impatient driver had simultaneously pulled to the left at high acceleration to get around me. She screeched back into the right lane and pulled up beside me at the next light, lowered her window, and began to scream and swear at me. (The Fluffy Dog raised his head at the commotion but didn’t bestir himself to look at all threatening or even concerned, the big old dope.) Continue reading

The Shit People Say at Work (or, Flashbacks at my Desk)

Content warning for discussion of flashbacks, child abuse, domestic abuse, and trauma.

 

Workplace cubicles don’t allow for privacy.

On the small floor where I work, a small second floor perched like a hat on a larger building, the windowed offices ring a large area which has been packed with cubicles. At one end of this rectangle is the access stairwell. At the very far end from that stairwell is my workspace. The cubicles end, and my desk and filing cabinets are in the stub of space just past the fire exit stairwell.

It’s an old building. The heating and cooling are iffy, approximate, and likely controlled by someone in a different time zone. As a result, people tend keep their office doors open to improve air circulation.

This means everyone hears everything. We all know about each other’s kidney stones,  grandchildren, car troubles, and how well we all slept last night.

 

(Content warning for below the cut)

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Continue reading

Father’s Day: Not Always “Happy”

Father’s Day is hard for so many people. I imagine this day must be as bitter for my estranged father as it is for me. At least I hope it is as bitter for him, because that might mean that he still cares and that one day we might have a relationship again.

Father’s Day is hard for people whose dad is dead, for dads whose kids are dead, for the men who want to be dads but can’t be, for the kids and dads who are separated from each other, for people whose dads were / are abusive, for kids who never knew their deadbeat dads but are forced by the teacher to make a card for Daddy anyway (true story from a colleague), for the people whose dads are frankly nothing to celebrate.

I know my dad used to love me. I hope he still does. As much as I hate this estrangement, it’s better than dealing with how he and his wife were treating me. But Father’s Day is still bitter because I miss him, and our time for reconciliation gets shorter each year.

Children: To Hit or Not to Hit? (spoiler: NOT!)

The text in this image can be found at the bottom of the post.

Children Learn What They Live poem by Dorothy Law Nolte from http://www.docstoc.com/docs/158159649/Children-Learn-What-They-Live

Another facebook friend is advocating hitting children. In the wake of another local bullying incident, my news feed is once again spattered with variations on the meme of “If there was more of THIS {image of a child being spanked}, there’d be less of THIS {image of young criminals*}.” Continue reading