There Goes a Fighter

Stepping up

"Stepping up. It's a simple concept. It basically means to rise above yourself; to do a little more, to show you something special." - One Tree Hill

"You said that sports reminds you of the greatness within us, that in any given day, an underdog can rise up." - One Tree Hill

After dealing with a complex client the other day, I went home feeling drained and was deeply concerned about this. I had suffered from compassion fatigue once; in my last career in the helping profession, and had burned out, broken my brain and my body, through helping others. I couldn't afford to do it again, especially now that I was working at half capacity from all of my injuries, illnesses and mental health injuries from that career. Especially since I had worked so hard to be able to continue working in this profession, despite these injuries; it was what gave me meaning and purpose.

After deep consideration and some serious soul searching, I realized that I was over empathizing with this client and needed to figure out why, and how to change this. I knew that if I wasn't healthy and couldn't manage the work/life balance, that I couldn't do this work anymore. So, I took a look back - not to sit there and dwell but to assess and learn - just long enough to figure out what was causing this within me.

I had a hard start to my life. I experienced poverty, abuse and neglect at home; bullying and forced isolation at school, and had not been given the skills to cope with these traumas and dramas. By sixteen, after my mother kicked me out of the house, I was on my own and living first, with friends and family, and finally my (then) boyfriend (who later became my first husband, R). I consciously made the cycle of abuse stop with me but wasn't able to combat the poverty. By sixteen, I was on my own. Married at seventeen, a first-time mother by eighteen, and then had three kids; was divorced and in a new common-law relationship by age twenty-five.

I had to quit school in the first semester of grade eleven so, I could support myself, and then a family; but because I had quit school and had no real job experience or education, I barely had time and resources to provide food, shelter and clothing to them, let alone anything else. So, I loved them, took care of them to the best of my ability, and I worked hard to support them.

I tried going back to school in my twenties but was met with such resistance from my then, partner that I eventually quit; after a miscarriage, illness and near mental health breakdown. I went back to retail and restaurant jobs that barely put food on the table, let alone paid the rent because that is all I knew. I stayed in that relationship; and dealt with the constant barrage of insults and abuse, and the ugliness of it all for years before I finally made my escape. In part, because that was all that I knew, and because that is all I felt I deserved. And, because I didn't feel capable of managing the logistical and financial needs of myself and my children, alone.

I had allowed him to treat me this way because I didn't know any better. I was damaged and broken from years of abuse and bullying, and the words of others had formed my own thought processes about myself. My self-esteem, self-worth and self-efficacy was all established by what I had grown up hearing and witnessing; that I was useless, worthless and undeserving of love and affection, and that no-one of any real substance or worth would want me. In fact, it wasn't until I started volunteering within a women's shelter that I realized what he was actually doing; that I was a victim of domestic violence. And it wasn't until almost eight years later, that I finally left.

When I did finally leave, it was a struggle to stay afloat, alone and as sole provider to three children; especially without even a grade 12 education. But I made it through the poverty and provided what I could, with my kids none the wiser, and I eventually met J. J and I later moved in together, got married and combined families.

Throughout my relationship with J, I decided that it was time to pursue my dream of being a police officer. I was a self-taught graphic and web designer, and had been working at the newspaper for nearly a decade but they were closing their papers and laying people off one by one, and I knew it wouldn't be long before I was one of them. Without education, I wouldn't get another job outside of restaurants, retail and maybe the print industry. But the print industry was dying and I refused to go back to waiting tables. So, I bit the bullet and registered for college. After two years of working my ass off in the program, on Student Council and in the community, I graduated from the Police Foundations program with distinction, was awarded the Faculty medal, President's List, Dean's List and represented the graduating class of 2010 as their Valedictorian.

While I was in college, I decided to finish my grade 12 and get my High School diploma, as well. I remember volunteering with the Rebound program, with Youth Restorative Justice while was in school, and doing the "Two Truths and a Lie" icebreaker, where you say three things and the group members need to decide which one is the lie, and which ones are true. I wrote the words on the board, "My brother lived off the land", "I like bacon", and "I graduated High school in 2009". Since they could tell I wasn't a teenager, they all guessed that the latter was the lie. So, I told them that I was a vegetarian and hadn't eaten bacon since 1989.

Every time I've told this story since, I've got the same reaction, about having finished High school in 2009. Some say, "WTG (way to go)", while others say, "WTF (not 'way to go')"? But every time I have told this story, I ultimately got the same or similar sentiments; that what I did was both outside of the norm, and (especially considering my early life and later life trials and circumstances) that I was strong and tenacious. That it was amazing that I had risen above my circumstances and made the conscious decision to be more and do more than what my childhood and life circumstances dictated that I could or should be.

Thinking back on this, and thinking about this client I realized that I felt that she was capable of the same. That we all were. All we needed was a little help and guidance. And I knew, that despite how tired I was today, and how much I had given away to others that I still had a lot to give. And, that I would continue to do just that - help, support and empower others to do what I had done and, help them rise above their circumstances and step up - to be the best possible version of themselves.

There Goes a Fighter - The Song that Tied it all in...

Trying to determine what was going on, and why I was over-empathizing with this client, I did what I always do; put on some music and ‘meditated’. The first song on my playlist was the one that resonated with me the most; “The Fighter”, by Gym Class Heroes, and ft. Ryan Tedder The lyrics, "Hailing from rock bottom, Loserville, nothing town. Text book version of the kid going nowhere fast. And now I'm yelling kiss my ass", screamed at me. Like saying, “this is you, and this is this client”.

I, myself, literally hailed from "Loserville". I started my life at, “rock bottom”. All through elementary school and high school, I was that kid. The one that was bullied because of the house I lived in; an old general store from the 1800's that basically looked like an old barn, and that hadn't been re-painted since it had been built. Bullied because I lived in poverty, and because my house was messy; an understatement, really since it was actually filthy and packed with junk because my mother was a hoarder and suffered from mental health issues.

A mother that had checked out and was only interested in her life, and the life of my brother. The rest of it, the rest of us, the responsibility of the house and idea of cleaning was well beyond her capacity to deal with by then. I was bullied and shunned; because of my clothes and my house, and because I didn't have what others had. I was that kid; the one who went to school without a lunch almost every single day. The one who couldn't afford the field trips or the hot lunches or other people's birthdays - not that I was ever invited to birthday parties anyway. I was the kid who got made fun of, was spit on and talked about. I was the kid who got beaten up almost daily.

Until I learned to fight back. First, I fought back at the girls who bullied me. Then the girls sicked the boys on me. Then, I got beaten up by the boys. What these kids didn't realize - not that this would have changed anything, at that point, not that they would have cared - was that I was already being physically, emotionally and psychologically abused at home; among other things. What could they do to me that hadn't already been done? What difference did it make where the bruise came from? Sure, I wanted to be liked. I used to sit and cry in the playground - hiding in drain ditches or behind trees so no one could see me - I didn't want them to see me cry or know that they had hurt me; but I still wanted them to like me.

I was a fighter, though; a fiery little ginger, who was determined. Determined to fight back and win. Determined to step up, and rise above all of this. Determined to prove them wrong and fight through the adversity, to become stronger and overcome it all. I was determined to survive and make my life better than what my early years and circumstances seemed to have intended for me; dictated what I would become. But I still wanted to be liked. I still wanted a friend.

I took the verbal and psychological abuse, and I used it as ammunition and inspiration. I wrote, and journaled, created plays and acted them out. Writing was always a cathartic coping mechanism for me, and to this day, I still write daily, and am still involved in theatre.

I did gymnastics and I ran; using all of these things as my way of going on; as fuel with which to drive forward and keep working at being better than they said I was; better than my early years suggested I would be. I joined the gymnastics team at school, determined to have something that was mine and that made me feel worthy. I joined the elite team, and joined a few different gymnastics clubs. I traded coaching for gym time at gymnastic clubs in the area, and paid for my leotards, gym meets and equipment by babysitting throughout evenings and weekends. I became the best gymnast at my school, winning competitions and stock-piling medals. Still, I wasn't really liked.

I joined the volleyball team, to be a "part" of something. This helped a bit, and I eventually made a few friends. By high school, the bullying had lessened a little, and I had a small circle of friends but things had worsened at home. My final semester of grade ten, I was kicked out of my house and went to live with my best friend, C (who was my first real friend), and her family. This was the first time in my entire life I had felt like I was a part of a family. C's mother was firm but fair and was very kind to open her door to me; a broken teenage girl who had a lot more than bags of clothing to unpack.

Little by little, she and C helped me unpack some of these things. Living with them saved my life, at that point in time. I stayed with them for the remainder of the semester and then throughout the following summer. First semester of grade eleven, I went to live with my sister. I had a fresh start, and a chance to re-invent myself. That is exactly what I did. After staying with my sister for a semester, I moved 'home' for two weeks; until a friend of mine died in a car accident, in Uxbridge.

I met my first husband, R at this friends funeral. We moved in together. Soon after that, got married and had our daughter, my first child. Young, uneducated and unskilled; we lived in poverty. But I had friends, I had made my own family, and I now had a life worth fighting for.

Someone once asked me why it was that I seem to thrive more in the face of adversity then, when given the support that people normally need to succeed. I didn’t realize the answer to that question at the time but now, after so many years of pondering and analyzing this phenomenon, I realize that it is simply this; I believe in justice and fairness, yet have seen so little of it throughout my life. I believe in things making sense – in balance. Yet my entire world has been out of balance for what seems like my entire life. It is because of this, I suppose why I fight for what is right, just and fair; for both myself, and others. Perhaps that is what keeps me going; making things right.

I live for those moments when everything falls into place, when justice prevails; when things make sense or people get what they deserve. Those moments seem to be what I cling to when the darkness overwhelms me and tries to swallow me whole. I find the light that guides me out of that darkness by remembering some of the moments; and remembering that this is what life is – a series of moments precariously balanced and delicately tied together with nothing more than a string, that make up our life. They make us who we are. And we make ourselves and our lives who we want to be if we learn and grow from these moments.

Throughout the years that followed, I made it my goal to succeed; to prove them 'all' wrong. I made it my life's ambition to rise above myself and my circumstances, and to not be 'that kid' anymore. I was determined to; 'be someone', to 'have something', and to 'do something' spectacular so that I could rub it in the faces of all of the bullies and naysayers I had encountered throughout my life. I was so determined to make a better life for myself and my family, that I did.

But once I got there, I realized that it had started out as a big, "fuck you", to all of those who I felt had hurt or wronged me, and ended up just being a way of making my life better, for me and my kids. What started out as a mission to, "give 'em hell, turn their heads" [Fighter, Gym Class Heroes ft Ryan Tedder}, turned into a prize fight. But not with those of whom I was trying to prove wrong or show up; with life.

I had literally been fighting for my life - for a life worthy of me. I was actually worthy of it but had been told for so long that I wasn't. Throughout my fight, I had unknowingly started believing I actually was worthy. Because I was a fighter. I had started out at "rock bottom", I'd lived in, "Loserville", but I was a fighter. And, my story was my fight song!