there IS hope.

October 31, 2012

Most days I sign into here and I often glance over how people have ‘found’ my blog. Its often by googling something, and then they land here. And often the things people type are relating to surviving abuse, depression, church, mental health, self harm amongst other things.

Sometimes people land at Fragmentz by typing something like ‘is there hope …’. Is there hope for … a self harmer? A depressive? A survivor?

My response to those people is YES. LOTS. And I really hope by stumbling across this blog that those people who are typing those things are able to find hope in this space.

And that those people are also able to find hope in the life they are living.

Because there is hope. Maybe it is small grains of sand shaped hope, and maybe it might be something bigger. Maybe it is something very quiet, or something very loud.

But however big or small, quiet or loud there IS hope.

Whatever it is you are facing, whatever storm you are in the middle of, keep hanging on to hope.

If you are unwell with depression or other mental health issues: there IS hope.

If you a survivor of abuse and/or rape: there IS hope.

If you battle with self harm: there IS hope.

If you struggle with suicidal ideations: there IS hope.

If you are fighting to stay above the water, for whatever reason: there IS hope.

I believe this for you, if you are a Christian. I believe this for you if you are not a Christian.

However some of the searches people have typed and found my blog with, related to battling issues and Jesus. I truly believe Jesus still loves you, whether you are depressed or not. Whether your self harm or not. Whether you battle with God or not. Whether you are a survivor or not.

He loves you. And has a hope and a future for you.

One of the most important bible verses when it comes to hope, and my own life, is this:

Jeremiah 29 verse 11 –  ’I know what I’m doing. I have it all planned out—plans to take care of you, not abandon you, plans to give you the future you hope for’ (The Message)

Please know, wherever you are, whoever you are and whoever you believe in,

you are precious. 

You are valuable. 

You are beautiful. 

There is a hope. 

There is a future. 

As I sat writing this blog, the last verse of a poem I wrote called ‘the whisper’  came into my mind. It is this :

As the years pass by, the scars never go, but begin to get lighter
She sits down, and watches life go by, and the sun getting brighter
And as she confronts all of the things in her life she fears
In the stillness the previous whisper of ‘I love you’ is all she hears.

I dont pretend there is an easy way for life to happen. There isnt. Life is tough. But please know and live in hope that brighter days can exist. That even though the memories never go, they can be lighter, things can be brighter.

Please know you precious, your are valuable, you are beautiful. 

You are loved. Loved. LOVED. 

The most talked about topic of discussion in my work place for the last few weeks has been Jimmy Savile. In fact, the most talked about ‘current affairs’ topic I have talked about full stop has been Jimmy Savile. It is what everyone is talking about. Even sat waiting in the Dr’s surgery earlier for my flu jab, were two little ladies sat discussing it. Discussing the ‘story’. The accusations. The revelations of the alleged, but now as the Met seem to suggest, not so alleged abuse. And those revelations have been coming out, thick and fast and as the days go by they seem to increase. So I thought I would try and coherently type out a few thoughts. I have had some passionate online conversation in various places, including Twitter, and have heard many many views/opinions spoken. Some sensible ones, some sad ones, some shocking ones and some unbelievable ones. But opinions never the less.

As always, when I write, I will say I am not an expert. Because I am not.  Nor am I anyone who many people take any notice of. I am just a little drop in a big ocean who is finding her way through life and who likes to write as a way to process and say what I am thinking. What I have to say on this issue may not be relevant to anyone/anything. In fact it is most likely not to be. That is fine.

As said above, I’m not an expert. And thats true. And I start with saying that, but I don’t always start with what I am. And what I am is a survivor. A survivor of childhood abuse, from people within my family, and people around me. I was seriously bullied at secondary school at the same time as trying to deal with being abused as a primary school aged child. As a teen I was also, on top of the other abuse as a younger child and bullying, physically (violently) abused by another member of family. So I am a survivor. I am also a survivor of a totally unrelated ‘assault’ as an adult, one day whilst walking down a street I often walked down, in daylight.

I am a survivor of ‘trying to die’ because roughly 5 years ago life was so hard and tough that I felt there was no other option or way out. I am a survivor of hard knocks. I am a survivor who is learning to live again, learning to laugh again, learning to love again. And learning to be loved. Its a long process and I am always and forever grateful to those people who are in my life/choose to stay in my life and continue the process with me. Its not an easy one sometimes.

I am learning to live in hope. I am also learning that I can be a voice. Someone who can speak out. Someone who can tweet, write, talk, share and hopefully raise an awareness of what ‘surviving’ is like, whether that is surviving abuse, or surviving mental health illness. And as I continue to learn to keep growing as a person, and keep living in hope, I am learning to use the voice that I have. To speak out, to be that person who can potentially make a difference to someone, anyone (this is why I am not so worried about blog ‘stats’ – because if one person feels they are not alone by my sharing on here, then it is worth it). I am learning to, want to and try to be someone who IS able to speak out, on behalf of those who are not. And those who are not able to are many. More than you can ever imagine. And I used to be one of them.

One of the main reasons I got to the point of being suicidal (aside from the abuse) was the fact that I was unable to talk. To speak to anyone. To let anyone know the pain I was in. The hurt. The anger. The shame. The guilt. How could I possibly sit in front of someone, who would potentially judge, potentially tell me not to be silly, potentially tell me to ‘not worry about it’, to ‘get over it’, to ‘forget about it’. How could I, as a child possibly tell the people around me what was being done to me. The very person who was hurting me was an ‘outstanding member of the community, with an exemplary military service record and so on …’.

So, it has been interesting, and quite hard at times to hear peoples views of the victims of Jimmy Savile. The Jimmy Savile who for years was ‘held in high esteem’ for his charity work, his brilliant television career and other things. (If you have no idea who I am actually on about, and the kind’s of work/volunteer/fundraising stuff he did, google him). The Met Police released a statement in the last few days calling him a predatory child abuser. That gives the impression that there is no doubt that he carried out these alleged crimes.  I can not possibly write all the accusations that have been revealed. The fine details of the case. But if you want to know more, just google, or go to one of the UK’s newspaper sites. Or the BBC. Its all there. The whole story gets more and more shocking and sadder as the days go by.

There has been much conversation about the ‘insitutions’ that Jimmy Savile was involved with. For example his involvement and work for the BBC. The hospitals, and schools that he fundraised for/volunteered with on his days off. Much of the earlier conversations I was involved with/heard was a conversation of disbelief. ‘What? Jimmy Savile? No! Don’t be silly. Not Jimmy Savile. Not the children’s/teen’s programme presenter. Not the fundraiser. Not the charity worker. Don’t be silly. Anyway, even if he did do something ‘dubious’ they (the victims) probably asked for it anyway’.

When I first, very first heard this break, I was horrified. Shocked, in a non shocked way. Shocked, because as a child, I idolised Jimmy Savile. The weird guy who wore odd shell suits, on TV, fixing up the world for children. I idolised him, and what he did. I wanted to write to him. For him to come and ‘fix’ my world for me. To ‘fix’ my problems. To ‘fix’ anything I wanted. I wanted him to be my second Grandad. He was amazing. As I grew up, got older, I became aware of him being an eccentric old man. I would never have thought ‘Jimmy Savile’ and ‘child abuser’ in the same sentence. Never in a million years. Yet, when I heard the news, at the same time as being shocked, I was not shocked. Because it is all so plausible. All so real. All so credible. And whats more, people who abuse can be anyone. Absolutely anyone. Including the powerful, rich and famous. In fact, those people are able to better disguise what they are doing. Better able to keep it away from the public, from prying eyes, and much more able to ‘pay people off’ if anything ever was muttered that was not favourable to them.

So, I fully believe it. I fully believe the victims. Because they need believing. They need, for once, at last, someone to say ‘yes, we will stand with you’.

Two of the ‘views’ I have heard a lot of this week have been ‘well why didn’t they report it back then’. ‘Why didn’t they just say ‘no”.

Because as the case has continued on, it would appear that some of these people were braver than I ever was as a child. They did report it. And yet were still ignored. The power and money of Jimmy Savile proved more than anyone was able to contend with. So what does that say to the others? Those who were unable to (understandably) find that voice to speak out, what does that say to them? Nothing whatsoever encouraged those who were unable to initally speak out, then to do so.

As for the second point. Anyone who utters the words ‘why didn’t they just say no’ truly does not have any understanding of how abuse works. Its not so easy as ‘just saying no’. ‘No’ does not work. ‘No’ has no power when you are being raped.

I have been quite shocked at times to hear the vitriol towards the victims. Another question thrown out a lot has been ‘well why did they wait until he was dead’.

My response? – They didn’t. There are records, investigations, programmes made that were shelved. Police starting to look into things and then mysteriously stopping. They did not ‘just wait until he was dead’. Many of them tried to speak out before he was dead.

From what I have read and seen, and understand, Mark Williams Thomas who is a child protection expert, and private investigator was the guy who ‘heard a rumour’ soon after JS’s death, and began to look into it. He then made a documentary, after speaking to one person he knew of. That then led him to the many other woman. My understanding, of the moment, in the documentary where he said ‘he then was lead to other victims’ suggests that he dug. He approached people. He made it clear what he was doing. And this gave courage and power to those people who have been victims of JS.

Imagine you are sitting in your school class, and you get called out by your head teacher. There is someone well known in the town, lets say the Mayor for example, who just happens to be rich, famous, and very well known and popular. They take you in to a room, and rape you. Abuse you. They are twice the size of you, and although you do say no, you scream, you kick, you try to get away they are able to overpower you. Hold you down. And they tell you that if you ever utter a word to anyone, you and your family will be made to suffer. Killed. Or you will be ignored. Not believed, and your life will be hell. They tell you that you are a slut, you asked for it, and deserve it. They tell you that is what people will say and think if you breathe a word. Imagine being so traumatised by what has happened, and so scared of it happening again that you have to do what they say. You have no choice. You are so ashamed of yourself, you spend your evenings scrubbing your skin, trying to get the dirt out of your body, carving your body to release some of the feelings inside of you. Your life is never going to be the same again. You turn on the television, and on the news there you see your head teacher and the Mayor. The Mayor has just fundraised and donated millions of pounds for a new tech facility at the school. The crowds are there. Its amazing. Everyone is talking about how fantastic these two people are. But you, you know different. You know what they did to you. But who do you tell? What will they do to you if they find out? Who is going to believe you? You have no idea that they are doing this to several girls in your class. Because, they like you, fear these two big powerful men. They too, like you dare not speak a word, because, hey, who would believe a 14 year old teenager who has been in a little trouble, like any teenager.

So you don’t say anything. Neither do the other girls. No one does. They get away with it for years, while you some how have to work out how to live. You get a job, start a family, live life. But the memories never go away. And then one day, in the paper you find out the Mayor has died (the Head teacher did years back). And you hear a little rumour that someone is talking about … apparently they used to rape young people. And then you realise this thing is so much bigger than anything you ever realised. And as an adult, who now has a voice, who now has nothing to fear because they are dead are able to, for the first time in your life speak out.

You realise there are many more people out there like you. More victims. And you are able to find courage to say what happened to you. To back others up. To add to the chorus of people speaking out, raising awareness.

Imagine that is you.

Would you have acted any differently?

I dont know if you would have.

I dont know if I would have.

But I certainly don’t blame or think that the victims were wrong to not be able to speak out back then.

And we must remember those who did. And who were ignored.

Which is what I think this current investigation will start revealing more information on.

WHY were those people who did speak out ignored?

WHY were people who were in positions of authority back then, and then continued to be in high powered places not say anything.

WHY was this allowed to happen?

So many questions. So many thoughts. So many views and opinions and so so much more that I could write about. Discuss. Talk about. Mention.

But what I would like to end with, for now, as I may well come back to this again sometime, is please don’t forget the victims. In all of the talk, the chit chat, please don’t forget that out there are people, woman, and maybe men who are victims.

People who have had what can only be described as the worse possibly life changing abuse perpetrated against them.

Whether we think they ‘should have spoken out sooner’ or whether we accept that they were unable to for the various reasons outlined roughly above, and the many other reasons that I probably have not even touched upon, whether we think they are ‘out for the money (which incidentally is going to be extraordinarily hard and very doubtful for them to get) or whether we think they are very brave people who have found strength because of circumstance, because of the fact that they are no longer afraid, and because other people are speaking out they are able to voice their experiences, please remember they are the victims.

They are the victims who, at the time and most likely for many years after felt so alone, now have found out they are with others. Others are with them. They are not alone.

Let us stand and let them know that. Because being a survivor can be a very lonely place to be.

My friend, Concetta who is an amazing Mosaic artist has a wonderful website at glitteringshards.com and she also wrote a blog on this, which was very moving, tear inducing and beautiful. Please read it heres if you have the chance.

Please know, if you are a survivor, you are not alone. You are not guilty. It was not your fault.

‘another place’

October 13, 2012

This is a photo I took while visiting Crosby Beach, Liverpool and seeing the ‘Another Place’ installations by Antony Gormley. I took a set of photo’s, one of which I framed and gave to the friends I was staying with and who are some of the most amazing people in my life, and then I kept some.

This is one of the one’s I kept. I periodically look at them, and remember the beauty of the place. The day we went was cool, calm and collected. The lighting on the sea was stunning, and as the tide came in, it covered many of the figures, and at many times it looked like people standing, in the midst of the water.

I look at these images, and each and every time they say something different to me.

What does this one say to you?

© Fragmentz Feb 2008

I Am Returning To You.

August 30, 2012

I Am Returning To You. 

 

I am returning to you,

with all of my heart,

with all that I am,

with everything.

I am turning to you.

I am returning to you.

 

I am returning to you,

you have always been on my mind,

and have never drifted far away,

from the complicated space that is my mind.

I am turning to you.

I am returning to you.

 

I am returning to you,

because I remember when I first fell in love,

with you, your kindness, your beauty.

and for a moment I felt that again.

I am turning to you.

I am returning to you.

 

I am returning to you,

for my soul longs for your arms,

to be wrapped round tightly, never letting go,

comforting, consoling, loving.

I am turning to you.

I am returning to you.

 

I am returning to you,

for when the blackest clouds closed in,

there was nothing to see or feel,

but learning to live again is happening.

I am turning to you.

I am returning to you.

 

I am returning to you,

for even when I screamed profanities at you,

still your remained there,

never did you go anywhere.

I am turning to you.

I am returning to you.

 

I am returning to you,

make me into what you want,

help me to live a life,

that means something to someone, to you.

I am turning to you.

I am returning to you.

 

© Fragmentz

Hide by Joy Williams

July 10, 2012

A few months back, I had a few quid in ITUNES vouchers. When it comes to music I’m pretty eclectic. Listen to all sorts. And my collection of ‘Christian’ music – whatever that is – is pretty limited. So I asked for some suggestions/recommendations. One of the responses was to tell me about Joy Williams. The suggestion was her album ‘Genesis’. It is an amazing album.

The album has several incredibly powerful songs, and this is one of them. It so resonates with me deeply in many ways.

Here are the lyrics. Do they mean anything to you?

Hide by Joy Williams 

To anyone who hides behind a smile 
To anyone who holds their pain inside 
To anyone who thinks they’re not good enough 
To anyone who feels unworthy of love 
To anyone who ever closed the door 
Closed their eyes and locked themselves away 

You don’t have to hide 
You don’t have to hide anymore 
You don’t have to face this on your own 
You don’t have to hide anymore 

So come out, come out, come out wherever you are 
To anyone who’s tryin’ to cover up their scars 
To anyone who’s ever made a big mistake 
We’ve all been there, so don’t be ashamed 
Come out, come out and join the rest of us 
You’ve been alone for way too long 

And if you feel like no one understands 
Come to the One with scars on His hands 
‘Cause He knows where you are, where you’ve been 
His scars will heal you if you let Him

‘Happy Fathers Day Dads! AND to all those who take on the role. Have a fab day x’

 ’Laid in the bath thinking about ‘fatherhood’. Wonder if my biological male parent even remember he has children any more. Thankful tho that I get to have lunch today with the person who IS my dad, and who does all the things a Dad should, and none of the thing they shouldn’t.’

My biological father was and probably still is (who knows) a violently abusive person, and the kind that makes me pleased divorce exists.’

Above are the tweets I tweeted today, regarding ‘Fathers Day’. For non UK readers, we have days that celebrate ‘fathers’. (We also have a ‘Mothers day, but that is usually in April).
So, today, – it is still today as I write but by the time I press publish it will be well into the next day – , today is the 17th June 2012. Fathers Day. The 27th Fathers Day I have been alive for.
And as always, it is a bitter sweet day. In years past, it was often a bitter day … in as much as it was always an unhappy one. As the years went by, they became a mix of emotion, half and half off bitterness/sweetness, and then over the last few years, the days have been filled more with sweetness than the bitter, but still they are always always tinged with a little bit of sadness somewhere.
(side note: i use the word ‘bitter’ loosely, to describe a huge amount of emotions. So when I write that word, i mean unhappiness, sadness, pain, hurt, anger and more … not necessarily ‘bitter’ per se, but I am just coining the phrase)
As the clocked ticked over into today, I was awake, as per usual at this time of night, and my first thought was to wish those of you on twitter who are dads a ‘happy fathers day’. And as always, I include those who take on that role. I truly believe you don’t have to be a biological father to someone to be their ‘dad’. You don’t even have to be a ‘step parent’. You just need to be that person who plays a fatherly role in the life of someone. Someone who need’s it. Which is why I always always think it is so important, that if, as some churches do, your giving out ‘presents’ in large groups to people who are ‘fathers’ you don’t make it exclusive to those who have biologically connected children. Anyway, so my first tweet was one of celebration. I went to bed thinking about the attributes of a Father. The attributes I would pray any man I ever had children with would have. The attributes that anyone who is in a position or role of being a father figure should have.
(The most profound Fathers Day sermon I ever have heard was a few years ago, and I don’t even remember where it was now, but it encouraged ALL the men in the room to stand and be counted. It encouraged ALL men to be fathers. It said that you don’t have to donate your sperm to be a role model, to be involved in the life of someone who so needs it, to be that person who can teach someone about life, to be that person who is fatherly. I remember being tearful watching the men around me stand and be counted)
So, I stand by my first tweet. I wished and still do wish that anyone who is a Dad, biologically or not, had a wonderful day.
When I got up this morning, I went and laid in the bath, for a long time. A very long time. In fact far too long, however i dont suppose you really need to know that do you? as usual, I had filled the bath with lots of bubbles, and had taken a book into the bathroom with me. As usual I got deeply distracted by my phone (one day i’ll end up dropping it) …
So there I laid, in the bath, reading twitter on my phone … and there were the most profound tweets being tweeted. By what seemed like everyone. My whole timeline seemed full of tweets about Fathers Day. What an array of messages. What an array of varied messages. Some beautiful, heartfelt and meant ones, wishing their dads, and those who take on that role a great day. And some messages and tweets acknowledging and reminding people, that actually, for some, today, this day is hard. Painful. Tough. Emotional.
I am not alone in having a biological father, who wasn’t all that he should have been. Although sometimes I wonder if i even know what that ‘should have been’ even means. I used to dread Fathers Day. Especially, when as a younger child, there was a unsaid rule that I was to ‘buy and send’ a card. Or when in primary school, we were expecting to ‘make’ a card. I would do it, but then throw it in the bin on the way home, if possible. I am not alone in finding today tough in so so many ways. Up until a few years ago, I used to dread it. The expectation of having to do something/send something/think something I didnt mean was tough.
Every year Fathers Day means something different to me. It brings up different thoughts. This mornings was ‘I wonder if my biological father even remembers i exist. All the signs over the last couple of years would suggest he does not. Or that he chooses not to. Choose not to entertain the fact he has children. Two of them. I guess thats his choice. There is not anything I can do about it. And however much I try not to dwell on it, and I try very hard, it hurts. It really hurts. Even though he was violent. And abusive. And I am glad my mum divorced him. I know that, especially in christian communities it can be a controversial topic. I dont care.
As one of my tweets today says … ‘My biological father was and probably still is (who knows) a violently abusive person, and the kind that makes me pleased divorce exists.’
 I am glad they divorced. If things were bad while the were married, and while I had to as a child growing up endure ‘visits’ approved by courts during holidays, they would have been even worse if they remained married. I dread to think.
 I am glad that he moved to a different country, and that I don’t have much to do with him, or that i have to ‘pretend’ to even like him, however much i pretend that I am ok with the fact he is not in my life, actually, being brutally honest, it stings. Sometimes it still stings that he thinks so little of his children that he would be happy to have no contact.
A day like today rises up the issues of pain, anger, hurt and much more. That he would treat us the way he did. That he would behave the way he did, and that he would still behave the way he does, even though it obviously is in a much less physical way.
The way my biological father behaved towards my brother and I, brutally harmed the way we see ‘fatherhood’. The way we relate to men. The way we accept love. I’m often not sure what my father has done for apart from assist in my birth, but actually, one thing I am sure of that he did was ruin our perceptions of the things a father should do/be.
I could write on for a long time about the impact of my fathers actions on my life, and the life of my brother. But you may get bored. Suffice to say, its impacted me, largely. And so I guess you get a glimpse of some of the destruction that he has strewn into our lives by reading my blog and getting to know me.
Although, it is fair to say, and I want to make this clear, I have come a long way with dealing with some of those issues. Dont get me wrong, they sometimes dwell in my mind, sometimes in a big way, sometimes in a small way, but i’m on a journey of working through it, and have come a heck of a long way …
Anyway, moving on … because this is not meant to be a blog just about my woefully inadequate biological father. I mentioned the bitter/sweet thing. And I guess the above addresses the bitter bit. The sad bit. The painful bit. But there is a ‘sweet’ part. And over the years I have become more and more able to recognise that and celebrate that with others who have known nothing other than family joy on a day celebrating fathers.
‘Thankful tho that I get to have lunch today with the person who IS my dad, and who does all the things a Dad should, and none of the thing they shouldn’t.’
the above is the second part of the tweet i wrote whilst laid in the bath contemplating.
As the years go by, and as I get older, and as I am able to process my childhood/past experienced more effectively, and as I learn what was wrong, and as i deal with that, I also get closer and closer to the person in my life who represents ‘Dad’.
I know I am extrememly blessed. At the same time as remembering that hasnt always been the case, and isnt the case for many many people.
I AM lucky, and fortunate that many years ago, my mother remarried. She married someone she loves deeply, and who deeply loves her. And us. Someone, who despite being an affirmed bathchlor until he was 50 took on 2 children, one a wayward teenager and one about to enter that stage. No mean feat. Fair to say he went grey haired very quickly! Over the years, as I’ve learned to deal with my issues, as the ‘bitterness’ has slowly faded my love for my ‘step’ has grown.
Yes he drives me mad sometimes. I reckon I drive him mad too. But I reckon that is pretty normal …
My step is someone who does all the things that a ‘Father’ should do, and none of the things they shouldnt. He does not abuse me. He does do any of the horrors that should not happen. He DOES turn up in the middle of the night when I ring ‘home’ to tell them I cant breathe. He does turn up at the house with bags of shopping every now and then. He has helped me pay for driving lessons. He has paid for a hotel room so I could join him and my mum on a long weekend away with them. He has done many many other things. I could write forever about them.
Im thankful, that despite his eccentricities, I was able to go for lunch with him today, and give him a little present, which expresses my gratitude and love for him. I hope he realises the verses in the card are meant, so much.
I hope I have managed to stay on topic, somehow. And somehow explain why I used the ‘bitter/sweet’ phrase as a title for this blog.
I hope it sums up a little bit of why, for me, today is bittersweet. It always is. Maybe it always will be. It is a day of such overwhelming emotion, happy and sad. Bitter and sweet.
Anyway … enough of me rambling on …
IF today has been a day of rejoicing, celebration, happiness and gladness, that I am glad. If you have a Dad, a biological one, or one who takes on the role, as a step, or as a role model, or as a male figure in your life, I hope you have been able to/have enjoyed spending time with them/or celebrating them in some way. I join you in wishing those people Happy Fathers Day. In fact I wish my own stepdad, and one or two other very special people in my life Happy Fathers Day.
IF today has been a day of remembering loved and lost ones, then I hope in your grief you have been able to remember the good times.
IF today has been a day of pain, hurt, sadness, anger, darkness or any other negative emotion and IF today has done nothing but remind of someone you have never had, or of someone who has hurt you beyond your wildest dreams then I am sorry.
I have been thinking of you today.
Love Fragz
x

Ever been in one of those situations, be it a social one, or some other kind where you are meeting new people … and after the weather, marriage status and a few other small talk topics, the big one of ‘what do you do for work’ comes up …?

Yeah? Me too …

Ever been in the situation, where you asked the question first … ‘So, what is it you do …?’. And the responses vary. ‘I’m a teacher/doctor/lawyer/estate agent/youth worker/fireman (the list could go on) … what about you, what do you do?’.

There, theres ‘that’ moment … the moment where they ask the question back. So you squirm, stutter a bit and whisper out ‘Well, erm, I’m just a care assistant in a nursing home”

Ever been you? Maybe or maybe not … I don’t always know who reads this blog, so therefor I don’t know what kind of job roles are covered by us all but I’m pretty sure we’re not all Care Assistants.

In fact, as I write this now, I am currently not a ‘Care Assistant’ although I still work within the care/nursing home care system as an Activities/Pastoral Co-ordinator.  I have however, for the last 5 years been a Care Assistant, and before I went to live in London for the time I was there, I also was involved in care (with adults with Learning Disabilities).

When I worked as a Care Assistant, I held the view that all I was was ‘JUST’ a carer. As I said above, it is what I would mutter to people when asked what I did. And the responses I got would vary. Mostly the responses were ones that made you realise people did not really understand what the job you did entailed. And also, you would get the impression it didnt hold much in their eyes. After all, in general terms, thats what society see’s you as … ‘JUST a care assistant’. In fact, more often or not (I will point out here before everyone jumps on me and says I am being stereotypical, there are some exceptions, a few) it is what even alot of Managers/Care Home owners/top people of the big corporate companies who own alot of homes around the country, think of their staff. They are ‘just’ the care assistants. Its is fair to say that working conditions and pay certainly reflect that attitude.

However, as I climbed the ladder slightly, and became a Senior Care Leader and part of the Senior Care Management Team I began to feel the responsibility of building up my staff seriously. Having been in their shoes, having worked the floor, having done the shifts they do, and having dealt with the things they do on a daily basis, I KNEW they were not ‘JUST’ anything. They were and are not ‘JUST’ Care Assistants. I didn’t want my staff doing what I did. Seeing them selves as ‘Just’ this … because they were and are more than that. They ARE Care Assistants. They assist people with their care. What a huge thing to do?!

They are the people who turn up to work their shift early in the morning, in the middle of the day, and late at night. They are the people who through the night, through the bank holidays, through special days such as Christmas and Easter (without so much as an extra bonus/or extra pay for doing so).

They are the people who work often in crap conditions, with crap pay – most Care Assistants earn no more than the minimum wage all year round. No pension. No sick pay (except for Stat Sick Pay) – (I’d like to point out at this point, that I am talking about Care Assistants who work for the Private Healthcare Companies that own most of the Nursing Homes/Care Homes in this country). I’m sure/know people who work for other national organisations and complain about its conditions/pay/pensions etc, but I see them as lucky for being paid above min wage, for having a pension and for getting paid if sick)

Care Assistants are the people who often drop what ever it is they are doing on their day off to go into work when they get the phone call.

Care Assistants are the people that the residents/patients see first thing in the morning, and last thing at night.

They are the people who assist people who need it, in their every living need. From getting out of bed in the morning, often using heavy equipment (if accessible) for those who need it, to holding hands with the person who needs gentle encouragement to get up.

They are the people who assist said residents/patients in getting washed. Top to toe, including assisting them to the bathroom or with their personal hygiene needs. They are the people who comb hair, brush teeth/dentures and put them in, shave the men (with either an electric razor or a wet shave!), assist ladies in putting on their lipstick, do up buttons of shirts, get out matching clothes for the resident/patient, make beds, ensure rooms are tidy. They are the people who ensure the patient/resident is well dressed, clean, tidy and comfortable/settled and happy.

Care Assistants are the people who do that very thing for multiple people in the space of a very short time, whilst still trying to make it person centred, focussed on the individual and not rushing, despite the fact they know they have x amount of other residents to also get up/assist with all the above before breakfast.

They are the people who still have to carry out the same role and duties whether they have the correct amount of staff on, or whether they are short staffed which is often the case.

Then comes breakfast. Care Assistants are the people who assist those who cannot eat and drink by them selves to eat and drink. (This includes breakfast but also mid morning drinks/snacks, lunch, mid afternoon snacks/drinks, tea, and evening snacks and drinks. And if they are not assisting a resident to actually eat or drink then they are taking out the trolleys and trays to other residents who can eat and drink themselves but who need their meals/drinks taking to them wherever they are, be it the dining room, lounge or their bedrooms.)

After breakfast Care Assistants are the people who then continue to assist multiple people to get up … right up until lunch time. Some people choose to get up late. Some stay in bed all the time, and so are assisted with personal cares throughout the morning.

During the time between breakfast and lunch, as well as continuing to get residents up/washed/dressed/cared for personally, they are also making beds, making sure things are tidy, and trying to carry out the ‘bath’ rota. This means thats each and every resident is assisted in having a bath. On a regular basis. Some are residents who can go in a bath, with the aid of hoists, and some need to be ‘bed bathed’. This can take any thing up to 30 mins to an hour for one resident, depending on their needs.

Did I mention the bells? Maybe not … but now is a good time. Each and every resident has a call bell system, which enables them to ‘call’ a member of staff at any time they need one. And each member of staff has a bleep, that alerts them to the fact that ‘Mr Z’ in Room 100097453 is ringing for assistance. Who knows what Mr Z needs … maybe he would like to go to bathroom, maybe he would like a cup of tea, maybe he would like to make a phone call, maybe he would like to chat. Maybe he would like assistance in some other shape or form. Or maybe he has fallen or is feeling unwell. Care Assistants are the people who, at the same time as bathing other residents, at the same time as assisting people to eat their meals, at the same time as making beds and trying to assist people to get up, have to also answer these bells, as and when they ring, as quickly as they possibly can. And ring they can. On a very very regular basis.

Care Assistants, are the people, whom after lunch carry on with the ‘routine’ of assisting people with bathing and personal care. Assisting people the toilet, ensure people are settled, comfortable and clean and dry.

Care Assistants are the people who have to ensure very poorly residents are ‘turned’ (for people who are in bed all of the time) on a regular basis, often an hourly one.

Care Assistants are the people who have to take the clinical waste outside at the end of a shift, sort out the laundry accumulated throughout the day, sign books, ensure records from the day are up to date.

Care Assistants have to make sure at all times that every health and safety issue is carefully observed. They are the people who have to make sure lounges and corridors are tidy and clear of obstruction. They are the people who are called upon by other staff such as the domestics to unblock toilets if need be, or to pick up other things that may have been found around that others wont touch.

They are the people who answer the phone when the nurse/manager is not around, and they are the people who have to answer the door bell every time it rings. They are the people who have to offer visitors drinks (then go make the drinks), and show people who have never been in the building before around.

Care Assistants are the people who escort residents to appointments, be it doctors, dentists, opticians or the hospital. Sometimes they are the people who take a resident into town because the want to do some shopping.

Care Assistants are the people who care for patients and residents as they are dying. They try and deal with every need possible that needs dealing with, for all residents, dying or not, from personal care to emotional care. However when someone is in their last days, they often need much more intense assistance.

Care Assistants are the people who talk with and build relationships with the residents/and their families. They are the people who sit with them as they die (although, in my particular place there are some dedicated members of staff who do this so Care Assistants dont have to, however if those dedicated staff members are off on holidays, sick, days off, it is the Care Assistants who pick up that role).

Care Assistants are the people who provide what is seen as the last possible care available to someone who has died. They spend time with the deceased person, washing them, ensuring they are comfortable, for family to visit if they want, if not, ready for the undertakers to arrive.

Care Assistants are the people who sometimes sit in stunned silence in the staff room or the office when someone has died, pondering what it means to be alive, what it means to die, and what it means to do the job we do. They are the people who shed a tear, or a few, but behind closed doors, so when they go back on to the ‘floor’ they are smiling.

Care Assistants are the people who work a job role that is not exhaustive. There is no end to it. No end to the list that is their ‘job description’.  They are expected to and do anything that is required of them to ensure the ‘running’ of the home they are working in, and to ensure residents/patients are cared for.

I could sit and write all night of the different jobs a Care Assistant may find themselves faced with, but I hope I have managed to highlight just a few above.

Care Assistants are the people whose role is very often not understood. They are people who others often think are ‘JUST’ Care Assistants. I can promise you they are not. They are people working a job that is often very badly misrepresented. Misrepresented by the media/the press. You hear/see the bad stories, yes, and I don’t deny that those people need to be bought to justice, however it can often paint a target on the back of those who genuinely care. I’ve gotten into several twitter debates with people keen to tar us all with the same brush. I don’t deny the problems. They do exist. But often those problems stem not from the Care Assistants, but from what has become ‘private healthcare’ where profit is often more important than care.

I can assure you, for every bad penny in the care industry, there are thousands and thousands of people who work a job that they don’t do for the money (you can get paid much more working as a shelf stacker in a supermarket, not to mention pensions and sick pay) but the do for love of the job. For love of the people they care for. For love of wanting to try and make a difference in the lives of those who are not able to care for themselves. For the love of loving other people.

And having worked the role for many years, and now, although I am currently one stepped removed, I’m still very close to the role and the people who work it, I cant express enough how much respect I have for those people who ARE Care Assistants.

You are not JUST anything. You are valued. By the people you care for. By me.

The Tears Fall.

May 15, 2012

The tears fall,

Behind closed curtains,

no one would know,

the truth, as

the tears fall.

The tears fall,

mourning lost love,

her heart is torn in two,

life broken, as

the tears fall.

The tears fall,

the night goes by,

time passes,

a forgotten person, as

the tears fall.

The tears fall,

her soul yearning,

for nearness, once again,

something, anything as

the tears fall.

The tears fall,

as early sunrise light

floods into the darkness

and another day arrives, as

the tears fall.

© Fragmentz

Spent some time last night reading my old blogs, something I do occasionally. And I also read an old journal, that I kept, mostly in 2008, and around the months when I was at the bottom of the bottom. Below is an entry I found and read. I spent a long time chatting to my beautiful Godfather on the phone yesterday, and he is only one of two people I know in my life now, who knew/knows my biological father. Its always thought provoking to discuss my biological father. Below is an entry I wrote, in 2008 about an incident when I was young. In fact, one of the tamer times really. My father was an abusive bully, who ultimately broke the lives of the people around him, and the lives of his children. Sadly my brother was to then take on the traits of him, as he grew up, and only knew how to deal with the pain with anger himself. That left me being being in the position of being abused by father, many different times, and in very many different ways,  but then as I grew up, also by my brother. 

Life really is like a box of chocolates isn’t it? You never know what your going to get, or be given. 

Most of the time we were at house ‘on holiday’. I dont really remember exactly how old we were but one week we spent most of the time in the garage with the babysitter, playing games. Or my stepmm would look after us. I think I was perhaps 10 years old and remember missing my mum so much. We were the other side of the country from her. I would cry. At some point I must have done this in front of my step mum, for her to simply say ‘wait until your Dad gets homes’.

When he got home, I was hiding upstairs. I dont know where my brother was. I remember him shouting my name whilst he sat on the the double bed in the spare room. He has taken off his belt and shoes, and I knew I had to go and endure the beating. It was better to go, and get it over with then endure ‘the chase’ so to speak, because then it would only have been worse.

Apparently I had upset my stepmum and disrespected her by missing my real mum. While being beaten reasonably black and blue with his belt and steel capped military shoes he kept telling me to never dare to cry again.

Maybe thats why over the years, crying became such a problem. I never dared to cry in front of them again, and in fact for many years never dared to cry again in front of anyone. In fact I never really cried at all full stop.

That same week my brother and I went skating around the base my father lived on. At the top of this huge hill were the armed guarded gates, and we’d always go to the top to say hello to the soldiers and show off our passes that said we were allowed to be on the site. Maybe we broke the boredom in their day, I hope so, but I know we enjoyed those moments. We would then skate down the hill as fast as we possibly could. Being a child at the time, the hill felt huge (it probably wasnt that good) and it was great fun.

Except for this one time, when I fell. Just by accident, it was no ones fault. Least of all my brothers. But he got the blame. He was made to sit on a chair, when we got back home, in the middle of garden whilst my father towered over him, shouting and berating him. This huge man standing over a very young, skinny, pale faced and scared child. I remember watching what happened, and yelling at the window, even banging at it. But I had been locked inside the house. What could I do? I dont know, but I should have done something.

I had dinner with my mum tonight, and during the conversation I asked her if my Dad had ever hit her. She said no. So I asked her why she thought he did us. Her reply was ‘because you couldn’t hit back’.

I believe my father did what he did to us, because exactly as my mum said, we couldnt fight back. Whatever he did to us, whatever type of abuse he endured on us, he was always the stronger person. 

But I am an adult now too. And I can have the ability to be strong too. I loved a quote by Gibbs from NCIS the other night where someone said ‘I am not a victim’, he replied ‘No, your not, Your a survivor’. 

And so through it all, I am starting to learn and believe that actually, despite his abuse, the bullying at school, the pain inflicted on my by my brother, the subsequents depression/selfharm and pain I inflicted on myself and then the assault in London which finally finished me off and led to what some would say a bit of a breakdown, that I am surviving. And I can survive. 

One of the most important lessons over the last few years I have learned, with regards to faith and God, was given to me by someone who I love dearly, and whose family have accepted me, and love me as I am. Not long after trying to kill myself, I spent some time staying with them, and we sat in the garden one evening and their garden table, talking about the universe. I was so so angry with everything and everyone, and my view at that point of God was that he was a sadistic Nazi (I know I know, I was very angry at that time!) … and I was also frustrated and fed up with people/Christians who would say ‘well, you know God has intended all of this for good to come out of it’. Honestly? Well if you look at it that way, or think off it that way, then how can you not think God is cruel? He isnt this kind loving thing if he deliberately causes alsorts of unknown pain on someone just so good can eventually come out of it can he. 

Anyway, Andrew told me this … God never intended the bad to happen. It was not His plan. In the world, or in people lives. But what He can do, and does so is somehow weave the chaos and the hurt, and eventually make something good out of it. 

I was so profoundly affected by that, and its stayed with me for a long time, and been a huge part in bringing me back to a real sense of God in my life. 

When I first started blogging, years and years ago, my very first blog was quite a faith blinded one. So full of life and a love for God – who was to know at that point my world would be turned upside down, and the very things then I knew i believe in would be broken. I for sure didnt. 

But right now, it feels like I’m coming back full circle, but as a very different person. My faith is growing. Deepening. Through it all, even the times when I could barely utter a word to God, or when I did they were just screaming profanities, I never didnt believe in God. 

So here I am. A survivor. A survivor who can now cry (a lot at times) but who is learning to live and love life, and God, again. 

death.

February 17, 2012

I didn’t realise that it has been over a month since i last wrote on here … when i was taken into hospital a few weeks ago, and then ended up having quite a few weeks off work, i thought i’d have so much time to be able to catch up on blogging, however i dont think i realised fully the extent of how unwell i had been … (much better now!) so, its been a bit quiet here, but i’m back …

i hope this post finds everyone well, as ever … and that February is proving to be a fab month for you …

for me, its proving a challenging time, but then what would my life be if it was not a challenge. I’m not sure i’m ever destined to have one of those ‘easy lives’ (do they even exist? – i think they must, but just not that i’ve seen yet).

when i wrote my reviews of last year, and mentioned the fact i’d had some breathing problems which has inspired me to stop smoking, i dont think i reckoned on the beginning of this year being full of the fact that it has stepped up a gear.

to that end, walking home one day from work, a few weeks ago, as i do most days, i found that i simply could not breathe. i could not get my breath, and by the time i got to my GP surgery was turning a funny colour. i’ve never been ‘blue lighted’ into hospital before … and if i could remember it i’m sure it would have been very exciting, alas i dont. i wish i could say it was ‘interesting’ to experience the immediate emergency care i received that day, and a couple of days later when the same thing happened again (while at work this time – a bit embarrassing being stretchered out of the place you spend most of your waking hours) but i also don’t really remember that, all that well. Of what I do remember however and can comment on, is how amazing all the healthcare professionals who have looked after me were. From my GP, to the paramedics, to the emergency care teams at the local A + E and the criticare staff, and then the normal ward nurses and doctors, everyone was brilliant.

so here I am now, having to take daily medication and inhalers, and attend endless appointments with Respiratory Nurses and Consultants, and my regular GP. How grateful am I for the NHS? VERY! You often hear the crappy stories, and trust me, working in the healthcare profession myself, I am not blind to them and the realties of when poor care is provided, HOWEVER i think it is so important to also highlight the GOOD care, the good experiences, the people who work in hospitals who are professional, committed, kind, caring, compassionate. One moment I do remember, is the second time, a few days after the first incident, is coming round in the a big scary room in A n E with lots of equipment around me, and needles in my arms, and tubes up my nose (oxygen) and bursting into tears … it hit me where i was, what was happening, and how crap I felt … I wont ever forget a nurse, whose name was Lisa … standing by bedside and holding my hand, comforting me. She stayed with me for about ten minutes, until i calmed down. She provided tissues, and kind words. THOSE PEOPLE ARE AMAZING.

Anyway … the reason why i’m rambling on about all of that is that the following days that followed were days that kept me inside this hospital, on a ward, in a bay with three very elderly people (hell yeah could i tell you some funny stories about them, especially about the one who tried to get into my bed nearly giving me a heart attack!) … and that meant, being confined to a hospital  bed/chair I had not alot to do, other than rest, watch crap tv, listen to music and look out of window and think.

It was the latter I did plenty of … thank goodness for good music/ipods/phones and the lovely view from the 8th floor is what i say!

So i thought aplenty i did … and despite my often tweeted tweets about being thick and rambling on alot about nothing (which I do do alot of, sure) I do actually sometimes think … and the topic i could not stop thinking about was life and death.

as some of you know or may have picked up from previous blogs or twitter if you follow my feed, i work in a home with mostly elderly people, but a home that specialises in care for people who are dying … so they may be elderly and gradually declining and pass away through age related issues, or they may be people of all ages who come to us to be cared for in the last hours/days and weeks of their lives if they have terminal illness. We see and care for a huge range of people, with a huge range of needs, and over the years I’ve worked various roles in the same place, most recently as a senior member of the care team, and presently as the activities co ordinator/overseeing the pastoral and emotional care of our residents/patients. Its an incredibly challenging role, thats see’s us/myself on a very regular basis being with people as they are dying, as they do die, and afterwards. In all of this we also care for and provide support for the relatives of the person we are providing the care for We try our very hardest to practice something called holistic care which takes into account the person as a whole being and their situation, and their families come into that too. For some people, they have no family, and we the staff are the only people they have.

As part of my job, I find myself very closely involved with these patients in all sorts of different ways. Sometimes its spending time with the distraught families, comforting them, chatting, providing endless tea and coffees as they vigil their relative, sometimes holding their hands … sometimes sitting with them after their loved one has gone. Sometimes it advising them on what to do, whats next, where to go from there, sometimes is about just being a listening ear. I spend many hours with the patient/resident themselves, doing whatever they want me to be doing, sometimes its playing music, sometimes its reading to them, sometimes is just chatting. Sometimes its just sitting there, and listening to them. I also stay with residents who are gravely ill, and who may be close to going, so they are not alone, if thats what they wish. So i find myself sitting with people, and holding their hands (usually when they don’t have relatives or their relatives are not present) as they take their last breaths, and float into whatever comes next for them after death.

I cant lie and say my job does not impact me … it does, hugely. For example, yesterday I spent many hours with someone and with their relatives, a family we have had contact with for a few months. And i did sit at my desk just before going home, and shed a little tear. Because in everything my life has involved, one of the hardest things i find i have to do is face people dying so regularly, and have to support/console and try my best to look after a family who is grieving, in their very many different ways. Seeing pain on peoples faces makes even the hardest heart (i used to think my heart had been hardened by life) soften. Maybe my heart is not as hard as it once was (thats probably a whole different blog) …

anyway, so, back to being on a hospital bed on the 8th floor, with an amazing view over fields and roads, and at night houses all lit up, all I could do, as i often do when walking home from particularly challenging days at work, all i could was think about death and dying. Especially because, although I dont think I was going to die in the emergency room, when you feel like you cant breathe, it does make you pretty scared, and think you might possibly die …

and all i could think of then, and in this bed, and whilst thinking about all these people i look after and support was, I’m not ready to die yet. I dont want to die. And what will happen when i do??

A few years ago, all i wanted to do was die. I could not cope with life. It wasn’t what I had dreamt it ever to be. It was what I thought it should be, and i could never see a way of getting out of the big black hole I was in … I could not cope with having to deal with being a survivor of childhood abuse, dealing with the my biological father being who he is and behaving the way he did, and still tries to now, not that i’ve heard from him in a long time. I could not cope with being assaulted in a city I was living in, that I had wanted to try and build a life in. And then moving back to be nearer my Mum and lovely stepdad did I ever imagine finding myself feeling so isolated, turning to alcohol and self destructive behaviour that I still have the scars from now … and trying to end my life. I never thought life would be the way it has been (and i could write so much more about things i have experienced but i dont want to depress you) … and that i could be a normal person who wanted to live. because I wanted to die (i wrote a blog about wanting to die if you want to read that).

however, now I find myself in a place, where I dont want to die. I want to live. I want to have life.

But I am faced with death on such a regular basis that I cant switch off from it. And that leaves me with big questions.

what is life about? what is it for? what are we doing here? what is the ultimate purpose of being alive, and what does happen when we die?

where have all the people i’ve sat with and held the hand of as they have passed from this earthly life into something gone?

and where will i go when i die?

and so, that is ultimately what I spent my time thinking about while I was in hospital (cheerful i know – and please dont think I am in the depths of despair right now, because i am not, these are things i often think about, cant avoid)

so, anyone got any thoughts?

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 52 other followers