He’s shorter than me.  I am chin to nose with him and I want him to push me so badly.  I want to use the fist I have clenched and end this little tyrant.  He’s wearing a check collared shirt with fancy dangle patterning and a pointy pair of baby grey shoes and has a fat lip, I’m assuming now it was from another Mum at another party.

I have been bullied once too often and all of that abuse has brought me to this place.  Facing down the nasty father of a nasty kid who just made my little girl cry and hide.  His boy hurt her, tormented her and was proud as punch of himself until he met her Mama who ripped him a new one (verbally).  Now his Dad is yelling at me.  I stepped straight into his space, chin to nose I stared down at this pathetic excuse for manhood and dared him to throw the first punch.

For the first time in my life I am standing up to a bully.  Facing them down and waiting for my chance to throat punch the bastard.  Shame I didn’t get a chance as I was told to step back and leave him alone.  Orders obeyed but what that did to me was to reduce me to victim status again.

I was made to feel bad for defending my little girl and myself.

Funny how the world works, heh.  You know in that “tear my heart out and feed it to you on a plate with a nice glass of chianti” way it has.

I wanted to run.  I wanted to leave.  I had to stay put.  Endure another hour in the company of this little toe rag.  The fury of a mother’s rage subsided and instead of feeling super human I felt diminished.  All the way home I quietly cried.  Cried and saw every nasty bully that had stepped into my life; from a recent exposure to a less than honest or kind Head Doc to my own mother and sister.  By the time I got home I could barely function and unsurprisingly found myself on the floor, having fainted whilst trying to drink a glass of water, hands shaking.

So the world says that those with Post Traumatic Stress are dangerous.

The world says we are not trustworthy, another less than intelligent Head Doc told me that we are a danger to the public.  It wasn’t me who lost it – I held my ground and I faced down a bully.  I wasn’t going to throw the first punch but I sure as hell was going to make sure I ended it.  That’s not what society wants to hear though is it?  A woman is supposed to take the abuse quietly and stoically.  Walk away.  Turn the other cheek.

Not compile a throat punch list.

When we are raped we need to ‘let it go’, ‘put it behind us’ and when we are faced with bullying we should step away, often it is our ‘own fault’.  Quite often it is; I’ve spent a lifetime re-establishing the abuse I received as a child.  Now I am out of the shadowlands I am still exposed to bullying but at each turn when I stand up for myself, there is a voice saying ‘back down, move away, leave it be’.

What if I don’t want to?

My fight with Toronto Police is for the women I know who have worked for and work for Toronto Police Service who daily must face the macho-BS and 80’s thinking that is the Old Boys Club.  One step towards ending their reign is to get S/Sgt Eddie Adamson recognized as a life lost in line of duty: remembering his life not the manner of his death.  The officers struggling with PTS/OSI who go home and hide; isolated and alone, fearful of being ‘outed’.  The professionals who treat them but stand idly by as injustice after injustice is perpetrated against their clients.

OUR LIVES BEGIN TO END THE DAY WE BECOME SILENT ABOUT THINGS THAT MATTER

courtesy of @SnowinRI

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