Category: disability discrimination

Discrimination is a ‘Bitch’

On By ZephyrIn diabetes, Diabetic Lifestyle, disability discrimination, gender discrimination, invisible disability, Liberation, Pool, sexual harassment, Type 1 Diabetes, Type 1.5 Diabetes, Type LADALeave a comment

Every three months I see my doctor concerning my diabetes. During my visits we talk about any questions or concerns I may have, we try to analyze the data downloaded from my pump, we determine new strategies to be incorporated in my management techniques, and we end up chatting about my job at the pool. The other morning, I told her I quit my job and her face lit up with pleasure. Most of our meeting was spent talking about the issue of discrimination and how it tends to infiltrate our daily experiences without challenge.  Over the past year, my doctor and I have had many conversations regarding my attempts to inform Fryer and the Park District about my emotional and behavioral disability, while still having to mitigate the effects of simply being female and labeled as a ‘bitch.’

But first I want to share my good news — my A1c was 7.6, which is amazing!

Back in May, my A1c was 7.6, but that was after a hard year of dragging it down from a 9.2, and my intention was to bring it down even lower. By August I had succeeded in dropping to a 7.2, and I was anticipating a 6.8 today because of the incredibly stable glucose levels I have sustained for the past three months. My first reaction to seeing the 7.6 was to groan and feel slightly dejected, but I have learned in the past ten years to not take a number seriously. After all, it is only a number. A basic lesson I have cultivated while living my diabetic experience is that numbers are capricious, with the only constant being that the good numbers will come, and then go with no explanation.

After analyzing the data retrieved from my pump, listing all the blood sugar levels that have been entered for the past month, my doctor was able to determine that my debilitating early morning and afternoon lows seem to have finally disappeared. The rest of my numbers were in a steady range between 100-200. My A1c had increased because I was actually healthier than I had been when my A1c was lower three months ago! Tricky, tricky Diabetes!

When I explained what had happened at the pool leading to my decision to walk out, and how my diabetes had been a core factor in the incident, my doctor and I discussed the ways in which women are expected to behave in public. We talked about how easy it is for men to be disagreeable, unpleasant, or even straight up rude, and not be held accountable. Yet, as women, we are immediately labeled as ‘bitchy,’ ‘up-tight,’ or ‘unreasonable’ simply for behaving in a manner analogous to men. The ability, and willingness, to proscribe different values upon the exact same behavioral traits being expressed depending upon the sexual organs of a person’s physical body is GENDER DISCRIMINATION.

I suffered gender discrimination at the pool. Before this last summer started, I wrote a letter to Fryer explaining one of my ‘reasonable requests’ under the Americans with Disabilities Act was to begin my shifts at the exact same time every morning. This one action has been huge in helping me to manage my glucose levels and is directly relevant to my lower A1c. I informed Fryer of the letter in advance, and that I would be including a letter from my doctor as confirmation of my disability. I asked him if there was any specific information he would appreciate being included in my doctor’s letter, and his answer was to tell me that he simply didn’t want to receive a letter that gave me “carte blanche to act like a bitch.” HIS COMMENT WAS GENDER DISCRIMINATION. 

Back when I first began to understand how many of the ‘problems’ Fryer was blaming me for, in terms of my ‘attitude,’ were actually caused by fluctuations in my blood sugar that were detrimentally affecting my personality, I attempted to educate Fryer and Dale about this new insight into my disease, and how it affected me. I tried to make an analogy to Fryer’s well-known bad-tempered moods, which have culminated in full-blown tantrums where Fryer has had to be avoided at work because of the backlash. When I pointed out Fryer’s own personally disruptive and troublesome moods (that are not the result of a dysfunctional endocrine system) his immediate response was to label his moods as being a result of times when he is “focused.” THIS DISTINCTION IN LABELS IS GENDER DISCRIMINATION.

It is unfair, and illegal, for the pool to hold me accountable for displaying behavioral traits that are exhibited by other members of the workforce (especially by my male boss), but to only hold me accountable, and to consistently reprimand me for not changing my ‘attitude’ — especially considering that my unacceptable behavioral traits are a direct result of the stress and anxiety I have been experiencing at work because of being sexually harassed, and retaliated against, during the past six years. My ‘attitude’ has been a direct consequence of my disability created by diabetes and the hostile work environment Fryer helped to create by marginalizing me. The Park District’s continued unwillingness to change their ‘attitude’ towards me, and for continuing to blame me for being diabetic is DISABILITY DISCRIMINATION mixed with GENDER DISCRIMINATION.

This is why I quit the pool. I had enough. I was no longer willing to participate in my own suffering by allowing them the opportunity to continue discriminating against me because I am a diabetic female.

The Equal Employment and Opportunity Commission (EEOC) guidelines state that it is “illegal to harass a woman by making offensive comments about women in general.” During my meeting with Fryer and Dale at the end of the summer in 2017, I was given an ultimatum to either quit my job (and receive a good reference from Fryer) or remain employed at the pool under the condition that one more complaint would result in immediate termination of my employment. I chose to remain because I was not prepared to be unemployed, but I wanted to make sure that my bosses were aware of the difficult relations I was having with one of the water exercise instructors at the time, so if she were to make a complaint, at least it wouldn’t be coming out of the dark. When I told Fryer about my difficulty getting along with Jakki, Fryer simply replied, “Well, if she has a problem then she can pull up her big girl pants and deal with it.” That statement, in those circumstances, was extremely offensive to me as a woman. Especially considering the fact that the complaint made against me, resulting in the ultimatum, had come from a man at work who wasn’t even in the same department as me. I wanted to demand why John in Maintenance was not told to “pull up [his big boy] pants and deal with it.” Instead, I was still under the belief that I was required to respect the authority my bosses held over me, so I let the offensive comment go without challenge.

Research shows that service-based industries, in which employees rely on customer approval, can breed an environment of harassment, but 73% of sexually harassed women never report incidences because:

“If you do come forward, you’ll be labeled a ‘troublemaker’ or a ‘bitch.’ More importantly, you won’t be believed.”

—Gretchen Carlson, former Fox News Channel host filing a sexual harassment suit against Fox News chairman and CEO Roger Ailes in 2016

Men most often have the power to determine if an organization will prevent and treat sexual harassment—or allow it to spread. I believe the same statement is true concerning gender discrimination. After all, sexual harassment is nothing more than the recognizable face of discrimination against a woman for being a woman in a man’s world. Women who deviate from the gender norms attributed to them by exhibiting traditionally masculine personality traits, or who simply are employed in supervisory roles, are especially likely to experience harassment in their work environment. This was true in my case, at least.

When men are competent they are perceived as being forceful. Women who display the same traits of competence are conversely seen as being aggressive. I was a victim of this particular brand of discrimination based upon my gender. My prominent personality traits, which include my tendency to be assertive and refuse the arbitrary roles expected of me by society in general, allowed my coworkers and bosses to label me as being ‘bitchy.’ I was given less latitude in being able to ‘get away with’ similar types of rude behavior that Fryer, and other men I worked with, were commonly known for exhibiting.

This is where the intersection of racial discrimination joins in making a rather special case out of my experiences. Despite the Civil Rights’ Movement, and educational gains within the black community, many black women still struggle to overcome stereotypes that paint them as ‘aggressive’ or ‘difficult to work with.’ Many black women who are immersed within a mostly white, male-dominated setting (such as my employment status at the Park District) will find themselves assigned with the stereotype of being the ‘angry black woman’ simply because of our intelligence, our out-spoken-ness, and the confidence we have in our skills and capacities.

My experiences, and struggles, at the pool have taught me to recognize how my diabetes affects me. I am now capable of explaining these traits to my next employer. I wish my previous employer had felt enough respect for me to listen more and learn with me over the years. I wish I didn’t have to walk out on my friends. I wish the world was a fair place to live in. I wish women didn’t have to struggle with being called a ‘bitch.’

But wishes are like farts. At worst, they stink and then dissipate. At best, they simply go unnoticed.

Thoughtful Reflections

On By ZephyrIn diabetes, Diabetic Lifestyle, disability discrimination, invisible disability, Pool, sexual harassment, Type 1 Diabetes, Type LADA, UncategorizedLeave a comment

I had an entirely different post written and edited ready to be published. I was going to make some final touches this morning when I went out for coffee, but I forgot my flash drive.  When I finally got around to grabbing a beer with my dinner and publish, I forgot my flash drive. Again.

So. This is what I started writing this morning and what I am finishing right now with the last of my beer (a bitter at Falling Sky, in case you’re interested).

Spending my time writing instead of working has been cathartic. I know my writing pretty much sucks at this point. I also know it is only my mother, and two or so random friends (with a couple of strangers added to the mix), who are the only people reading this crap. But that doesn’t stop me from wanting to say Thank You! Even if this is the only post you have ever begun to read, and you have absolutely no intention of reading to the end, I still would like to Thank You!

I need this time to process and untangle the knot that has been residing in my heart for the past six years. Many of the friends I left behind at the pool never had the opportunity to know me without the influence of the knot of dread that has been harboring in my breast since I lost my friendship with Red. I wish I could have had more time to experience being the person I am, without the stress from harassment and the high blood sugars it causes, while working at the pool, but I know it would be of no use. The people working there believe they know who I am. They believe that the crabby, grumpy and unpredictable Sam is the real Sam I am. How can they possibly understand how much of my personality is hijacked when I am stressed, or hyperglycemic, or tired from managing my diabetes all night instead of sleeping, when I have only begun to understand how diabetes affects me for myself?

The stress derived from my encounter with sexual harassment resulted in my strenuous struggle with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I was never officially diagnosed because I never told anyone about what happened. I suffered in silence for years. I feel free now knowing I will no longer suffer, nor be silent, but that knowledge does nothing to erase the emotional knot I have been living with since I refused to have sex with Red. This knot has become an entity within myself. It can, at times, be a puppet master pulling at my emotional strings and causing me to behave in obstinate and cantankerous ways that are misperceived by those who don’t know me as being ‘bitchy.’ But, I am not a bitch.

I repeat, I am not a bitch. I am a strong-headed, loud mouthed, sarcastic, and fundamentally independent woman. I speak in a manner that is blunt and direct with no flowering or sugaring of words (after all, I am diabetic and don’t need any more unnecessary sugar in my life). My manner can be abrasive, offensive, and judgmental, but I never speak with the intention of causing harm. I may not be very nice most of the time, but I am always kind.

The problem is that my kindness is easily disguised, or hidden, by the puppet master crawling around in the dank safety of my heart’s infernal knot. This damn knot has been an insufferable curse I have never been able to truly escape, but, over the years, I have learned how to begin releasing the negativity infecting my heart’s true purpose born from the traumatic experience of harassment. I no longer blame Red. There is no need. I accepted long ago that blaming anyone is useless and more harmful to myself then to them. I was lucky enough to not leave the pool before I had the experience of knowing that I had healed from my trauma caused by Red’s actions.

On the same morning when I had my encounter with Amanda (which became the crucible of my decision to quit) I finally had an encounter with Red that was as calm, peaceful, and uneventful as the days before his solicitations for sex. Being able to speak with Red, to have him speak back respectfully, and feeling safe enough to hand him a pen to write with, proved to me beyond a doubt that whatever problems Amanda believed she had with me were of her own making, and existed within her own mind. What I had ‘done’ to upset her so much was more a consequence of her own emotional immaturity and past behavior. The maturity that evolved from my personal suffering over the years had already made its mark. My diabetes, however, that is an entirely different story, and the foundation upon which the Park District has been capable of marginalizing both me and the issues I brought to their attention.

Day 4: Diabetes (part 1)

On By ZephyrIn diabetes diagnosis, Diabetic Lifestyle, disability discrimination, Type 1 Diabetes, Type 1.5 Diabetes, Type LADALeave a comment

I went to work at the pool because of Diabetes. I remained employed at the pool for nine years because of Diabetes. I allowed myself to suffer severe and pervasive harassment and discrimination for six years because of Diabetes.

Diabetes scares me more than the evil natural by-product of blind ignorance produced by the likes of Red, Fryer, Dale, Bill, Amanda, and every other individual working for the Park District combined ever possibly can. None of them can end my life. They have definitely made my life more difficult, stressful, unbearable, and unhealthy then it now is without them in it, but, with the help of the Park District, and my experience surviving there, I have finally learned how my diabetes works.

I first started this blog as a way to chronicle the shift of thinking about myself as being diabetic to thinking of myself as diabetic. It was a depth of acceptance that had eluded me for almost ten years. Reading back over my first few posts I can still read the frustration and anger resulting from my diagnosis in my words. I have managed to survive long enough to spend a quarter of my current lifespan as a diabetic. It is a trend I am hoping to continue for the next half of my life. Social survival at the pool was always secondary to the survival of my life.

The irony of insulin-dependent diabetes is equally as beautiful as the moment of handing Fryer the key while he was in his swim suit. But, I fear it is an irony that only people intimately involved with insulin are ever truly able to appreciate. For those of you reading who aren’t familiar with insulin, or Diabetes in general, I am going to spend the next couple hours (before my friend cooks me dinner tonight) briefly explaining the different ‘types’ of Diabetes so later I may hopefully be able to explain in detail the intricacy of insulin-dependent (or Type 1) diabetes, so you may have a better understanding of my disability and how I was able to be discriminated against for my disability at the pool by the administration of the Park District.

There are two types of Diabetes that are mentioned in the media, of which most people unassociated with the disease in general are aware of the one called Type 2, also usually labeled as ‘adult onset.’ It is the version of diabetes that most people have some kind of connection to, mostly with an older relative who has, or had, Diabetes. I prefer to label Type 2 diabetes as ‘insulin-resistant diabetes’ only because many people with it might be able to manage the disease with exercise, diet, and lifestyle changes. Insulin-resistant diabetes can even have a timeframe, early in the development of the disease (called ‘pre-diabetes’), when a person can ultimately (hopefully) erradicate the effects of the disease by simply changing what they eat, how much they eat, and with increasing their exercise. Insulin-dependent diabetes does NOT have an escape. It does not matter how much I change my diet or lifestyle, I will always be dependent upon insulin until the day I die.

Everyone (and I do mean EVERYONE) with insulin-resistant diabetes gets sick in their adulthood. Okay, wait . . . this might not truly be an honest statement. Especially with the increase in childhood obesity, because it is obesity, and sedentary habits, that are the crux of becoming an insulin-resistant individual. With obesity comes the body’s inability to utilize insulin correctly. The pancreas still merrily produces enough insulin to cover the body’s needs, but the cells become unable to use the insulin correctly. The simple explanation that comes in all the literature explaining Diabetes is that food is converted into glucose, which is the fuel that keeps our body and brain functioning. Cells need to use the glucose that ends up in our bloodstream to work. Period. Without glucose our body begins to fail and we die. Period. The problem with insulin-resistance is that the cells become unable to take in the fuel they need because insulin is the ‘key’ that unlocks the cell to allow glucose in. The cells are ‘resistant’ to the insulin produced by the body.

There, that is as technical as I’m going to get right now. To reiterate, insulin-resistance is when the pancreas produces insulin that the body’s cells are unable to use properly and the person gets sick. With the help of medication, an insulin-resistant person can begin to utilize the insulin within their body and become healthier. Exercise helps cells to utilize insulin. The more exercise, the less resistance.

Insulin-dependence is very different. First, the problem does not start with our lifestyle or body-type. Insulin-dependence begins when the immune system attacks the cells in the pancreas that produce insulin. The pancreas, in time, becomes unable to produce enough insulin for our bodies to stay alive. Before the discovery of insulin in the early 1920s, insulin-dependent (Type 1) diabetes was 100% fatal. It is an auto-immune disease, which insulin-resistant (Type 2) diabetes is not. It makes no difference how obese we are or how little we exercise. The unavoidable fact is that our pancreas NO LONGER PRODUCES INSULIN. Period. Without insulin we die. Period.

Now the explanation begins to become more complicated, and I’m not going to go deeply into details today, but there are soooo many more factors involving Diabetes then the two very simplified explanations that I’ve just provided. For one thing, there are more than two types of diabetes, the most other widely encountered version being gestational diabetes. But none of those versions affect me and how I manage to live with my diabetes. The two explanations I’ve provided above are the basic building blocks to begin understanding the manifestation of my diabetes, which, let’s be honest, is the whole point of this blog in the first place.

MY diabetes is labeled as Latent Autoimmune Diabetes in Adults (LADA). I have not been ‘officially’ diagnosed with LADA. My official diagnosis is Type 1 Diabetes (insulin-dependent). I was mis-diagnosed as Type 2 in the beginning because of my age being 32. Like I said earlier, it is adults who become sick with Type 2. Insulin-dependent diabetes used to have the more commonly known name of ‘juvenile diabetes’ because it was ALWAYS children who became sick with an autoimmune disease causing insulin-dependence. Juvenile-onset diabetes happens quickly. Within a matter of months, or even weeks, parents will watch their young child become lethargic, skinny, and sick. It is that first trip to the Emergency Room when they learn that their child is now diabetic and needs to manage being on insulin for the rest of their life. It is as close to a death sentance you can honestly receive while still being alive.

***Here’s the kicker: insulin is needed to stay alive, but take too much (just a drop too much) and you run the risk of seizure, coma, and death.***

The problem with Diabetes is that it allows your blood glucose levels to rise too high. Too much glucose floating around in the bloodstream will begin to destroy certain physiological structures. The most commonly kown side-effect of ‘diabetes’ is losing a foot. Or any appendage. High blood sugar destroys blood vessels. It restricts the ability for blood to flow in a healthy manner to the extremities. Amputations are a ‘common’ complication of Diabetes. High blood sugar can also cause blindness, heart disease, kidney failure, liver dysfunction, etc., etc. Since my diagnosis, I have noticed a distinct reduction in my ability to heal a simple cut on my leg without creating a nasty looking scar.

I need to wrap up my beginning of this chapter for today because I need to go home and get my fiddle ready to go to my friend’s house for a pleasant night of recitals and dinner. But I want to leave you with this one idea to ponder until tomorrow when I have time to finish this chapter: I have described two very different types of diseases that share a common name, but have distinctly different origins. One is a disease of the metabolism, while the other is autoimmune. Both of these diseases are deadly. Both can cause great and tremendous bodily harm. Both are emotionally traumatic to be diagnosed with. Both need constant and diligent attention to detail in order to manage living a ‘healthy’ life. They are different, but they are the same.

Tomorrow I will share some of the traits that both versions of Diabetes have in common, and how those commonalities affect me and my ability to learn how to survive living with insulin-dependent diabetes.

Have a wonderful evening!

Day 3: The Darkside

On By ZephyrIn Diabetic Lifestyle, disability discrimination, gender discrimination, Liberation, racism, sexism, and other isms, sexual harassment2 Comments

Everything has a darkside. Everything. Not just the Park District, the Force, or the moon.

I have a darkside. It has gotten me into trouble many, many times. It is the Yang to my Yin. The flip to my flop. It is an undercooked hotdog served with a slice of Wonder bread. It is the side of existence that we avoid and ignore with what little passion we have left in our hearts after spending our days working at jobs that simply don’t pay us enough to breath.

I’ve only begun to tell the darkside of my story. It amazes me to think this is only the third post I have written in my new life as a writer. I’m not exactly sure what this new life will look like, but I am certain it will be filled with the love, joy and support that I have been receiving from my friends and family. My parents are helping to pay for my rent and holiday travel, my brother is helping to pay my electricity bill, and I have been saving and preparing for this moment since August of 2017 when Fryer and Dale tried to scare me into quitting by threatening me with a bad reference if I were to stay and receive one more complaint. I was ambushed for that meeting. It was not the first ambush I have survived while working there, but when they tried to ambush me again last Tuesday — I quit.

And walked away with peace and joy in my heart.

I had hoped I would be able to survive working and receiving a reliable paycheck until I could respectfully put in my two-weeks notice, but that option was ripped away from me and I was forced to walk out on the spot. There was no drama. I did everything in my power to avoid making a scene and causing a fuss… other than the fuss caused by the fact that my boss had no one but himself to cover my shift.

The inherent irony of the moment when I quit is a thing of pure beauty. To put it succinctly, Fryer has been forced to work a shift as a lifeguard, for the past month or so, ever since the woman working the day shift with me suddenly quit with barely a two week notice. Fryer conducted a quick ‘mini’ lifeguard class in order to hire two senior men who are regular patrons at the pool to cover his shift, yet one of the men quit before he was hired and Fryer still had to guard, albeit a shorter shift. Two days after the new guy was finally ready to work by himself was the day I quit. My cherry on top: Fryer spends everyday sitting in the hot tubs or sauna while being scheduled as the Building Supervisor. It is an act that not a single one of the other Building Supervisors are allowed to imitate. Fryer commonly refers to these moments during his workday as his daily “hot tub inspection.” I caught him upstairs as he was in his swimsuit, with his towel over his arm, and headed out to the hot tub to start ‘working’ his shift for the day.

“As repayment for all the years I spent being unfairly mistreated, I am doing this one small unfair act at the most inconvienent moment for you. I quit.”

I handed him my key and rode my bike home for the last time. I could not have planned the timing better if I tried. Life planned it for me.

I had made the decision to quit the night before. The full impact of what Fryer said to me during the middle of my shift on Tuesday did not register at first, but by the time I was home and capable of uninterrupted reflection, I realized I would not ALLOW the Park District one more opportunity to marginalize me. To victimize me by blaming me with unfounded statements and rumors that were NEVER investigated.

 It was providential that, a week prior to my decision to quit, a young high school student just beginning her first job working at the pool decided to challenge my authority as her Building Supervisor on an early morning Saturday shift. I had a coworker proofread my texts to her to make certain I was using a proper and respectful ‘voice’ of authority before sending them. When the young lady complained to Fryer about my ‘voice’ in the texts, she offered to let him read them. Fryer declined. On the Saturday in question, I had informed Fryer what was occuring (since he was at the pool doing the ‘mini’ lifeguard lesson), I explained what I had said in my texts, and told him about her snarky reply challenging my authority to chastise her for lack of following procedure (which, it turns out, was the exact same mistake she had made a few days earlier during one of Fryer’s shifts). I offered that Saturday morning to let Fryer read my texts and her reply, but he refused. On Monday, after the young woman complained to Fryer, he had to rotate with me and the first words out of his mouth were, “well, it’s the same old complaint about how you say things.” When I offered to let him read the texts for the second time, he again refused, but said, “keep them though. Just in case it gets worse.”

FAILURE TO INVESTIGATE is the reason I quit my job. Well, that and the fact that I have spent the past six years being labeled a “bitch” because I have had difficulty learning how to control my glucose levels, because I have a hard time recognizing the emotional and behavioral side-effects of my diabetes, because I refused to have sex with Red, because I am assertive and direct, because I am a strong black woman, because I tend to speak my mind, because I intimidate some people with my confidence, and because I have a habit of trying to fix problems on my own without complaining to others.

Like I said, I have a darkside. And it has gotten me in trouble many, many times. This time, however, I used my darkside to discover the ‘voice’ of Liberation hidden deep inside me and buried under years of doubt, fear, anxiety, confusion, trepidation, torment, and anguish. The erosion of my self-esteem during my years of oppression at the pool was an aspect of my employed existence that I was no longer willing to accept. The strength of my personality preserved me through the years of suffering. My darkside has always shown itself as a side of my personality that can be intimidating, authoritative, judgemental, and intolerant.

But, there is always a silver lining to every darkside. The silver lining of my current situation is the support and love I have received from the people who care about me, and the opportunities that have been continuously appearing before me that I would not have been able to capitalize on if I was still employed. The day after I quit I was offered a spot on two different women’s soccer teams, I have been offered professional help with my resume, I have been given links to new job possibilities, and I have uncovered a fathomless depth of energy and enjoyment for my new life, which would never have been possible without my unemployment.

As much as I am enjoying the freedom to live my new Life, I have to face the fact that I will simultaneously find myself in a position of losing as much as I gain. This morning I had to accept losing a friendship because of my actions at the pool. I have not contacted anyone still employed at the pool. I have absolutely no intention of ever going near that place again. The people I enjoyed working with who are still working there will have to be willing to reach out to me. I will not feed my energy into the destructive atmosphere of the pool ever again. Like I said yesterday, the pool is a cult. Supporting my assertion is the fact that I am not the only ex-employee of the cult hiding in town, and unwilling to have contact with anyone at the Park District.

Thursday morning I texted my friend still working at the pool:

I quit the pool yesterday. I waited until Jeff showed up and then handed him my key as he was in his swimsuit headed out to the hot tubs. I said, “As repayment for all the years I spent being unfairly mistreated, I am doing this one small unfair act at the most inconvenient moment for you. I quit.”

I feel good today 🙂

Wanna grab a beer and hear the whole story?

I expected her to be thrilled for me because she has been talking for the past month about how much she wants to quit working at the pool, how unfair the place is, how many problems she has to face during her shifts, and how tired she is of the fact that the pool never changes. I have shared my stories about sexual harassment and discrimination over the years with her. I thought at the very least she would reply with a simple, “wow! I hope everything works out ok.”

Instead, her response was:

I am under the weather

Maybe another time

At the time, I thought it odd that she would use illness as her excuse, only because a few days previously she had called in sick to work at the pool because she was, in her words, “sick of working there” and instead had a beer with me and talked about how much she wanted to quit.

I was hurt, but I did what I always do — I accepted her as the person she is and held my silence in peace. The exact type of response that has allowed me to be in a position of being systemically harassed and discriminated against. After three days of silence from my ‘friend’ I decided to speak up for myself and my hurt feelings. Last night I sent her another text:

I’m confused as to why you haven’t reached out. I tell you I quit the pool and you have nothing to say?? It feels as if you don’t care and, to be honest, that kinda hurts. Are you ok?!? Is the fact that I quit coming between our friendship? I hope not, but I will understand if it has become a problem for you.

This morning I woke up to her reply:

I am not sure how to respond to this. I have been ill for a few days-but… Clearly I am unable to meet your needs as a friend and I have disappointed you. Also, Amanda is coaching staff and this is too close to home for me, don’t you think? But the only thing I can do is respectfully back away because I really don’t know how to support you. I can’t handle any more negativity in my life at the moment and I will leave it at that.

I realized immediately that this person was my last affiliation to the cult and I needed to sever ALL attachment with the pool. In a single text, my ‘friend’ not only gave her support to the power structure of the pool cult by listening to whatever rumors are rampantly spreading among the void left behind by my absence, but she effectively proved that my well-being and happiness were not an issue of importance to her.

It was not difficult for me to find my ‘voice’ of Liberation and to respond to her as kindly and respectfully as possible:

Ok. My quitting had NOTHING to do with Amanda and I have never felt better in my life. I regret the fact that you would rather believe in pool gossip, but I respect your choice. There is no negativity involved for me, but it does sound like you have enough to deal with on your own. As for supporting me as my friend…all I wanted from you was to feel like you cared about me. We could have easily talked about anything else over a beer. I wish you the best of luck 🙂

And now I am truly finished with the pool. I have escaped the cult and I am not damaged by the repercussions of the ostracism inherent within a cult’s culture. I have no fear of not being able to return. I am exactly where I want to be. Darkside included.

Liberation is a CHOICE you must Act upon

On By ZephyrIn Diabetic Lifestyle, disability discrimination, gender discrimination, Liberation, racism, sexism, and other isms, sexual harassment, Type 1 Diabetes, UncategorizedLeave a comment

I quit my job Wednesday morning.

I started my shift at 8:30 and waited until my boss showed up to start his shift. He arrived at 9:40 and disappeared upstairs in his office. My rotation for lifeguarding the pool ended at 10:00 (when his Building Supervisor shift began) and I went to the bathroom to pee before heading upstairs to confront my boss and give him my key to the building.

My first words to him were: “I have suffered years of harassment and discrimination ever since you allowed Red to manipulate you into retaliating against me for not having sex with him.”

The last words I said to him before I walked away were: “I will not allow you the opportunity to marginalize me again.”

It was the most rewarding and liberating act I have ever performed since the moment of my birth!

My story is long and it deeply involves the hidden and unspoken forces of sexism, racism, and our seemingly collective inability to take responsibility for our personal perceptions of ‘others’ who happen to be ‘different’.

The trouble began over six years ago when an older male coworker of mine was going through a nasty second divorce. Some of us suspected he was coming to work at least slightly intoxicated because of the smell of alcohol and his glassy, bloodshot eyes. One day, after his shift ended and he was dressed in his regular clothes, he cornered me in the back office while I was still on shift and in my lifeguard uniform. There are two chairs in the small back office and he placed himself so I was unable to get up from my chair and walk away without having to physically push past him. I felt extremely uncomfortable the moment he sat down, but I didn’t say anything because I had become used to the feeling of being uncomfortable within his presence.

I remember feeling offended when I realized I was unable to simply get up and walk away from him if I wanted to. He hadn’t said or done anything to scare me, I simply did not appreciate feeling ‘forced’ to participate in his conversation. He started by telling me how much he appreciated my friendship and how attracted he was to me. At this point, the only thought in my head was “Shit. He’s finally crossed over into ‘creepy old man’ territory.”

***This is a territory most younger women must learn to navigate without a map or directions. I once had a senior male patron at the pool say to me, “You are looking good today, Sam! I can say that because I’m old (wink, wink)!” I stood in my guard uniform, while being paid to spend my time observing our patrons and respond to any medical emergency, and I calmly responded, “Just because you think you can say something, doesn’t mean you should.” These are the types of comments some people would complain about and I would end up being in trouble with my boss.***

Red asked me if I wanted to be “more than friends” with him. My immediate reaction was to feel disgust and disdain for his approach. At the time he was still married and we had enjoyed a three year friendship at work where he would share stories about his kids who are closer to my age than he is. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings anymore than I already knew they were hurting from his current life situation. I tried to be ‘lady-like’ and ‘polite’ and ‘respectful’ and ‘nice’ — just like I had been taught to do since being a little girl while learning how to ‘behave properly’ with my elders.

I thanked Red for his compliment and told him, “No. I do not want to be ‘more than friends.'”  I smiled when I said it because that was the ‘right’ thing to do. I did not challenge him on his approach, or his assumption that I would simply be willing to have sex with him (nor his obvious lack of respect for me by not bothering to first ask me out on a ‘date‘). This was not the first time I have had to turn away a man who wanted to have sex with me. This was, however, the only time that the man I turned away did not understand the word “NO“.

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I have free time now. LOTS of free time. I’m looking forward to spending my free time writing my story, telling my story, sharing my story, and using my story to erradicate the dark Injustice of discrimination with the light of Awareness. The experiences I survived at my old job have given me a personal insight into the deep and abiding grip blind ignorance can have on the best of people. As a direct consequence of the sexual harassment I suffered from my co-worker, Red Liegel, and his subsequent behavior and actions (including two episodes of verbal assault at work), I have also suffered years of sustained and systemic gender and disability (for insulin-dependent diabetes) discrimination from the administration controlling my old workplace.

I even have possession of a copy of an opinion, written by a co-worker currently still employed at my last place of employment, expressing her belief that State-sanctioned slavery, supported by Congress and the 13th Amendment, is a reasonable and possible solution for the problem of illegal immigration within our nation. I found this opinion one day at work while looking for a memo, with the combination to unlock the money for the cashier, that had been taken out of my box. It was in her box, in the employee breakroom, where it could have just as easily been found by one of the high school swim team kids who were coming in to begin their practice. I shared the opinion with the head swim coach, but, despite his horror and disgust, he did nothing about it.

I am writing my story so I can send it out into the world. I want to share it with anyone who can use it to help make the world a better place to live. I will be sharing my story with newspapers, magazines, neighborhood groups, non-profit organizations, my City Council, the local school board, as well as sharing my reprimand to the Board of Directors of my old employer. I am looking forward to spending my free time making a difference in the world I live in.

I make my first vow, right now and right here, to write every day.

Everyday I will post a new part of my story. I will use this commitment as a way to improve my writing, and as a way to remember all of the smaller injustices I suffered that, at the time, were subsumed beneath the overall oppression of my situation. I will share my memories with everyone who is willing to listen.

Please ask me questions. Please feel welcome to participate with me in dialogue. I look forward to engaging with others so we may share ALL our stories and provide the support we ALL deserve!

It is only in silence when we allow ourselves to be harmed.

***The names of the guilty will not be changed. I will not protect them. I will say what happened to me from my perspective. I will share my story.***