The crack where the light gets in...

A few years ago I was bullied out of teaching and threatened with legal action because I had referred to this (very obliquely, and anonymously) on social media. I was in a bad way mentally and one day I hid away in a chapel within the Crooked Spire Church, closed my eyes, breathed deeply and offered up my terror to God. It felt like there was nowhere else to go with it. The Union was swamped with casework (mainly my colleagues) and it felt like a miracle would be the only solution.

As I sat gazing on a particularly beautiful angel-filled window, listening to voices in the distance, inhaling air perfumed with incense and beeswax, I experienced a few seconds of Peace. it didn't last long, but long enough to remind me that my troubles were tiny in the vast scheme of things, and to give me a glimmer of hope. 

I leaned back against the ancient wood and closed my eyes, imagining the generations of worshippers - amongst them my Grandma's family who (at least, according to my Mum) brought her to the Spire to be baptised. They lived in a tiny hamlet a couple of miles out of Chesterfield, so it's possibly true. I thought of all they had endured and overcome, and reminded myself that I was a link in a chain which has never so far broken. 
All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well, I murmured.

I didn't know back then that my panic attacks were all the worse because of autism. I had lived with fear my entire life but on the day the letter arrived threatening me with legal action I actually thought I was going to melt and die. I've never felt so frightened. I knew at the back of my mind that I had done nothing wrong, but I also knew that I was dealing with people who came as near as I've ever been to Evil. Not in the league of some, but still - they were intent on destroying a few of us and making a good job of it. 

A few deep breaths later, my fears were resurfacing like bubbles in a mud pool. I was trying desperately to hang onto those few brief moments of peace. I looked around to take my mind off what was going on inside my head, and noticed some ancient graffiti - initials carved into the wooden panels. And then I noticed a crack. I put my eye to it and saw a stained glass window glowing in the afternoon sunlight. It reminded me of the Pinhole Camera lessons in Physics 40 years earlier. 

I was struck by the thought that nobody outside the Chapel knew I was in there. 
Nobody knew I was watching.
And although I was confined in a small space, and the crack in the wood was tiny, it gave me a vision of Glory. A sense of perspective. More hope.

I've always been prone to moments of spiritual insight. I don't care whether or not they are a response to someone real or something imagined - I utterly believe that this life is not all there is, but I have no issue with those who believe differently. Why would I? 

All that matters to me is that as humans we learn to share love generously, to be there for the lonely and fearful, and look out for those golden glimpses of glory.

My troubles did resolve, with time. It was a few years before the mild panic attacks in the supermarket stopped. They would hit as I presented my card to pay, jabbing me in the solar plexus and whispering, What if you don't have enough money?  

I moved on, left teaching (I still miss the children but I don't miss Education), had several brief forays into other careers and zero hour contracts, found out after two years that my school was sending out a reference filled with lies which was why I hadn't landed a permanent job even after several rounds of interviews in some cases. But knowledge is power. I chose to let it go and move on. 

I get to decide what thoughts fill my brain, and I don't have time for hate and anger. 

I've sometimes wondered, what if I had had a diagnosis back then? I would still have been bullied, I'm sure - but I would have had the legal right to challenge it on grounds of discrimination. 

Sometimes, labels help. 

Sometimes they give us permission to be exactly who we are. 

A label can be the crack where the light gets in.






 

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