Truthiness Social

Well, what can that mean? I’ll tell you. Life is still surreal, but the lockdown is over. Maybe. But I’ve felt like a new person, since social interaction has begun again.

We were all changed by the long isolation. Some people had a support system. Others did not. But everyone has been changed, and no one is talking about it! (Hint—I didn’t have a support system.)

Why? Why is no one talking about the fact that we’re all traumatized? Maybe it’s because trauma has never been a topic of discussion. Maybe it’s because of some aspect of normal people I don’t share.

My particular experience of collective traum is, perhaps, unusual—there was a huge collective trauma a group ( hundreds?) of us underwent in the early 90s. Our particular tribe, fellow members of a human potential group, went nuclear. Spectacularly. There was an internal coup in the staff, who walked out of their workshops, leaving the paying customers alone. These workshop attendees were abandoned and left to figure out what was happening. Everyone was in shock. (That was probably 1992.) The people in the room were in shock. Those of us who heard about it were in shock. No one got their money back. We had trusted these people. We had given them money, and we had given them time. We had fun, we’d learned wonderful things. Some of us had bad experiences, but those who had stayed were a family of sorts.

The silence about this truly traumatic incident lasted almost 30 years. Now, there’s a Facebook group that has begun to talk about it. 30 years later.

I’m not sure if it’s just me, or if others are just not sure how or where to begin to discuss this type of experience. But I wish we would. I wish we’d talk about the truth of social trauma.

A case in point: Recently—just as masking began to be optional, I saw an ad for a free session at something called Osteostrong. I was so happy to be out of the house (a dark dreary place.) The sales approach was a soft sell. “Let’s sit and talk”. The sheer joy of having an interesting conversation with a handsome man was incredible. I was sold. I twice informed Mr. Charm that I was sold. Twice he kept selling. (That should have been a clue… he didn’t listen.)

He stressed the coaching aspect of the service. Then, he coached me. Then he hugged me. Sad as it is to confess, that hit of oxytocin was heaven. (It was not to last.)

Of course, I did not confess that I had been in hell for three years. In a dreary house with a demanding narcissist who is also a hoarder. Who tells these things? Not me.

Eventually, the veneer of charm exuded by TDH (tall, dark and handsome) became thinner, then it disappeared completely. The skeletal (bone) improvement as a result of the sessions I did were literally amazing. Constant heel pain when walking? Gone. Back issues if I dared bend over when pulling weeds? Gone. Improved balance.

But I found myself thinking “I’m not ready for this” as I approached the door for my session a few weeks ago. I thought it was just the continuing misery of the hellish life I lead in this (residential) dump… so I went in. I’ll skip over the details and just say that by the following week I’d gone through another trauma. My sleep was disturbed. I was losing weight again. And who comes out from behind the desk to “coach” me but a young woman so I’d never seen anywhere but behind the desk. I’d never exactly wanted to be around her, but I hadn’t been, so, I didn’t expect to be. From August to November, she’d stayed behind the front desk.

I was surprised—and unhappy. I did not want to be coached by her. It was visceral. I did not see it coming, and boom. Here it was. (I don’t do well when I’m blindsided. This was that.) I became upset. Actually, I was already upset by two previous issues, one of which was personal—the other of which was indefensible and will eventually get them sued. I confess I don’t recall exactly what came out of my mouth, but I wanted to scream “nooooo”. It wasn’t a good experience. We had words, none of which was an insult, but none of which sat well with her. But I did explain that as between the two of us, the duty ran to to me, not from me to her. (It’s a lawyer thing, but accurate.) I left.

I then sat in my car for three hours, dealing with the earlier mess I’d been dealing with. Talking to the bank, talking to Verizon, talking to Apple. In the sun. Out of the hellish house. Then I went in and did my work out with the one gem of a “coach”working there. (Three hours had passed. There were no other customers. It seemed fine.) Little did I know.

These people are providing a service whose target audience is elderly women. You know—the ones with osteoporosis. Elderly women have a crapton of changes, and none of the baby boomers were prepared for it. It wasn’t discussed back then. This is a target audience for this type of service–and they clearly had no training and no clue.

Millions of elderly people have been traumatized by three years of (often extreme ) isolation. No one is talking about it. Apparently, no one cares. Not even those who collect $250 for 4 sessions of 20 minutes each. Pus 10 minutes of red light therapy. (Yes, Virginia…It’s real.)

There’s a massive disconnect here. This 21year old with whom I did not want to work (I think I know why, now) never lived in a time when customers were valued by businesses. Yes, yes, there was such a time. Yes, I remember being 21. Old age was the last thing on my mind. She had no clue, and apparently she was not alone in thinking none was needed. What’s wrong with this picture? My investigative skills are sincere, and I deployed them. I quickly discovered that the company uses low paid untrained people to do this job. It boggles the mind, but it capitalism–and it’s Tony Robbins. You do the math.

There’s a backstory. You see, the charmer insisted on ignoring my requests that he not use metaphors like “pretend this is a deposition” or “in a battle…” while supposedly being my “coach”. (No description of what that toke entails is available. No informed consent was required.) He was supposedly British Special Forces. I’m a veteran and an attorney. I guess he thought he was being very clever. I hated it. I liked being touched by him–I did. I may be old but I’m not dead. Sigh.

So I tried asking him not to give me input like “pretend this is a deposition.” And we limped along for a while. I had no idea that his sales pitch (which implied the coaching relationship was part of what I was paying for) was just selling the sizzle. Of course, sizzle is not permanent. It wasn’t.

Eventually , he turned on his heel and walked away from me when I reiterated my request for him to not be so cerebral when I was focused on my physical work. WALKED AWAY. My $250 a month coach walked away rather than respect my request. Walked away from the paying customer. Because, apparently, I was supposed to accommodate his preferences. Again—what’s wrong with this picture?

So yeah. When the young thing presented herself as my coach, I recoiled. This was December. I started in August. She had not ever been a “coach” in my presence before. Ever. I lost it. I’m not overjoyed that I came unglued, but I did. I had just been through a huge ordeal. (I told her this… to her credit, she did say “I’m sorry”. Apparently, that’s not quite the same as actually understanding,)

There’s more, and it was mind boggling. I ended the association. I really want the results, but not, thank you, the profound disrespect. In hindsight, I can reconstruct why I recoiled from working with the sudden development of proposed “coaching” by herself. I had gotten bad vibes from her all along, but since my interactions with her were limited, I’d paid no attention. This was a mistake, if an understandable one.

The whole lot of them (save one) were out of integrity. I feel these things. I realize most people don’t—or at least not consciously. (I think they do, unconsciously, because anyone who is dishonest will avoid me or attack me on line, on Avvo.com or any other forum —and in this instance. This happens regularly.)

So, the sad truth is these people don’t know, or care about the aspects of their target demographic that they don’t know. Like how hard it is to grip when your skin is smooth and slick, as happens as you age. I never knew—no one tells you this stuff. When you’re young, no one says “oh, by the all way, when you age, your skin becomes so thin it’s translucent, and the handy ridges on your fingers go all slick.”

What do they know about arthritis, or bone on bone side effects of aging joints such as I’m experiencing. They are unaware of how my arthritic knee (also missing a tendon) behaves. THEY HAVE NO TRAINING BEYOND HOW TO OPERATE THE MACHINES. How very Tony Robbins. (Recently research reveals he’s not an owner, but he touts the company. He may also have been an advisor for their sales approach. That’s a supposition, but not illogical.)

But wait! There’s more! In true sell the sizzle, steak” manner, the object is the health of the company, not the customer. So why would they educate their staff? This tracks my experience of the human potential movement, which is where Tony Robbins got his start. Most of the players in that movement have been sidelined. Robbins has not. In that movement, the “trainers” had no credentials to do what they did. They were underpaid and probably overworked. Much of it was good. But there were people hurt. I loved it–but I’m an outlier. I took the good and left the rest.

Trauma was probably inevitable, on both situations. “Um, trauma? What trauma?” At least in the human potential movement–or at least the one I took part in–service was emphasized. Now? Here? I wish. I could be wrong, but from my perspective, toxic capitalism has been exalted by the people who benefit from it (the so called 1%) and there’s no profit motive to be focused on (or invest in) genuine service to others.

At 21, you have no idea what service is. Specifically, you have no what a 73 year old woman has been through. What trauma a three year pandemic has caused. The world many older, often single, women live in. NOT A CLUE.And…they don’t care. The words that were overtly used to designate me as a threat were these: “I have lived half a century longer than you.” Obviously, that’s accurate. Equally obviously, it was shorthand. It was impossible to spell this out, because it was based on for all I’ve written here, and it was said in frustration.

Unknown to anyone but me, the ability to respond at all to the “sneak attack” (if you have watched “Kim’s Convenience Store” you’ll understand the reference) was a triumph of self control, grace under pressure, and healing. I certainly wouldn’t expect the good people of Osteostrong to grok that. I haven’t decided whether the absurd accusation that I called this person whose name i didn’t know “a little girl” (no one wore name tags, so I never knew the names of anyone but TDH. His name was Adam) was because she actually drew an inference she made, or if it was manufactured as a means of accomplishing the goal of silence in me. There was quite a lot of time invested in what I walked into the following week. A lot. Full disclosure–I had posted a Yelp review about the time I was put in a compression suit and left alone. It was horrible, and i couldn’t get anyone’s attention. The gym next door was loud enough to drown out my voice. No one could see or hear me. I had to figure out how to unplug the thing.)

So, I was fairly sure that someone had read that review. It’s still there, and it’s completely accurate, so I’m not worried about being accused of defamation,)

That experience was traumatic, but not to the point that I was ready to give up on the expensive but promising relationship. Be that as it may, I could have been badly harmed. I could have had a heart attack, or a stroke. This is not a stretch. Had the worst happened, they would have been sued. Perhaps they should be.

This event sharply highlights the lack of training, and the fact that I couldn’t be seen is a factor that’s easily remedied. I dare hope they at least changed the layout of the various equipment so that anyone in distress could be seen and heard. I might go back and check. Then again, I might not. But one thing one of the staff had said to me (before the interview with the vampire–I gotta find some humor here–was that they were thinking of changing it.

So, yeah. I had legitimate concerns, and my particular personal quirks/preferences/wishes were not the least bit behind it. And they knew that. They probably didn’t care about me, and my specific feelings or my specific trauma, but they surely recognized that they had been remiss. They surely were aware that had I been removed my ambulance, the outcome would have been unpleasant at a minimum. Costly as hell as a maximum.

But, let’s be real. They may have been able to grasp that physically harming an elderly attorney was not going to be good for their brand, but they know little about less obvious about trauma, and we sadly, we as a society know little about, we care little about, trauma. I suspect we’re starting to, but it will take time.

We also don’t care about the older (and often wiser) folks on the planet. Least of all the crones.. women past their child bearing years. This is nor new, and it’s not news. What this is is a mess. I’ve got good genes for longevity. I’m not sure if it’s something I am glad of–not in the times we’re in. Then again, maybe I can do something about it. Maybe it’s part of my hero’s journey.

The world as it will be 50 years hence, when these young folks are my age? I can’t imagine it. Honestly, I’m pretty sure no one can. That was always true, but oy vey. Slowly, it’s dawning on me that one effect of the pandemic is that the illusion that we can predict our future, we can prevent mass tragedy has been shattered.