James Ballantyne

Category: Emotions

  • I had to make it happen – myself

    I love when I read something and because im in a different time and place, it means something different to me, I see something different in the words and meaning that I didn’t before. When I studied hermeneutics as part of my theology studies and then personal research 10 years ago, I would have understood this as the ‘reader response’ to a text, and thought then only of sacred texts like the Bible.

    I have just finished re-reading The Hobbit, it’s the fourth time I have read it, and the second time I’ve read it out loud, I read it to my son George about 10 years ago, and recently to my fiance Christelle, also as a bed time story.

    It’s the first time I’ve read it in 8 years though, and I had sort of dismissed it as an adventure story, and wonder how I’d find it compared to having just read the Harry Potter series

    As well as finding resonance in the conversation with the dragon part, the sneaky burglar role and the effect of power and wealth – whether got for legitimate or non legitimate means, it was this part at the end that stood out

    And why should they not come true, surely you don’t disbelieve the prophecies, because you had a hand in bring them about yourself? You don’t really suppose that all your adventures and escapes were managed by mere luck, just for your sole benefit?

    What did I once believe? That God would sort things out? That I couldn’t make anything happen? Maybe even that my destiny was never to be happy and that was what my luck was?

    Or was I waiting for someone else to fix it for me? Me, the passive victim waiting to be emotionally rescued and someone else patch me up, and yes at the point of crisis I needed immediate patching up. But..

    I had to make it happen

    I had to act, even with all the best guidance and support in the world

    I had to make a myriad of choices and actions happen

    I had to learn how to make decisions for myself and also that were for myself

    I had to stop being passive, or waiting for someone or something else to fix it, or play a never ending waiting game of was a manipulation in itself.

    Echart Tolle writes something very similar, stating that in simple terms, if we want to get out of a situation, or change it, we must act, and doing nothing is also action. Improbably misquoting him, but hey I’m writing this on a train

    If I attributed what I did to ‘The Gods’ where would that leave me now? What if how Ive changes and grown and dug deep been all just God and not me? I’m not going to say that I don’t believe God wasn’t in it, and I’m rediscovering God again, but what sense of power, or achievement or self pride would I have in it, if It was just God’s plan or destiny? Or good luck?

    The universe conspires to help the dreamer – Paulo Coelho

    But even then I had to make things happen, i had to take responsibility for myself, make choices and decisions, not all of them perfect or right, but I where I listened to my heart, and sought to do something that I felt was best for me, somehow that did. And that includes every day. Every day even now.

    Whether that’s a positive decision to not have a TV or watch the news, whether that’s a positive decision to listen to my feelings and anxiety and sit, write and express them, whether that’s to cook good food for myself, whether that’s to continue to deal with the mess of the past or survival strategies of the past through therapy, whether that’s to embrace love and vulnerability with my fiance Christelle, whether that’s continuing day by day to attend to myself, be kind to myself, these are all active choices I make every single day.

    So maybe, this is all about power after all. I had to realise I had more power that I thought, more power than I knew, more power than I wanted, and that I wasn’t fatalistically dependent on someone else. That I didn’t need to be scared anymore.

    From a place of fear, of being abused and scared, I had to take power, I had to start to make things happen for myself, sometimes one vulnerable step after another, but still steps.

    Maybe destiny and prophecies have to be found and created, and not waited for…thanks Gandalf…

  • Survival of the Mildest – born to be Mild

    Survival of the Mildest – born to be Mild

    I realise the other day how much ‘second-guessing’ that accompanied every decision I had to make – to do with something that was about me.

    One of the consequences of being ‘Born to be loyal’ was that what accompanied it was the fear of stepping out of line. Conformity was embedded. As was the sheer terror of her, mother. Upsetting her, making her angry, all of which she was capable of being at anything- or nothing.

    What this meant for me, was that to keep myself safe I was fulfilling the role. Survival meant the survival of the mildest, the quietest.

    This was reflected in everything I did.

    The children books that I read were comics and Roald Dahl, toys were lego and trains.

    I didn’t listen to music – in fact music was practically banned in the house, except TV soundtracks (this was the music on cassette tape in the car on family holidays, or tape childrens books) TV soundtracks…and my parents were around during the 1960’s but you wouldn’t know it – its as if they went through the 1960’s in an evangelical cult, avoiding the real world. So, no music. So what was my first single. I was a child of the 1980’s… Duran Duran, Pet Shop Boys, Metallica, Guns n Roses? – nope…. A TV theme song…. yes that one from ‘Neighbours’ 1989, Angry Anderson – there’s an irony, the closest I got to angry from the age of 11 – mild song, mild me.

    The same theme continued – having to stay safe with music, the most rebellious I got, was to play Meat Loaf loud – and then I was made to feel guilty for it, or asked – ‘Are you sure to be listening to this’? yuk yuk.

    But it meant I didnt buy songs with swearing in, and kept things safe. How many 17 year olds were listening to christian worship music?

    Born to be wild… yeah… frankly anything but….

    Mild.

    So that I didnt have to ask them for anything, I worked from the age of 13, paper rounds, babysitting, and then retail work. Id learned not to ask for what I wanted or needed – but I noticed that even when I bought things it was interrogated – certain things were a ‘waste’ of my own money…too many sweets.. or ‘shouldn’t you be saving some of that’ .

    Everything I chose to buy, even with my own earned money – was commented on or interrogated.

    What I realised was that I hated any comment from them, it was never genuine, it was loaded, with patronising criticism, jealousy, or projection.

    ‘Is it Christian?’

    ‘are you sure thats appropriate?’

    ‘Should you be listening to that?’

    ‘Don’t you think you should have been home earlier’

    So I had to second guess what I bought for myself.

    Useful things were ok, like a bike, a hi-fi, camera – but given that I had the money to buy clothes – I still had to buy ‘bargains’ or safe clothes that weren’t rebellious. Usually plain, unless it was the favourite checked shirt or waist coat – or football tops. What I realise now, is that my second guessing brain was in charge of my purchasing. I remember going to Leicester on a few occasions, armed with a few hundred pounds, and not able to buy clothes I liked – but trying to buy clothes that weren’t too expensive, were reasonable, and didnt stand out , spending hours walking between three different shops to try and make a decision about a shirt, a jacket, jeans or whatever it was.

    I was in a teenage body, but reasoning decisions like a frightened child or adult – and not anything like a normal teenager would be.

    Mild – also wasn’t going out, getting drunk, coming back late. Nothing external to rebel.

    Mild was babysitting at a friends house on New Years eve, so that I could finish A level homework – and still being told off for being late home. When my 18 yr old friends were getting drunk. Mild.

    Mild was doing a Christian gap year at the end of those A levels, but this didnt fit in with their plans/trophied expectations – still a mild way to rebel.

    Mild was taking the car once id learned to drive to Christian music festivals.

    Mild – was never getting angry or emotional.

    Mild – I remember not being allowed to have to colours I wanted in my room – they were too bright. I wanted Red….but a brighter red that I was allowed.

    Mild meant not being really good at something, or failing either. I levelled out somewhere in the middle, and hid anything extreme. If I did something that good, credit was taken from it…

    And definitely not swearing.

    As a consequence of being born to be loyal, survival meant being born to be mild. Being the safe, invisible, oldest child. Doing nothing to upset the apple cart, not asking or needing, not standing out, not rebelling, not noisy, conform.

    I was easily criticised for being indecisive. I had to over think every ‘seen as selfish’ decision – and so this paralysed my decision making. In fact, strange how the persons who caused the indecision that criticised me for being indecisive at times. Utterly overthinking, second guessing, trying to please, partly, moreover, trying to not upset, trying to not stand out, trying to be stay invisible, trying to stay loyal, meant born to be mild.

    Why did I notice recently how mild I had to be?

    Because for the last few years I have bought my own clothes. I put colour in my choice of socks, I bought even more checked colourful shirts and t shirts. I now take my inner child shopping, and little James has fun trying on things, trying on fun things, being brave with colour. Little James makes impulse buys. Little James is growing a music collection.

  • Searching for Happiness, one feeling at a time

    Searching for Happiness, one feeling at a time

    I hope you don’t mind me asking, but where do you think happiness comes from? What makes you happy?

    (Hector, Hector and the search for Happiness, 2014)

    It might be a running theme this, after last weeks date night movie with my beautiful fiancé Christelle, and the piece she wrote about it, here : `The Day we Sang’ (whilst you’re there do read more of her story, of play, power and healing) , but yesterday evening (uk time) we joking said to each other ; ‘Well it won’t be as good as last weeks movie’ . It wasn’t, not for me anyway, but, it only wasnt quite. I guess Amazon Prime really does know what films we like, they must involve British eccentricity, quirkiness, life journey, discovery, love and a surprising, though maybe not surprising, moment of inner child – and that is all in ‘Hector and the search for Happiness’ – and a whole lot more besides – and it was funny, painful, despairing, violent, and contained bundles of colour and joy.

    Hectors journey to discover happiness, starts when he starts to make the journey. It starts when he starts, not when he finds. The realisation of disconnection between what he says and what he lives takes him to a place of personal angst. He gets Angry. He uncomfortably makes a change happen. He moves. In the persuit of others life coping as a psychiatrist he has forgotten someone, himself. The child that played airplanes and dreamed of adventures.

    I ask myself – what kind of happy was I wanting other people to have – if I want happy? What kind of life was I setting other people up for – if I couldn’t feel my own feelings and in self denial?

    On his journey, he observes, he writes, he lives- eventually … he feels happy. But he had to feel through the other feelings first.

    Ill not write too much more, as its so worth a watch for yourself. Should I give away the ending here.. Well no I won’t.

    What he discovers too, is that Happiness is a threatening question. Happiness is a question in a currency the world cannot cope with. Happiness could be discovered when he let his inhibitions go, through taking risks, through community, through following his instinct. Happiness is a dream sold, but is never found that way.

    It was another reminder to me, trying to control and inhibit emotions is such an easy default for me too. I dissociated from them, and my body, from an early age, survived by growing up fast and my ‘little professor‘ ruled – the adult/child. I gave up being curious and feelings – and played everything safe, stone cold safe – feelings in shutdown mode, hiding myself to be safe. What did Hector learn? What have I had to learn? That its ok to feel emotions. That its ok to feel them. Yes, it needed safety, care, love, and space. But like a car without an engine, life doesn’t work without making use of them. I was running and avoiding, not only the painful things, but also the feelings associated with the painful things – understandably so.

    Things keep unravelling for me, day by day, week by week, unravelling, not in the psychotic way, but giving myself permission to feel, having space to feel, and digging deep into the parts of me that were meant to feel anger, meant to feel love, meant to be nurtured, meant to feel grief. Only small moments cut through, the playing of Danny Boy at my grandfathers funeral, still gets me every time, that was in 2000. The rest of the time I was in survival mode, stone cold mode, avoid, or intellectualise my feelings away.

    Happiness, couldn’t be bought ..in the movie…..- it had to be felt – it was…..all of it.

    I am happiest when……?

    Hector and the search for Happiness

    Im just reading The Hobbit to Christelle; and was reminded of this:

    Thank you for reading. Maybe its time to keep discovering what makes us happy – and not just what makes us less sick, or soothes our pain – me included.

    Talking of dragons and gold…..

  • Surviving Psychopathic Parenting (Part 26): Little Professor

    Surviving Psychopathic Parenting (Part 26): Little Professor

    Over the last few weeks I have, again, through a combination of therapy and personal reading, began to identify more about the ways in which I survived – or were guided towards surviving as a child in the midst of emotionally immature parenting (from both parents).

    I had some favourite toys as a child, many of which – except for board games- were ones in which I played alone, I was the older child. Some of those favourite toys were train sets, lego and less so mechano – they all involved building, making a route, a building and then playing with them. The constructing was more fun than the playing. In the 1980’s Video games were non existent, for me, though there was at least one racing game I remember – but these kind of games were seen as a waste of time by the parents. (sudden realisation here…. something frivolous was a ‘waste of time’ – play wasn’t worth spending money on….most of my toys had some education purpose….or they were quiet) (I’ve talked about fun elsewhere..)

    I read a lot of books, and at this time of the year I am reminded of the very long summer nights as a child and how I would read late into the night, books by Roald Dahl mostly, though also Beano Annuals, Comics and other books I cant remember- my bedroom window had a western facing window and so it was so light until late I wouldn’t need the light on.

    There were a few electronic games, educational ones obviously, that I did have, one was a kind of colour coded game in which I had to copy the sequence of colours/lights in a row , and the sequence would get longer and longer. From about the age of 10, as I had learned to play chess by then, I had a computer chess game, so that I could play chess by myself, and move the pieces and follow the coordinates on the red lights, this was great as I could play in the room and listen to adult chat or could hide away somewhere. Other times I remembered playing and making up games to myself, even playing against myself in games like naughts and crosses or one of the children TV quiz shows.

    However, the one toy that summed up the child that I was, in the main, was a small yellow electronic calculator, called ‘The Little Professor’ . I was given one at the age of about 5 I think.

    The 1980’s Little Professor

    I learned quickly that I had to be clever. I wasnt going to be happy, neither felt in any way physically tough or handsome, and as I have said before, I was having to adapt to the systems around me, and also try and understand in it all. Words like conscientious on a good school report or ‘don’t try and be a clever clogs’ on a bad parent reaction day – were common. I learned to find safety in learning. I learned that I was going to have to try and work things out. Try and work out how to do well, how to survive, and even, as I said in this piece, how to work out how to get what I needed, without getting caught…

    The little professors, the thinker, perceptive to have to work things out.

    Some of it paid off, 4 years of home based little professor and my maths grades at Primary school were the very top. I was intelligent but utterly messy with it, untidy – I didn’t present what I knew well, but I knew things. Oh and I also worked out how to win the Little Bowden School story cup, by copying Martyn Buzzards story, he won by having a dog go on an adventure, I won the next month by having a cat do the same. Teachers couldn’t believe that I would cheat? I didnt cheat, I copied the good idea and turned it into my own. Clever. And maybe sweet and innocent too.

    Little James had a very strong little professor – always thinking, trying to work things out, and in the case of this..

    I was able to self learn all the times tables, all the sums, and began to memorise complicated sums like 27*37 which is 999 because the display on the little professor only had went up to 999 and so I wanted to work out what sum went to the highest number. There were many games on it, and most of the time I was doing very quick multiplication of double figures, the kind that id only learn to do properly in school many years later.

    The ironic thing about the little professor in me, is that numbers was safe. I had no life experience aged 5,6,7,8,9 to fit with the things I was trying to find out, my mind was exploring, and wanting to know answers to questions, but id end up being seriously naive at times. It makes sense in another way too though, because I had to already know intuitively how to navigate eggshells, I had to be perceptive, always. Its no wonder I wanted to do psychology at the age of 16, its as if I knew something about reading other people. Sometimes that Little Professor was creative and innovative – sometimes it still is, and so I am very grateful for my little professor childhood survival strategy, going into my head and valuing learning and intelligence was what I needed to do to survive. Both to do well at school and thrive, and also to understand how to get what I needed, even if was devious.

    I may come back to my ‘little professor’ childhood again, but there’s no doubt that in the midst of emotional neglect and abuse, the one thing that did develop , maybe too much, and detrimentally in later life – was that little professor part of my childhood development.

  • Light Life Days

    I had no experience of light Life Days for a very long time

    Because, everything was trapped away

    Hiding, in a cupboard

    Hiding away, Heavy, very heavy

    But gradually, with safety, I began to take a few things out

    And look at them

    And give them light

    What I noticed was though there was alot of processing being done, something even 3-4 years ago felt lighter

    I felt lighter

    I carried less

    Today has been a light Life day

    Yesterday was a processing day

    A writing day of listening to my inner voices, anxieties, questions, emotions, feelings, and getting them down

    Body still keeping the score

    The day after facing something, processing it, feeling it, I can feel light, it’s as if my soul, my inner child, my self rewards itself with blissful feelings of achievement

    New bits of shedding to be done as it’s revealed, new parts given the opportunity to have burdens lifted

    Today felt light, inner bliss

    Walking in the woods this morning, it didn’t matter if I did or didn’t see anything, I was just happy to be out, happy to be me, be another newer version of the real me

    Life feels light when one more aspect of life’s trauma has been lifted, there will I’m sure be others, the journey isn’t over, but today has been a life light day. What about you, what’s does it feel like, the day after you’ve given your soul time to process the shit?

    It’s as if the universe conspires to give a day of emotional relaxation and joy… Life light days

  • Fathers Day; It’s Complicated

    Mothers Day is ‘easy’, as is her birthday. Its not easy, but it’s easy because it’s clear cut, if you have read anything of my story on these pages, or had met her, you will know.

    For some of you reading this, Fathers day is the clear cut one. Not easy, not ever easy, but its clear, if your father abused you, hurt you, abandoned you, or beat up your mum, Fathers day brings with it horrible trauma, understandably, as its being dealt with, I’m not in any way saying that its easy, at all – more reflecting that there’s a clarity, however rough, in facing that day as a horrendously difficult one, as its a permanent reminder of the abusive, toxic one. For me- that day is Mothers day.

    But Fathers day – the celebratory day , for me, of the ‘other’ parent – its complicated isn’t it?

    Even as I grew up, from mid teens onwards there was a recognition of the ‘difficult relationship people has with their fathers’ – on fathers day. But that wasn’t me.

    The difficult relationship was with the psychopathic other one.

    So, I could, somehow think to myself- aged 12 onwards that I was somehow alone, in that no-one had difficult mum issues, and also that compared to mum issues I did have, I didnt have dad issues. Or at least, I had lesser Dad issues that have only arisen to the surface as I have begun in recent times to deal with the mum issues.

    Growing up, the eldest male child – of an abused Father. A Father still caught in the web of her abuse. A Father powerless. or…. A Father choosing to stay trapped, choosing loyalty, actively making a choice?

    I kind of get, how a child of abused female parent is expected to rationalise their action -The abusive male is stronger, more powerful physically, the child watching the damage to their mum – is undoubtedly traumatised – but she isnt expected to fight back, yet might protect her children and leave for safety.

    What kind of emotional strength and awareness would it take for a man to leave an abusive woman?

    Thats the question I am left facing in regard to my Dad, for 40 years I know I was afraid, for 40 years I ran and hid, for 40 years I couldn’t see it either – caught in her toxic web – the trophy, compliant child, walking on eggshells.

    Its complicated, Fathers Day.

    On one hand, my Dad didnt abuse me, frighten me, hurt me, bully or reject me. So thats a tick.

    But on the other, he didn’t protect me from the one who did abuse, frighten, hurt and bully, not just me..but everyone. Thats the tick taken away, isnt it?

    And he did carry out the ‘Dad’ punishments on behalf of the other one, when she got upset by something I did or didnt do – that to her was unreasonable.

    Slippers used to beat me on at least two occasions, and on both I can remember thinking that he wasnt really invested in doing it, wasnt really him, just being told to do it by her. Child-mum got upset. Emotional, couldn’t cope.

    And he didnt ever stand up to her – for either of us – never saying ‘You’re being too hard on them’ to her… but , instead saying things like ‘ Just do that thing to please your mother’ or ‘ Dont upset her’ – all the whole realising that it made absolutely no difference.

    Keep off the eggshells, or ill be in trouble too. he might as well have said.

    Often he was just her tool.

    Defending her, when others called her out.

    I am reminded of this- and the book it came from:

    Essentially, you dont get to have only one Emotionally immature Parent. At least, I dont. The obvious one is the Emotional one, the Child-mother. Dad is Passive parent, to the textbook.

    ‘Passive parents aren’t angry or pushy like the other three types, but they still have negative effects. They positive acquire to dominant personalities and often partner with more aggressive types who are also emotionally immature, which makes sense given that people with similar emotional maturity levels are attracted to one another. Comparesd to other types, these passive parents seem more emotionally available, but only up to a point. When things get too intense, they become passive, withdraw emotionally, and hide their heads in the sand. They dont offer their children any limits or guidance or help them to navigate the world,. They may love you, but they cant help you’

    Lindsay C Gibson, Adult children of Emotionally Immature Parents (2015)

    He was also completely un-trustworthy – her Flying Monkey , he’d be the one to glean information, good (easy to talk to) cop, though didnt offer anything in return – no empathy, advice, genuine concern – was just listening for information to take back. I learned not to trust this parent. Any attention he got made the other jealous, so actually it would become difficult to know how to gauge what to do. He knew we, as children or a family, would spend time with him, when she wasnt around. Yet, he would hide away to stay out of the line of fire, I mean he didnt spend hours in a shed, garage or converting an attic for nothing – or somebody elses.

    The image is right though, playful – and also at times fun – especially when I was a much younger child, and would still play board games , also the helpful fixer – practically doing things, making, fixing, DIY and all of that, though that DIY ‘dependency’ would be a way for her to be involved – so again he was being used.

    What makes all this complicated is the level to which I regard him as someone who could have made different choices, someone who may have realised a long time ago that he has missed out on many aspects of actual life – like relationships with his own kids, grandkids, family and others – and chosen instead a path of least resistance and loyalty. For too long people would say ‘I feel so sorry for ________ (insert my Dads name) he’s such a nice guy – really helpful – he shouldn’t miss out – just because of your mum’ – and maybe, feeling sorry meant that I or others kept softer boundaries with him, that the other parent bull dozed through – (a marathon of miles taken when an inch was offered).

    I could understand that he was scared of her, everyone was, but if he was scared of her – why did he not think that his children needed protecting from her too? Maybe thats it, maybe thats what makes it complicated, he was in his own survival mode that we were all in, whilst the psychopath took everything for herself – am I angry- no – is it complicated? Yes. Could he have taken responsibility – and not left the emotional responsibility to me in the house? Yes, Could he have thought his children have some emotional welfare against her abuse? Yes

    Was he continually lied to by her? Was he stuck in the midst of the Darvo game she played? Did he accept breadcrumbs? Was he coerced to be loyal for religious reasons? – probably yes to all.

    Maybe, I just realised that because of his loyalty to her, despite all the abuse, then what I had to do was treat them as the pair that they are.

    Fathers Day. Its complicated. When one parent is only slightly better than a very abusive one, doesnt mean that they’re in anyway good, nurturing, protective or supportive, especially when enmeshed in their lair. He’s a grown up though, its his responsibility to change himself. Happy Fathers day ; To the parent who isnt as bad as the other one – isnt going to sell many in Clinton cards…

    So – what do I feel? Feelings are complicated today – because all of this is complicated. Sometimes I feel angry and annoyed, then I feel guilty for feeling angry and annoyed , because well, that anger and annoyed should be directed at the other parent – then I wonder if in reality there is no such thing as a perfect dad anyway and do I have unrealistic expectations – but actually thats just a cop out. I can choose to have neither part of my life, especially while both exist as a pair. Its just easier that way. Whilst im writing this, im realising im a week early in processing this, thinking that Fathers day is tomorrow when it actually isnt, says something about how im feeling I guess.

    Its also complicated because I am also a Dad too, and trying to unlearn what I grew up with, to be a better person and man today, every day.

  • Why ‘Healing for Men’ and not for all?

    Why ‘Healing for Men’ and not for all?

    I sometimes get asked the question : ‘Why are you writing just to Men?’ so I thought I might share a little in response and maybe pose a few further thoughts on this, thoughts, that may not be complete, but thoughts that share a little on some of my reasoning and motives for the blog as it is:

    1. The main reason ‘Healing for Men’ is that I am male. Its kind of obvious, but theres no way I would want to speak for, or to women. Yes I know women read what I write, some women read it and pass it on to their male friends or partners. My experience is from a male perspective, my perspective, of what it was like to grow up in an emotionally abusive home and the implications of that, of being a son, a brother, a husband and father, and also male in various workplaces such as supermarkets, call centres, and through education to Masters and 20 years in faith based youth and community work, all as a male. But also what its like for me, as a male, accessing therapy, accessing the process of therapeutic learning, self help, self awareness and rebuilding. I have tried where I have been able too to write from my experience.
    2. The Mental health, suicide crisis is virtually solely a Male one in the UK, its the biggest cause of death for the 30-50’s, and though I can honestly say I wasn’t close to making that life ending decision aged 40, it might have been close if it wasnt for a small group of friends and a place to stay. Part of this blog then, is for me to talk about what getting help, vulnerability and life change is like for me, what shame, guilt, feeling trapped is like and sharing something of my journey. Could it be that men might read this and think that they are not alone? Maybe…
    3. Though numbers of this are increasing, I want to raise the profile of Male victims of Domestic Violence, and the support offered, accessible to others (links included), but also I think it is as important to speak into the situations of where men abuse women, as this is tragically still more common. Though I recognise that if this is you, you are unlikely to be reading this, but one day you might reflect on your behaviour, change is possible, starting with acceptance, vulnerability, you don’t have to abuse and objectify women forever, that frightened part of you can heal, give it light.
    4. I am wondering if there are specific actual aspects of a breakdown-healing-self awareness- growth journey might be characteristically male. I have read recently that less men access therapy, and less men are present at seminars on DV or Trauma – these are seen as ‘female’ issues..are they? , I am not qualified enough to suggest responses to the men and therapy question generally – though for me it was about pride, and about not wanting to start a process that felt dauntingly large – knowing what I had hidden or avoided for so long. (I acknowledge therapy isn’t for everyone, though I will also say that external activities that say they are therapeutic, (like screaming at a football match) might only scratch some of the surface) – but might there be male attitudes to ‘getting help’ ? More men that women might be externalisers who hide and defend their weaknesses – through a veil of codependency, narcissism or worse – but women do this too. (21 reasons men hide their vulnerability – here)
    5. One of the ‘Male’ perspectives and attitudes that I didn’t grow up with – given that my own father was an abused Dad , was the idea of ‘Macho’, strong, and senses of achievement, and physical strength – its not something I can relate to – but, the ‘Macho’ I had to be was have inner survival strength to cope with emotional shit, and the emotional beatings and manipulations of a lifelong psychopathic mother. I can’t speak from the ‘macho’ culture, but dont we all hide behind strengths of a variety of different kinds? I am intrigued at some level by the toxic masculinity conversation, and reflecting on its effect, on men, since childhood, and how it plays out in families, workplaces and elsewhere. What if we stopped trying to live up to, but started to live? I know I’m not going to heal the world, and I dont profess to, yet I do know and have heard of men who have recognised themselves in some of what I have written, and I’m honoured to have been able to connect in this way.
    6. Healing for Men, for whilst we as men dont fill up the therapy rooms, we are bulging at the addiction clinics, whether its gambling, food, alcohol, porn, drugs or something else or we’re drowning in overwork – these are all conditions that stem from deep loss, brokenness and trying to run and hide. This is what we turn to often – the external – when its the internal that’s crying in pain. At least, thats what I did. I am sure women turn to these things, or others too.

    Another thing more common to men is take on roles of Power and Authority, it becomes an addiction and a mask.

    Given our influence, in our families, workplaces, homes, and communities – dont those around us deserve us to be the best we can be? Our real selves? What would it mean to be vulnerable – for the first time- to accept and acknowledge needing help? To start by admitting defeat, but not the end? Ultimately all I really want to do in this blog is continue to share the parts of my journey that I want to make public, to encourage any man in their own process of growth, self learning and personal truth, to let them, to let you know that change from any behaviour is possible.

    Your emotional needs are important, men, you are important.

    Self care and self help isnt just for women

    Self -love isnt weak

    It takes courage to admit

    Real courage

    The strongest strength you have ever had to look inwards

    Its where real power lies.

    You dont need to carry around an emptiness forever, friend.

    Neither do I.

    So thats some of my reasoning for ‘Healing for Men’ – maybe the other is that theres already alot out there for a female audience, not that there aren’t resources for men either, but felt that I could be specific, and personal, and be one male, sharing my story, speaking with and to other men, as we all journey though life.

    Thank you – do click like and share with others, and thank you for your ongoing support

    Healing for Men, the world is a better place – when we are too.

  • Developing internal commitments to myself

    I have stood and made a number of commitments to others.

    Commitments to workplace ideals and agreements

    Commitments to the terms and conditions of a large purchase

    Commitments to the planet as I have tried at times to reduce my carboin footprint, buy organic or grow my own

    Commitments to others in relationships.

    Commitments to a God, recommitments on a regular teenage basis

    Commitments as new year resolutions? – what have they been like for you?

    Whats been the biggest struggle for me in terms of commitment?

    Commitment to myself

    In all my existence, I have only notionally given any thought to making commitments to myself.

    There was the time when I was 40 when I decided to do more exercise before my 40th Birthday, and cut down alcohol and reduce food.

    It still felt like an external change. Even if my body did appreciate it at the time.

    I barely gave any thought to myself. I barely could.

    I had been conditioned to think that to think of myself was selfish

    I had been conditioned to revolve emotionally around others

    I had such an aching emptiness inside that I thought ‘helping others’ was what brought be me joy.

    So what could I commit to myself?

    External things, like food, exercise and bodily health. Not unimportant.

    It wasn’t in balance.

    I wouldn’t say I was selfless, though I was at times accused of being selfish for even considering that I had needs.

    And I poured out from a completely empty vessel. Because that was exactly what I was used to being.

    Neglected and empty, and used to it.

    Don’t get me wrong it wasnt that I rejected self-care because I thought it was worthless – though I acknowledge that in the past I may have scoffed a projection of what worth it might do – that was just my defensive survival talk speaking. Why bother with self care – I’ve managed without it? Id rather just tell others about it.

    And that’s it isn’t it; before being able to commit to myself, before being able to protect myself, before being able to listen to myself

    I had to acknowledge myself

    I had to start to recognise that I had a self worth valuing

    Some of that started with getting to know myself – self knowledge

    Continuing with the ‘feeling of feelings’ ,

    and over the course of the last 3-4 years being on a path of self acceptance, self knowledge, self awareness to where I am now, which again is in a process of therapy, and also finishing a counselling course – and reading books on self understanding

    What I began without realising it was a path of deep self discovery, a path of rebelling my external intelligence, with internal intelligence too

    What might it look like to make commitments to myself, as I am now?

    A commitment to personal growth? A commitment to ongoing spiritual and emotional growth?

    Committing myself to thinking positively of myself

    A commitment to love myself, including the parts of me that have been hidden or frightened?

    A commitment to accept raw and vulnerability as part of the process of rebuilding

    A commitment to keep listening to myself, my inner voice, my spiritual child within?

    A commitment to prioritise myself maybe?

    A commitment to value being present perhaps?

    A commitment to the slow, and not the fast? The slow rebuild….

    A commitment to not give everything away? (NB – I have written a lot in the last 4 weeks, and its not for you here)

    In Gary Zukavs book ‘Spiritual Partnership’ he outlines five commitments for his own spiritual and emotional growth, which have inspired me to think about commitment; his are;

    1. Focus on what I can learn about myself
    2. Pay attention to my emotions
    3. Pay attention to my thoughts
    4. Pay attention to my intention

    I reflect on my own journey. From denial of myself, to understanding and acceptance of myself, to loving myself – yes its taken a while, yes its not been without tears and revelations of my own responsibilities, behaviour and choices, and also my life survival requirements – but to be in a position of even considering making commitments to myself, for my own sake, for my own well being. How might I pledge these 5 things for myself – and what difference will it continue to make, for me, and others around me, such as Christelle, my kids, family, work…?

    So I ask – what commitments have you made to prioritise your own spiritual and emotional self?

    Not ideals, but self pledges, self determination, to stay as real, the best I and you can be – what might it be for you?

  • True Courage

    True Courage

    Im learning courage

    Not the courage to climb, to fight or to be successful

    Not the courage to be disliked, or happy

    But the courage to listen to the frightened parts of me

    The courage to love those parts

    The parts of me I hid away

    The part of me that hid away those parts

    The parts I hid away, in a safe place

    The parts of shame and guilt

    The hidden needs and wants

    The dreams and ambitions

    The pains and the joys

    I chose to hide them away

    Safe, from my abusers

    Feelings I hid- not acceptable, not appropriate

    Mask truth, lie to adapt, lie to survive

    The part of me that hid things

    To control, to keep safe.

    But now it is safe, for me to love

    Love opens the door to let light into the hidden places

    Love is gentle

    Love is kind

    To myself

    Feelings, emotions, stories, actions, coping strategies all like lost children hiding in a cupboard, hide and seek, with no seek

    Gradually waiting, to be held, loved, to be seen.

    This has been the courage I’m learning over the last month, especially, the courage to love and hold my abandoned childhood, to listen, slowly.

    One abandoned, hidden, neglected child at a time.

    Spiritual partnership by Gary Zukav
  • The Root that Took

    The Root that Took

    I feel like a potato at the moment

    Being peeled

    Layer by layer

    Skin first, feeding it’s way through the blade of the knife

    Gentle hand, gliding it’s way around the exteriort

    The skin

    To the flesh

    The white or grey

    Bruises, wounds

    Growths, fungi, mould underneath the skin

    Amongst the raw white flesh

    Wounds hidden away

    Affecting the growth

    Affects the flesh

    Amongst the white

    Peeling away

    Getting to the centre

    Getting to the root

    It’s all connected to the root

    The flesh, the fungi, the bruises, the mould,

    The root

    The root that sunk deep inside the core

    The root that detaches easily

    The root that has no connection

    The root in which no protection against bacteria or attacks were given

    The root that carried toxins from the soil

    The root that damaged growth

    The root of poison

    The root that took

    The root that sucked goodness for itself

    The root that supplied shame, hurt, fear,

    The root that neglected

    The root that always took

    The root that fucking took

    The blade is cutting through, yet soft hands are gently remoulding the flesh

    Loving and caring for the fungi, the bruises, the scars

    Bringing life

    Scraping off the root

    Sinking the flesh into healthy soil again

    Safety, love, connection, gentleness, kind.

    Repairing from the root that took.