It can be difficult to find reference to examples and awareness of how women can be also, and as abusive, both to men and other women. More often the ‘narcissist videos’ or websites or fb groups are for either gender, or primary targeted/gendered that men are the abusers. And thats ok, its not a complaint, just an observation.
I guess what im saying is that for a male victim of abuse it can be harder to find resources, and thus harder for them to see that they might have been manipulated themselves. Caught in a trap. Maybe there needs to be greater awareness that women, wives, mothers, sisters, aunties, female colleagues, female pastors and teachers.. can also be manipulative and abusive. For the myths that ‘a woman wouldn’t do that’ or ‘be that’ and maybe, is doing it deliberately – to be challenged.
And… this doesn’t get us Men off the hook. This about the ‘seeing the problem’ not alleviating responsibility by blame shifting ourselves, we have our own work to do to heal ourselves, get support, be vulnerable and recovery. Blaming the cause doesn’t heal. But, as when I first read the ‘pink book’ (‘Children of the ageing Self Absorbed’ by Nina Brown) it helped me to see, it helped me to start to take the blame weight off my shoulders, to see the games that were being played around me..the non winnable ones, the ones that questioned my sanity, the ones of gaslighting, denials and projections.
As a man, I await the backlash, and therefore all I intend to do here is pass on these two videos I saw this week.
Because, Starting to see is one step on the process to heal.
Both of these videos might be as useful to you as the pink book was for me.
There may well be other videos, and I recommend the ‘Decoding Narcissism’ and ‘Surviving Narcissism’ channels for more on these subjects generally.
If you are reading this and beginning to realise what you have experienced as abuse, know that you are not alone. The comments section on those two videos alone will enable you to realise that it is far more common that you have been led to believe. Know that a recovered life away from the game is possible, and that you can make changes to be free. It will be difficult. Find someone completely out of the situation, away from their friends, family, a therapist, and safety, and start to begin the process of being free and free to yourself.
If you have been made to believe that you dont deserve better
If you have been made to believe that you’re not good enough
If you have been made to believe that a woman is never wrong and when challenged is defensive, angry or plays the victim.
It doesn’t have to stay this way, you deserve better.
There are helplines on domestic abuse out there, as well as those specifically for men. Here is one of them in the UK. Man Kind do call them on 01823 334244.
I was ‘playing’ this around in my mind the other day, and I started writing, just to myself.
I often write on paper, even with pencil, just to get thoughts out, to see where they flow to.
Free writing with a conceptual starting point if you will.
And I began to construct that what ‘I think’ and who ‘I am’ have been on a journey.
It could be ‘my ego’ and ‘my identity’ but I prefer to use ‘I think’ and ‘I am’ . I dont mean the ‘I am’ that self talks back the lies.. like ‘I am fat’ or ‘I am stupid’ .. I mean the ‘I am’ identity. The bit of me, the bit of you that is who you are.
So here goes…
I am, and I think are on a journey.
Its one where ‘I think’ has led the way, I think.
Historically.
Led like a shiny steam engine.
‘I am’ has been just been pulled along for the ride,
a set of carriages with passengers, scared inside.
or going to the depot, after a fraught ride.
I think, taking them away.
I am, passive.
At least thats how it was- I think
I think, shiny at the front, shiny and bright, brass cleaned,
numbered, fed, water and polished
The Steam engine, attracting the polaroids and DSLRs, and notebooks.
I think.. leading the way
I think.. wanting the attention
I think…racing away
I think..in control
I think…believing the hype
I think..denying it needed anything
I think…lies to get all this
I am.. just a powerless carriage trailing behind
hosting passengers, hosting scenes, hospitality
Trying to please, making the best of chaos.
Making the best of disconnection between I think, and I am.
I am, pulled along and subject to the conditions of I think
I am, second or third class, no power, just a shell.
I think broke down.
I think realised the race it was on, was to a finish line that never ended
I think had gone too far, alone
I think was never therefore I am
I am wants more control of the action
I am is feeling its way
I am has been waiting, patiently
Watching the chaos, overcoming the scares
Hiding, now seizing the chance, the opportunity
Realising that I think is in trouble.
I think and I am not separate.
I am with a voice on the journey
I am letting I think know differently
Its now a different journey, with I am the driver.
I am has discovered, that it is
I am has emerged from the shadows, the sidings
I am can see the lies, pride and attention
The temptations and weaknesses that tormented I think
I am…. just knows
I am..is softer, messier, truer
Human, grease, smoke, heart and skin
its not a carriage to the engine
Alive.
I am now sees the whole Train
I am can see when I think plunges into darkness
or tries to race to destinations, frustrated or impatient, or critical of the passengers for being slow, or ignoring the signals.
I am can let I think know that it is loved.
I am is the driver, who knows what I think actually needs.
The brake. the coal, the water
And rest.
Attention from the inside of the boiler. Not just the outside.
The driver knows.
I am.
I think wrestled at first and tried to do without I am.
I feel intervenes now and then, the guard with the warning flags, messages from the back. I think knows its place..some of the time.
I think used to completely ignore I feel. Disregarded at the back of the carriage.
Guard in name only.
I am takes more of the wheel
I think can rest, its not on his own.
It doesn’t have to hurry or win.
I think trusts I am.
I think surrenders, to the I am that drives, attends and controls, to the I am that feels and knows. To the I am that discovered itself, found its place and realises it has to stay.
I am helps I think to doubt the lies it had to believe, and those it chose to
I am can help I think to realise the importance of I feel.. the guard
I am can speak softly to I think, and listen to what it needs and wants to say.
Because I am is connected to all.
I am knows. I am is.
I am is the divine within.
I think I am, therefore I am.
Maybe this is helpful just to me, as I realise the journey that I have been on, one from which was dominated by my thoughts, my thinking part of me, and how every other part of me was hidden and disregarded, for reasons ive described in my story above. And now I feel, that I am, and I think is still around, but the journey, just feels and is different.
What about you – what metaphor might you use for how your thoughts, feelings and identity have culminated in your life?
Im in the middle of reading this quite brilliant book, The Fifth Agreement, by Don Miguel and Don Jose Ruiz. I guess freedom must be on my mind as ive also just finished Edith Egers book The gift, on discovering personal, emotional freedom. More to follow.
But im just reflecting on , if Faith in myself is the real faith, and I am true.. what did I place too much energy and faith in before I discovered myself and who I am?
Trigger Warning – Abuse of any kind. Please do not read if you have experienced abuse, unless in a safe place to be able to do so. This is written to educate those who might not know the difference, if you have experienced abuse, you know this already.
I think I was 14 when I was bought a ‘fake’ Man Utd football T-Shirt at a market stall in the south west of England by my parents. It was obviously fake. It was black, it had a ‘cotton traders’ label, the ‘Sharp’ sponsor was ironed on crooked and the badge was wrong. Yet it was ‘given’ to me as a gift. And I hated it. Man Utd were, and still are, my team, and though potentially even then I had no real sympathy with their financial situation, I knew that this fake was wrong. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t genuine. I felt, like many of the ‘gifts’ from my parents, cheap. (yet was told I was ungrateful or spoilt) . I probably was grumpy and upset for the rest of the day and told I was spoiling ‘their holiday’.
My point was, and is now, that there’s a difference between fake and real.
If you were in this situation could you spot who the ‘real’ and who the ‘fake’ victim is? Difficult.. very much so.
The story is about how a Man was accused of being a domestic abuser, by his partner, whose story was believed, he was sent to jail on the basis of her claims. After his release, the truth was revealed. The victim story she played was fake.
If you read this account, which will by no means be the full story, do so tracing the way in which the actual abuser plays the DARVO game throughout. As a reminder, Darvo stands for Deny, Accuse, Reverse, Victim Offender. The oft used pattern of someone accused. Playing victim is part of the pattern.
Google DARVO to find out more – here’s a link too – DARVO
What I mean is, that they are a ‘Reverse Victim’ rather than a real one.
Fake, rather than real.
And this is no criticism of Humberside police in this case. Not at all.
Because. This cuts both ways. Both genders..and its difficult to know the difference.
Im not sure that phrases like ‘Believe the women’ or ‘believe the victim’ help. They create a conformation or gender bias, and a woman playing victim is considerably harder to spot, than a man doing so. Especially in the face of them being able to accuse Men of wrong doing. Men play victims as much as Women do. My experience is having seen it in Women, and obviously in these stories.
I wasn’t the ‘real’ victim when I was given a fake Man Utd T-shirt. But I knew that something didn’t feel right when I was given it.
These are by no means conclusive, but how can you spot a real victim, from a reverse victim?
What is it like being a real Victim? (of abuse, of any kind)
Lets look at the effects of abuse on someone and their emotions, feelings and behaviours. They can feel scared, silenced, bewildered, trapped, afraid – they can often mask and give a ‘false’ self to keep up appearances, they can have hard shells or even react intensely if provoked – as a defence mechanism. They may be anything like a tortoise, hedgehog, dragon or eeyore.
They may not realise that they are a victim.
Once they realise – as I did – it wasn’t a label they want.
They often dont want to share about being a victim, but more about overcoming, surviving and coping, recovering and living beyond.
They often blame themselves.
They have nothing to lose, have often already lost everything.
They often realise they can do something by changing and seeking help – and realising that they can – by furthering awareness, self love and compassion… which extends to others.
They often have survivors gift.. to help others.
Often they have fragmented story, and are afraid to tell.
A real victim is unlikely to want to create drama. Is likely to be silent. Is likely to step away from situations. Is likely to learn to protect themselves.
A real victim… is likely to be movitated by justice, by being heard, or by finding peace and a life beyond it.
A real victim…. can see the games being played of the reverse victim. It’s the task of the Reverse victim..to silence, invalidate, remove the real one.
But what of a Reverse Victim?
This is a person who is using victimhood for a number of reasons. Usually to protect themselves, abusive behaviour or lies or denials.
Therefore its a game being played.
A phrase like ; ‘Look what you/she/he made me do’ or ‘ The Devil/alcohol/my mental health made me do it’ – can often be used – because that person keeping up a game, in which they present as victim/innocent and not responsible for themselves.
False emotions usually accompany the Reverse offender, as are false projections, to accuse others.
They often aren’t able to use the situation to better themselves through it or after it – because it wasn’t a situation in the first place – just a game.
They can often pretend to ‘get help’ but have difficulty (blame) finding a match with a counsellor or that their counsellor isn’t working for them, or use the fact that they’re going to counselling to manipulate others into thinking that ‘they are trying’.
When asked for more details about the situation – they might break down and cry more.. because they can’t give an answer to what hasn’t happened, there’s unlikely to be any more of a story with tears, just a more sodden weak one. And they want you to fix them. Note the drama triangle being used here too. (Persecutor, helper, victim)
A Reverse Victim is angry when they are challenged about their game.
A Reverse Victim is loud, and plays on victim hood. Especially in cultures where they know they elicit sympathy. Ie Churches full of nice unaware people.
The Reverse Victim can often make claims about themselves – ‘I couldn’t do that I’m a nice guy’…’that isn’t the real me, you know the real me’ …. ‘I couldn’t do that im a christian/minister/police officer’ …..
A Reverse victim thrives on drama. Loves the attention. Creates drama where possible. A reverse victim manipulates so that others can do their emotional work for them (flying monkeys).
The Reverse Victim doesn’t realise that they are fulfilling a cycle, and most of the time they dont care…. until their game is up. Winning is their motive.
A Reverse victim is likely to criticise the way in which the actual victim is responding to the situation. ‘They took their time coming forward’ or ‘They shouldn’t cry, it wasn’t a big deal at the time’
A Reverse Victim bewilders. A victim feels bewildered.
A Reverse Victim is threatened when their victimhood story/script is threatened. They have to stay this way.
Often its been a script since childhood. They’ve cried wolf to get gifts, soothing and attention. ‘Dont you dare try and play victim around here’ might be their reaction. See how bewildering this is, and a projection.
A Reverse Victim… creates a place of emotional abuse for a real one.
Im sure there are other differences, but these are all the ones I can think of, because I have encountered them in a number of situations.
I could say that it would take a significant amount of skill to identify the difference between a real, and a reverse victim..but as I said.. those who have been abuse victims, and done the work, can often see the patterns.. they’ve experienced them often enough.
In the safeguarding training I’m doing there’s a phrase known as “Respectful Uncertainty”. What this means is to try and be respectful of persons whilst also being unsure of their story so that further accurate information is sought. It is not to let myths make decisions, but evidence. Its not respectful uncertainty to say that a man is always an abuser, and a female always a victim.
I had enough respectful uncertainty to know not to take that black T shirt to be anything other than a fake. The signs on the front may have been the same, but they didnt look, feel or seem right.
If this has affected you, then do seek professional help and/or a trusted safe friend who can listen to you non judgementally, there are helplines in the link pages too, please do give them a call.
If yesterday I wrote about my own joinery from self loathing and denial to becoming more self referential, respectful and also giving space to trust my feelings. Today I’ve pondered the question – what happened to me, so that I had no ‘faith’ in myself? What happened to the extent to which there was no ‘I’ in my life, to trust myself, my feelings, emotions, desires or wants.
It boils down to this
Psychopathic Parents + Evangelical Faith = No Self Trust
In these ways:
Self Trust wasn’t possible when I was told not to be selfish
Self Trust wasn’t possible when I heard that my core was sinful
Self Trust wasn’t possible when I was told I wasn’t enough
Self Trust wasn’t possible when I was told that everything good I did…wasnt me..it was God
Self trust wasn’t possible because I was made to feel embarrassed or ashamed for having emotions, desires or wants
Self trust wasn’t possible when my emotions were stolen by others.
Self Trust wasn’t possible when I wasn’t encouraged for being good (or when I was accused of being the ‘eldest son’ )
Self Trust wasn’t possible when I was terrified of upsetting my abusers.
Self Trust wasn’t possible when I was encouraged to pray that God would fix things.
Self Trust wasn’t possible..if my ‘self’ had to be denied.
Self trust wasn’t possible if I numbed the pain and disconnected.
Self trust wasn’t possible, even being clever or good… wasn’t enough.
Self trust wasn’t possible… All to Jesus I surrender.
Self Trust wasn’t possible, if Jesus gave me all my good feelings.
Self Trust was invalidated if I tried to express myself
Self Trust wasn’t possible – when my body was bad (Spirit is good) – and in my body is my emotions, feelings, desires and energy.
Self trust wasn’t possible when I was masking abuse for 40 years.
Self trust wasn’t possible if I was told who I was…and I had to accept it, whilst dying inside.
Self Trust wasn’t possible when my real self was hidden away, unseen.
Just Pray – they said. Be good – they said. Be quiet. Dont make a mess. Fulfil our expectations for you – they said. Grow up and dont be silly..they said.
Be our trophy to be proud of – they said. But do this alone.
Dont ever be who you are. Dont ever think for yourself.
Live to soothe and placate and please your abuser.
Live to please and worship God…and deny yourself in the process.
How could I respect myself, if I didnt trust myself, how could I know myself if I was hiding myself away? How could I trust myself… if God was always watching…and I had to remember sins and feel only continual guilt and shame.
I was taken..from myself.
What am I in all this?
Where am I in this?
Who am I in this?
Today. This day. This month. These last few years.
Have been unapologetically about me.
Not just ‘finding myself’ – but…actually finding, connecting, listening, feeling and knowing myself. But its no fucking wonder I had hidden myself away… or that I had no sense of self in ‘my’ life. It was all about other people. Other people and ‘other’ Gods. Losing myself in the process. I can look back and see this. Realising the extent of what I wasn’t able to be.
Reminding myself, now, of my own deep strength. Acknowledging it and accepting it, and being utterly grateful for the now.
The spills of life going inwards, deep burning of molten lava piercing into the wounds. Feeling Raw, but feeling true, feeling at all. Being me. Healing from within. One layer at a time. One pebble to climb, then a rock, then more. Step by step.
Soul, heart, mind and body on a beautiful discovery. Wonder from the heart outwards. Time to live. Spiritual life… from the inside out.
Men… Can you remember when your voice broke? What did that feel like? How old were you? I remember that I didnt want to talk for a few weeks or months because I was so self conscious about how it would sound, I also hated that it was noticed by everyone, so I stayed quiet. There was a change, a weird change. How I communicated changed three times, from child voice, to breaking unpredictable changing voice, to changed voice, in a few months.
I noticed something about my walk last week.
It is this.
My Voice changed again recently. But it wasn’t my external voice.
It was my inner one.
I used to give myself a good talking to.
Especially if I had done something wrong. Especially if I had made a mistake.
Especially if id got embarrassed by something
Especially if id been made to think id made a mistake, or misunderstood, or not met another persons needs, and been punished for it.
I would beat myself up.
In the way I would talk to myself.
The strongest voice inside, was the voice of the perfectionist-critic.
My inner voice was the voice of my own media company.
Critic, Perfectionist…
Not only was I emotionally neglected and beaten up by others, my inner voice assumed that I was responsibility. Why… because I had no reference to know that what I experienced by others was their problem. Or that I could be treated better.
So it had to be me. I had to be the problem. My Fault. Because Women are always right..arent they? So it had to be me.
What kind of things would I have heard myself say to myself?
You’re not good enough
You dont deserve any better
You can survive, just keep going
Why didn’t you think of that?
You can do better
You should do better
You let yourself down there, James, and God too, you should be ashamed
You should know this by now
You should be able to do this
Oh.. you really messed up again
Look at yourself James, hypocrite.
You failed at that one again
You upset them, you silly boy.
You need to be strong.
Must rush, must do, must keep on, keeping on.
It could be worse, don’t be ungrateful.
Talking to myself, like I was my own worst enemy. Or just trying to numb and shut out what I felt.
Beating myself up. Because that was the only way I knew how to process. Not being good enough, not being perfect enough, not being enough.
Why did I notice this last week?
Because the day after I had been for a walk, I reflected on how my inner voice has changed. Maybe its like it broke again. Broke by the process of digging deep, recovering and healing.
I noticed that I could say to myself different things
When I walked, I said things like:
I can take myself out for a walk
This is for me, I can be for me.
I am grateful
I am ok to feel
I am ok- as I am.
I am love and loved
I can be, and breathe
I can enjoy this moment, of the rain and mud
I can sense myself
and be proud of myself.
I can have feelings and there’s nothing wrong with having them.
I dont have to be perfect, I can do mess, I can play
I can be slow.. I dont have to rush… I dont have to do everything
I can have fun
I can be happy
I am.
I am who I am and this is enough
and more besides….
I just noticed how the voice changed, it wasn’t the first time in the last few years that I have spoken to myself in this way. But it was just that I noticed the difference, how I used to be a critic and perfectionist, talking to myself like I had inherited voices from others. From self loathing, self denial – to self- reverence and self compassion. Was my inner guidance system the one I had created from the places of having to adapt as a child – abusive parents, evangelical religion, academia? Probably.
Or maybe, and i’ll be kind to myself also, this was what I needed to do and be to survive emotionally. In my own head space, the place of thinking, over thinking and self criticism.
It’s now safe for me to talk to myself in this way. Brave to be self- compassionate. To practice it and give it a go, to see how it feels, to have the feels.
New green life forming from the old. New tender green shoots.
What’s it like to be a supportive youth worker, be a friend even to myself, and do this, after agreeing with it. Doing it for myself. Because I am worth it. I am of value. I am.
It was just good to notice the difference.
Talking whole heartedly to myself. From broken to whole.
If you’d like to learn more about Self Compassion, I highly recommend the beautiful book Heartwork by Radhule Weininger, a link is here Heartwork, also The Power of Now by Echart Tolle.
It meant pushing through with the motivation to ‘get out’ and walk, in the grey and wet.
For it was miserable.
I left my flat in a break of sunshine.
Arrived at the walk point with rain clouds, and horizontal cold rain.
And waited in the car, long enough to unsteam the windows, and at least wait for the rain to stop.
And it did.
For a tiny moment.
It was muddy. Wet. Cold and windy.
But I was walking.
Wrapped up warm, with camera and binoculars, with scarf, gloves and hat.
And thermal socks on with the heavy duty boots.
I was out. Walking.
Brave in the cold.
Madness maybe. But out.
And this is a blog about a walk.
Just an ordinary walk.
Did I mention, cold, wet and muddy?
A very ordinary grey, wet, cold, walk.
But a walk none the less.
Ordinary.
Ordinary courage and bravery.
Ordinary steps taken, one by one.
At a place ive been to many times.
Its not a mountain top experience to deal with trauma, or deal with the monsters. Just ask Harry Potter, no one wants that badge of honour.
Sometimes the path is wet, cold and muddy and you need to be protected from the elements.
One foot in front of the other, even in the wet muddy path.
Even when I’m writing, there could be a temptation to show off the best bits, or most important, to biggest challenge in my personal healing. But recovery is about the ordinary.
Its about the every day.
Its not always about the new place, the new discovery.
Though there are discoveries, and there are significant moments. And at the moment im loving John O Donohues Eternal Echoes. Its a warm hot chocolate for my soul.
But sometimes there’s just something significant in going for a walk. Its about expectations, or not having any. Its about making a positive choice to do something, even if the path feels wet and muddy, but its being done. A positive choice doesn’t mean the sun is going to immediately shine, there’s a lot of mud, fog and cloud to wade through. But at least im walking. Started putting one feet in front of the other. the gritty ordinary of healing from abuse, is not pretty.
There are beautiful moments of sunshine though.
When the gaps open up.
But often these are surprises. Moments when the universe makes its voice known. And when I’m ready to see them.
Like on that walk.
The sun did come out, and I noticed two deer resting in the sunshine.
When the Roe deer sat down and rested in the glimpse of the evening sunshine, sat as she was on the wet grass, it was a perfect still wonderful moment. I watched, breathed, and used my camera (quietly) and enjoyed it, present in the moment.
A universe gift.
Sometimes the paths are made by those who walk. Sometimes the universe conspires to help the dreamer. Sometimes its just about putting one foot forward, in front of the other, even despite better judgement, but doing so from brokenness, from vulnerability, into a cloud of fog, with the gritty hope that there is another side beyond it.
Ill tell you something else.
I was beginning to sense boredom. Boredom being one slight step to the left from contentment. Contentment is a lovely feeling, its as if everything is early spring. What boredom felt like was the peace of contentment, but without the colour of the daffodils.
I guess when 40 years of my life have existed with a background noise of toxic drama, then the years since of processing and recovering from this… peace can feel like boredom when there’s no drama going on.
But something I realised, is that I have needed coping activities in the last 4-5 years. Maybe I dont need these as much, and maybe I’ts time to have more fun and creativity, to have more energy to give, because im in a different place. As I walked yesterday, I realised that I could be grateful for the feeling of boredom, and that this is an indication of where I am, who I am and the journey I have been on. Maybe instead of feeling frustrated by the grey cloudy days, its time to walk through them.
Sometimes the grey makes for interesting photos.. but this isn’t one of them.
Its an ordinary path, just outside darlington with the sunset reflecting on the grey wet tarmac.
It was just a walk.
But it was so much more.
It was time to see. Time to make choices. Time to receive.
Time to sense and feel. Time to be grateful. Time to notice.
If you’re not in any way religious you might want to look away from this piece. If you are in any way religious, especially Christian, you might not like it.
I want to share something about how Evangelical Christianity suited me. More to the point, how it was perfect for me.
It’s also the story about how I left my emotions at the door of the church. Well, again, thats an inaccuracy, it was more that there was almost no necessity to show emotion in church, and that made it perfect for me. Perfect to mask and hide. But also, because of my parents influence in it, I had no choice.
When I think about the places of my childhood, I think about school, about church, about the clubs like swimming or scouts, and also the ‘free’ space in-between.
School was a place of intellectual development, primarily. And once I got my untidiness sorted, I did quite well. Once I realised I wasn’t going to be supported or helped, it was me or nothing, so I got on with it – despite my parents.
Swimming Club as well as football training and the school badminton club were all physical, Scouts was a bit of physical, and other survival activities, in which I was woeful. (I wasn’t taught how to survive life, I had to work this out, strange that) . In TA terms, my adaptive child was taking over, big time, so that I could fit and belong in these adult environments, like church.
Church was ‘Spiritual’. Yes there were physical elements, like the youth club, and badminton group, and social. But it was barely emotional. Actually.
It was anti- emotional.
I grew up Evangelical, and letting emotions loose in church was seen as ‘inferior’ , ‘scary’ or almost what ‘cult’ like churches did. As a very young child I remember not being able to breathe or make a noise sitting through the very boring service, with only a bag of toys to play with under the seat.
As an older child I was rewarded by what I knew. Memorise the verses, memorise the books of the bible, find verses quickly, find the animal/fruit in the bible verse. Do reading or learning homework. Volunteer in the Sunday school. Know things. Do things.
When I had moment of despair in my room, aged about 9, and I tried to pray, I wanted so desperately to feel something. Feel that God was listening. Feel that I was about to have some kind of divine moment that I thought I was supposed to have, then have an amazing testimony, about how God came close and I felt something. But the prayer I despaired and felt like kicking the wall, closing my eyes and ending it all felt like it didnt go any where. I remember desperately wanting to feel something. And nothing came back.
When I was 10 1/2 I ‘became’ a christian – I prayed a prayer because I had in my head all the ‘sins’ I had been made guilty of committing (I was selfish, spoiled according to my parents – oh and I felt guilt for even thinking of suicide age 9) so I prayed that ‘my sins’ were put in an bin and got rid of.
I was asked what I felt about this big decision I made. I felt nothing. I knew that I had done something. But I didnt feel any different – was I supposed to start feeling things? Maybe I got a sense of feeling a tiny bit spiritually clean, from things I had no reason to acknowledge were mine to carry in the first place. God I sound screwed up psychologically.
The adage was true though, in the main most people are sinned against than sinners, but you know, lets play on the individual sin in the guidebook for encouraging guilt, then dependence, and an easy victim to it. Trauma in the family that a child may have experienced is far too difficult to deal with.
I digress, back to the ‘knowing’….
I remember the songs, from Sunday school and beyond.
‘Be Still and ‘Know’
‘For this is ‘Know’
‘Knowing you Jesus, there is no greater thing…..’ (The ‘Kendrick’ Abba song, knowing me knowing you…Jesus..)
Dont get me wrong, there were some songs about being happy (The Happy Song) and dancing too. But these seemed forced…no one ever felt like dancing…
Songs, Sermons, remembering information. Engaged the brain.
Space for silence, space to feel, limited.
Then, when I was 13 I discovered this:
It was in a tract by Agape Ministries in the UK, and my church undertook the ministry of it (and I did as a young leader and keen one) , to do a course on evangelism, that included 5-6 weeks on it, and then use a tract, ‘Knowing God Personally’ – that described the ‘bridge’ and the had this train on the back.
The premise of the train was that Faith was based on Fact (and not feelings) and that feelings somehow were the carriage that followed on behind. Facts. Knowledge were important.
Feelings followed.
Faith was based on fact, because, it was important to know the bible, know the facts, know that it was historical, know that it was true – historically, know so that an argument could be ‘won’ , know so that faith was subject to what was described as the ‘turbulence’ of emotions.
It also meant that even if I didnt ‘feel’ happy – or ‘feel’ that God was close, that I ‘knew’ that God was and that this provided certainty… apparently.
As a young person who knew their trains. As a young person that had disconnected from their emotions – this was all great.
Feelings were just an added bonus extra and not to be regarded at all.
I could hide having feelings even more. And when I did have any feelings or emotions in life, over the next few years, or more – I could then ‘know’ that these weren’t what God would want me to have – feel shame for having them – and then consider it to be sinful to feel – and then ‘get back to knowing’ . Read the bible, Read, dont feel. Learn.
If you know, you know – but the ‘Toronto Blessing’ stuff made things interesting for a few years. My ‘knowledge’ orientated church was cautious, compared to more charismatics. People ‘felt’ in the church for the first time, and it made them weird. And I went along to some of the weirdness, and I was determined that I wasn’t going to ‘feel’ the hype. It was the only time that permitted feelings came to church in my time. And it was pretty mad. And for those who for whom it was too mad, they retreated back to the safety of knowledge and facts.
For me?
I went on to become a ‘leader’ in churches, and so I had to be ‘responsible’. Therefore showing emotions wasn’t part of it. I had to be mature, I had to know things, I had to lead, inspire and have integrity. I had to cope. I could be professional. I could be ‘adult’. I could leave all and any child behind.
As someone who had a disconnected sense of self, (and what I learned about ‘self’ spiritually is a whole other post) , church could easily be a place where I could hide emotions, where praise was heaped for stoical behaviour, and the pursuit of knowledge.
Maybe now I have language for all of this experiences, growing up even in the early 1990’s where there was no conversation about emotions…anywhere, especially not for boys. Adapting into ‘Adult’ life as quickly as I could was what I needed to do, run away from childhood asap, and leave behind what that represented, emotions, play and curiosity. Was feelings free Christianity really what was on offer? Maybe thats not what was intended, but it meant that I could negate that carriage of the train, in regard to my spiritual life.
I wonder now what the cost is and has been. I wonder how common this is in other denominations around the UK or beyond. I wonder whether emotions in church are ‘just’ for the hysterical or depressed, and how these are to be ‘got rid of’ or ‘discarded’ for being uncomfortable or in some way unspiritual. Im not blaming the church I grew up in for what it didnt know, but I also know that there were many in that church who were as bewildered and scared of the same monster that I had to encounter every day.
Maybe it all goes back to way before the ‘Fact Train’ , Karen Armstrong writes about how the myth of the sacred story was turned into a desire for objective fact of the Biblical narratives, around 400 years ago. The feeling of the camp fire story making way for the cognitive reading, but this isn’t a general history lesson on theological feelings and emotions, its about how I could leave feelings and emotions at the door of the church, but in reality, I could leave them buried deep down, hidden away, and mask the childhood emotional abuse that happened.
It has been a long road, a long rail even. It has been one for me in which I have begun to let the feelings and emotions out of the shadows, and be accepted as part of me.
If you’d like to read more on my Spiritual Journey, or the resources that have helped me to reconnect my emotional life with my spiritual one, do have a look at the resources above. I particularly recommend Eckhart Tolle, and Gary Zukav, though there are others too.
James Ballantyne 