James Ballantyne

Category: Healing

  • Surviving Psychopathic Parenting (Part 29) Actually I nearly didn’t.

    (Trigger Warning: Suicide)

    I wanted to die at 9

    I was 9 when I had had enough

    9

    At the age of 9 years old I was desperate to get out, get out of the life I was in

    9 was the age I contemplated ending it all, suicide.

    At the age of 9, when my blonde hair was barely tinting itself brown.

    9 is the age of fun, playing out, bmx, bikes, games, toys, lego and the rest – and it was

    But it was also the age when I wanted out.

    I had something else to carry, that haunted me.

    Not 13, not mid teens, not early 20’s.

    Before being bullied at high school…

    But at 9.

    Who does that? Who wants to die at 9?

    I wanted to end it all, or end the part I was living in it

    I wanted to sleep and never wake up – or even wake up as someone else – someone famous, someone who wasn’t in my life – anyone, but just not me.

    Im not sure I would have gone through with it, but as the intercity 125’s roared past the bottom of my garden, I wondered if that might have been the place to go – but I couldnt

    Or what about from the upstairs window, would I die if I jumped out and landed through the shed roof?

    Im not sure I could do it – why? for the very reason that I wanted to do it. I’d be responsible.

    I would be responsible. I was already responsible. I was already too responsible, aged 9.

    I was just hoping I didnt exist anymore.

    At 9

    At fucking 9

    Who else thinks this at 9?

    Other people do – other people in so called ‘broken homes’ and ‘non christian ones’ – but not 9 year olds in a ‘stable family’.

    I was 9, and I wanted to not exist any more.

    Because of the weight of responsibility – I had and knew I had

    Because of the criticisms of being messy, being silly, being not good enough

    Because i felt utterly alone. At 9 there was no one to cry for help to – teachers wouldn’t have understood (mum was a dinner lady), church wouldn’t ( parents we’re involved) , and relatives were disappearing from the scene, one family row after another. So who would believe me, even if I could articulate it?

    Alone, cut off and carrying shame, guilt and responsibility

    Aged 9

    I was 9, but hated the responsibility of the drama queen, she who must be obeyed

    I was 9, and unable to ask – for fear of being demanding, spoilt or disruptive

    I was 9, and expected to know things, and so patronised if I did ask?

    I was 9, and bereave of guidance, nurture, or any physical close intimacy

    I was 9, and blamed

    I was 9 and internalised every thought and action I had done – to cause them grievance – I carried shame that stuck in the back like the metal frame of the awful rucksack they once bought me.

    I was 9, and facing the daunting life ahead of me, alone, responsible, frightened, – life was not worth living. Nothing to look forward to.

    I was 9 and had had enough

    I was 9 and not a child anymore and told not to be

    I was 9 and little professor was trying to work out how to survive, and how to respond to feelings of hurt, anger, shame, pain and fear that were continually emerging.

    I was 9 and took it all on myself.

    At 9.

    I would be in my room, waiting for a miracle to happen, waiting for the escape. Hoping beyond hoping.

    At 9 something was wrong. I was wrong.

    At 9 realising that these were my parents and were going to be for the rest of my life, this was going to be my life for another how many years, not something I could conceive of wanting to.

    At 9.

    What would have happened if I had done it? What would the story have been – What kind of narrative would have spun? ‘He was a happy child and no one expected this’ ‘He just couldn’t deal with not being spoiled’…

    In side my head at 9 so many voices. The one that was telling me that I could end it all, the other trying to survive, the other trying to work out what to do, what a solution was.

    What stopped me going through with it? I wasnt brave enough, I was too responsible already.

    Even when I kicked and screamed and tried even to pray – there wasnt any answer. Not even the God of Sunday school was any good. God wasnt doing anything. Yet.

    This is what I felt – these were the swirls of my thoughts at the ages of 9 and onwards.

    Then I felt shame for having them. The thoughts.

    A number of things did start to change for at around this time. One was that I started to realise that I accepted that if was going to make it in life – I was going to have to do it alone. The other was that I was beginning to see that some of those messages of ‘Im not ok’ from that parent – were slightly less valid – my teachers were saying good things, as were people like my Cub Scout leaders, and I started to dedicate myself to sports, and from nearer 10 or 11, to taking more care over myself – academically.

    I tried to keep trying to understand things or fix things – but thats another story. I took on the responsibility for my awful family – yet whilst they were destroying me.

    At 10 I became a Christian – because I wanted the sin and guilt ‘for what I had done wrong’ to disappear – be carried by someone else – because I was responsible. Further safe places emerged in my teenage life, places of rescue, further from the monster. I was crying out for love and nurture but projecting that I didn’t need help and I could deal with things.

    I only ever gave this part of me away twice. Both a few years later. At 14 I wrote a poem in English class in which I wrote it in the first person and then I died at the end , I think my American English teacher was a little surprised and also told me that I wasn’t allowed to write a poem in which I died at the end. And then maybe a year or two later, I was given the opportunity to share my testimony at the church, in it I revealed that as a child I felt suicidal, but wasnt successful. I was partly saying this because there’s a thing about making a testimony sound more dramatic, but also actually because it was true. I waited for feedback, or support or a space for someone to listen to me afterwards, but none came. Maybe they were just relieved that I didnt go through with it, or that I was lying.

    So I started to disbelieve my own story. Started to distance myself from it, shut it away, never to be seen again. Avoid and run. Survive meant blocking it out.

    But now as I listen to that inner child within, I see that 17 year old, the 12 year old, and also that 9 year old, and wonder what he needed, what he didnt have, and completely see how lost, alone, fearful, frightened, despairing and responsible he was feeling. At 9 I seriously wanted to end it all.

    So, when I think about ‘How I Survived psychopathic parenting’ – I actually nearly didn’t.

    Why am I writing this today? For a number of reasons, mostly because the memory of this came to me over the last few days, as I delved into the different ages of my inner child, partly as I read Stewart and Joines book on TA, I realise how many messages I heard that accumulated to ‘Do not exist’ , `Don’t stay a child’ and ‘Dont be important’ – and it took me to the time when I didnt want to carry on any more. I just knew from that moment on, or already, I was in survival mode. Digging deep. The other reason is that I have never spoken about this before to anyone, does anyone want to hear about the damage emotional, psychological and spiritual abuse does to children, to the point where they want to end it? Well, that was me. Im glad I didnt, but I still had a whole lot more to endure that I didnt know at 9, and it would take a long while to unravel the damage.

    Thank you for reading, sharing, and do seek help from specialists if my story at any point has affected you. You Are Valuable, You are worthy, and the world is a better place with you in it.

  • Surviving Psychopathic Parenting (Part 28) After you’ve closed the door … let the Guilting begin.

    Surviving Psychopathic Parenting (Part 28) After you’ve closed the door … let the Guilting begin.

    No I don’t mean the nostalgic return to quilting involving turning fabric into bed sheets. I mean guilting.

    After I plucked up the courage and made difficult decisions to leave and block abusive people in my life.

    People who had treated me badly, abusively in different ways- though lots of emotional abuse, gaslighting, covert narcissism, emotional neglect, bullying and bewildering drama.

    I took steps to remove them from my life – standing up for myself.

    Then, do you know what happened, they decided just to let me go, peacefully, respecting my decision.

    (im being sarcastic..)

    No, you see, even though they make absolutely no effort for a relationship – they have to make it look as though they are now making an effort, and that the person, me, becomes the subject of operation guilting.

    ‘We’re really sad you dont speak to us’

    ‘They’re missing you’

    ‘What does God say about broken relationships – shouldn’t you reconcile’

    ‘ Remember all our happy memories’

    ‘Shouldn’t you….’

    ‘so and so said we were good together’

    ‘You’re missing out’

    ‘Just remember we’re your parents…’

    ‘The Bible says…’

    On one occasion my personal details were given away to someone who sent me a pleading guilt ridden letter, and a book on ‘restoring relationships’. I mean…..

    Amongst other things, they go for playing on the thing that might cause the most guilt or shame – faith, compliance, some tug at a happy memory, in amongst 20 or 40 or more years of suffering. Im trying to draw a slight line here in separating guilting from breadcrumbing. Breadcrumbing is when the person gives gift, or promises that are nothing other than breadcrumbs, trying to win you back. Guilting is when they use guilt to.

    Often guilting appears with breadcrumbs, but its a different one. They might say that they’re not going to try and win you back – but instead play the guilt cards.

    Whats often telling with guilting is the lack of actual effort they make in the relationship (a narcissist never takes responsibility for anything) – they spend more effort in guiding afterwards in victimised mode – that when they could actually do something in the relationship itself. They’d rather play on the heart strings after, and have no heart within.

    They are not wanting you back – for who you really are (nb you were barely anything other than a toy, a slave or a trophy to them anyway) – they are doing everything they can be not to be angry, but projecting anger as guilt – because they have lost control of you. That is what they have lost. A wounded control freak is continuing the same behaviour. The tricks they once used have been revealed.

    The unexpected email may arrive, the card through the door, the letter – after you have made that decision to leave and leave for good – whether friend, sibling, partner or parent – watching for the guilting to begin, it’ll be there. Its just about control.

    One thing to note, guilting can be the last tactic they use, its the final flings of their loaded abusive dice. Once its been ignored – they know the game is up. But that might also be the tone in which any future communication is also. Its just that often, anger, fear and guilt are their only genuine emotional currency anyway, so its to be expected- every thing else is just false breadcrumbs.

  • Surviving Psychopathic Parenting (part 27) Without making a Noise

    I walked on tip toes for a good few years after learning to walk – I must have known the importance of having to stay quiet

    When I was told of for sneezing at the dinner table, I learned to sneeze, without making a noise

    Dont touch the water when peeing, too noisy

    Turn the TV down – I don’t want to hear it – came the voice from the kitchen

    Knowing which floorboards were creaky on the stairs, and avoiding them

    Helped to know this, so that ‘operation turn bedroom light off’ could be invoked when these same stairs were landed on by those whose noise was constant.

    As well as mild, and loyal – being quiet was a survival strategy, don’t make a noise

    Dont draw attention….away from the one who’s attention was demanded

    Dont touch the piano– unless you’re going to play its properly

    I dont want you to learn the violin – ‘I cant bear the sound’

    And as for other noises…

    No burping or swearing allowed.

    No raised voices.

    Learning to be quiet – it was the only way.

    No shouting, no anger, no aggression

    Nothing to upset the monster.

    Creeping quietly around the house, hoping not to be found.

    Sneaking into the front room, whilst she was in the kitchen.

    A parent with a ‘do not disturb’ sign hung permanently around their neck.

    This wasn’t because she was working from home with a major investment project – or on the phone to clients – or with friends round – we were an inconvenience, unless useful.

    My role every day was to set the video each morning, to record the lunchtime episode of neighbours so we could watch at 4pm after school, so that she could be cooking at that time for when Dad got home. That was the ‘shared’ family moment – watching TV, the rest of the time..

    ‘Do not disturb’

    Quiet toys, lego (get them out one by one, don’t make a mess or a noise)

    Trains that didn’t have batteries

    Pocket calculators, chess, colouring

    Books to read

    Toys that didn’t involve anyone else to play with, so I could be on my own, all the time.

    Only one person could make a noise, only one person could dominate the sound.

    Other noise was a threat.

    Challenge it was seen to rebel. So stay quiet.

    What happens when you’re scared to make a noise? Utter inhibition.

    Learning to be quiet

    Learning to stay invisible , except where it was acceptable, on the trophy shelf.

    Noise was shameful, noise was disrespectful

    Noise challenged, noise rebelled

    So to comply, and to be loyal, I stayed quiet. Until I learned

    Until I learned how quiet had damaged me, and others around me, until I realised I could use my voice, speak and let my heart rise again.

  • Wounds like Eyes

    If the process of healing is like an onion

    One layer of tears at a time
    One more step towards the core

    Then wounds are like eyes

    They hurt when stung

    They are the raw, vulnerable awakening

    Of pain needing more work

    Raw exposed and seen

    Wound of black hurt

    The pupil, the dark eye in the middle

    A wound of pain surrounded by levels of anger, grief, torment, fear and betrayal

    Like an eye

    Today has been a wound day, completely unexpectedly

    A trigger went deep

    Rawness to the surface

    Yet it helped me to see

    To look at the pain again

    And see, that I am not the pain

    That i am powerful

    That I am safe

    That I am loved

    And I am not in that place

    Somehow for me, wounds help me to see

    Help me to feel, a reminder to continue to be the new me

    Wounds help me to see

    See me for me now

    See what I need

    Wounds like eyes.

  • 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…

  • Born to be Loyal

    The more I think about it, the more I realise

    That I was born to be loyal

    Surrounded by a world of rules

    That seeped in from an early age

    Rules to follow

    not to choose

    to be good, but

    to be Loyal

    I promise to do my best,

    To do my duty

    Think of others before yourself

    Be holy, like I am holy

    Don’t you dare upset me

    I need you to not cause stress

    To God and the Queen

    To God and the church

    To the monster unseen

    Born to be loyal

    Born to be good

    Born to be safe

    Born to be true

    Born to be weak

    Born to be small

    Born to be invisible

    Born to not ask

    not born to be me

    born to be theirs

    Born to be a trophy

    all shiny and perfect

    sat on a shelf

    Born to surrender

    all to Jesus, all to loyalty

    born to conform

    Born to doubt – who I really am

    Scared to trangress

    Scared to give up

    That place on the shelf

    Being good by proxy

    Comatose existence,

    feelings bewildered

    Conform, loyal

    Be the good boy

    Be our saviour

    Stick to the safe

    Dont rock the boat

    Thats your role

    Dont disrupt, Dont make noise

    Play quietly with your toys

    Dont rebel – make us proud

    It was hard being a teenager, being good, yet told I was trouble

    In trouble for not pledging allegiance to the God of the home

    Keep my loyal place, on the shelf of the favoured, trophy boy

    Fear of losing that place – yet what did it gain?

    Become the favourite, soothe the abuser.

    Loyal to everything, but me.

    Be good

    Be quiet

    and above all else

    Be loyal.

    Born to be loyal

    am I finally free?

    Born to be loyal

    Can I now be me?

    Born to be loyal

    Now I can choose?

    Born to be loyal

    I want to be be

    Born to be loyal

    Awaken the fight

    for me to be me

    Born to be loyal

    I can finally see

    Born to be loyal

    its now time to be, loyal to me.

  • 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.