Caterpillar in the tree How you wonder who you’ll be Can’t go far but you can always dream Wish you may and wish you might Don’t you worry, hold on tight I promise you there will come a day Butterfly fly away
(Miley Cyrus)
So often, the butterfly is a metaphor for change, as this song I really like describes. The change from caterpillar, to cocoon to butterfly is rich in symbolism, rich in mystery and describes, often perfectly, the necessity for acceptance of an ongoing death, an ongoing inner change, even if both the caterpillar and the emerged butterfly are still so fragile in the hierarchy of the animal pecking order. As a friend once said to me, what’s the point in doing all that healing work, only to be as fragile, vulnerable and prone to attack as a butterfly, even if you can fly and look astoundingly beautiful for the shortest of flight times?
What if, instead of much change being required to embody the butterfly, that the butterfly was there all along? What if you already had that inner butterfly, that which moved in accordance with the air, that fragile, wispy-ness, of colour, that closed and opened at various speeds, an inner butterfly, less something that emerged, or that you turned into, but was there all along.
Waiting to flutter, waiting to rise
Waiting to be seen, waiting to astonish
Waiting to be revealed, waiting to be freed
Soul rising, soul living
Feeling the wind, feeling the life through its wings
So, profoundly, Psyche, can be both translated as ‘Soul’ and also ‘Butterfly’ .
And to one extent, therefore, this might mean, that you do not transfigure into your inner soul/butterfly….. you are born with it, it was given to you. Your inner butterfly has never not been there, and will never not be there. Its gentle, quiet, wing beats need stillness and space, and the various coverings over and around the soul walls to be gently, carefully, lovingly melted and removed, to allow your soul, your being, your inner butterfly to be free.
Its path is cleared with softness, not with power tools that scare it.
Your inner soul, your inner butterfly is the mystical Love, Being, God or consciousness that dwells within, always there, always, it is your full true self, eternal divine goodness, joy and beauty – fragile and majestic as the flight of the butterfly. Vibrant, Colour, Free.
It is not to be changed into, but to have its flight path cleared of blockages, for the falsities to be removed, for it to be safe to fly.
You will become……maybe you already are.
Never a caterpillar deep inside, always a butterfly.
There will come a day when you stop believing in your own smallness.
The great suppression that you were colluded into, when you played small to stay safe, when you played small to get paid, when you played small, played the part of the extra in someone else’s drama. Hiding your gifts, hiding your voice, hiding your immensity, chasing love, chasing one more thing to something other than a gnawing sense of inner tiny.
In stormy waters you are going to feel small, and those who want you to feel inadequate, ashamed, powerless, guilty often keep chucking the stones into your pond, or start up the wave machine, or turn the water into acid, gently corroding you bit by bit. For some, you born into a pond full of nasties, creatures roaming in the deep, heavy rocks, and tiny little vulnerable you, barely able to breathe as the water around surrounds, swallows and tumultuates.
You cannot see yourself when dodging the rocks, trying to swim, trying to stay alive and afloat, your concentration and energy is on staying alive and afloat – whatever it takes, and colluding with their small opinion of you is one such way. You have to believe your parents view of you, because you require them to feed you, or your partners view if they’re threatening you, or the places of escape and safety from these, jobs, churches, whatever, when you’re in need of a rescuer or saviour, you’re also vulnerable.
One storm after another, and the great collusion continues, small you rages in the corner like a jack Russell at a vegetarian ball. The great suppression erodes so much that if you can’t believe it when you are believed in, or it feels uncomfortable, or it is dismissed and denied. Believing in our own inferiority, self oppression, and all of a sudden the stone thrower has won.
John O Donahue writes about the different ways of sight we have, and in considering how we might have an inferior eye, as we look at ourselves we might say:
To the inferior eye, everyone else is greater. Others are more beautiful, brilliant and gifted than you. The Inferior eye is always looking away from its own treasures. It can never celebrate its own presence and potential. The Inferior eye is blind to its own secret beauty. The human eye was never designed to look up in a way that inflates the other to superiority, nor to look down reducing the other to inferiority
John O Donohue – Anam Cara
I lived for so long small. Feeling weak, small and inferior on the inside. Feeling shame for having needs, feeling shame for my body, shame and belittled for having emotions, others upset internalised as my fault and responsibility, and carried all of this from childhood into adulthood, carried on the ongoing wings of various incarnations of faith that required me to stand small inside in the face of the all powerful God, and still continually feel inadequate or a sinner, on a constant loop of need, fuelling my inner smallness and insecurity, and giving me far too many reasons to stay feeling small inside. God perfect, me inadequate.
When we forget our own immensity, or we have been conditioned from birth never to have it, it’s a long road to find realise it, because its not trusted, its not just self care we need, but self trust is harder to find. When we act from self smallness we are desperate, needy and tossed around on other peoples waves, unable to see ourselves, looking out for others – approval, acceptance, protection…
Lovingness and Compassion alone dont produce insight. They smooth the waves of emotions. When those waves of grief, pain, lamentation, worry, fear and anxiety, envy, jealousy, dislike and resentment have finally come to rest, there is a clear reflection without any obscuring ripples in it, like a mirror, the mirror of the mind. That mirror of the mind makes it possible to get a clear vision
Ayya Khama- Being Nobody, Going Nowhere.
Safety comes first, emotional safety. Then feeling all the feelings, the grief, pain, envy etc have come to rest, they are not avoided, dismissed or sidelined, they are felt. Beyond the rage and tears, and in the place where you can ride the stones, if they can’t be avoided or escaped from…yet.
In the place of rest is a clearer reflection.
When we don’t believe it when someone tells us that we are incredible and beautiful, we need to be angry about those who have convinced us into feeling small.
Once you stop making yourself small to fit into others.
Once you stop agreeing with their insecurity, because they have to coerce you into staying small.
Once your small thought is given the redundancy slip. That job is not required anymore.
You realise, tiny step, by tiny step
That inside you is huge.
Divine, Universe, Consciousness in its expanse
No apologies for being you darling human.
The dawning of your new large inner age is upcoming.
When it comes down to it, the only place where there is peace, is in the sanctity and sanctuary of your own heart.
Beyond the noise of a million thoughts that delegate themselves self importance and demand a million answers to.
Am I good enough?
Am I real? What shall I do now?
Can I make the right decision?
What shall I write today? will I find my table at Neros? (as if its mine)
As I walked in the rain to Caffè Nero this morning, present-ness diffused by the inner suffering of a thousand and one thought voices. Hoping for a clear walk and focus on writing for the morning, yet too many thoughts swirled instead. Hopes and expectations, anxieties and excitements, fears and dreams, certainties and uncertainties all rolled into not one, but many thoughts.
Then standing in the queue for coffee, choice to think about.
Macchiato, Cappuccino or Latte.
Nope. Stick to the normal ‘Flat White’ today not the day to be different or brave.
And then I sat down.
And journalled.
Most of what youre reading now.
There is only peace in the sanctuary of the heart.
Beyond thought
Beyond the sights, the sights of colours and shapes, the busyness of a million movements around, people in sports clothing (ready to do the local 10k), the efficient and caring service of the caffe Nero staff, on this busy frenetic Sunday. I watch as their hands upturn cups, pull levers, find muffins, make unusually early luxury hot chocolate. I notice with eyes. Eyes focussed outward, on the process of coffee that draws my attention.
Momentarily away from the choice in my mind.
And then I remember the peace and stillness. Conscious remembering of the possibility of peace.
So, that its then when I write it down. It’s what I read this week, from a book on buddhist meditation.
There is only peace in the sanctuary of the heart.
It can’t be found anywhere else. Yet we look.
The green space is full of suffering if our mind isnt in it
The coffee shop is full of peace..if our heart is open to it.
The pathways that offer peace by their words id often dissolved into anxiety by their actions, and shame by their attitude.
Peace, beyond all understanding. Beyond all thought.
There is only peace in the stillness of your heart. In that sanctuary beyond.
Beyond the wrestle, beyond the hustle, beyond.
Beyond a thousand thoughts that demand an answer.
Beyond thinking, is that feeling
Untrusted, brave, hidden, aspirational
Seemingly impossible Peace.
It isnt found. It’s there all along.
Everything else just needs to get out of the way.
And Peace chosen instead.
For a million thoughts want a million answers to problems that are rarely there.
Its the possibility of having a dream come true that makes life interesting (Paulo Coelho)
‘Whats the dream?’ once asked my university tutor, over eight years ago. It was a question I meekly answered, along the lines of ‘to be well known in theodrama’.
It was the first time, aged 38 that I had been asked this question. It was a question I couldn’t answer. Dreams were not possible. Dreams were too selfish. At that time, and up until then and some years after, I didnt have dreams, dreams about what I wanted to be, or do. It’s probably the same part of me that couldnt engage with ‘The Purpose driven life’ book that did the christian rounds back in the early 2000’s. Whilst I could also criticise it for the being capitalist American goal setting drivel, it was also that deep down, purpose and dream were something that I couldnt have.
Dreams werent allowed growing up, unless they were the same as the expectations my parents, mostly the abusive dominant one. Yet, dont mistake that for them being driven and forcing me to ‘be a vet, or doctor, or psychologist’ no, that would be too clear cut – because so many people ive spoken to in the last few years talk of parents who pay for their university to ‘make sure’ that their child becomes a certain thing (doctor /vet etc) . My parents wouldn’t do that (because that would mean actually offering financial support) no, the expectation was to just ‘not upset your mother’ and ‘dont let her down’ , without any actual support to do so. It wasnt that they couldnt afford it, they didnt want to.
This meant that my choices for career had to be both self sufficient, and somehow please and not upset. It most definitely wasnt a ‘dream’. It was about somehow making her happy, or fulfilling my role as golden trophy child so I could be boasted about (for going to university) to her coffee shop churchy friends, or instead be complained and moaned about (which is almost certainly more likely) for upsetting her.
Allign this also with belonging to a faith, and having an identity in which I was desperate to please God, and do ‘his will’ and so, in this space and having no dream for any other career, I wanted to continue being a youth worker, after being a junior youth leader in my church. It seemed to be something I enjoyed and was good at. Was it a dream? Was it even a calling?
I hoped it would be a sensible and ‘good’ thing – but no it aroswed their fury…. – and did it make ‘them’ happy. Dear God no.
12 years later, and even having written books on youthwork and done an honours degree, (all paid for myself with £0 from them) I am asked when I am going to get a proper job like a teacher on a regular basis. Or whether the degree I had paid for (and completed as a mature student with two small children) was worth it. Though it didnt stop them coming to my graduation and ruining it, with the celebratory present to me being a meal out in a cafe for lunch in which I was asked to pay 1/2. (that went a long way to pay off the £9000 fees, I tell you)
Anyway, I digress.
What i only realised a few years ago, and its been reiterated to me in the last 6 months too, is the level of coping that is required in situation of high emotional, physical or financial stress (and a lot of my first 40 years included these at varying degrees of high) is that its only possible to think or plan one hour, one day or one week, or one pay month at a time, and even then, being in a constant place of turmoil, navigating eggshells, fears, avoidance and drama – life is only about being in it and soothing it – through whatever means.
Future planning felt conditional. Some of my thought patterns were things like:
If I become a ________ then we’ll have money and then _______ will like me.
If I do _________ and then ________ then I might have temporary relief from being hurt.
If I do _________ then ill get a qualification and more money and with more money itll mean things will be easier.
If I do ________ then God will be happy with me
If I do __________ then my parents might be actually proud of me.
None of this was ever about dreams. It was about trying to please others, trying to soothe others, trying to be safe, trying to earn something that with emotionally abusive people, was actually not possible. But I carried on. Thats was the pattern.
And then I would get angry and think to myself that I had done something that would hopefully help….but it was met with only further rejection or criticism, so, then I would try harder.
It wasnt dreams, it wasnt purpose – it was existing inside a tortured shell that was trying to earn impossible affection, validity and recognition.
Thats what survival does.
And that had been my conditioning since birth, and until the last few years, I hadn’t realised how unnormal it was, or the effect of childhood trauma on being able to think about the future in a clear purposeful way.
I read ‘Codependency no more’ back in 2019/20. In it Melody Beattie, describes how healing from this, is about slowly remembering that we can have our lives to lead (and not be waiting for someone else to change/get better/not be addicted) , and start setting small goals, and maybe even have dream lists. Even at this point in my healing, I found this a really difficult thing to do. It was alien to be to set a goal. To make plans. Yes I was in my own flat, yes I had all the opportunity and space in the world. but I hadn’t yet given a future a thought, and in that space I was just enjoying being, and enjoying being safe.
Goals and plans did include being able to go for walks, or holidays. But not quite dreams. It was all week to week. And then Covid hit.
Bottom line is that I was scared to have dreams. Scared because for so long any dream was conditional, and any dream was something I would have to more than likely have to support myself alone. And for so often dreams meant a kind of work that I didnt have the confidence to keep going in, or had the voices of self criticism that would cause it to end. Any encouragement was in the main self determined, and that was frail, especially when those thoughts had been indwelt with self protection and fear. Dreams means desire, and desire was also quashed as being selfish.
Can you understand the mess of my head?
In Johann Haris book ‘Lost Connections’ he shares, when talking about children who had experience of abuse and depression in their lives:
At some profound level M had discovered that , extremely depressed people have become disconnected from a sense of the future , in a way that other really distressed people have not’
They are, in all intense a purposes living in the here and now. What he tried to set about was whether this was cause or effect. It’s significant though, that if motivational growth is dependence on Autonomy, Belonging and Competence (Deci/Ryan) then if that Autonomy is about being able to create, plan for and make choices about the future, and growth happens when this is the case. What happens when that is taken away – consciously or subconsciously. This happens in organisations too, purposeless organisations become depressed and anxious.
For about 14 months I had been living in a state of being that included enjoying my job, having a sense of distance from my childhood past and feeling safe, secure and getting to a place of relative security. In that time I had began to be able to give time to the possibility of a dream, and give a lot of time for this dream. I was able to think ahead… and thinking ahead was a gift, as this helped to balance the times of anxiety and ‘the past’ coming back – and have one tiny foot in future possibility to keep hold of.
For the last 6 months that has barely been possible. Ive been hit with a number of situations, relating to facing the past again, its situation and injustice, that has meant that what I have needed to do is to dig deep into ‘just being’. Whilst some of that hasn’t quite ended, theres relatively clarity in the mud of it all. But what happened as a result?
Its funny, its one thing trying to live in the now, in the present – but theres one thing about living in the present when the future is open and full of possibility, another when the past has seeped in and the future feels clouded. It’s still the present from a time perspective, but it’s a space full of anxieties, flashbacks and uncertainty, digging deep one day at a time. Dreamless, with the only dreams being the nightmare of the past being relived.
I couldnt think about the future. I stopped being able to write creatively (part of the dream has been writing a children’s book) , I was writing responsively, expressively and about the hurt or the recovery or the learning through the moment by moment of it all. But sitting down and being able to write, or focus on the dream, was difficult, almost impossible. I was ok, in my day to day, but future thinking was nigh on impossible, though I tried to valiantly keep the flame alive.
I didnt realise the extent to which being able to have dreams was a luxury, and privilege. I didnt realise that it wasnt selfish for me to have dreams or purpose, that was about me, and not just for others. Working on a dream stimulated me, gave me life, gave me purpose, spark and creativity, and took me one step into an unknown future, that I was in a good place about trying to get to.
The only way we can save our dreams is to be generous to ourselves (Paulo Coelho)
Dreams are important. They make life interesting.
They take effort. But they require soft open heartedness. To be generous to myself in search of them, to know they will happen, to give myself grace in the pursuit of them. Grace I had, but had to unlearn self criticism and the voices.
Dreams are important to have a step in a future that can keep the past thoughts away at times, not deny them, not bypass them, but balance them, because it can be so easily, with a traumatised mind, to have two feet stuck in the past, stuck in other peoples drama, stuck in responding to others.
And now that ive got to a place in time beyond the dealing with and responding to past related stuff…. it’s time again… to give time for the dream.
Having a Dream is way more complicated and important than it seems.
There is within each of us the ache of aloneness. An aloneness borne from our uniqueness of experience, for there is no one whose footsteps have graced the world in the ways our own have. Childhoods filled with the complexity of unmet expectations, of abandonment, of navigating more than relaxing, even in a more secure childhood, an aloneness still permeates.
Aloneness carried amidst the weight of the shame of having to stay silent, or carrying experience, of choices made and decisions slighted, of being hurt and bewildered, of self protection that creates walls, fears and wants to run and hide away. Aloneness of never being truly understood, never being allowed to be, never being seen. Aloneness that cannot be exposed, but appears in the midst of places where its not supposed to, the supposed happy childhood, marriage, the party and the church, the silent reality, the shame that it itself carries that no one else seems to know.
Aloneness that both aches and hungers.
Aloneness that no ‘other’ , no ‘thing’ and no ‘experience’ can truly fill, however hard we grasp, desire, dream or hope that it might. Aloneness that sits there, sometimes haunting, sometimes aching, sometimes screaming, sometimes raging, sometimes crying, sometimes seen, sometimes unseen. Aloneness hiding underneath the surface of the drama and distraction that pulls our energy towards and yet lurking underneath is a lack of something, and the presence of something, nothing, the bleak aloneness lurking in the shadow of the soul.
Aloneness that raises its voice in the despair of never being truly loved, or seen or heard and yet though temporarily happiness covers it, its hollow ache exists, and craves for one more temporary fix, until it finally makes itself safe to be known and seen, when the fixes run out, the busyness ceases and its raw truth
There is within us a deep sense of aloneness, that creates a need in others, or Gods, to fix, solve or mend us, expectations that they can never fill, a burden placed externally that is ours to face truly.
Yet, paradoxically, it is only when we are truly alone, bravely alone that aloneness itself can be faced. When everything else is stripped away, and you allow yourself to go to the dark recesses of your own soul. The places you dare not go to, where the mist of shame festers over a cave of cold , dark , but truthful aloneness, where there is only you, embracing gently, willingly, openly, the lost truth that yours ,and my, life has carried.
It is in that moment of going there, that there is realisation that there is a you, that is apart from the alone ache, when you travel towards it, you realise that you are not it, yet it haunted you like a lost presence throughout directing your life, yet, it wasnt ever you, just an ache in your soul waiting for you to love it, to listen to it, to face with courage and kindness.
Let it speak, Let it say what its always wanted to, when you face it, its been there, being part of you, embrace it with love, for, theres nothing more uniquely universal that the aloneness within, and nothing more powerful than meeting it face to face and loving it into your presence, integrated, not afraid, not shamed. There is within us the presence of aloneness that brings us into true courage, and true depth, and true connection with the other.
Which given my output previously was probably not a surprise. Writing on here has taken a bit of a back seat for a number of reasons. I quit Facebook for two months too, and whilst ive spent a bit of time on Substack, where theres other writers and far far less on current news, drama of politics and tbh quite a bit of stuff I just really didnt need to see, engage with or for it to take up my energy.
I needed to switch off.
Ive switched off before, and many of you know that involved avoiding the news and radio, and quitting twitter.
Its been a time where I have had to face a number of battles, ones that will probably never get mentioned here, and also some personal challenges that one day might do, some of which began days after I temporarily quit Facebook itself.
What I have needed to do is dig pretty deep into whatever reserves I have just to live, and when I say live, I mean respond well and stay emotionally afloat amidst alot, when trauma, triggers, fears and anxieties could easily start to pull me backwards, and this includes work, and rest and be there for people close to me who have been in a place of struggle too.
So I have been a bit quiet recently, in terms of writing on here, but what’s been so important to me has continued to be ….. writing….. whether this has been daily journalling, free writing and expressing myself in words – the writing that releases, thats not for public consumption.
I have also realised that the last few years of being in a good place has significantly given me the inner space to be able to deal with the last few months, even if that has also meant refining what I was spending my energy on, a refining that was as much about making powerful choice to favour myself in my own soul and power, and not give myself away to consuming and reading.
I have been quiet recently. Because I am ok. Because i was giving too much at times to this type of writing, the type that could sometimes get me into that endorphin cycle feedback loop of positivity, and maybe even trying too hard to be creative, original or helpful, when actually what I needed instead was to be me, in my raw vulnerability, and write for me. Im already on journal number 3 for this year.
And Im typing up version 2 of my second book, and yes, sadly this stuff has stalled too, but I am about to restart this too.
Am I writing because I need to explain everything to you? No.
Or to apologise? No
Maybe its just to say thank you, thank you for the messages that you’ve sent me via whatever means whenever I have mentioned that ‘your words were meaningful today’ or when ‘you’ve sent a message of support’ when I haven’t been able to say why, and still can’t.
Life is bigger than writing, and Life is bigger than the stuff and I am continually , daily remembering and giving love to myself, to feel loved everyday, is also to care for my energy and protect it, to realise I can sit and read, listen to music and not use what I read to write something, or to expend energy writing in the way I have done fairly prolifically in the last few years.
I have been useless at ever doing a regular piece of writing, ie just doing one piece a week, and limit myself, its seemed to be in bursts, or gaps, maybe thats what I could do, more heat and depth, and not just noise. But let’s just see, maybe thats for a next chapter of writing…and the books I want to write will definitely take priority. Am I ‘coming back’ …maybe…but definatley differently..
James Ballantyne 