James Ballantyne

Category: Self awareness

  • EMDR and my Anxious Mind

    When I got triggered by something a few weeks ago I went into a bit of a spiral.

    Downwards.

    And I forgot.

    My mind went into overdrive

    The words, fears and punishments from my childhood got relived into my present.

    Thats what trauma, childhood trauma, any trauma feels like.

    Mind whirlwind.

    Anxiety.

    Thinking.

    Over thinking.

    And in the midst, I forgot.

    I forgot because I had got consumed.

    I forgot who I was, I became the frightened child, the frightened me, hiding and scared.

    I didn’t even realise I was doing it.

    I needed my fiancé to keep checking in and asking me.

    The Trigger.

    Did it matter what it was? No – but it was big one.

    I spiralled downwards for at least 5 days. But tried to keep going and pretending.

    During that time wrote a bit – publically

    And wrote a bit privately – a lot of emotions out, alot

    But I was still on edge. Even after beginning to realise myself in the present.

    Beginning to regroup and rebuild

    Telling myself, that I am safe, that I am enough, that I am stronger than I realise.

    I did a great job of telling others too, but I needed to hear myself.

    But ultimately, it wasn’t what I wrote, what I read

    The things I needed to know.

    I had to learn again, and again that I didnt have to suffer alone – and my lovely Christelle sat with me on times, affirmed that I was having a trauma reaction.

    Affirmed that what I was going through was trauma anxiety.

    Taking me back to the past, unable to rest in the moment

    Unsettled.

    I forgot and also I resisted, I resisted to do the very things that I knew would help

    So I did all the other things, like comfort eat, excessive cleaning, distractions.

    Part of me was anxious, so I listened to that part

    Part of me was also resistant to and didn’t want to get rid of the anxiety, it was loving the attention

    Two weeks of the swirl, back and forth, heart racing, forgetting to breathe.

    Forgetting my safety

    Forgetting the journey to this point

    Forgetting and being over taken by mymind racing

    Forgetting my power

    Forgetting myself

    Yet in the midst of last Thursday, in the afternoon, I somehow did something that I remembered.

    Yes I had began to regroup the preeceding few days. Get myself out of the swirl

    I remembered EMDR.

    Something my therapist taught me.

    Something I had barely needed or used for a long while.

    So I sat down

    Breathed

    Closed my eyes

    And for a few minutes listened to my breathing

    and tapped either side of my shoulder blades, first quickly, then slower.

    Breathing too.

    Why had I forgotten EMDR? In the midst of a severe trauma reaction, I forgot a lot.

    The part of me that wanted pain to remain dominant raced – Tolle calls this the Pain-Body -the ego.

    Anxiety induced forgetfulness

    And what happened.

    Since I did EMDR, my brain completely stopped the anxiety patterns. And it has done ever since.

    The descending of calm on me.

    Calm. Utter calm.

    A reordering of the neurones and programming, that no amount of writing, eating or other externals would have changed. Almost miraculous to be honest, and virtually instant.

    Incredible. Its as if my entire mind has shifted. To a new place. One that isn’t racing.

    I can breathe.

    Literally 5 minutes of EMDR. After 2 weeks of trauma responding. Panic and Anxiety.

    On one hand I could be annoyed I didnt do EMDR within a few days, on the other the trigger did give me the opportunity to work through some things- part of me that needed to heal.

    Maybe I need to have mental notes around my flat – remember the good practices. Remember EMDR, or Yoga, or other good trauma healing practices. Especially when in the midst im likely to forget.

    Recognising that recovery from a lifetime of abuse is seriously hard work, so im not beating myself up, but noting what trauma and anxiety does to the memory in the present, and how it created in me resistance to wanting to, and conscious memory of what I needed to do in response.

    How a trauma reaction caused me to forget – and highlight what I might need to do to remember in the future.

  • My Problem(s) being an Abuse Victim

    What do I see myself as, A Victim or a Survivor?

    If I go back 4 years;

    I couldn’t be a victim, unless I realised that I was badly treated.

    So I was in denial

    I couldn’t realise the extent of what had happened to me, until I started to say that I was a victim of abuse.

    Because , until then, I was holding onto the responsibility of actions someone else had done to me.

    I was protecting them and fearing them, holding it all in, running from dealing with it.

    Thinking that what happened to me, was what I deserved.

    I was responsible. I was full of shame.

    Thats what emotional abuse is. The ongoing belief that I was responsible, guilty for actions other people had done to me.

    It was my responsibility to soothe them and do what they wanted, or I would be punished.

    But I didn’t know it. I lived in a daze of slavery.

    Compliant and Passive. Loyal and Dead on the inside, and outside.

    It was only when I realised that I was more than ok, that I realised I was being treated badly. It was only when I realised this, that I could stand up for myself, and pass that responsibility onto those whose it was to take.

    In fact on more than one occasion one of the accusations levelled at me, shouted drunk, by my abuser was ‘Dont you starting thinking of yourself as the victim’ …. So… I was projected and abused into not being able to see that I was being abused.

    I had to realise that those who had played victim – so that I took responsibility for their feelings, weren’t actually the real victim.

    Not that I am utterly blameless, this isn’t the point.

    In understanding what had happened to me, and the safe space to do it – was the moment that I realised, gradually and slowly that I had been a victim of domestic abuse.

    I started to see the patterns, I started to read the books, I started to assess how I was being treated, used and lied to.

    So I was a victim.

    But I didnt know it.

    And I was reluctant to own it. I didnt want to be known as a victim. Even if I did start to realise what had happened to me.

    And yet at the same time, almost at exactly the same time, because I didnt realise that I had been a victim of this for 40 years, and I was in a safe place from virtually the time I realised. I considered myself a survivor too.

    I was a victim, it was the past tense. At that moment. It had happened.

    In the current moment of knowing, and acknowledging the past pain – the present moment I could say that I wasn’t currently a victim either. It had happened.

    Why would I want to keep playing the victim card? Thats what I’ve seen all my life- to abuse me. Why would I want to abuse myself in the same way – or bring out that same needy ‘poor me’ personality. No – why would I do that? I write my story for awareness. I know my story isnt unique. Well not quite at times. I dont want to dwell in a victim mindset.

    But it was important for me to realise that I had been a victim. That I had been treated, or allowed myself to be treated badly, from a deep core of trauma, shame, codependency and people pleasing – and hiding all this, and it not being safe to deal with it.

    So.. I was a victim. But I wasnt too. ,

    Would I say I was a survivor? Is that appropriate?

    Maybe. Maybe not.

    Have I survived? Currently yes – though some weeks, this week especially has been pretty dark. Surviving is what I had to do, throughout the time of the abuse. My internal voice that constantly said ‘I am going to get through this’..

    I dont like the thought that I am still surviving. Though I did survive. Many others dont. So I am grateful, eternally grateful to be here and alive. I wasnt close to jumping off the cliffs of Roker , when my therapist asked about my mental health. I was determined to grow, to dig deep and wrestle with myself and what I needed to do, for myself. I knew I was ok. I was probably more than that. But I had also survived the worst of it.

    In the present moment; I did survive. I wasnt a victim.

    Affected by decades of emotional and psychological abuse. Yes.

    Realising and attending to myself in the process of loving myself to be me. Yes

    Choosing the slow road, the self-kind road and trying to listen to my inner childhood voice. Yes

    It feels like a choice I make every day. A powerful choice to regard myself highly.

    Am I a survivor – yes then. But what would I rather be?

    I would rather be me.

    I would rather not be defined by what someone else did to me.

    I would rather not have them centred in my story.

    I am me – I am James – I am who I am.

    I am living and alive, love and loved, present and the future.

    I dont want to be a victim, I dont want their curse to stay on me.

    I am rebuilding , I am becoming a truer version of me

    I just am me.

    Just like you are you.

    This piece was inspired by Dr Glenns one – do read it here in it he says:

    In my experience as a trauma therapist, that’s just now how trauma recovery unfolds in the real world.

    In the real world, we ONLY recover WHEN we take responsibility for our happiness and stability— and part of taking REALISTIC responsibility means acknowledging our pain.

    It is not reality to pretend we are responsible for our post traumatic pain.

    It is not reality to “accept responsibility” for injuries that resulted from other peoples’ decisions and behavior.

    It is not reality to deny the fact that we are in pain, and there are layers to our pain that we do not control and can not reliably affect.

    It IS reality to see what we see and know what we know about our past and our present functioning— that there were aspects of our past that were painful and terrifying, and there are aspects of our current functioning that aren’t great as a result.

    None of that is “victim mindset.” It is reality mindset.”

    Dr Glenn Patrick Doyle

  • Surviving Psychopathic Parenting (Part 33) Fearing the Upset Parent

    What phrases dominated your childhood?

    Were there things your parents would say to you?

    Hopefully they were good things, pleasant things – like ‘I love you’ every time you left the house, or ‘what kind of fun shall we do today?’ or a regular phrase said by one of them to you.

    I hope they were nice things.

    Sadly, often its not the case.

    What were the words that dominated my childhood?

    There was one phrase that was said by many many people.

    Because they knew.

    They already had experience of her temper

    They had already tried to stand up to her

    They had already felt the weight of her fury

    They had been bullied by her

    They didnt want the same for me.

    Try not to upset your mother

    That would be my Dad on many occasions

    You’d better eat your tea when you get home, or you’ll upset your mother

    Said my Nanna (RIP) , on the times I had lunch at her house (glorious food) to make sure id be home by tea and suffer the toxic food of the childhood home, served on a plate of eggshells.

    Id better make sure all your washing is done, I wouldn’t want to upset your mother

    Said my Granny (RIP) – who was utterly terrified of her own daughter, at the end of a week staying at her house. Usually the best week of the year, being sent to her house. The week after wed be given a taste of the ‘real’ world after being ‘spoiled’ by granny…

    Dont upset your mother

    Try not to upset your mother

    Your mother will get upset

    Mother upset

    She’ll get upset.

    Walking on Eggshells

    Everyone around

    Fearful, frightened.

    It wasn’t just family though.

    No one could say no to her.

    Whole groups of people had to remove her from churches. Not many can say No to her. Or dare too.

    One to one they had been terrified, belittled, and shocked by her behaviour.

    So they closed their doors.

    Everybody knew – but everyone was terrified.

    Dont upset _________ now (Insert her name)

    Dont upset your mother

    You’ll upset your mother

    The eggshells being laced around the childhood home. Mine fields of rage waiting to explode.

    The trouble was, was that she’d be upset anyway.

    Even if I tried to ‘do the thing’ – they’d be something else.

    Because full attention and full obedience and expectation was exhausting.

    A myriad of unwritten rules that would cause upset if unfollowed.

    Sometimes even by trying to do the thing that avoided the upset, there’d be upset because shed detect this over compensation.

    Everyone else responsible for her feelings.

    There was something else too.

    Because my role in the family, to survive, was soother of the upset one, emotional wedges were created when she got upset. Because I was loyal, I realised I began to believe the emotional upset. To a point, when I was 8 or 9, not when I was 15. Her toxic tears of upset created soothing sympathy, to the point where I was, and had no choice but to go along with it.

    Going along with it meant going without the things that she got upset by…. and those grudges were maintained for decades. Its probably where I developed a hatred of cats. Thats another story waiting to be told.

    Then I began to realise that the things she got upset by weren’t actually right to be upset by. I realised that she was the toxic one, but pretended otherwise. Because…. she wasn’t allowed to be upset…. see where this is going…

    This is the reality of a narcissistic parent, a narcissist and violent person who dominates every room and situation. To the point where so many other people around felt all the ripples, had suffered the same.

    (resources on becoming aware of narcissistic parents are in the resources section above)

    Fear of upsetting and unleashing the fury of the monster.

    Another reason why everyone knew.

    The phrase that dominated my childhood

    The phrase that terrified

    The phrase that meant childhood was a survival mode

    The phrase that meant that there was no freedom or free space that those eggshells weren’t far away.

    The phrase that dominated. Knowing how violent, impulsive, and distressed she becomes, its no wonder.

    What kind of behaviour did this fear create? Hiding, pretending, people pleasing….. absolutely…

    Constantly on guard. Constantly tempering every sentence, action or reaction.

    What am I feeling right now?

    Im 44. And the last few weeks layer upon layer of some of the childhood stuff has returned to my present memory, for a number of reasons, one of which is because of doing more work to listen to my inner child and his feelings, one has been that I encountered the phrase in a pertinent context. So, to be honest with you, the last few days I have been working through the past feelings of what this phrase was felt like when I was 6 or 8 or 11, and reliving the memories, the feelings and anxiety – often anxiety suppressed at the time. I guess in a small way this gives you an insight into the effects of childhood abuse and trauma. That memory comes back to infect the present. It is also an opportunity for me to recognise it, to feel it, to attend to myself and to note the spaces of safety, love and support I am currently in.

    Part 1 of Everyone knew – and everyone was terrified is here – in that post I recollect how other adults already had knowledge of my mother even from one meeting with her.

  • Doing The Hard things

    Hey you

    Just want to say, well done on doing the hard thing

    The hard thing? It was nothing, I just got on with it

    You are incredible, that was brave, that was hard

    Aww shucks, really, it wasn’t much, anyone could have done it

    But you did it, yes you, you are incredible

    Now you’re going too far, all I did was the thing

    But that’s such an important thing, a first brave thing, I’m proud of you, you did the thing

    Yeah, and Im just thankful for all the people who helped me to do the thing, I couldn’t have done it without them

    But you still did the thing, you made the call, you made the decision, you did the thing.

    I had no choice really, was desperate and there was no way out, I had to do the thing

    And you did the thing, at a point of desperation, you did the thing, well done, brave human, you did the thing and now you’re here, you’re alive, you are living, because you did the courageous thing, you changed the pattern to your normal, you did the thing

    True, my friend, I did the thing

    You the hardest thing, brave, courageous, strong you

    I’m just me, anyone couldve done it

    But you did it, you did the thing

    You did the hard thing, you made it happen

    Thank you

    Do you see it now?

    Maybe, but I don’t think I’m amazing for doing the thing

    That’s why I’m here to keep reminding you, you are amazing, you are incredible, you are stronger and more inspiring that you realise. You did the thing.

    How many times did I have this conversation in my journey, and I still do. Not seeing how difficult, or how brave I am for doing ‘the thing’ – whether that thing is facing the pain or shame, whether that’s going to therapy, or choosing to listen to my inner voice and respond, or whether it’s taking responsibility for my feelings, or standing up for myself or others.

    So many times I wanted someone else to do it for me.

    So often before id hidden everything and survived every blow.

    Surviving lone as a great result of being counter dependent. Pretending to survive alone.

    Doing the hard thing meant changing.

    Changing is a hard thing.

    Well done you. Just well done you.

    You Are an Incredible Human, and so am I.

  • Surviving Psychopathic Parenting (Part 32) How their ‘helpfulness’ hid the reality

    I have shared before about growing up feeling incredibly alone.

    In that piece I referred to the fact that the Toxicity of my mother meant that family members were kept at a distance, physical or emotional wedges were dug in place that meant that they stayed away or I was kept away from them. A family divided and when together – the rare occasions, there were more eggshells and mistruths than a cabinet meeting with Boris Johnson held in a poultry farm.

    But there was something else.

    Whilst Family were being divided, neglected, controlled and abused.

    There was another reason that I grew up alone.

    Sprinkles of Helpfulness.

    You see, people who are this toxic do not have friends.

    Barely did anyone willingly volunteer to come around for coffee to chat with them – victimhood persuasion was often needed and overheard on the phone, and No was barely taken for an answer.

    They didn’t have friends, because if she didnt have any, Dad wasn’t allowed them either.

    Sprinkles of helpfulness though.

    What are you on about James?

    They didnt have friends – because that mean seeing people for who they are –

    Instead, they helped people, rescued them – groomed them even.

    Often for money, or to trade ‘taking them to church’ as a bargaining tool – or to have the ‘right ‘ to judge their morality, she deserved to be rewarded for the helpfulness. (entitled, remember..)

    The list isnt endless of the helpfulness, because it was reluctant and not done with any joy or depth, it was tactical.

    People would be taken on holiday – they’ve had such a tough year

    Children would be looked after – before and after school

    ‘Old dears’ would be visited

    Actually, it was rare that a walk back from church on a Sunday wasnt via some old couple or another, knowing what I know now, they were probably being sized up.

    So called friends ‘had personal problems’ or were ‘going through a hard time’- and ‘Its good to be there for them’ – and mysteriously moved away when they recovered, never to be seen again

    Im reluctant to bring my Dad into this, but, prime fixer and helper was his de facto – when it came to fixing boilers, radiators or any DIY, and thats before building an entire church building. Oh and by the way – She was bitterly disappointed that he ‘only’ got a lamp for all his efforts. The church weren’t grateful enough for all the sacrifice she went through – their reward wasn’t enough….

    Yes, Evangelical Church 1990…she was furious when we got home with that lamp and nearly threw it and smashed it.

    Sprinkles of helpfulness

    And note, if you haven’t noted already ; It wasnt genuine. It was for show.

    She expected to be rewarded appropriately for it.

    We stopped looking after children ‘When it wasnt worth the effort’ – not because it wasnt good for the family

    People started to disappear – when they realised their expectations went up – or the fees did.

    One of her biggest projections was that ‘Other people were being taken advantage of’

    When someone else did something for nothing, because it was a good thing to do.

    Especially anyone who did this and took the attention away from her.

    Have you ever seen the film Spotlight (2002)?

    Its what the Catholic Church did – its Institutional Gaslighting.

    Create a mythical reality of helpfulness in one domain of life, whilst abusing others, in an almost similar space. It perpetuates the disbelief. ‘They can’t do that, they’re so helpful’

    Sprinkles of Helpfulness

    People to ‘fix’

    Vulnerable people to prey on

    Institutions fall for the helpfulness – until individuals work them out.

    Or, as in Spotlight, an external agency puts the patterns together.

    Anyway. As a child. The adults that remained relatively close to us – were those who were being helped

    Because no-one stayed. People who realised they were being played didnt stick around.

    There was no warmth.

    Long term friends didnt come around for meals – because there was no such thing.

    So, growing up alone wasnt just about the people who stayed away

    It was that the so many others were dazzled by sprinkles of false helpfulness

    Caught in the myth.

    And people feeling sorry for them, or grateful for them.

    They couldn’t do that – they’ve been just helpful to me

    They couldn’t do that – they’re good christian people

    And it was always someone else fault when I asked that ‘we haven’t seen ______ for a while’…

    Strange that.

    And maybe Institutions that pride themselves on helping and rescuing are places that can validate abusers who have this tactic – who are unaware or choose to ignore or who believe words, defend and protect instead of listen and change. Fixers and helpers hiding in plain sight.

    It would be extraordinary difficult to be able to articulate the level of psychological abuse and neglect we received in the family, it was even harder when the avenues of who this could be articulated to were shut down. But people knew. They were just as afraid of them as I was. But those who they helped – were indebted to them and weren’t safe. What the ‘helped’ didn’t realise – was that it wasnt genuine.

    The myth of my parents helpfulness meant surviving alone.

    Those they helped weren’t safe for us.

    Those they helped also…weren’t safe from them.

  • Discovering Life Internal

    Discovering Life Internal

    And…….. Breathe……

    That kind of day today, long day for me, what about you?

    So maybe

    Just sit down fellow life traveler

    and do nothing, with me

    Sit comfortably

    and watch

    your stomach in front of you

    rise

    and

    fall

    as you breathe

    Take a deep, slow breath

    and watch

    feel the air in your nostrils

    and

    the release of your chest and abdomen

    empty itself

    of the life air

    Did you notice anything else?

    A smell in the room – what was it

    This evenings cooking? Fumes from outside?

    Your own stale socks from a days work, keeping your feet warm?

    What else did you notice, as you watched yourself breathe?

    Nothing?

    Really?

    When you looked at your stomach rise and fall, and took those breaths

    There was nothing?

    Did something disappear?

    For a moment?

    I focussed on my body, and breathed life into it

    Did you?

    And in that moment

    Mind focussed on Body

    Mind focussed on life

    Mind still

    There was a gap

    That magic gap again

    That magic gap in the incessancy of the mind going a billion miles an hour

    Impossible to stop by thinking it to

    But take it else where

    Focus on life internal

    Not stress external

    Life internal

    That magic breath again

    Your beautiful body full of life

    Your incredible body

    As it is.

    Life mystery

    Hold that breath again

    not that thought

    Hold that breath

    and let it be released

    slow, and watch again

    feel again

    Bodyfulness

    The gap again

    Take yourself to the gap

    Body full of joy ness

    of being alive

    of being you

    In the present moment of every new breath

    Peace – Joy – Self love

    Stay a while longer, as long as you like

    The longer you want to, no pressure

    Come back as often as you like, as long as you like

    Im here, because you are here

    in the gap too

    Return

    To that free gift, the free moment of self-truth

    of the life internal

    love internal

    Joy deep within

    each breath.

    But only when you notice.

    Thank yourself for the time to breathe

    Life internal

  • Hiding behind Okay

    Hiding behind Okay

    Hey again, its you

    and me

    having a chat again this evening

    How are you doing?

    fine?

    Thats what I used to say,

    Fine,

    I’m ok,

    I’m doing OK,

    Thats what I used to say.

    And if someone asked me in that slow, actually listening voice, I’d say something like;

    ‘Yeah, I’m OK’

    Why?

    Why did I do that?

    Why do I still do that?

    Do you do that?

    I am doing OK

    When sometimes I am doing nothing at all

    When sometimes I am doing nothing at all that I like doing

    When sometimes its just a pitiful voice saying Im Ok – but I don’t believe myself when I’m doing it

    Because Im not ok, or I wasn’t ok.

    I was just hiding and pretending

    It was more than that though.

    It was being the strong one, being the one who dealt with other peoples problems

    When mine were deep, unknown to myself even, and in the ‘DONT GO THERE’ category.

    JUST DONT GO THERE.

    Its more than that too.

    I didn’t want to burden you with my problems.

    I didnt want to have to need you

    I didnt want to be vulnerable

    I didnt want to not be the ‘Emotional strong one’

    I didnt feel safe – that you might listen

    I didnt want to open up that dark cupboard door, in which everything was hidden.

    I DIDNT WANT TO SAY THAT I WASNT OK

    Hide Everything – behind OK.

    Why… because of this:


    But what about you?

    So, how might you respond to ‘How are you?’ this evening?

    Whats the real answer?

    Its ok that its the real answer

    Just take a moment to listen to that real answer.

    Not the answer of your mind, not the answer you think I want to hear – the answer of the still small voice inside.

    Not the critic one, the heart one.

    The heart voice.

    How is your heart this evening?

    Broken, Weary, Alive, loved, peaceful, happy? A mixture of all of these – quite possibly

    Is your heart breathing?

    What colour does it feel to be?

    Bright red? light grey? purple or Orange? Yellow, green or blue

    Listen, feel

    Its ok to feel the fucking feelings

    Let them out, tears might be the feelings trying to flood their way out

    they might be.

    Dont say you dont have time for them. They’ll find a way one day.

    They won’t do you any harm.

    Its you, your feelings.

    Part of beautiful you is the emotions.

    Took me a while to be safe to share mine, and still it can be a struggle. Im used to hiding them and dissociating from them, you might be different.

    Maybe get a pen, or kids crayon and draw out the feelings, choose the most appropriate colour and make a mess on the page.

    I dont even care if you start by getting angry at me as you read this, Im a sanctimonious blogger who’se just discovered emotions and now writing in the 4th wall to try and be trendy. So Hate me. Start there, fine by me, make it Red, hold the crayon tight and get mad.

    Good.

    Let it out.

    Make it a messy blob, or a poem of expression. Tell it as it is. For no audience.

    Then throw it away, or sell it for a million pounds. Its up to you.

    It didnt have to be anger by the way. Draw daisies and butterflies if thats how you’re feeling.

    Sometimes the good gets ignored doesnt it

    Its time for me to go now

    But I just wanted to check in with you again, Im busy tomorrow so I wont be around.

    Im glad we talked again, thank you for sharing with yourself.

    Did you notice?

    How do you feel now?

    After it came out?

    Write that down too, and now go and get a cup of tea, like I have

    Sleep well

    Bye for now

    Beautiful human.

    See you next time,

    James

  • Why you are more than Enough

    Hey there

    Yes you.

    The beautiful human thats reading this

    One of my readers.

    Thank you.

    Just thank you, not

    for reading this, or liking it

    not for what you’ve done.

    But just for being you.

    Thank you

    You are enough

    The World is a more beautiful place with you in it.

    You, yes you.

    So, thank you.

    Even if you don’t believe it, yet.

    It is true.

    But what about you, I wanted to have a chat with you

    Yes, you, you could be my beautiful fiancé in San Diego, the folks in Ireland who read my blogs first (usually), my readers in the UK, Canada or the Philippines. You could be my family, my friends or anyone…

    It doesn’t matter.

    Its you thats reading this right now, and I want to speak to you.

    Yes you

    I have something to ask you

    Are you ready to listen?

    I mean, really ready?

    I mean, turn off the TV, sit for a moment and prepare yourself listen?

    Dont be scared now, honestly

    You might think I’m crazy to ask you this, but thats just the thing, crazy is just the thing that is abnormal, and normal is crazier than we’d like to realise, thats another story.

    I hope you’re not scrolling quickly, to get to what it is I wanted to ask you,

    you’re taking your time.

    Time.

    Whats time anyway? And no thats not the question, its another tangent… but have you ever thought about time, and how weird it is? To think that that time is on a clock, but memories , thinking, actions and words, seem to exist in a past, present, future dimensions that all get mixed up and thats not on a clock is it, it’s just the now. The now.

    Im writing this in the now. Right now. But your now is now and my now that was now is past now, but you might share this and your now will one day be in the past now, but that thing about time – you thinking about in the future and it’ll come ‘back’ to you, but in the future. It’s to be discovered, but not ‘back’ – maybe ‘back’ is in the future after all. By the time I clicked publish, my now has already gone.

    Sorry, I got distracted with the whole time thing.

    On the subject of sorry. I realise that I forget you sometimes. You, the reader. If I was writing a book, id think I was writing for you, the reader a bit more, id talk to you, with you, and not ‘at you’ or use you like a cat uses a scratching post. Im itching and I write at times like I need you to be a collective therapist, or I want to write so that one day, one person might be helped by something I might say. But I’ve got to be honest, more often than not, its a splurge of mixed up emotional dumping. So, im sorry. Sometimes I do this, the crap dumping, so im sorry about that, I dont treat you very well at times, they say respect your readers, and often I dont even give you a thought. This is a blog not a book – and you haven’t paid £12 for this, but I would understand if you didn’t want to waste 20 mins of your time listening to me process the crap from my childhood, or something I read in another self help book, more keep being added to the resources list above, by the way, discovering myself is feeling like a life work.

    Discovering myself.

    Becoming aware, of who I am.

    Thats the question my friend.

    Who are you?

    Three words, three small words.

    Who

    are

    you?

    Stop and think about it a while

    Pause

    No really, who are you?

    Fellow human, Who is it that you are?

    I just wanted to ask you, as I am asking myself, Who am I?

    I used to ‘think’ that I could think myself into the answer.

    I am good at____ or clever at____, or think of myself in relation to others, I am a fiancé, Dad, friend… or I am a youth worker, I am in relation to a profession, or even a faith, I am a Christian.. …and some of these are still true.

    I could ‘think’ myself into an answer…

    Deep down – who am I? in myself?

    Me, myself and I

    Who am I when I notice myself?

    When I realise that there is a part of me thinking – but that part of me is able to notice who is the thinking?

    That there is space between the thoughts?

    Can I muster just one little space in amongst all the millions of thoughts every day and every moment, but what if I did, give myself time to notice my thoughts?

    Give myself time to notice my thoughts..

    hang on

    who is me, and who is my thoughts?

    is there two of us here?

    A thinker and a watcher? really?

    So who am I really? – Who are you?

    The thinker or the watcher?

    The dream or the dreamer?

    If I am the watcher of the thinker of my thoughts – then..who is the watcher? Who am I

    And..I am not just thoughts, my brain is not just thinking

    It…can… stop…

    Who am I then? Who are you?

    Did you notice… you?

    Who are you then?

    More beautiful that our thinking, perhaps

    Ive got a surprise for you.

    Its time.

    Its time, that now, you notice.

    That space between your thoughts is not to be afraid of, because thats you.

    Part of you waiting to be discovered, your consciousness waiting.

    A gap of no thinking, where joy can be.

    What did it feel like for you?

    Thats you.

    Did you feel it?

    You are that joy.

    It is there, in a gap.

    It is in a gap of you.

    WOW. Isnt that incredible?

    You are Joy.

    It was hiding all along.

    Did you smile when you felt it?

    Im smiling as I realised it too. Im smiling as I realise that one day you might read this and feel the same. Im smiling as you’ve received a gift of joy, a gift from the universe.

    I didnt think you’d mind, knowing this…actually feeling this.

    Free joy. Free space

    Thats all, I just wanted to talk to you, and ask you something, and on the way I discovered things too, and maybe you did too. You are a beautiful human being and the world is a better place because you are in it, you are more than enough, especially if you think otherwise, because..those thoughts are just thoughts…between them, is consciousness radiating with joy – and thats you.

    If you smiled, might someone else?

    James

  • The Challenge of ‘Letting Go’

    The Challenge of ‘Letting Go’

    What does it mean to ‘let go’?

    What does letting go mean, when the damage has been so great – from people who are supposed to be anything but this?

    I thought I had let go of them, one time, but I was running away scared

    Ran away as far as I could – geographically and physically – but running scared of them

    Running away was all I thought I could do

    But

    Running away is pretending

    Running away wasnt wanting to face

    Running away when I couldn’t articulate it

    Running away was saying things like ‘I didnt have a bad childhood’

    Running away wasnt being true to the self I was

    Frightened James running away.

    Thats not letting go.

    ‘They did this to me’

    ‘Its their fault I’m like this’

    I cant change who I am and ill blame them

    Thats not letting go either

    Thats accepting that nothing can change

    And im just their continual victim

    Letting go, means not holding on

    Not holding on to the pain they caused

    or the excuse that I can give them

    Keeping the pain close

    Letting go, means letting that go

    Noting it, seeing it, feeling it, unescapable moments and reminders

    Opportunities to keep healing, not holding

    letting go – and letting go of the shame,

    The shame of things I needed to do to cope and survive

    The shame that I felt responsible for fixing them, soothing them

    The shame of not meeting their expectations

    Guilty by dissociation.

    The shame of being theirs. Their son.

    Identity shame.

    Letting go – means not holding on, means not running away, means releasing responsibility and giving it to someone else

    Letting go – and knowing that I am enough, I have a voice, I have needs and I am free

    Letting go – facing, accepting and making changes to protect myself

    Letting go – is that what forgiveness is? Forgiving myself for what I put myself through..because of them?

    Letting go – of their effects being my story

    Letting go – of having them take more power in my life and future

    Letting go – and being strong

    Letting go – of any myth of normal

    Letting go – expectations of pleasing or meeting their needs

    Letting go – and loving myself

    Letting go- and valuing myself

    Letting go – and releasing the pain

    Letting go – and making myself light again

    Letting go means being the sky and not on their cloud

    Letting go – to discover myself

    Letting go – to be the me I should have always been

    Letting go

    To breathe clean air

    To think clean thoughts

    To be in the present

    It’s time.

    Its time to not carry any longer.

    The inability or rather unwillingness of the human mind to let go of the past is beautifully illustrated in the story of two Zen monks, Tanzan and Ekido, who were walking along a country road that had become completely muddy after heavy rains. Near the village a young woman was trying to cross the road, but the mud was too deep it would have ruined the silk kimono she was wearing. Tanzan picked her up and carried her over to the other side.

    The monks walked on in silence. Five hours later, as they were approaching the lodging temp. Ekido couldn’t restrain himself any longer; ‘Why did you carry that girl across the road?, he asked ‘We monks aren’t supposed to do that’

    ‘I put the girl down hours ago, said Tarzan ‘ Are you still carrying her?’

    Eckhart Tolle, A New Earth
  • Sensing the Mystery of Being Alive

    Sensing the Mystery of Being Alive

    I got up early this morning, waking up early

    After I showered, and said good morning to my love Christelle and read her to sleep

    I sat on the couch, and started to read a book – the same book – but a bit further on

    A New Earth by Eckhart Tolle.

    The view from my couch was a bit like this

    Looking out the windows, above the eye of the book

    Turning the page, in between sips of coffee

    I see movement in the corner of my eye

    A fledging blue tit on the arc of a branch

    Looking at me

    I looking at it

    I didnt rush to get a camera or binoculars

    Just stopped, and watched

    and looked at it

    Looked at it, for what it is

    A bird.

    Two Blue tits (Taken at Cowpen Bewley Woodland Park February 2022)

    Just a very ordinary bird

    But as I looked

    It wasn’t just a blue bird, a small bird, a young bird

    It was a joint traveller in this world

    Sharing the universe with me

    A creature of magic flight

    A fearless wonder

    Taking a moment on a branch

    To look me in the eye

    To feel the same mystery

    of life

    of air

    of flight

    A part of me, and part of it, one in the same universe

    Sense of being in the moment

    Sacred, pure creature, looking at me

    What does it take to notice?

    What does it take to sense being?

    Time to look up

    Time to see

    Time to breathe in and wonder

    To sense the mystery of the universe

    The magic of being,

    of being…Alive.