How did (my brothers and) I learn kindness, trust and loving fun when not a single one of these was a consistent part of my parents marriage?
Anne Lamott, Dusk Night Dawn (2021)
This is a fascinating question. Dont you think?
Ive often wondered similarly. I think Anne Lamott book has given me permission to explore this further:
How did I learn about love? – when feelings were hidden or false
How did I learn about kindness- when the dominant parent only stole
How did I learn trust – when, to this day, it wasn’t a word used at all
How did I learn…anything at all?
I don’t remember being taught anything at all?
I remember being told of for not being able to do something. For not ‘growing up’ and being able to do something.
I didnt see love, only felt fear.
And when I think about it, what did I learn at all?
I learned to stay quiet, make no noise, dont be inconvenient – only room for one person with temper and anger in the house.
Tip toe on around the eggshells.
I learned to conform, or be punished
I learned to put myself to one side, learning to orient around the other.
I learned to hide the good parts of me, revealing only I safe places
I learned that I had to grow up fast
I learned loyalty
I learned sides
I learned to shut down
I learned to be self reliant
I learned that I had to leave childhood behind – and be mature
I learned to accept little, limited and not question – to manage without
when others had.
I learned survival
I learned I couldn’t be helpless, couldn’t ask, couldn’t want or need.
Thats interesting isnt it.
I learned that I couldn’t be helpless.
There was only one child allowed in the house. Trophy children aren’t allowed to be messy, be themselves, have emotion, be understood.
Ive just finished reading ‘Dibs in search of self’ (1964) I found it fascinating on a number of levels. In one interaction between Dibs (aged 6) and the Play therapist, she (Virginia) notes that on one occasion Dibs asks her to ‘help me with my shoe, help me with my coat’ – In a rare moment of helplessness. Helplessness was a luxury that I couldn’t afford. I just had to know things. If I was told once how to do something, that was it, expected to know, like the toddler tasks of wiping my own bum or tieing my own shoelaces. I remember looking with scorn at the children at primary school who couldn’t do their laces. I mean couldn’t everyone. No, what I couldn’t see was that they had the luxury of helplessness, they didnt have to grow up and know. I had to.
If I had to ‘just know’ how to tie my shoelaces. I had to work out most things for myself. I knew there was no point in crying for help, it wasnt going to come.
I couldn’t be helpless, so I judged others for being able to be. I learned projection from age 5. To hide what I didnt have.
So, what about kindness, what about love? What about gentleness, joy or peace?
Its funny that for an evangelical childhood home – how these were absent.
There was soothing and accommodating. There was helpfulness. There was hiding. There was avoiding.
Maybe I didnt need to learn love. I just needed to uncover it. Maybe that more part of my (and your) core and its waiting to spring from the deep of layers of pain or shame or hurt or guilt. But it still makes me doubt? Am I loving enough – do I need to have learned it to give it?
im in a space where I’m reflecting on what I learned, or how I learned from my parents.
Theres a part 2 on this coming soon too..
But – what about you – what did you learn, and how did you learn from your parents? if anything at all?
You get your intuition back when you make space for it, when you stop the chattering of the rational mind
The rational mind doesn’t nourish you.
You assume that it gives you the truth, because the rational mind is the golden calf that this culture worships , but this is not true.
Rationality squeezes out much that is rich and juicy and fascinating.
Sometimes intuition needs coaxing, because intuition is a little shy.
But if you try not to crowd it, intuition often wafts up from the soul or subconscious, and then becomes a tiny fitful little flame.
It will be blown about about by too much compulsion and manic attention, but will burn quietly when watched with gentle concentration
Anne Lamott, Bird By Bird (1994)
What has it meant to me, to let my soul speak?
What does it mean to you
That spark from the well of the soul
Warmth, energy, power, from within
Tentative
What has it meant to me to hide my inner voice for so long, to have the rational mind needfully take over for my own survival. Rational mind to survive. Intuition and inner voice to nourish. Theres a big difference.
What do you think? What do you feel? What colour is your intuition when it emerges from within?
I write this as I’m on the train to London from my new home in Darlington, having moved in 6 days ago. Today I say goodbye (professionally) to my FYT colleagues on a first team day in over 2 years.
But yesterday I realised that I could breathe.
It was the first time I could breathe and let my body relax since at least 9th December. 3 months of feeling the underlying ache of anxiety and having to respond well to it.
It was on 9th December that I got the news I was being made redundant from a job I loved. The rest of the month was spent dealing with that.
It was also spent looking forward to spending Christmas with away in the USA and dealing with all the flight paperwork, permission, covid tests and travel. The time away was glorious by the way, and the break I needed, and I got engaged to my beautiful love Christelle.
But I knew whilst I was away what I was coming back to, looking for work.
Nope. Not quite.
For, on 9th January my letting agent called, I thought it wasn’t a normal time for them to call, to say that the landlord was selling the flat I was in,I had two months to move out. Yes, I know it was longer notice than usual , but it was nice that the date of my birthday this year was also written large on my eviction notice.
So, now I had to find somewhere to live and somewhere to work. Breathing took on a whole new dimension. Breathing to cope. Breathing to stay regulated.
Trying to respond well in the midst, meant living it, not necessarily writing about it. It meant accessing the therapy homework, journalling feelings, breathing.
My rational brain said that my flat was just bricks and mortar, but given the role it has played in my healing, recovery and rebuilding, it had become so much more. I went through feelings of betrayal when I saw new flats. Even though I knew I had no choice but to move, I still didn’t want to.
My rational brain also wondered how I’d find a new flat in a competitive market without a job that was more than a few hours per week. Thats a rational thought..isn’t it?
I kept reminding myself that through all these life circumstances that they were just that, life circumstances, they weren’t all of life. I tried to tell myself that I am the sky, not the clouds. Life is bigger and I am more than these circumstances..even if these circumstances are challenging. They will pass.
Even if the Sky/cloud thing is a good metaphor, doesn’t mean that I didn’t struggle with dealing with the emotions of everything. I could sense myself trying to say ‘Im ok’ when I wasn’t, and avoiding wanting to face the emotions of frustration, shock, grief and loss. I could say that I was a model patient of myself , noting my emotions and being present to them. But that wouldnt be true. Even after sitting in the emotion, noting it, breathing and working through it was a good thing each time. Didn’t always mean that I wanted to face them every time.
And everything I didn’t it lurked in the background a little bit longer, chipping away as I avoided it.
I may have re read Eckhart Tolle during these last three months on being present and learning acceptance, but I had to do it. Accepting, going with the flow, offering less resistance. Opportunities may be waiting, but feeling acceptance, trusting the present was a hard gig. By the way also read both of Kishimi and Koga’s books on courage during this time. Maybe life circumstances like this are a good time to read Adlerian psychology. Or to do a counselling course at college. Maybe pain is where more is revealed. Maybe pain and change is a time for learning and digging deep. Or maybe just self help books are my current drug. Then again, as I remember, Richard Rohrs book Falling Upwards started all of this 4 years ago and that was read as I was made homeless and jobless then too.
Just heading through Doncaster. If anyone is here for the travel update. Talking of trains, they, and nature have been places of calm in the gaps. Being mesmerised looking at life through binoculars forced the present to be more aware.
Looking at nature in its pattern, regular trips to cowpen bewley woodland park to watch kingfishers, swans, and owls have been hugely grounding.
The space that was my safe grounding place was now a place of tension, as the boxes began to be filled, as shedding happened, as the date loomed. Outside breathing space was more required.
But then I’d see sunsets and nature changing, and it remind me of my own situation. I would be my own metaphor. Yet I was trying to stay present an see what I could see for what it was. Then I’d remember to breathe again.
Positive news of changes emerged, new job and flat were found, I had been accepted and affirmed by others. Now I needed to continue to accept the changes, to accept and make the move into new things. It is now a week since I said goodbye to my old flat and I’ll write more about that soon. But as the removal men left having unpacked my stuff, at 4pm Thursday I clenched my fists and exclaimed ‘Yes’ I did it…I’m home.
I did two hard things at once. More than that, it was a myriad of many tiny hard things, making choices, viewing flats, interviews, travel, whilst also staying alive, cooking, resting, shopping, self care during it all.
And saying goodbyes. Which I hate doing. This was also something revealed to me. One of many things.
I’m now nearly at Peterborough, and the WiFi signal on the train is fluid and maybe a sign to end this piece. Reflecting on my last 3 months. Noting how the last 3 days have felt peaceful and calm in comparison. Noting how practicing breathing in the cloud gaps is different to when the sky is clearer.
As for metaphors this piece might be a cork piece. I was dealing with too many things to write much here, writing this piece and now that I’ve moved, I’ll have more head/emotional space to do more writing. There’s at least 10 drafts started in the last 3 months that didn’t get written. I’m grateful too for those who have offered presence during this time, sitting , listening, and understanding as Ive worked through all this change, especially to my love Christelle.
Breathing clean calm air after facing and doing hard things. I feel light again, I can breathe…
The hardest thing for me, was too realise..that this was actually me.
What are the things you look after? Your bike? Your tools? the remote control? The car?
What about yourself?
I didnt.
I had no idea how to.
Theres a great description in the beginning of the book Matilda by Roald Dahl of the sickening parents who espouse greatness on a mediocre child, compared to the parents who completely ignore, belittle and fail to see the magical talented one. I found it revealing as I re read it a few months ago.
Growing up, messages I heard were that ‘other parents spoil their children’ or ‘pamper’ them
or
‘We’re not going to put pressure on you by rewarding you with money’
These and others were projections.
Justifications for a lack of support, acknowledgement and encouragement – for..it couldn’t look like being spoiled or pampered could it…
Justifications for expectations, and for emotional neglect.
The thing is, is that as I grew up looking for something that would never happen, I ended up forgetting myself, and times that I did think I was choosing myself, it was seen as being selfish.
The thing about the constant walking on eggshells, is that your only trying to avoid them, appease them, sooth them.. what happened to me, and others with narcissistic/emotionally immature parents or partners, is that I lost myself.
There was the ‘me’ that tried to be compliant
There was the ‘me’ that realised that they had to do life alone
There was the ‘me’ that had to discover a way of doing life despite them
There was the ‘me’ that was only scared.
There was the me – who was unable to make decisions or choices or have needs and wants – because..
There was the ‘me’ that effectively was oriented around them…around her….around the other
I hadn’t ever realised myself as important or valuable. How could I? The key to survival was meet their needs.
What do you mean ‘I’ might be important?
that just sounds like being selfish James….
you have to meet my needs, I cant cope if im not the needy one around here
Isnt God the most important thing in your life James? not you….
In a way it was easy to hide myself in a profession, vocation even, where I could think of others before myself. Love my neighbour, and get angry about injustice ‘over there’ – rather than be angry about my own condition. Love myself enough to have something to defend.
Thats the thing with emotional abuse – you become devalued and fearful into becoming almost nothing, but a slave to them.
Back to Trauma bonding.
No wonder I and many others dont just get emotionally abused once. Childhood abuse sets us up again.
Why?
Unless its obvious, but even then, we dont know how what abused us did so, and therefore we have no words or language to describe it, or then get help to recover from it. So we blindly give ourselves away again in the same way we only know how to. Attracted to only slightly less worse treatment than we’ve already had once. Or think we can try and fix this new abusive person.
I started to realise, once I had permission and safety to be able to, that I was important.
I started to realise that I was valuable.
I started to realise that I was worth something – not just for what I did..but who I am
I started to realise that I could love myself
I started to realise that the I part of me, my -self – was ok, was good.
How did I realise?
Because I started to give myself time. Because someone treated me to some food, and a house, and somewhere to stay when I had nothing. Because I received.
I had no choice.
I was important enough..to be cared for myself.
It was only a start, it was all it needed to be, a start to realise – but it was a new start, I became my own new toy.
I was important enough…to invest in discovering myself, and paying for therapy – internal work a priority – rather than external entertainment…because I am important
I was important enough…to value my time, my safety, boundaries of noise and distraction
I was important enough…to say no and block those who caused abuse.
I was important enough…and somehow other changes took place..
I was important..so its ok to buy myself new clothes, eat nice food, travel and buy things for me that I like, it didnt need an excuse or reason.
Maybe these things come naturally to you, but they didnt to me. Buying things for myself had previously been met with ‘do you really need that’ or ‘nice of you to spend money on yourself’ or ‘you already have one of those, why do you need another one’ –
Because someone else needs and neediness more important that my own.
Gaining self importance was one of the big keys for me in unlocking the doors, removing the layers of onion skins of re building and changing that I needed to do. I would say now that I spend 40 odd years of my life having no sense of self worth or value at all. It was hard work, it still is, as it involves new habits, behaviours and patterns that were default for a very long time.
I had an inner voice that told me repeatedly that I would get through this, I would survive, that I would work it out…but not an inner voice that told me that I was important, that I was worth it… so when that started to change it was a big thing.
Feeling and accepting a healthy self importance has been the journey I have made from a place of emotionally empty selflessness.
Who is the most important person in your life?
You are.
And that isn’t selfish. Its the truth.
How might you start today?
Are you about to pick a fight with yourself over it?
Give yourself excuses not to bother?
Make a reason?
Yes, its fucking hard to do.
But you are the most important person you could love today.
And…so am I…
Time to love, enjoy, and accept ourselves…we are beautiful just the way we are.
For all that I have described the details of the abuse I suffered.
What if it was just me.
What if it was just me, and my family who suffered and experienced the monster. Our Monster.
Because, its very likely isnt it?
Thats the game they play – jackal in public – hyde away in private.
Public persona – just about gets through – unless challenged, unhinged or worked out
Ensuring that the suffering goes on alone.
Ensuring that the suffering isn’t believed
What if it was just me – because thats more than likely – isnt it?
The Family.
They can put on ‘literal’ Sunday best behaviour out there – for an hour a Sunday, or 9-5 Monday to Friday.
Have friends or allies.
Meanwhile – was I the only one?
Was is just my family whose lives were wrecked by her?
I mean – would anyone in their jobs ever see it?
Would they ever make a complaint?
Would they diminish it, or be scared of it?
Would they ever see it – and choose to ignore it?
Triangulated?
Whilst the family suffered?
But thats the thing isnt it
Men who abuse their wives – play a great round of golf, talk the talk,
Women who abuse their husbands – playing the kindly one as teacher, vicar or nurse…or a dominant sales person ready to lie for money
Hiding behind the social norm, that it’s only men who are abusive
Could be the person in your workplace, and you wouldn’t know it
Part of their game, hiding parts of their life away
So, the family know, they’ve felt the scars
We’ve then done the lifelong work, amateur psychologists trying work the monster out, professional therapy patients in recovery, healing with survivors gift
Took us, took me, a long time to realise what it was.
But can they act out a normal living whilst they’ve abused so appallingly? How is that even possible?
The psychopath at large, choosing victims appropriately. Playing the victim appropriately.
Darvo games
Only leaving the obvious trail amongst the unheard, silenced, victims
But leaving a trail elsewhere, that only the aware can spot.
So maybe only the family got abused.
Only the family saw their splintered personality at large
Only the family felt the cold
Only the family were stolen from, emotionally, physically and financially
Maybe it was only just the abused who know the abuser.
The truth has set us free – whilst they lie to everyone else.
So maybe it was just me, just us.
The victims who know and see – who saw and felt
It really cant just have been me?
But what if it was – what if its ‘just’ family.
They couldn’t do that – could they – be so good to get away with it elsewhere?
Or has that trail waiting to be discovered? Has no one come forward? Too scared or terrified?
The shame of being a victim, shame of exposing them, silenced into silence.
What if there are other stories waiting to be told? What if it wasn’t just me?
I wouldn’t know – until one of them was brave. Until one of them got angry, until one of them took a stand, but what if that story is dead? – unable to speak?
Its not possible to be just me – it cant be- can it?
Whats hidden in places, what trail was left behind, what tales behind closed doors never come to the open?
Theres no shame in being a victim of my monster, in speaking out – talk to us, talk to me – I already know. You are not to blame.
It cant just have been me – cant just have been family, can it?
Surely others can see?
Thank you for reading this piece, if you would like to respond to me, do so via my contact details, if you have stories of your own regarding my monster, then I would love to hear from you. Know that I will listen and it was not your fault.
James Ballantyne 