James Ballantyne

Category: Trauma

  • Self Love is a Risk

    Self Love is a Risk

    You’ve just got to love yourself, they say

    Give yourself time

    You are important

    You are enough

    Its about being vulnerable, and embracing discomfort

    Thats what some of the books say.

    Thats what’s required for life, for creativity and innovation (Brene Brown, Daring Greatly)

    I get it. I want to get it.

    But.

    Even the first of these seems risky.

    Loving myself. Loving and listening to myself.

    Becoming aware of my feelings.

    It was brought home to me over the last few weeks.

    Its a risk.

    Complex trauma, both emotional neglect and abuse, coupled with strong childhood adherence to an evangelical faith make this risky.

    Too many self sacrificing defaults have been set.

    Too many ‘put others first’ learned behaviours have been performed.

    Too many times was it safer for me to revolve around others, my abusive mothers, needs than attend to my own – too many times soothing my abuser meant safety for me.

    Too many times I heard – ‘love your neighbour’ very few times I heard ‘as yourself’ – though with the all too often shame that was associated with too much pride. Shame.

    Ahh yes, that ‘S’ word.

    The word you’d feel if you uttered the other S word in church.

    And fear of being accused of being Selfish was the other S word. Especially at Home.

    It took a risk to start to think of myself as anything, let alone something – though I sort of knew I was ok.

    Self love is risky.

    Knowing I can love myself – without justification

    Knowing I can choose what I do with my time – can feel utterly alien and pushing through sand to feel like this is even allowed or possible

    That voice. That inner critic voice. Be useful. Don’t be lazy. Stay Busy. You don’t deserve this. Surely there’s something else to do.

    Its as if its waiting for that moment.

    Self love can feel a risk.

    A risk because it challenges so much of…well everything.. everything I once knew and had become default.

    My childhood emotional needs, my identity and adaption into an evangelical christian faith (though it needn’t have been as evangelical to still have all those ‘S’ words)

    Loving myself is a challenge and a risk. A risk that means looking inwards. A Risk because I dont often want to look at or be close to the painful bits, or shame bits, and feeling like I’m not able to love myself because I might be in trouble for doing so, or be told off for being selfish, or its something else.

    Self love is risky because i grew up with an understanding of responsibility and fault. I believed I was to blame, and I took on responsibility, because I was projected on as being spoilt, selfish, too clever, messy, not there enough for that person, not fulfilling her needs, not able to ‘fix’ the family.

    The over think everything, get lost in my thoughts, think them through, think all the options, think about what I should have done, what I didnt do, what I need to do what I am , what kind of person I was or am, think James, think, and it keeps on going, wake up with the same thinking thoughts.

    I was the fixer of, and helper of others. Responsible. Over thinking.

    Self love is a risk – for that voice tells me not to be selfish.

    I love the writing of Dr Glenn Patrick Doyle, recently he shared this on his blog

    Self love is a risk. Self love, deep self love is courageous.

    It changes the pattern.

    It undo’s the default.

    It communicates to myself that I am important.

    Its a risk. Its a risk every time.

    Its a challenge every day.

    Brene Brown is right. We are living in an age of scarcity. An age where love is scarce- but where products are traded as love. Loving ourselves is the risk to start turning to whats inside of ourselves as a source of love, a source of peace and joy, and give this the opportunity to shine. Self love may well be the source of the river, where it all starts.

    Maybe Jesus was saying, you can only love your neighbour as you love yourself. That was the challenge set down to the lawyer who asked in the question. Can you love yourself? and in that love – will your neighbour be loved too? It wasn’t just loving a neighbour for show. Where might there be balance in the love for self and neighbour/others in the Bible – just thinking out loud…

    Self love is about being brave and courageous – taking the risk and being vulnerable to myself- not just being strong and getting through it.

    Self love.

    Do you dare take the risk? Do you dare not too?

    Thank you for reading my blogs on this page, if you’d like to support my work and writing further, you can do so by making a gift donation here, thank you

  • Surviving Psychopathic Parenting (Part 34) I had Hope – The Countdown to the end was in sight.

    Surviving Psychopathic Parenting (Part 34) I had Hope – The Countdown to the end was in sight.

    The Day I left my childhood home I was sick.

    I actually vomitted in the Midland Main line Intercity 125 Toilets from Market Harborough to Sheffield, before then boarding the Cross Country To Darlington, then two pacers from Darlington to Thornaby and Hartlepool, Sorry my train nerd distracted me there.

    It was August 1996, and I was sick.

    The train was on its way to Hartlepool for to start my gap year.

    For me it was the day I left home.

    Left what I couldn’t describe or articulate but had been a horror show of a childhood.

    The last straw of simmering fury, that I held in, had been my 18th Birthday. When I didn’t get the chance to do what I wanted to do, and in peace, (without them) without them interrupting what I wanted to do and spoiling it. March to August 1996 was 5 months, but the clock had started long before.

    The Clock had started when I was about 13 or 14, may even been earlier. But definitely by then.

    The great escape was a dim light on the horizon, a shard of yellow in the darkest of tunnels, but it was there. Freedom awaited.

    Only 4 more years, only 4 more school years, only 4 more football season years – and fortunately 1992-1996 were glorious for my team. So that was an emotional soother.

    Counting down the months, the years

    Every day , every month, every year – and they got quicker, the more I worked, saved, studied and was busy the day got closer.

    I also knew that I had to be independent from them completely. Too many stories about Parents bailing out their kids at Uni, student debt, I was alone, and had to be independent from them. So id saved up a lot.

    When there was an end date to it, there was hope.

    The light got bigger.

    Though I was in a situation of being trapped… I may have been accused of treating the home like a hotel – but at least I didnt run it like a prison. The date of escape was getting nearer and so was the light of freedom.

    That light was one of the things that kept me going.

    It gave me hope. It gave me a sense of future. It was escape. It was freedom.

    (It wasn’t the end, it wasnt dealing with all the shit of childhood, but I didnt know that then)

    The escape helped me survive, I have no doubt.

    The glimmer of distant escape was enough.

    Though it was bad, and I didn’t realise how bad. There was enough of a glimmer of light to know that I wasnt trapped.

    There was a countdown clock. I had set it too. At 18 1/2 I was out.

    It made it far easier to cope with the present – knowing there was a fixed point of an ending.

    I have just finished ‘Mans Search for Meaning’ by Victor Frankl. In it he writes about how not knowing about the date or time of release or freedom from the concentration camp was one of the hardest things. They just didnt know, so, time and days had so little meaning as there was no future to look forward too, only a past that has blurred endings and present of torture. Time was condensed. It was a ‘provisional existence’ . Once prisoners gave up on having faith in a future, they lost hope and fell into despair. He watched, the prisoners who started smoking were on the path to killing themselves, they had given up. It took a mental resolve, an inner strength to show up each day.

    I didnt know at the time how much having a known date of escape, of leaving home, gave me such strength and hope. Im not saying that the psychopathic parents didnt do what they could to ruin my plans, or manipulate those who were about to be my new employees and ministry leaders.

    But one of the reasons I survived was knowing there was a way out.

    Its no wonder that I was sick in the best of British rails Intercity 125’s toilets that Tuesday morning. It was 4 years of build up.

    I am so aware that the times in my life where I have felt a deeper sense of despair, a deeper sense of that swirl of black, hopelessness – has been when there hasn’t been a coherent sense of time – the feeling of being trapped, stuck and feeling like there was no way out. Trapped by expectations, trapped by shame, trapped by the thought of difficult processes to free myself, trapped because there didnt seem to be any way out, stuck.

    Provisional existence is a brilliant way of putting it. Knowing that there was an end in sight was such a construct of survival for me. It would end. It would be over. The day to day prison being ran by a psychopath was over and I was out.

    The only way, however, that I have got out of the stuck feeling, in the moments of real despair has been vulnerability.

    I had to say I needed help. I had to take a risk in talking to someone. I had to be vulnerable. I had to give someone else a tiny shard of responsibility when up until that moment I had held it all, and tried to cope all alone. It was and still is so important for me to have people around me to listen, support and give me the opportunity to share, reflect and give me some building blocks, coping mechanisms, therapy tools – whatever, to help me in the moments – and more importantly too, to give me perspectives. Give yourself the gift of time, a glimmer of the future, hold on to it, and know that you are stronger, more capable and more valuable a human being. The gift of future time.

  • 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.

  • Why don’t people want to believe Abuse Victims? (Reasons below)

    I want to bring awareness to this issue.

    Whether you are an adult or child, a person who has suffered any kind of abuse from another, whether sexual abuse, neglect, emotional, spiritual or financial abuse – you will have encountered one or all of these.

    It is one thing knowing that I have been abused.

    It is another convincing others who might be able to be allies, or to do something about it or for any kind of justice, to listen.

    One of the recurring themes in abuse situation is ‘Why doesn’t the person leave’? as is ‘Why dont you tell someone?’ – and whilst there are barriers to disclosing abuse – like the fear of not being listened to, there are also reasons why someone chooses not to believe an abuse victim.

    These are all choices a person makes when they decide not to believe, stand with, or act on behalf of an abuse victim. Time and time again, it is one of these.

    They are heard a lot by the way. Alot.

    • They’ve only seen your abuser being ‘nice’ – nice people aren’t nice – they’re hiding and masking – helpfulness hiding reality – they’ve been manipulated too….

    • They see that person in the role they are in ‘They couldn’t do that, they’re a christian/police officer/teacher/social worker/vicar’

    • They have believed the abuser by dismissing you based on the abusers projections : ‘they’re just a tell tale’, ‘dont listen to _____ they’re always gossiping about me’

    • They have given that person a role – no point complaining to their boss – their boss employed them, is culpable and that is a position to defend.

    • They dont want to now be responsible for them, knowing this information about them.

    • They have an institution to protect – If this is true, the whole (church, school..) reputation will be harmed – tbh, bury and avoid it and it’ll be worse in the long run…

    (The rules and guidelines in the institution is set in favour of the powerful. The fear of the 0.5% likely false allegation influences policy. )

    • They are equally terrified of your abuser.

    • They are dependent of your abuser themselves, for love, money, status, worth..anything

    • They dont want to see them in the same way you do.

    • They privately do believe you but dont want the drama

    • They believe in a naive reality that people cant be that bad.

    • They believe the myth… ‘oh no a parent or a woman wouldn’t do that’

    • They dont want it to be their problem too

    • They cant understand why its taken you so long to tell them, I mean – you know deep psychological trauma and fear of not being believed..all actually being thrown back… oh… there was a right time was there..?

    • They want some kind of proof, and their memories of the same events are different, or ‘you dont look like someone who has been through abuse’. – as ifs there is a ‘certain look’ ?

    Time to fess up though.

    I was some of these. I was some of these when members of my family described to me the abuse of my parents. So I knew some things, but was not in a position to deal with it, and chose not to, terrified, afraid of losing status and terrified of having to deal with all of it. So I get it. I think I tried to be balanced – whilst still on the avoidance run. I wasn’t ready, and so, I get that some people just aren’t ready to hear it.

    Im not sure that excuses people for whom they have a duty of care for individuals. Yet again Youthworkers were ignore when flags were raised in Telford as they were in Rotherham on child abuse cases. System too busy. System frightened. Its not just statutory authorities. Churches and Safeguarding – on issues like domestic abuse, child sexual abuse and everything else, there’s lip service to look good and then theres reality – institutional gaslighting, please dont tell me it doesn’t go on and none of the above dont apply to you. Institutions wise up. Seriously.

    As Bessel Van der Kolk writes, a memory of Trauma is 99% of the time a truthful one, its just been masked and hard to access, its been fragmented by decades of abuse, wounds and masking, buried away in there and takes time, love and safety to be brought to the surface. Someone in a domestic abuse relationship might not be able to remember childhood abuse. Its being masked. The brain is hiding it for current safety sake. Believe a victim, especially one who doesnt play the victim. Believe the victim when they are upset and angry – wouldn’t you be when your whole life has been affected by abuse. (Bessel Van Der Kolk, 2005, The Body keeps the Score) .

    These are all choices a person makes when they decide not to believe.

    Have you encountered any others?

    And in most of the cases, abuse victims and survivors get it. Honestly. We get why you wouldn’t want to believe us when we say what our abuser did. It is too horrible that even we dont want to go there. Not everyone is going to say ‘I believe your story’ the first time. Problem is is that that first time might be the only time someone will give the opportunity. In other occasions a person might see it later and be able to deal with it (that was me). By not believing the first time the damage can be horrific.

    What did it take for me to change to believe the truth? What might it take for you? What might it take for institutions to do the same?

  • 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.

  • Surviving Psychopathic Parenting (Part 31) It wasn’t a relationship, just roles being played.

    Its a shame that your relationship with your parents has broken down…

    Id like to try and respond to a question that I often get in relation to my Parents. Its based on the relatively frequent statement that I get, from well meaning and concerned friends and also others, and its a difficult thing to try and explain, but I will do so anyway.

    By the way, if you haven’t read it, there’s 30 parts to my survival story, and its here , and theres 15 things not to say to children who have abusive parents here – as there are others to that of above..

    And I completely get it the sense that for some people they have a ‘normal relationship’ or even a viable relationship with their parents – one in which theres maturity, fun, highs, lows, conversations, and an emotional maturity – or an acceptance of growing, changing etc. Its viable, at least – no relationship is normal I guess.

    The thing is though, a broken down relationship and reconciliation requires a number of factors – truth, honesty and also a requirement for change to happen – and importantly – a broken down relationship implies that there was actually a relationship in the first place.

    This is the bit that is and has always been difficult to explain.

    I have described already that I was given a variety of roles as a child – chief comforter of the abusive one, trophy child, ‘mature’ , the little grown up, having to work hard, fixer and responsible, being taken from for her glory – with high expectations of making them proud or avoiding giving them stress.

    I was born with a role.

    My Sister was also born with a role.

    (My Dad was also given a role.)

    All of these roles are in relation to the abusive one, my emotionally immature mother who was and is mother-child and has many indicators of dark-triad personality, showing high narcissism and psychopathy. It was impossible not to have a role-self as a child – and have the choice to comply or reject this role. With fear and punishment for rebelling or threatening too.

    One of the reasons for this is that she played roles too. From an early age I can remember her having to articulate being ‘mum’ now or ‘putting on her ‘dinner lady’ hat on, or ‘loving wife deacon’ role – at church on a Sunday. This got worse as ‘grandma’ , ‘minister’ were added later on.

    ‘Im playing mum role now‘

    Unbeknown to me as a very young child, or even later, this behaviour was normalised – even if it seemed weird – what it might reveal is a splintered personality, deeply – but as a child it meant that there was a falseness to how any interaction was, it was as if it was being played. Disintegrated.

    Maybe this is normal too – but it was very obvious too that the mother ‘role’ was the one that she was grumpily reluctant to do, or fulfil – especially instead of work related, or professional ones – most notably anything to do with being a minister. This was the place where she could dedicate to avoid any parenting ‘role’ – which seemed inferior.

    So, as part of my survival in this dynamic I had to develop a ‘role-self’ – growing up fast, keeping quiet – because what I wasn’t able to be was my true self – adapting myself into conformity in a role, trying hard to be – for security, belonging or reward – were that to ever come, but gave up on that ages ago.

    Nothing around someone so emotionally immature, or psychopath can be seen for itself – it is seen for what it can be for that person to take from, like a parasite. This includes possessions, ceremonies like weddings or funerals (they destroy these) or the general public to denigrate (like waiters etc – big red flag). This included what the three of us around her could be taken from and destroyed.

    If the persons around such a person are playing roles – to survive – with a person who is splintered themselves into roles and creates roles around them to take from … what kind of relationship is there?

    There isn’t one.

    Not a viable, safe one, not one where any sense of real self can be present. Just one in which roles are enforced, played or avoided.

    Some of this ‘role’ / hat wearing is revealed when they make contact via writing or email – its often far too formal (going into business speak) , too spiritual (a high spiritualised self) , or mixing up tenses or mixing up writing in the first or third person in the space of one sentence or paragraph – and rarely using ‘I’ – I’ve written about the confusion of the toxic email here. They often write as if its from the other person – the partner who is ‘once’ – but there are usually clues to this – watch for it.

    Anyway, what am I getting at.

    I suppose what I’m getting at is that part of all of this is an acceptance, of seeing all the roles having to be played – and of realising that because of this – there wasnt an actual relationship – ever. Now, obviously to maintain a role there has to be a lot of pretending, hiding, lying, to maintain appearances and then patterns of denial or justification when threatened. Some of that is what im having to do with therapy, see the roles, and work out what I needed, or what I hid, and denied in myself, feelings, emotions and creativity.

    There wasnt a relationship to breakdown. Just people playing parts to survive a psychopath.

  • Surviving Psychopathic Parenting (Part 30) What 9 year old me had to Become

    So, I didn’t commit suicide aged 9. But everything was pretty dark.

    I survived to tell the tale.

    To tell my story

    To be my story.

    What did I do?

    Age 9, in those dark moments?

    At the time, I remember thinking that something didn’t sit right.

    That something was that however ‘normal’ I was being told my family was. It wasn’t good. Something didnt stack up.

    As well as an internal voice that did often tell myself that I wasnt anywhere as bad as I was being told I was – I was punished for far less than my friends were telling me they were – I also started to be affirmed by firstly teachers and then other adults – I began to assess that the voice of the toxic one might need to be listened to,

    but it didnt need to be believed.

    I wouldn’t say that id worked out that the problems that they said I was was their problem, thats too far – but certainly began to realise that the toxic voice didnt need to be believed.

    Read my previous post on ‘Survival Self-talk‘ here

    I think I did then realise that I had to do life alone, and with the positive support of my year 4-5-6 teachers (Mrs Prowse, Mr Poole and Mrs Smyton, at Little Bowden Primary school) I began to believe that I was clever, in an academic way, and had other qualities too, like listening to people and being able to be responsible. I was also sporty – winning cross country races and playing for the school football team, and it was sports that I developed more in the next few years too.

    Heres me aged 9 – 1987

    My grandparents took this photo, its obvious, im smiling – and i’m near trains…

    That combination intelligence and responsibility took me to do a number of things – one was to dedicate myself more fully to the church I grew up in – a place that was getting safer, as my parents left it when I was about 12-13, but from 11-12 I was helping in the Sunday school and doing practical things like setting up the chairs and the youth club. Oh by the way, the kid who stays back and puts the chairs away to be helpful every time… doesn’t want to go home – find out why….

    Without realising it, or maybe realising it was the place of the role I was in – with that responsibility, intelligence and desire to fix the thing I knew was broken – is that I became a bit like a mini priest or psychologist – trying to work them out, trying to work out how and why my parents got to be like it – trying to also navigate my own safety through it, but also making the suggestions or assertions to improve things; ‘Maybe we should go out for a meal’ (other families do that, we should) , ‘What about a movie night, or take away’ ‘what if we prayed together as a family’ ‘lets play a board game’ …. I remember also praying for my grandparents – thinking this was the thing I needed to do, to help them….

    Somehow believing that I could fix, something I couldn’t then understand – or even do something to make something happier than the normal constant eggshells.

    This, more often than not, was me suggesting these things, and guess who got grumpy at the thought of them – who would belittle, or patronise these suggestions? Agreed… But this became part of my role in the space of having no nurturing, growing up fast, growing up responsible.

    I realise that I couldn’t rely on the parents, it was now going to me getting on with my life. Once I got more and more freedom (a bike), and a job (a paper round aged 13) , access to learning at the school (libraries) and teachers who helped – I needed them less and less.

    I was wanting to do psychology A level when I was 16, my school didnt offer it. But that was no surprise, not to me now. Id studied human behaviour since I was born, never able to relax, trying to navigate the emotional blows and not give my abusive parent what they wanted, and stay sane and safe.

    I survived an emotionally abusive home by gradually realising more and more that I was less of the problem.

    That parent was good though, because the times I started to believe her less and back off, not trusting her even as a child with telling her things, she’d often come out with the line, ‘Dont you believe the gossip other people say about me‘ . How confusing was this to an 11 or 12 year old, parents dont lie do they? So everyone else is invalid, and whats a child going to say then – ‘No of course not mum’ especially while I’m in the house. The gossip was true though, and I knew it. Thats the thing, I learned to pretend.

    On pretending and hiding – this is here

    Maybe it didnt become a surprise that I became a youth worker, interested in psychology and now training to be a therapist. Not a surprise that my primary school teacher said that I was perceptive, from the age of 6. The magical or desperate ending didnt happen at the age of 9, I just had to work out how to deal with what I was being told, or not told, create distance from it, accept the positives elsewhere, and survive.

    Survive, so that 35 years later I am here sharing my story. Sharing a story of how emotional abuse nearly killed me. How a psychopathic woman destroyed a family and abused many around her. Survive, and now thrive, see and get close to the damage of childhood, get close to the child I left behind, get close to the child that was scared and frightened, and live closer to my core. There may not have been a magical escape, just seriously hard emotional work – but 35 years on im sharing my story, in a safe, happy, loving place – not afraid of the demons within, and taking the time to love the James who had to deal with so much in the only ways he could.

    Thank you for reading.

  • Developing internal commitments to myself

    I have stood and made a number of commitments to others.

    Commitments to workplace ideals and agreements

    Commitments to the terms and conditions of a large purchase

    Commitments to the planet as I have tried at times to reduce my carboin footprint, buy organic or grow my own

    Commitments to others in relationships.

    Commitments to a God, recommitments on a regular teenage basis

    Commitments as new year resolutions? – what have they been like for you?

    Whats been the biggest struggle for me in terms of commitment?

    Commitment to myself

    In all my existence, I have only notionally given any thought to making commitments to myself.

    There was the time when I was 40 when I decided to do more exercise before my 40th Birthday, and cut down alcohol and reduce food.

    It still felt like an external change. Even if my body did appreciate it at the time.

    I barely gave any thought to myself. I barely could.

    I had been conditioned to think that to think of myself was selfish

    I had been conditioned to revolve emotionally around others

    I had such an aching emptiness inside that I thought ‘helping others’ was what brought be me joy.

    So what could I commit to myself?

    External things, like food, exercise and bodily health. Not unimportant.

    It wasn’t in balance.

    I wouldn’t say I was selfless, though I was at times accused of being selfish for even considering that I had needs.

    And I poured out from a completely empty vessel. Because that was exactly what I was used to being.

    Neglected and empty, and used to it.

    Don’t get me wrong it wasnt that I rejected self-care because I thought it was worthless – though I acknowledge that in the past I may have scoffed a projection of what worth it might do – that was just my defensive survival talk speaking. Why bother with self care – I’ve managed without it? Id rather just tell others about it.

    And that’s it isn’t it; before being able to commit to myself, before being able to protect myself, before being able to listen to myself

    I had to acknowledge myself

    I had to start to recognise that I had a self worth valuing

    Some of that started with getting to know myself – self knowledge

    Continuing with the ‘feeling of feelings’ ,

    and over the course of the last 3-4 years being on a path of self acceptance, self knowledge, self awareness to where I am now, which again is in a process of therapy, and also finishing a counselling course – and reading books on self understanding

    What I began without realising it was a path of deep self discovery, a path of rebelling my external intelligence, with internal intelligence too

    What might it look like to make commitments to myself, as I am now?

    A commitment to personal growth? A commitment to ongoing spiritual and emotional growth?

    Committing myself to thinking positively of myself

    A commitment to love myself, including the parts of me that have been hidden or frightened?

    A commitment to accept raw and vulnerability as part of the process of rebuilding

    A commitment to keep listening to myself, my inner voice, my spiritual child within?

    A commitment to prioritise myself maybe?

    A commitment to value being present perhaps?

    A commitment to the slow, and not the fast? The slow rebuild….

    A commitment to not give everything away? (NB – I have written a lot in the last 4 weeks, and its not for you here)

    In Gary Zukavs book ‘Spiritual Partnership’ he outlines five commitments for his own spiritual and emotional growth, which have inspired me to think about commitment; his are;

    1. Focus on what I can learn about myself
    2. Pay attention to my emotions
    3. Pay attention to my thoughts
    4. Pay attention to my intention

    I reflect on my own journey. From denial of myself, to understanding and acceptance of myself, to loving myself – yes its taken a while, yes its not been without tears and revelations of my own responsibilities, behaviour and choices, and also my life survival requirements – but to be in a position of even considering making commitments to myself, for my own sake, for my own well being. How might I pledge these 5 things for myself – and what difference will it continue to make, for me, and others around me, such as Christelle, my kids, family, work…?

    So I ask – what commitments have you made to prioritise your own spiritual and emotional self?

    Not ideals, but self pledges, self determination, to stay as real, the best I and you can be – what might it be for you?