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  • I think I am, therefore I am.

    I think I am, therefore I am.

    I think I am, therefore I am.

    I was ‘playing’ this around in my mind the other day, and I started writing, just to myself.

    I often write on paper, even with pencil, just to get thoughts out, to see where they flow to.

    Free writing with a conceptual starting point if you will.

    And I began to construct that what ‘I think’ and who ‘I am’ have been on a journey.

    It could be ‘my ego’ and ‘my identity’ but I prefer to use ‘I think’ and ‘I am’ . I dont mean the ‘I am’ that self talks back the lies.. like ‘I am fat’ or ‘I am stupid’ .. I mean the ‘I am’ identity. The bit of me, the bit of you that is who you are.

    So here goes…

    I am, and I think are on a journey.

    Its one where ‘I think’ has led the way, I think.

    Historically.

    Led like a shiny steam engine.

    ‘I am’ has been just been pulled along for the ride,

    a set of carriages with passengers, scared inside.

    or going to the depot, after a fraught ride.

    I think, taking them away.

    I am, passive.

    At least thats how it was- I think

    I think, shiny at the front, shiny and bright, brass cleaned,

    numbered, fed, water and polished

    The Steam engine, attracting the polaroids and DSLRs, and notebooks.

    I think.. leading the way

    I think.. wanting the attention

    I think…racing away

    I think..in control

    I think…believing the hype

    I think..denying it needed anything

    I think…lies to get all this

    I am.. just a powerless carriage trailing behind

    hosting passengers, hosting scenes, hospitality

    Trying to please, making the best of chaos.

    Making the best of disconnection between I think, and I am.

    I am, pulled along and subject to the conditions of I think

    I am, second or third class, no power, just a shell.

    I think broke down.

    I think realised the race it was on, was to a finish line that never ended

    I think had gone too far, alone

    I think was never therefore I am

    I am wants more control of the action

    I am is feeling its way

    I am has been waiting, patiently

    Watching the chaos, overcoming the scares

    Hiding, now seizing the chance, the opportunity

    Realising that I think is in trouble.

    I think and I am not separate.

    I am with a voice on the journey

    I am letting I think know differently

    Its now a different journey, with I am the driver.

    I am has discovered, that it is

    I am has emerged from the shadows, the sidings

    I am can see the lies, pride and attention

    The temptations and weaknesses that tormented I think

    I am…. just knows

    I am..is softer, messier, truer

    Human, grease, smoke, heart and skin

    its not a carriage to the engine

    Alive.

    I am now sees the whole Train

    I am can see when I think plunges into darkness

    or tries to race to destinations, frustrated or impatient, or critical of the passengers for being slow, or ignoring the signals.

    I am can let I think know that it is loved.

    I am is the driver, who knows what I think actually needs.

    The brake. the coal, the water

    And rest.

    Attention from the inside of the boiler. Not just the outside.

    The driver knows.

    I am.

    I think wrestled at first and tried to do without I am.

    I feel intervenes now and then, the guard with the warning flags, messages from the back. I think knows its place..some of the time.

    I think used to completely ignore I feel. Disregarded at the back of the carriage.

    Guard in name only.

    I am takes more of the wheel

    I think can rest, its not on his own.

    It doesn’t have to hurry or win.

    I think trusts I am.

    I think surrenders, to the I am that drives, attends and controls, to the I am that feels and knows. To the I am that discovered itself, found its place and realises it has to stay.

    I am helps I think to doubt the lies it had to believe, and those it chose to

    I am can help I think to realise the importance of I feel.. the guard

    I am can speak softly to I think, and listen to what it needs and wants to say.

    Because I am is connected to all.

    I am knows. I am is.

    I am is the divine within.

    I think I am, therefore I am.

    Maybe this is helpful just to me, as I realise the journey that I have been on, one from which was dominated by my thoughts, my thinking part of me, and how every other part of me was hidden and disregarded, for reasons ive described in my story above. And now I feel, that I am, and I think is still around, but the journey, just feels and is different.

    What about you – what metaphor might you use for how your thoughts, feelings and identity have culminated in your life?

  • Brave Faith

    Im in the middle of reading this quite brilliant book, The Fifth Agreement, by Don Miguel and Don Jose Ruiz. I guess freedom must be on my mind as ive also just finished Edith Egers book The gift, on discovering personal, emotional freedom. More to follow.

    But im just reflecting on , if Faith in myself is the real faith, and I am true.. what did I place too much energy and faith in before I discovered myself and who I am?

    More to follow, probably.

  • Courage to Be Free.

    All change requires courage.

    Changing trains means taking the steps to get off one, trust the timetable (online), wait on the platform and get on the next one.

    Courage.

    Because if change starts with ourselves.

    Then we need to be brave.

    If change starts with me.

    Then I have to be brave.

    I have to have courage…and act.

    If I want freedom, I have to be.. courageous..

    Courage to be vulnerable to realise that I needed help.

    Courage to believe I had enough worth to seek help.

    Courage to do something for myself.

    Courage at the point of desperation..to seek help.

    What have you done to realise your own bravery?

    Courage to accept the situation… but not give in to it.

    Courage to surrender…and respond

    Courage to be strong by accepting weakness

    Courage to be real and truthful…to yourself

    Courage to emerge a tiny bit, from the shadows and prisons of abuse and expectations, denials and fear.

    Courage to realise your own strength

    Courage to create your own life

    Create your own story.

    Courage to assume importance, if being used to being invisible.

    Courage to accept defeat.. when trying to win has become exhausting.

    Courage to be mediocre… if perfection has rid you of spark and soul

    Courage to be self confident.. if doubt and criticism has weighed you down

    Courage to be disliked… if rescuing others and people pleasing has been your default

    Courage to be you.. in all your wondrous glory.

    Courage to cry. Courage to hurt.

    Courage to fucking listen to whatever you want to

    and dance in the kitchen like no ones watching

    as the tears stream down.

    Courage to express. Courage to turn it into art.

    Courage to confront the darkness.

    Courage to be tender…to yourself

    Courage to forgive….yourself

    Courage to love…. yourself

    Courage to live in peace

    Courage to feel.

    Courage to stop…thinking..and breathe..

    Courage to see you..and not your thoughts as you

    Courage to live life in colour and not shades of stone grey.

    Courage to give fertiliser to your soul.

    Courage to believe in your soul

    Courage to dream and follow the dream

    Courage to see the gifts of the universe and believe in them

    Courage to be Happy.

    Courage to turn off the lies.

    Courage to believe in the truth.

    Courage to believe in love.

    Courage to believe in yourself. That wounded precious beautiful you. Its time to realise that you were more right that you were led to believe. Courage to not believe these lies…any more.

    Courage to Smile, when its easier to frown and complain.

    Courage to do the difficult , when doing the easy makes no sense anymore.

    Courage to be slow… when addiction to speed is the norm.

    Courage to create, rather than stimulate.

    Courage to be. Courage to live. Courage to love.

    Courage to walk and not give up, courage to be self compassionate, courage to have some self pride.

    Daily courage, fighting courage, determination.

    The path of Courage. Its going to be ok, and you are beautiful. Its going to be beautiful and you are more than ok. One and every action at a time.

    Courage to believe that you are free. And be free.

    Courage to walk, enjoying that freedom.

    Its time, my friend, to walk free again.

    As you were born and supposed to be.

  • The tiring, futility of trying to be good.

    The tiring, futility of trying to be good.

    When you have something to prove, you aren’t free

    Edith Eger, The Choice (2017)

    It is not necessary to satisfy other peoples expectations

    Kishimi, Koga , The Courage to be disliked (2013)

    This is hard stuff for me, so I thought I would write about it.

    Most of my family, that is, both my lovely grandmothers, and more recently my Aunties, have commented on me being ‘such a good little boy’ when I was a child.

    I can remember them doing this as a child, in defence of me, against my toxic mother.

    My teachers said the same. In fact I remember astounding one teacher when I was 6 for wanting the spelling of a word that she thought I shouldn’t know. The word was blancmange. School reports aged 8 said that I was concientious. (not conceited) , and I didnt have google then to find out what this meant, so when I asked my parents what this word meant, there strangely wasn’t a response. I was told off for asking for a present for having a good school report.

    What I didnt realise aged 8, was that this was about to be a pattern. Other people would see my gifts and general goodness, my mother would see either the opposite, de legitimise who I was or what they said.. or as ive said before..take it for herself.

    But, I did learn this though… That being good (as long as I didnt ask for rewards for it) kept me out of trouble in those other places, even if I was seemingly always in trouble/danger in the home.

    Nothing was good enough at home, it was impossible to win, and it was all game. But I did realise that by staying out trouble and invisible meant I was safer.

    There was something else weird too. Because I wasn’t being seen. This is what I wanted, it was like this…

    If only they could see what I did or who I was then they might be proud of me or love me.

    But there was a complication to this.

    I didnt want them anywhere near me – not publicly anyway, and so I hid or avoided achievements. I feigned disappointment when they said they couldn’t come to my duke of Edinburgh bronze award night, they were away I think and it was one of favourite events where I collected an award. Ever. So, its complicated, the desire to be seen to be good, mixed with the impending trauma of having them see it. Moments of achievement were best avoided. When I got school prizes aged 13, I didnt expect it, and I definitely didnt the next year.

    But I was a good boy.

    When I realised I had to be, and do this on my own – I set out at doing so.

    And being a good boy, also meant and became, being a good christian boy too.

    The two became synonymous, and God became intrinsically linked to the same parent figure, always watching, to be feared, temperamental, never seeing (except sin and failings). God gave me tasks to do, God was keeping a list of sins, God was storing up every thought for the last days – so I could rewatch it all. Also.. nothing I did that was actually good, this was just ‘God’ in me doing these things, because deep down im full of darkness, sin and shame, of course I am.

    So I was pointlessly trying to be good. And it was exhausting.

    Keeping up good appearances. At church, at school… adapting to the institutions.. believing this was what life was all about. Believing that if I was good I would be liked. Actually I noticed the opposite. The fun people had friends. The other ‘good’ kids congregated together, all the oldest child, maybe all sitting in the Christian union too.

    Good christians, judging the fun others had, and being jealous that they all had friends.

    A life of performance, pretence, self protection and compliance.

    Imagine my surprise when I decided to a ‘christian’ gap year doing youth ministry and this caused probably 15 years of anger and disappointment in her.. because I didnt go to university at 18 (her plan and expectation) . Being good and even following a faith calling – didnt make a difference.

    Because it wasn’t seen though, I then had to prove them wrong, and spent a good amount of my life doing so.

    Being good didnt matter, and there was no possibility to me meeting their expectations. But I didnt know this at the time. Not until I read the pink book that saved my life, until I realised that I didn’t matter what I did.

    Somewhere deep in my conscious is this notion of ‘being good’, that being good somehow would mean being accepted and liked – especially in the institutions – and that maybe this being liked and accepted in these places were compensation for what I didnt have at home.

    Somewhere there’s still a belief that if im good, i’ll be liked and accepted.

    But this isn’t true.

    And if it is, it isn’t freedom. Its trying to meet other peoples expectations.

    And thats something neither I or you can control.

    And maybe there’s a difference, between trying to be good – to fit in – and letting that deep inner well of goodness shine through and be revealed. Goodness needn’t mean compliance. Goodness is for all humanity.

    At the risk of being disliked.

    I think I could also talk about how this applies to my writing, but thats for a different time.

    Its not that I see now and think that ‘being good’ ruined my life – no not at all, I needed to be good to survive, to be and get to where I am today. Being good in school and doing well was an achievement of my own doing, as was graduating to Masters level a few years ago.

    I just realised that it isn’t the most important thing.

    Yet I can tell that its a continual wrestle for me, as it sits so close and deep within my own psyche – and maybe yours.

    More to come on this… probably..

    Thank you for reading.

  • Courage to Love

    Most of you who read this will be my friends.

    All of you will be human.

    Some of you will have different beliefs than I do

    All of you will be human

    A number of you will defend things I cannot stand.

    All of you will be human

    Some of you can’t see what I can

    All of you will be human

    Some of you can see more than I can

    All of you will be human.

    Even if we dont share the same opinion, live the same dream, believe the same belief.

    Artistic, Creative, Numerical, Destructive.

    All of us are human.

    All of us are on this one universal planet

    All of us are connected.

    All of part of this planet.

    Life Force. Love source. Aware or unconscious.

    You, me and all of us.

    Accepting it or denying it – are part of the same.

    The same flesh, blood and frailty.

    The same mess and vulnerability.

    That needs to go to pharmacies for aches and pains.

    That cries at the most ridiculous.

    That blames others, until realising that it is only ourselves that can change.

    We are all one.

    We are.

    If…

    We are all connected, all one, all part.

    Then what makes sense?

    What is this all for?

    Why am I here?

    To do what?

    What part do I play..in this universal cosmic drama?

    And what’s the best way of playing it with all of you..my fellow cosmic acting buddies?

    What’s important? What do I need to find out? What am I to learn?

    Its Love, isn’t it?

    Just love, isn’t it?

    From the cosmic, to the cosmetic

    Love is more important than we think.

    Love builds

    Love tries

    Love creates

    Love sees

    Love plants.

    Love is.

    Love doesn’t pretend, doesn’t play games, isn’t for performance, doesn’t protect the institution , or ideology.

    Love. Is more than enough

    If we trust it.

    Im here to love, and so are you.

    There’s nothing more meaningful than this.

    Nothing more meaningful that I could write.

    Nothing more meaningful that you could hear.

    That if we’re scared of love – we have to be vulnerable to it

    If we’ve dismissed it – its time to feel it

    If we’ve managed without it – its wounded others along the way.

    Love our neighbour as our self.

    Frail, tender, vulnerable shoots of love.

    Messy love, that gently accepts in the midst

    Powerful love that challenges injustice

    Desperate love that hopes

    Compassionate love that dreams.

    Courage to love.

    Brave love.

    Im here to love, as are you.

    Not fight, battle, hold, buy, or Lord

    But be human in our human self.

    True self. Messy Self. Loving Self. Love self.

    Gentle self. Kind self. Listening self.

    Thats who I am, and so are you.

    We are all Human.

    Even if we dont want to admit it or enjoy it.

    Its what we are, and we all are the same.

    Bit part players in a cosmic drama, led by our hearts, souls and minds.

    Can we try to love each other a bit better?

    Can we heal so we stop wounding others?

    Can we lose our rights to love our humanity?

    Just a tiny bit better?

    Love guides. Like the angel tugging at your heart. Trying to find a way in.

    Listen to love. The universe will guide.

    Fellow human, dont give up, dont give in, dont surrender to something invisible, that isn’t the very love pumping around your heart.

    Love will find a way. Love, just is.

  • The Differences between a Real or ‘Reverse’ Victim.

    Trigger Warning – Abuse of any kind. Please do not read if you have experienced abuse, unless in a safe place to be able to do so. This is written to educate those who might not know the difference, if you have experienced abuse, you know this already.

    I think I was 14 when I was bought a ‘fake’ Man Utd football T-Shirt at a market stall in the south west of England by my parents. It was obviously fake. It was black, it had a ‘cotton traders’ label, the ‘Sharp’ sponsor was ironed on crooked and the badge was wrong. Yet it was ‘given’ to me as a gift. And I hated it. Man Utd were, and still are, my team, and though potentially even then I had no real sympathy with their financial situation, I knew that this fake was wrong. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t genuine. I felt, like many of the ‘gifts’ from my parents, cheap. (yet was told I was ungrateful or spoilt) . I probably was grumpy and upset for the rest of the day and told I was spoiling ‘their holiday’.

    My point was, and is now, that there’s a difference between fake and real.

    Today I read this story.

    Male Victim of Domestic Abuse Lies tells of Torment

    If you were in this situation could you spot who the ‘real’ and who the ‘fake’ victim is? Difficult.. very much so.

    The story is about how a Man was accused of being a domestic abuser, by his partner, whose story was believed, he was sent to jail on the basis of her claims. After his release, the truth was revealed. The victim story she played was fake.

    If you read this account, which will by no means be the full story, do so tracing the way in which the actual abuser plays the DARVO game throughout. As a reminder, Darvo stands for Deny, Accuse, Reverse, Victim Offender. The oft used pattern of someone accused. Playing victim is part of the pattern.

    Google DARVO to find out more – here’s a link too – DARVO

    What I mean is, that they are a ‘Reverse Victim’ rather than a real one.

    Fake, rather than real.

    And this is no criticism of Humberside police in this case. Not at all.

    Because. This cuts both ways. Both genders..and its difficult to know the difference.

    Im not sure that phrases like ‘Believe the women’ or ‘believe the victim’ help. They create a conformation or gender bias, and a woman playing victim is considerably harder to spot, than a man doing so. Especially in the face of them being able to accuse Men of wrong doing. Men play victims as much as Women do. My experience is having seen it in Women, and obviously in these stories.

    Its not just domestic abuse.

    This was a case in Cumbria a few months back. This isn’t about false allegations of abuse, its about deliberate lies and having a fake victim story being believed.

    I wasn’t the ‘real’ victim when I was given a fake Man Utd T-shirt. But I knew that something didn’t feel right when I was given it.

    These are by no means conclusive, but how can you spot a real victim, from a reverse victim?

    What is it like being a real Victim? (of abuse, of any kind)

    Lets look at the effects of abuse on someone and their emotions, feelings and behaviours. They can feel scared, silenced, bewildered, trapped, afraid – they can often mask and give a ‘false’ self to keep up appearances, they can have hard shells or even react intensely if provoked – as a defence mechanism. They may be anything like a tortoise, hedgehog, dragon or eeyore.

    They may not realise that they are a victim.

    Once they realise – as I did – it wasn’t a label they want.

    They often dont want to share about being a victim, but more about overcoming, surviving and coping, recovering and living beyond.

    They often blame themselves.

    They have nothing to lose, have often already lost everything.

    They often realise they can do something by changing and seeking help – and realising that they can – by furthering awareness, self love and compassion… which extends to others.

    They often have survivors gift.. to help others.

    Often they have fragmented story, and are afraid to tell.

    A real victim is unlikely to want to create drama. Is likely to be silent. Is likely to step away from situations. Is likely to learn to protect themselves.

    A real victim… is likely to be movitated by justice, by being heard, or by finding peace and a life beyond it.

    A real victim…. can see the games being played of the reverse victim. It’s the task of the Reverse victim..to silence, invalidate, remove the real one.

    But what of a Reverse Victim?

    This is a person who is using victimhood for a number of reasons. Usually to protect themselves, abusive behaviour or lies or denials.

    Therefore its a game being played.

    A phrase like ; ‘Look what you/she/he made me do’ or ‘ The Devil/alcohol/my mental health made me do it’ – can often be used – because that person keeping up a game, in which they present as victim/innocent and not responsible for themselves.

    False emotions usually accompany the Reverse offender, as are false projections, to accuse others.

    They often aren’t able to use the situation to better themselves through it or after it – because it wasn’t a situation in the first place – just a game.

    They can often pretend to ‘get help’ but have difficulty (blame) finding a match with a counsellor or that their counsellor isn’t working for them, or use the fact that they’re going to counselling to manipulate others into thinking that ‘they are trying’.

    When asked for more details about the situation – they might break down and cry more.. because they can’t give an answer to what hasn’t happened, there’s unlikely to be any more of a story with tears, just a more sodden weak one. And they want you to fix them. Note the drama triangle being used here too. (Persecutor, helper, victim)

    A Reverse Victim is angry when they are challenged about their game.

    A Reverse Victim is loud, and plays on victim hood. Especially in cultures where they know they elicit sympathy. Ie Churches full of nice unaware people.

    The Reverse Victim can often make claims about themselves – ‘I couldn’t do that I’m a nice guy’…’that isn’t the real me, you know the real me’ …. ‘I couldn’t do that im a christian/minister/police officer’ …..

    A Reverse victim thrives on drama. Loves the attention. Creates drama where possible. A reverse victim manipulates so that others can do their emotional work for them (flying monkeys).

    The Reverse Victim doesn’t realise that they are fulfilling a cycle, and most of the time they dont care…. until their game is up. Winning is their motive.

    A Reverse victim is likely to criticise the way in which the actual victim is responding to the situation. ‘They took their time coming forward’ or ‘They shouldn’t cry, it wasn’t a big deal at the time’

    A Reverse Victim bewilders. A victim feels bewildered.

    A Reverse Victim is threatened when their victimhood story/script is threatened. They have to stay this way.

    Often its been a script since childhood. They’ve cried wolf to get gifts, soothing and attention. ‘Dont you dare try and play victim around here’ might be their reaction. See how bewildering this is, and a projection.

    A Reverse Victim… creates a place of emotional abuse for a real one.

    Im sure there are other differences, but these are all the ones I can think of, because I have encountered them in a number of situations.

    I could say that it would take a significant amount of skill to identify the difference between a real, and a reverse victim..but as I said.. those who have been abuse victims, and done the work, can often see the patterns.. they’ve experienced them often enough.

    In the safeguarding training I’m doing there’s a phrase known as “Respectful Uncertainty”. What this means is to try and be respectful of persons whilst also being unsure of their story so that further accurate information is sought. It is not to let myths make decisions, but evidence. Its not respectful uncertainty to say that a man is always an abuser, and a female always a victim.

    I had enough respectful uncertainty to know not to take that black T shirt to be anything other than a fake. The signs on the front may have been the same, but they didnt look, feel or seem right.

    If this has affected you, then do seek professional help and/or a trusted safe friend who can listen to you non judgementally, there are helplines in the link pages too, please do give them a call.

  • Realising…Its My Life

    I thought to myself today

    I am loving my life.

    I am living my life.

    Even on a wet sleety, snowy day in the North East of England.

    Then I realised.

    If I am living my life now…

    Whose life was I living before?

    When I lived according to what expectations were placed upon me… whose life was it then?

    When I was in fear of making a mistake, a mess, or making someone else upset…. whose life was it then?

    When I was worried about what other people would think of me… whose life was it then?

    When I was trying to be good.. whose life was it then?

    When I was trying to please God, or ‘worship him forever’ or for rewards in the ‘next life’ and not here now… whose life was it then?

    When I was to stick to the rules… misbelieving I was going to get praise, medals or acknowledgement for doing so….whose life was it then?

    I wasn’t living my life. I wasn’t living. I was just existing.

    Existing for the sake of others, and their expectations, their demands, their unspoken rules.

    Its taken me courage to see that I can live.

    I can live and sparkle.

    I have my own story.

    I can be who I am, and that this is good enough.

    Time to realise that

    Its taken a long time for me to see, know and realise..and trust myself..

    to know

    that I can live my own life.

    That I am. Who I am.

    And I can be me.

    And I am beautiful

    Flawed but beautiful. A project on the make.

    Its continuously time for me to be me.

    Whole me, showing up into the world.

    Happy, Free, and totally alive.

  • The two things that robbed me….of myself.

    If yesterday I wrote about my own joinery from self loathing and denial to becoming more self referential, respectful and also giving space to trust my feelings. Today I’ve pondered the question – what happened to me, so that I had no ‘faith’ in myself? What happened to the extent to which there was no ‘I’ in my life, to trust myself, my feelings, emotions, desires or wants.

    It boils down to this

    Psychopathic Parents + Evangelical Faith = No Self Trust

    In these ways:

    Self Trust wasn’t possible when I was told not to be selfish

    Self Trust wasn’t possible when I heard that my core was sinful

    Self Trust wasn’t possible when I was told I wasn’t enough

    Self Trust wasn’t possible when I was told that everything good I did…wasnt me..it was God

    Self trust wasn’t possible because I was made to feel embarrassed or ashamed for having emotions, desires or wants

    Self trust wasn’t possible when my emotions were stolen by others.

    Self Trust wasn’t possible when I wasn’t encouraged for being good (or when I was accused of being the ‘eldest son’ )

    Self Trust wasn’t possible when I was terrified of upsetting my abusers.

    Self Trust wasn’t possible when I was encouraged to pray that God would fix things.

    Self Trust wasn’t possible..if my ‘self’ had to be denied.

    Self trust wasn’t possible if I numbed the pain and disconnected.

    Self trust wasn’t possible, even being clever or good… wasn’t enough.

    Self trust wasn’t possible… All to Jesus I surrender.

    Self Trust wasn’t possible, if Jesus gave me all my good feelings.

    Self Trust was invalidated if I tried to express myself

    Self Trust wasn’t possible – when my body was bad (Spirit is good) – and in my body is my emotions, feelings, desires and energy.

    Self trust wasn’t possible when I was masking abuse for 40 years.

    Self trust wasn’t possible if I was told who I was…and I had to accept it, whilst dying inside.

    Self Trust wasn’t possible when my real self was hidden away, unseen.

    Just Pray – they said. Be good – they said. Be quiet. Dont make a mess. Fulfil our expectations for you – they said. Grow up and dont be silly..they said.

    Be our trophy to be proud of – they said. But do this alone.

    Dont ever be who you are. Dont ever think for yourself.

    Live to soothe and placate and please your abuser.

    Live to please and worship God…and deny yourself in the process.

    How could I respect myself, if I didnt trust myself, how could I know myself if I was hiding myself away? How could I trust myself… if God was always watching…and I had to remember sins and feel only continual guilt and shame.

    I was taken..from myself.

    What am I in all this?

    Where am I in this?

    Who am I in this?

    Today. This day. This month. These last few years.

    Have been unapologetically about me.

    Not just ‘finding myself’ – but…actually finding, connecting, listening, feeling and knowing myself. But its no fucking wonder I had hidden myself away… or that I had no sense of self in ‘my’ life. It was all about other people. Other people and ‘other’ Gods. Losing myself in the process. I can look back and see this. Realising the extent of what I wasn’t able to be.

    Reminding myself, now, of my own deep strength. Acknowledging it and accepting it, and being utterly grateful for the now.

    The spills of life going inwards, deep burning of molten lava piercing into the wounds. Feeling Raw, but feeling true, feeling at all. Being me. Healing from within. One layer at a time. One pebble to climb, then a rock, then more. Step by step.

    Soul, heart, mind and body on a beautiful discovery. Wonder from the heart outwards. Time to live. Spiritual life… from the inside out.

    Oh yes, its time to live. Time to be.

  • Talking with Respect, gentleness and care….to myself.

    Men… Can you remember when your voice broke? What did that feel like? How old were you? I remember that I didnt want to talk for a few weeks or months because I was so self conscious about how it would sound, I also hated that it was noticed by everyone, so I stayed quiet. There was a change, a weird change. How I communicated changed three times, from child voice, to breaking unpredictable changing voice, to changed voice, in a few months.

    I noticed something about my walk last week.

    It is this.

    My Voice changed again recently. But it wasn’t my external voice.

    It was my inner one.

    I used to give myself a good talking to.

    Especially if I had done something wrong. Especially if I had made a mistake.

    Especially if id got embarrassed by something

    Especially if id been made to think id made a mistake, or misunderstood, or not met another persons needs, and been punished for it.

    I would beat myself up.

    In the way I would talk to myself.

    The strongest voice inside, was the voice of the perfectionist-critic.

    My inner voice was the voice of my own media company.

    Critic, Perfectionist…

    Not only was I emotionally neglected and beaten up by others, my inner voice assumed that I was responsibility. Why… because I had no reference to know that what I experienced by others was their problem. Or that I could be treated better.

    So it had to be me. I had to be the problem. My Fault. Because Women are always right..arent they? So it had to be me.

    What kind of things would I have heard myself say to myself?

    You’re not good enough

    You dont deserve any better

    You can survive, just keep going

    Why didn’t you think of that?

    You can do better

    You should do better

    You let yourself down there, James, and God too, you should be ashamed

    You should know this by now

    You should be able to do this

    Oh.. you really messed up again

    Look at yourself James, hypocrite.

    You failed at that one again

    You upset them, you silly boy.

    You need to be strong.

    Must rush, must do, must keep on, keeping on.

    It could be worse, don’t be ungrateful.

    Talking to myself, like I was my own worst enemy. Or just trying to numb and shut out what I felt.

    Beating myself up. Because that was the only way I knew how to process. Not being good enough, not being perfect enough, not being enough.

    Why did I notice this last week?

    Because the day after I had been for a walk, I reflected on how my inner voice has changed. Maybe its like it broke again. Broke by the process of digging deep, recovering and healing.

    I noticed that I could say to myself different things

    When I walked, I said things like:

    I can take myself out for a walk

    This is for me, I can be for me.

    I am grateful

    I am ok to feel

    I am ok- as I am.

    I am love and loved

    I can be, and breathe

    I can enjoy this moment, of the rain and mud

    I can sense myself

    and be proud of myself.

    I can have feelings and there’s nothing wrong with having them.

    I dont have to be perfect, I can do mess, I can play

    I can be slow.. I dont have to rush… I dont have to do everything

    I can have fun

    I can be happy

    I am.

    I am who I am and this is enough

    and more besides….

    I just noticed how the voice changed, it wasn’t the first time in the last few years that I have spoken to myself in this way. But it was just that I noticed the difference, how I used to be a critic and perfectionist, talking to myself like I had inherited voices from others. From self loathing, self denial – to self- reverence and self compassion. Was my inner guidance system the one I had created from the places of having to adapt as a child – abusive parents, evangelical religion, academia? Probably.

    Or maybe, and i’ll be kind to myself also, this was what I needed to do and be to survive emotionally. In my own head space, the place of thinking, over thinking and self criticism.

    It’s now safe for me to talk to myself in this way. Brave to be self- compassionate. To practice it and give it a go, to see how it feels, to have the feels.

    New green life forming from the old. New tender green shoots.

    What’s it like to be a supportive youth worker, be a friend even to myself, and do this, after agreeing with it. Doing it for myself. Because I am worth it. I am of value. I am.

    It was just good to notice the difference.

    Talking whole heartedly to myself. From broken to whole.

    If you’d like to learn more about Self Compassion, I highly recommend the beautiful book Heartwork by Radhule Weininger, a link is here Heartwork, also The Power of Now by Echart Tolle.

  • A Wet Muddy Walk

    A Wet Muddy Walk

    A simple walk.

    Yet, it was so much more.

    But it was just a walk.

    Going for a walk, that meant something.

    It meant pushing through with the motivation to ‘get out’ and walk, in the grey and wet.

    For it was miserable.

    I left my flat in a break of sunshine.

    Arrived at the walk point with rain clouds, and horizontal cold rain.

    And waited in the car, long enough to unsteam the windows, and at least wait for the rain to stop.

    And it did.

    For a tiny moment.

    It was muddy. Wet. Cold and windy.

    But I was walking.

    Wrapped up warm, with camera and binoculars, with scarf, gloves and hat.

    And thermal socks on with the heavy duty boots.

    I was out. Walking.

    Brave in the cold.

    Madness maybe. But out.

    And this is a blog about a walk.

    Just an ordinary walk.

    Did I mention, cold, wet and muddy?

    A very ordinary grey, wet, cold, walk.

    But a walk none the less.

    Ordinary.

    Ordinary courage and bravery.

    Ordinary steps taken, one by one.

    At a place ive been to many times.

    Its not a mountain top experience to deal with trauma, or deal with the monsters. Just ask Harry Potter, no one wants that badge of honour.

    Sometimes the path is wet, cold and muddy and you need to be protected from the elements.

    One foot in front of the other, even in the wet muddy path.

    Even when I’m writing, there could be a temptation to show off the best bits, or most important, to biggest challenge in my personal healing. But recovery is about the ordinary.

    Its about the every day.

    Its not always about the new place, the new discovery.

    Though there are discoveries, and there are significant moments. And at the moment im loving John O Donohues Eternal Echoes. Its a warm hot chocolate for my soul.

    But sometimes there’s just something significant in going for a walk. Its about expectations, or not having any. Its about making a positive choice to do something, even if the path feels wet and muddy, but its being done. A positive choice doesn’t mean the sun is going to immediately shine, there’s a lot of mud, fog and cloud to wade through. But at least im walking. Started putting one feet in front of the other. the gritty ordinary of healing from abuse, is not pretty.

    There are beautiful moments of sunshine though.

    When the gaps open up.

    But often these are surprises. Moments when the universe makes its voice known. And when I’m ready to see them.

    Like on that walk.

    The sun did come out, and I noticed two deer resting in the sunshine.

    When the Roe deer sat down and rested in the glimpse of the evening sunshine, sat as she was on the wet grass, it was a perfect still wonderful moment. I watched, breathed, and used my camera (quietly) and enjoyed it, present in the moment.

    A universe gift.

    Sometimes the paths are made by those who walk. Sometimes the universe conspires to help the dreamer. Sometimes its just about putting one foot forward, in front of the other, even despite better judgement, but doing so from brokenness, from vulnerability, into a cloud of fog, with the gritty hope that there is another side beyond it.

    Ill tell you something else.

    I was beginning to sense boredom. Boredom being one slight step to the left from contentment. Contentment is a lovely feeling, its as if everything is early spring. What boredom felt like was the peace of contentment, but without the colour of the daffodils.

    I guess when 40 years of my life have existed with a background noise of toxic drama, then the years since of processing and recovering from this… peace can feel like boredom when there’s no drama going on.

    But something I realised, is that I have needed coping activities in the last 4-5 years. Maybe I dont need these as much, and maybe I’ts time to have more fun and creativity, to have more energy to give, because im in a different place. As I walked yesterday, I realised that I could be grateful for the feeling of boredom, and that this is an indication of where I am, who I am and the journey I have been on. Maybe instead of feeling frustrated by the grey cloudy days, its time to walk through them.

    Sometimes the grey makes for interesting photos.. but this isn’t one of them.

    Its an ordinary path, just outside darlington with the sunset reflecting on the grey wet tarmac.

    It was just a walk.

    But it was so much more.

    It was time to see. Time to make choices. Time to receive.

    Time to sense and feel. Time to be grateful. Time to notice.

    Time for me.