James Ballantyne

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  • What actually did I learn from my Parents? (Part 1)

    What actually did I learn from my Parents? (Part 1)

    How did (my brothers and) I learn kindness, trust and loving fun when not a single one of these was a consistent part of my parents marriage?

    Anne Lamott, Dusk Night Dawn (2021)

    This is a fascinating question. Dont you think?

    Ive often wondered similarly. I think Anne Lamott book has given me permission to explore this further:

    How did I learn about love? – when feelings were hidden or false

    How did I learn about kindness- when the dominant parent only stole

    How did I learn trust – when, to this day, it wasn’t a word used at all

    How did I learn…anything at all?

    I don’t remember being taught anything at all?

    I remember being told of for not being able to do something. For not ‘growing up’ and being able to do something.

    I didnt see love, only felt fear.

    And when I think about it, what did I learn at all?

    I learned to stay quiet, make no noise, dont be inconvenient – only room for one person with temper and anger in the house.

    Tip toe on around the eggshells.

    I learned to conform, or be punished

    I learned to put myself to one side, learning to orient around the other.

    I learned to hide the good parts of me, revealing only I safe places

    I learned that I had to grow up fast

    I learned loyalty

    I learned sides

    I learned to shut down

    I learned to be self reliant

    I learned that I had to leave childhood behind – and be mature

    I learned to accept little, limited and not question – to manage without

    when others had.

    I learned survival

    I learned I couldn’t be helpless, couldn’t ask, couldn’t want or need.

    Thats interesting isnt it.

    I learned that I couldn’t be helpless.

    There was only one child allowed in the house. Trophy children aren’t allowed to be messy, be themselves, have emotion, be understood.

    Ive just finished reading ‘Dibs in search of self’ (1964) I found it fascinating on a number of levels. In one interaction between Dibs (aged 6) and the Play therapist, she (Virginia) notes that on one occasion Dibs asks her to ‘help me with my shoe, help me with my coat’ – In a rare moment of helplessness. Helplessness was a luxury that I couldn’t afford. I just had to know things. If I was told once how to do something, that was it, expected to know, like the toddler tasks of wiping my own bum or tieing my own shoelaces. I remember looking with scorn at the children at primary school who couldn’t do their laces. I mean couldn’t everyone. No, what I couldn’t see was that they had the luxury of helplessness, they didnt have to grow up and know. I had to.

    If I had to ‘just know’ how to tie my shoelaces. I had to work out most things for myself. I knew there was no point in crying for help, it wasnt going to come.

    I couldn’t be helpless, so I judged others for being able to be. I learned projection from age 5. To hide what I didnt have.

    So, what about kindness, what about love? What about gentleness, joy or peace?

    Its funny that for an evangelical childhood home – how these were absent.

    There was soothing and accommodating. There was helpfulness. There was hiding. There was avoiding.

    Maybe I didnt need to learn love. I just needed to uncover it. Maybe that more part of my (and your) core and its waiting to spring from the deep of layers of pain or shame or hurt or guilt. But it still makes me doubt? Am I loving enough – do I need to have learned it to give it?

    im in a space where I’m reflecting on what I learned, or how I learned from my parents.

    Theres a part 2 on this coming soon too..

    But – what about you – what did you learn, and how did you learn from your parents? if anything at all?

    Anne Lamott, Dusk Night Dawn, 2021

    Dibs in search of Self, Virginia M Axline 1964

  • Dementors are Real

    The first time I saw the dementors in JK Rowlings Harry Potter, I knew what that feeling was like. The moment when I’m in a room and the life and energy has been sucked out of it. It often only takes one person to do it. They might be outwardly charismatic – but the attention becomes all on them. They might be outwardly carrying the grey cloud of personal victim hood – and want the room to be on their level. Sometimes that person is both. The man or woman child that wants attention.

    They suck the life out of the room. The collective energy.

    There is a longer historical mythology around Vampires. Some perpetuated by the stories, of Transylvania and Whitby in the north east of England.

    Maybe the mythological Vampire and fabled Dementor are attempts to give a fictional embodiment to the very real that exists in human society. For the many who give and contribute, for the many who love, care and are genuine. There are those exists just to take, to win, to consume, to prey.

    I didnt like watching Vampire movies. They were far too terrorising. The only one I could cope with watching was the Polymorph in Red Dwarf, because it was funny. But its the same thing.

    They were far to real to life. A vampire wasn’t fictional in my childhood.

    What does a real life emotional vampire want?

    Not your blood, but your emotions.

    Why?

    Because their tank is completely empty. Because they’re jealous. Because they are needy. Because you are not allowed to have what they cant feel. Because they just want, and just want to take. Because they cannot help themselves..and more besides…

    Emotional abuse and neglect takes a number of forms, though I am not sure there is quite the language except that from mythology to describe how those who neglect and abuse people emotionally also take from them.

    I have written before about pretending and hiding – and this is the only way I could survive growing up with an emotional vampire as a mother. In that post which is linked here – what I described was how I had to pretend to be someone else to fit in with a role that was expected of me. Also how I would have to give pretend smiles to the camera, whilst dying inside.

    Pretending and Hiding

    Pretending and hiding wasnt just about the role – or about fake emotions. Well, actually it was a lot more that that.

    The reality was that the emotional neglect I (and my sister) experienced wasnt just the complete lack of nature and protection emotionally – but it was also that there was an emotional vampire taking from us any positive emotions or situations for themselves.

    Sometimes it was ‘Killjoy’ words and actions ; ‘ Its my job to bring you down to earth’ – after having a good experience – notably away from them. (Jealousy)

    or ‘ I don’t know why you’re so happy’ – whilst im stuck here… (Victim playing)

    But my role growing up was that I was the one who had to soothe my abuser. There was no give, but take. At the time, aged 5 or above I thought this was a special place, a special role – to be the one who could soothe my ‘grown up’ parent. In reality I was being used and taken from. No 5 year old should be cast in the role of comforting their parent (from things the parent had done and not taken responsibility for) – ‘They are being awful to me James, I need you to hug me’ There was no give, only take.

    The vampire at work.

    Giving me the responsibility, also casting me in a favoured role. To nature and protect her. I would be in trouble if I didnt. Remember the eggshells? Yeah those.

    There was a moment when I was about 9 or 10 that I look back on and realise what that had done to me. Aside from being completely soft, and unable to stand up for myself.

    The all watching Vampire patrolled my primary school at lunchtime. I mean, there was no freedom. An incident occurred one lunchtime when she either fell, or a football hit her or some kind of accident happened when she was on patrol. Strengely I always avoided any playground she was in, most kids did tbh. Anyway, this one occasion something happened, I know not what and she got hurt, fell and damaged her arm. Though I dont remember all the exact events of the fall, or the immediate reactions of mine. I do remember being upset all afternoon. My teachers were kind, and lovely, but my emotional response really did not match the event. They thought I was crying because my mum was hurt ‘ Its ok James, she’ll be fine’ – which is perfectly understandable.

    No I was crying that afternoon in 1988 because I hadn’t fulfilled my role. To protect her, I was crying because I was expecting to be in trouble. But there was no way I could communicate that.

    Thats what happens when they take. When she gave me responsibility for her emotions, by taking mine.

    Looking back this event was a key moment for me. Alot changed after then.

    I must have known more at the time than I remember. I must have felt more.

    Can you see how my inner child had no where to go? Apart from hide?

    I worked out, from then, a number of strategies to cope, including the pretending and hiding.

    On any day of success, such as passing driving tests, GCSE’s or A levels when I was existing in my childhood home, she wasnt the first person I would tell. I found people in my life who I could tell who would say

    ‘Well done James’ – instead of the vampire reaction I was used to which was

    ‘I needed to hear this, give me some of your joy’ or

    ‘All that stress you gave me, I can relax now‘ (its all about them remember)

    Another strategy was that my body froze. Any hug, even hello or goodbye in any family gathering I would be as rigid as a board – she did not get anything. It was how I coped and survived. I shut down so she didn’t get emotions. She may have had some of my time, or even nicely cooked food, or even my intellectual capacity in listening to her life drama and personal victimhood, but she wasnt getting emotions. Thats what I naturally did. Shut down.

    This was my norm.

    Its only when I write this, when I realise that you think all sounds awful. But it was my norm.

    I was the child-adult, the emotional rescuer.

    Vampires do exist. So do Dementors and Polymorphs. They are parts of the preying psychopath.

    So, not only was nature and protection, love and genuine support completely lacking – but anything i achieved or did, or was – was also taken – or I was expected to give it to them, for their consumption.

    The thief comes to steal and destroy. The Wolf in Lambs clothing. I heard it all growing up. Vampires who take, who steal and destroy are real.

    Emotional neglect is in many forms.

    What they don’t give – they also take.

    And they still exist.

    Only some people are affected by them though, only some people can see them.

    Usually those who have known them from childhood. Usually those who feel it in the pit of their soul.

  • On Intuition

    On Intuition

    I love this by Anne Lamott:

    You get your intuition back when you make space for it, when you stop the chattering of the rational mind

    The rational mind doesn’t nourish you.

    You assume that it gives you the truth, because the rational mind is the golden calf that this culture worships , but this is not true.

    Rationality squeezes out much that is rich and juicy and fascinating.

    Sometimes intuition needs coaxing, because intuition is a little shy.

    But if you try not to crowd it, intuition often wafts up from the soul or subconscious, and then becomes a tiny fitful little flame.

    It will be blown about about by too much compulsion and manic attention, but will burn quietly when watched with gentle concentration

    Anne Lamott, Bird By Bird (1994)

    What has it meant to me, to let my soul speak?

    What does it mean to you

    That spark from the well of the soul

    Warmth, energy, power, from within

    Tentative

    What has it meant to me to hide my inner voice for so long, to have the rational mind needfully take over for my own survival. Rational mind to survive. Intuition and inner voice to nourish. Theres a big difference.

    What do you think? What do you feel? What colour is your intuition when it emerges from within?

  • Self-love on the ‘Memory-feel’ days

    Theres lots of reasons why I struggle with this time of the year. Quite apart from this year in which I’m navigating a new job, a new home and living in a new area between January and March.

    This time of the year, has too many other reminders.

    Some days fluctuate, so its not a set date, like mothers day.

    But others are fixed.

    For two of my friends on facebook I note that today has been a day to remember significant life-health events, memories that have feelings. Feelings of relief, of process, of accomplishment, of gratitude of being alive- so so good to read, and look back in this way.

    I think I accepted a while ago that I didnt actually have parents. They do exist and are alive. But they don’t exist as parents. They weren’t ever parents, in the actual sense. Not parents who cared, loved, protected or nurtured. Not parents who educated, supported or empathised. Not parents who you tell everything to, felt safe or warm with or know that they would be there, or that they would give everything for their children. They exist orbiting their own toxic emotional world.

    And I can accept that, and I choose not to have anything to do with them.

    It’s been a very long long process to get to.

    As many of you may have read, in the previous blogs on this site. The journey of me coming to terms with, and dealing appropriately with them, for my own well being and sake has been significant.

    But todays date loomed a bit in the calendar.

    And I kind of knew it might do.

    However much, and its probably only the second year that I have had to deal with this day as a difficult day – last year I was in the process of the dealing with, my emotional place was in a different.

    So today from a place of acceptance, I was expecting the feelings.

    April 8th is one of parents birthdays, its also the day I remember on which my lovely grandad died 23 years ago.

    A double ‘memory-feel’ day.

    I used to not think about these kind of days. Growing up avoiding emotions, with a survival mentality and closed, all I would do on days like thins was do everything I could to pretend it wasnt today, avoid it. Do everything to distract.

    The feelings lying lurking in the corner as I was scared of feeling them, and not in a safe place to do so. Avoid. Fear.

    Some triggers hit you unawares, and I think I’m fortunate on that regard, very few things in my daily life have any reminder of my parents – well until last weekend when I used an electric drill for the first time in 3 years – but not normally – there’s no favourite foods, smells, music, cultural references that remind me of them in day to day.

    So im left largely with dates. Significant dates – memory-feel dates. Birthdays, Mothers/Fathers days, those kind of thing.

    Before I might have tried to avoid all of this, because I always thought the pain of all the emotions would be significant.

    Today, theres been a mixture of pain, grief, anger, relief, and also sense of growing up and standing up to them – defending and protecting myself.

    I knew id have a reaction today. Some of those feelings have welled up a bit. Its caused me to think of my own children, to think about being a dad, to think about having to be my own parent to myself and my own inner child – to reparent myself.

    It was ok to cry a bit today. On my couch, in my nice new flat. No need to hold back the moment of the feelings. Just let them come out. Crying is good. Didn’t need to be for long, just enough to let what was welling up come out, release a bit. Let them out.

    It didnt hurt anyone by feeling my emotions, the ones so far today anyway.

    And I wrote a bit in my therapy journal.

    Acceptance of the situation of today, its memories also acceptance that the emotions may just come out. Acceptance that the day may have moments. Acceptance that I am human, raw and vulnerable. That I dint just need to try and survive by avoidance.

    Theres been happy feelings today too, as its days like this when Christelle just knows how to make me laugh and cry at the same time.

    Awareness that the present of today might include recurrence and residues of the past.

    An all the feels kind of day.

    One of the slightly raw ones.

    Thats its absolutely ok to have.

    Accepting the ‘Memory-feel’ days.

    Giving myself the opportunity to tell myself, again, of the truth of myself, and loving myself, that I am ok, and I am safe and loved.

    Breathe.

  • The Surprising Sex life of a Dunnock

    One of the new hobbies I’ve taken up in the last few years has been nature and bird watching, to accompany this I’ve bought a few reference books, you know the sort, the ones that appeared on other people’s bookshelves as I was growing up, like my nanna, actually.. RSPB British birds, that kind of thing.

    As well as taking the book out with me when I go walking, it’s been relaxing to read it, and also read it to my fiance Christelle. she’s been more interested in birds that I have thought, and I tentatively shared with her originally that I was beginning to like this slow hobby.

    But recently we’ve been reading together the different bird species in the UK so that we can go walking together and identify some. San Diego has very different birds. So

    So far I’ve read to her some of my favourites or the more interesting ones, like kingfishers, owls, goldcrests, Swans, blue tits, finches etc

    And many of them are very similar, in the ‘breeding’ section. There’s a courtship, female and male make nest, either or both incubate, either feed and then young fledge a few days or weeks later. Same for every bird I’d read so far.

    So, today I had no great expectations for the dunnock. Small grey/blue bird that my only knowledge of really was that it was prime nest material for the devious cuckoo.

    Dunnocks, it transpires practice polyandry and polygamy.

    Dunnocks are the promiscuous of the UK bird life.

    Who knew???

    I certainly didn’t…

    Clearly when the UK birds were deciding their mating patterns, the dunnocks were like ‘sod that, were doing our own thing to survive and reproduce’

    Look again, that little brown ish bird that hangs around with sparrows but hops along the ground…it’s hiding a bit of secret on its ‘relationship status’ more to the point it looks like either male or female it could be in multi relationship, that it seems like, works ok for it

    The thought of promiscuous dunnocks has made me smile all day, so I thought I’d share it with you. Maybe it’s a reminder to me to keep looking for the surprising stories in what appears grey, small and insignificant. M

    Maybe it’s about life and the world being full of surprises waiting to be encountered and explored. Maybe it’s just that I found the surprising sex life of a dunnock funny today was all it was. Sometimes the world has fun for us in places we didn’t realise.

    Even the writers of RSPB birds think so too.

  • Let you be you

    Im talking to you,

    Yes you

    Come closer,

    Come closer

    Look at me,

    Look at me

    I want you to know

    I want you to see

    I want to to tell you

    The truth

    That you are magic

    That you are love

    That you are life

    Breathe

    and let your heart

    let your body

    let the gaps between your breath

    feel

    the magic

    love

    life

    and free

    to be

    Come closer the the magic

    Come closer to the love

    Come closer to the life

    It was there all along

    Inner child running free

    Time to finally be truly me,

    Come closer.

    Let you be.

    Let you be you

    Kicking and screaming

    passionate

    free

    Let you be you

    Dont contain it any longer

    stuck in your mind

    Let you be you

    loving, gentle, kind again

    Let you be you

    all you ever wanted to be

    Let you be you

    the self you once tried to hide

    Let you be you

    as you wonderfully are

    let your magic shine bright

    free

    Come closer,

    to who you are

    Magic, love and free

    Let

    you

    be.

  • Heart Writing

    With the exception of days like today (April fools day in the UK) , I’ve always believed in writing about things that I thought were true. Today is that one day when, over on my other blog I like to do something a little bit light. But it is only for one day. The rest of the time over there on my learning from the streets blog I have shared about what I believed to be true, true about society, about young people, about faith, about church, how my head, how my eyes, how I have seen the world from a particular perspective. It has been true, as truthful as I could be. Maybe not complete, but at least me trying to be authentic, trying to write.

    What I didnt use to write about was truth from my wounds.

    I tried to to hide it behind advice for others.

    I tried to give – with barely anything in my own tank.

    I may have written truth to be useful for others

    But for myself? I’ll admit, writing for the sometimes the rush of numbers of views or reads, or share, or even nice comments, likes or emails in return, sometimes.

    Writing so that I might be important, writing that I might be useful

    Writing so that I might be needed, or popular.

    Writing as a veiled cry for help.

    Sometimes, rarely, I write from just my head.

    My head was safe, my head was useful, my head contained all thinking of theory and practice and reading and processes and intelligence, my head was where I existed, true….but not complete.

    I notice the difference now.

    I notice when I write from my heart, not just my head

    As I experienced wounds that caused me to change

    As I felt, not thought

    As I hurt, not understood

    As I worked through, not avoided

    As I became open, so my heart became

    Theres something about freedom from all that trapped emotional bondage, pain and abuse that causes me to want to write about it, and share, something, so that it might be that something for you, as it has been for me.

    A gift that I have already opened, that is for you too.

    What is the truth of my heart now?

    Honestly? Its a bit tired, but its calm, and after 4 months of high drama, anxiety and worry, its learning how to be still again (see previous blog) . To embrace what might feel like boredom after high emotional tension. Thats the truth. The truth of my wounds is that im pre-wired for emotional tension – Ive been trying to work out and solve the psychological mystery of the damaging others in my life, fear, terror, shame, pain, gaslighting, neglect, emptiness – that calm, can feel like boredom- the adrenaline has ran away.

    Writing from the truth of my wounds – that’s what Anne Lamott writes in her book Bird by Bird, writing from the truth of your wounds.

    Writing the truth, that gives the opportunity for truth to set others free, from the truth of my own freedom. Write about love, and joy, and childhood and when you felt everything – she says.

    But I didnt feel everything.

    I closed everything off because thats when it was safe.

    I avoided and wanted to hide away.

    I didnt feel. I felt so self conscious about feeling anything that I couldn’t – shame and guilt were it all – and I hoped Jesus would take it away. And Jesus did, as well as even more of my emotions.

    I gave my testimony aged 14 at an event where I made up ‘feeling suicidal’ as a child, just to try and have a decent testimony, because even then I didnt have a cool testimony of drugs or prison and I knew I didnt. I said something like ‘ I wasn’t very good at committing suicide, and look here I am now’ aged 14 joking about suicide. Aged 14 joking about something I so wanted to do, escape from being alive.

    I had experienced that escape before. As a toddler and even up to the age of 4 or 5.

    To escape the world, I held my breath.

    For as long as I could until I passed out, until I went blue.

    I passed out and took myself to the invisible place, the dark place, a place that was away from the present, away from the lights, the pain and the neglect.

    And then the world would return. I’d still be on the floor.

    Write about your childhood, says Anne Lamott , write from your heart, write about the feelings. I have to try hard to get to mine, they were shut away for so long, I think as I read what she says, feelings need safety to emerge. What feelings did I have as a child?

    Feelings of expectation, feelings of responsibility, feelings of where I felt I was having to go through life alone, feelings of deep embarrassment, of blushing severely, having a face that would go red, and ears that would go red, being bullied at school by girls. Theres no surprise, that didnt change. How did girls aged 7 know that this little boy of 5 was easy to embarrass and pick on? They didnt do it to others? Maybe its because there was nothing in me that knew how to stand up for myself, to run away, to ignore, so I would just take it. It took another 38 years for me to actually learn this.

    My word, speaking truth is taking me to a whole load of heart wounding places. I didnt even realise or connect all of this, until then. Write from my wounds. It might be interesting for one of you.

    But thats not the point, I dont really care if any of this is interesting to you, or any of you, theres truth and fire in my heart that wants to come out and express itself, in different ways, on different days. Its the truth about what happened to me 40 years ago, 20 years ago, or only last week, as a heart that was neglected, hidden away now experiences the joys and challenges of life – and some of the in-between moments too. Healing for men, or healing for me.

    Writing from my heart might be messy, silly and playful, the child wanting to be free, that inner child feeling the sun on his face, crushing sand on his feet, and running into the water of writing, loving and living. Perfection is the tool of the oppressor, and the truth of life is messy, silly, loving creative and free.

    Write from your heart, your wounds, your life, write authentically, write so that your audience trusts you to be you, dont write to manipulate, or patronise – says Anne Lamott, and maybe this blog is a response to her book that ive just read, as I work through writing truth, and writing about the lost feelings of childhood, trying to dig deep into them. So thank you Christelle for the book for my birthday, and thank you Anne, for encouraging these writing hands and fingers to be, to be real, to be me. That was the point of this blog Healing for Men all along, to help me to write from my heart. I think its starting to happen.

  • Responding to hard things

    I write this as I’m on the train to London from my new home in Darlington, having moved in 6 days ago. Today I say goodbye (professionally) to my FYT colleagues on a first team day in over 2 years.

    But yesterday I realised that I could breathe.

    It was the first time I could breathe and let my body relax since at least 9th December. 3 months of feeling the underlying ache of anxiety and having to respond well to it.

    It was on 9th December that I got the news I was being made redundant from a job I loved. The rest of the month was spent dealing with that.

    It was also spent looking forward to spending Christmas with away in the USA and dealing with all the flight paperwork, permission, covid tests and travel. The time away was glorious by the way, and the break I needed, and I got engaged to my beautiful love Christelle.

    But I knew whilst I was away what I was coming back to, looking for work.

    Nope. Not quite.

    For, on 9th January my letting agent called, I thought it wasn’t a normal time for them to call, to say that the landlord was selling the flat I was in,I had two months to move out. Yes, I know it was longer notice than usual , but it was nice that the date of my birthday this year was also written large on my eviction notice.

    So, now I had to find somewhere to live and somewhere to work. Breathing took on a whole new dimension. Breathing to cope. Breathing to stay regulated.

    Trying to respond well in the midst, meant living it, not necessarily writing about it. It meant accessing the therapy homework, journalling feelings, breathing.

    My rational brain said that my flat was just bricks and mortar, but given the role it has played in my healing, recovery and rebuilding, it had become so much more. I went through feelings of betrayal when I saw new flats. Even though I knew I had no choice but to move, I still didn’t want to.

    My rational brain also wondered how I’d find a new flat in a competitive market without a job that was more than a few hours per week. Thats a rational thought..isn’t it?

    I kept reminding myself that through all these life circumstances that they were just that, life circumstances, they weren’t all of life. I tried to tell myself that I am the sky, not the clouds. Life is bigger and I am more than these circumstances..even if these circumstances are challenging. They will pass.

    Even if the Sky/cloud thing is a good metaphor, doesn’t mean that I didn’t struggle with dealing with the emotions of everything. I could sense myself trying to say ‘Im ok’ when I wasn’t, and avoiding wanting to face the emotions of frustration, shock, grief and loss. I could say that I was a model patient of myself , noting my emotions and being present to them. But that wouldnt be true. Even after sitting in the emotion, noting it, breathing and working through it was a good thing each time. Didn’t always mean that I wanted to face them every time.

    And everything I didn’t it lurked in the background a little bit longer, chipping away as I avoided it.

    I may have re read Eckhart Tolle during these last three months on being present and learning acceptance, but I had to do it. Accepting, going with the flow, offering less resistance. Opportunities may be waiting, but feeling acceptance, trusting the present was a hard gig. By the way also read both of Kishimi and Koga’s books on courage during this time. Maybe life circumstances like this are a good time to read Adlerian psychology. Or to do a counselling course at college. Maybe pain is where more is revealed. Maybe pain and change is a time for learning and digging deep. Or maybe just self help books are my current drug. Then again, as I remember, Richard Rohrs book Falling Upwards started all of this 4 years ago and that was read as I was made homeless and jobless then too.

    Just heading through Doncaster. If anyone is here for the travel update. Talking of trains, they, and nature have been places of calm in the gaps. Being mesmerised looking at life through binoculars forced the present to be more aware.

    Looking at nature in its pattern, regular trips to cowpen bewley woodland park to watch kingfishers, swans, and owls have been hugely grounding.

    The space that was my safe grounding place was now a place of tension, as the boxes began to be filled, as shedding happened, as the date loomed. Outside breathing space was more required.

    But then I’d see sunsets and nature changing, and it remind me of my own situation. I would be my own metaphor. Yet I was trying to stay present an see what I could see for what it was. Then I’d remember to breathe again.

    Positive news of changes emerged, new job and flat were found, I had been accepted and affirmed by others. Now I needed to continue to accept the changes, to accept and make the move into new things. It is now a week since I said goodbye to my old flat and I’ll write more about that soon. But as the removal men left having unpacked my stuff, at 4pm Thursday I clenched my fists and exclaimed ‘Yes’ I did it…I’m home.

    I did two hard things at once. More than that, it was a myriad of many tiny hard things, making choices, viewing flats, interviews, travel, whilst also staying alive, cooking, resting, shopping, self care during it all.

    And saying goodbyes. Which I hate doing. This was also something revealed to me. One of many things.

    I’m now nearly at Peterborough, and the WiFi signal on the train is fluid and maybe a sign to end this piece. Reflecting on my last 3 months. Noting how the last 3 days have felt peaceful and calm in comparison. Noting how practicing breathing in the cloud gaps is different to when the sky is clearer.

    As for metaphors this piece might be a cork piece. I was dealing with too many things to write much here, writing this piece and now that I’ve moved, I’ll have more head/emotional space to do more writing. There’s at least 10 drafts started in the last 3 months that didn’t get written. I’m grateful too for those who have offered presence during this time, sitting , listening, and understanding as Ive worked through all this change, especially to my love Christelle.

    Breathing clean calm air after facing and doing hard things. I feel light again, I can breathe…

  • Walking the hard road of loving myself

    Walking the hard road of loving myself

    Who is the most important person in your life?

    The hardest thing for me, was too realise..that this was actually me.

    What are the things you look after? Your bike? Your tools? the remote control? The car?

    What about yourself?

    I didnt.

    I had no idea how to.

    Theres a great description in the beginning of the book Matilda by Roald Dahl of the sickening parents who espouse greatness on a mediocre child, compared to the parents who completely ignore, belittle and fail to see the magical talented one. I found it revealing as I re read it a few months ago.

    Growing up, messages I heard were that ‘other parents spoil their children’ or ‘pamper’ them

    or

    ‘We’re not going to put pressure on you by rewarding you with money’

    These and others were projections.

    Justifications for a lack of support, acknowledgement and encouragement – for..it couldn’t look like being spoiled or pampered could it…

    Justifications for expectations, and for emotional neglect.

    The thing is, is that as I grew up looking for something that would never happen, I ended up forgetting myself, and times that I did think I was choosing myself, it was seen as being selfish.

    The thing about the constant walking on eggshells, is that your only trying to avoid them, appease them, sooth them.. what happened to me, and others with narcissistic/emotionally immature parents or partners, is that I lost myself.

    There was the ‘me’ that tried to be compliant

    There was the ‘me’ that realised that they had to do life alone

    There was the ‘me’ that had to discover a way of doing life despite them

    There was the ‘me’ that was only scared.

    There was the me – who was unable to make decisions or choices or have needs and wants – because..

    There was the ‘me’ that effectively was oriented around them…around her….around the other

    I hadn’t ever realised myself as important or valuable. How could I? The key to survival was meet their needs.

    What do you mean ‘I’ might be important?

    that just sounds like being selfish James….

    you have to meet my needs, I cant cope if im not the needy one around here

    Isnt God the most important thing in your life James? not you….

    In a way it was easy to hide myself in a profession, vocation even, where I could think of others before myself. Love my neighbour, and get angry about injustice ‘over there’ – rather than be angry about my own condition. Love myself enough to have something to defend.

    Thats the thing with emotional abuse – you become devalued and fearful into becoming almost nothing, but a slave to them.

    Back to Trauma bonding.

    No wonder I and many others dont just get emotionally abused once. Childhood abuse sets us up again.

    Why?

    Unless its obvious, but even then, we dont know how what abused us did so, and therefore we have no words or language to describe it, or then get help to recover from it. So we blindly give ourselves away again in the same way we only know how to. Attracted to only slightly less worse treatment than we’ve already had once. Or think we can try and fix this new abusive person.

    I started to realise, once I had permission and safety to be able to, that I was important.

    I started to realise that I was valuable.

    I started to realise that I was worth something – not just for what I did..but who I am

    I started to realise that I could love myself

    I started to realise that the I part of me, my -self – was ok, was good.

    How did I realise?

    Because I started to give myself time. Because someone treated me to some food, and a house, and somewhere to stay when I had nothing. Because I received.

    I had no choice.

    I was important enough..to be cared for myself.

    It was only a start, it was all it needed to be, a start to realise – but it was a new start, I became my own new toy.

    I was important enough…to invest in discovering myself, and paying for therapy – internal work a priority – rather than external entertainment…because I am important

    I was important enough…to value my time, my safety, boundaries of noise and distraction

    I was important enough…to say no and block those who caused abuse.

    I was important enough…and somehow other changes took place..

    I was important..so its ok to buy myself new clothes, eat nice food, travel and buy things for me that I like, it didnt need an excuse or reason.

    Maybe these things come naturally to you, but they didnt to me. Buying things for myself had previously been met with ‘do you really need that’ or ‘nice of you to spend money on yourself’ or ‘you already have one of those, why do you need another one’ –

    Because someone else needs and neediness more important that my own.

    Gaining self importance was one of the big keys for me in unlocking the doors, removing the layers of onion skins of re building and changing that I needed to do. I would say now that I spend 40 odd years of my life having no sense of self worth or value at all. It was hard work, it still is, as it involves new habits, behaviours and patterns that were default for a very long time.

    I had an inner voice that told me repeatedly that I would get through this, I would survive, that I would work it out…but not an inner voice that told me that I was important, that I was worth it… so when that started to change it was a big thing.

    Feeling and accepting a healthy self importance has been the journey I have made from a place of emotionally empty selflessness.

    Who is the most important person in your life?

    You are.

    And that isn’t selfish. Its the truth.

    How might you start today?

    Are you about to pick a fight with yourself over it?

    Give yourself excuses not to bother?

    Make a reason?

    Yes, its fucking hard to do.

    But you are the most important person you could love today.

    And…so am I…

    Time to love, enjoy, and accept ourselves…we are beautiful just the way we are.

  • Courage to be Human

    Courage to be Human

    Courage to be Normal

    Courage to be Happy

    Courage to accept that I am who I am

    Courage to stop

    Courage to breathe

    Courage to cry and weep

    Courage to be vulnerable

    Courage to hurt

    Courage to feel

    Courage to know myself

    Courage to be brave

    Courage to say No

    Courage to say Yes

    Courage to be disliked

    Courage to dance

    Courage to not give a fuck

    Courage to believe

    Courage to grow

    Courage to protect

    Courage to feel it all again

    Courage to say I can’t do this by myself anymore

    Courage to ask for help

    Courage to not carry on- the way it was

    Courage to listen to my heart

    Courage to listen to my soul

    Courage to be

    Courage to tell myself, that I am valuable

    Courage to accept myself – as I am

    Courage to live

    Courage to enjoy

    Courage to play

    Courage to make

    Courage to love

    Courage to relax

    Courage to change

    Courage to shout

    Courage to be angry

    Courage to be open

    Courage to be still

    Courage in the midst

    Courage to be… content

    Courage to be

    Courage to respect ourselves

    Courage to be real

    Courage to understand our emotions and control them

    Courage – do we have it?

    It takes courage to love – when its easier to pick a fight

    It takes courage to be open – when its easier to hide

    It takes courage to stop and be here now – when its easier to avoid and rush into tomorrow

    What might it mean to have courage?

    What might it mean to be strong?

    What might it mean to choose a path of courage – for yourself?

    What might it mean to act with courage everyday?

    Don’t you deserve it,

    to be courageous with yourself?

    The good, loving human that you are?