James Ballantyne

Tag: abuse

  • 1000 Days (Since I last went to Church)

    In a week when its been revealed that 50% of the UK is no longer christian, no surprise really, tbh… but I have to ‘confess’ something:

    I dont go to church anymore.

    It just stopped.

    I just stopped going.

    About 1000 days ago. That’s over 150 potential Church going Sundays.

    Oh and by the way, its also about 1000 days since the start of the March 2020 lockdown.

    But, my last Sunday Church Sunday was over a month before.

    A month before everyone was doing it.

    I just stopped going.

    And…. I haven’t gone back.

    On one hand that no one contacted me from the church I was going to at the time, revealed to me something, but I know the world was gearing up for a major crisis at that time, and me not going to church was barely that. Im glad in a way though, as it meant I didnt have to deal with any conversation about not going.

    So here I am, 1000 ish days later.

    To say id been drifting away from church for a long time before was pretty accurate. I knew I didnt want to commit to a church, something was stopping me, and had for a while.

    Also, though I wrote this piece in 2016/7, about falling off the evangelical cliff, and the resources I gathered along the way, what I hadn’t quite been able to do was ‘stop’ going to church.

    Falling off the Evangelical Cliff

    ‘Church’ had been part of me for , well, a lifetime, and ‘not’ going at that time was too much, I think. I still needed it, for the things that it gave me, identity, some influence, even a space to be creative, music and the odd preach. But in another world I was dynamic, edgy, liberal, yet I still ‘went’ to church in quite a conforming way.

    So I still kept going. Just.

    So, not going had been on the cards for a while.

    It took a bit of courage to finally stop going. Two Sundays of guilt. But that was it.

    Then I stopped, I thought it might be for a few weeks.

    But then no one went to church for months.

    And neither did I.

    And… it was ok…

    And…I am still alive…

    What I lost by not going was some of the people who went.

    But what I gained was significant time for me.

    I also gained coherence, and the time I didnt waste in trying to justify something to myself, doing something I felt I ‘should’ do, and had always felt I ‘should’ do. But then Sundays became another day at the weekend to walk, another day for me.

    I gained many other things too, and I think they are for future writing.

    And, in the last 1000 days, I have so needed those days.

    As, what I have come to terms with and dealt with in the those 1000 days has been the extent of the abuse I suffered as a child, and the effects of ‘self-loathing’ evangelicalism, and the impact of rigid, moralistic, closed minded evangelical faith on me as a child.

    Also in those 1000 days I began and recently ended a process in challenging that abuse, and in that process constructed significant boundaries from them, yes, finally 28 years after wanting to do it the first time, I have effectively divorced my parents.

    I took time to undergo therapy for those events, and their impact.

    It has been significant, and hard.

    And, from a spiritual perspective, through these discovered something about myself that has been profoundly impactful, about the spirituality that has been revealed that exists on my inside – and that’s for another day in terms of writing about it, but it has been a beautiful life filling awakening spiritual journey. (Do have a look in the menu above to see some of the resources that have guided me during this time on this, especially Lucia Cappacione, Eckhart Tolle, Haemin Sunim, Richard Rohr, Gary Zukav, as well as the Daily Northumbria prayer book, The CCA daily readings, and more recently John O Donohue)

    In 1000 days, or more specifically, since I started a 2nd bout of therapy 2 years ago this week, unbeknown to what I thought I was going to therapy for, I discovered a coherency to my spiritual life that I hadn’t encountered before. And I feel significantly better for it.

    God makes more sense too, because actually God makes less sense, but I feel God and this is a whole new mysterious love that is deeply connectful. God seems everywhere and in everything and also deeply within. Maybe that’s what Colossians was about all the time. Reconciliation of all things.

    ( See.. I haven’t rejected faith)

    I have enjoyed in the last three years experiencing a number of ‘online’ churches, with the most coherent, deep, soulful and peaceful being a Jewish Bar mitzvah and the Buddhist meditations, and these I have gone with with Christelle, who I also introduced her to anglican services too with Gemma Sampson (then in Hartlepool).

    I didnt expect to not keep going to church, in the same way that I didnt expect that going to therapy became the beginning of a spiritual journey, via some of the dark nights of my own soul. And also, discovering that soul too. A soul, a life, a ‘James’ that had been left behind and adapted into a type of existence.

    And this is before some of the other things that have happened to me in the last 1000 days, including marrying my beautiful Christelle a few months ago – changing jobs, flats and cars in that time too.

    As I look back on these 1000 days I now notice that its been a time of shedding of the old, and some of that was very painful, some less so, some shedding, like the proverbial Onion involved tears, and other sheddings gave space for the new to emerge.

    And some of that is for the future.

    But for today, its to recognise that its now about 1000 days, especially in a week when the christian faith in the UK has been brought to the attention, it prompted me to share a little.

    Maybe I’m now in the ‘spiritual’ and still slightly religious category, maybe I’m just realising myself and the spirituality within me, within the universe and the divine love that connects all, maybe….

    Maybe its just about becoming me, and that required a deep emotional and spiritual cleanse.

    So, tomorrow, its Sunday… where shall I go for a walk?

  • Domestic Violence Awareness Month

    Domestic Violence Awareness Month

    This Month is #domesticviolenceawarenessmonth

    More details are here: https://www.daysoftheyear.com/days/domestic-violence-awareness-month/

    Signs You Are In An Abusive Relationship

    A lot of people do not realize that they are in an abusive relationship. Here are some of the signs that you could be in an abusive relationship that you need to get out of…

    • Your partner sexually or physically abuses you. If they ever make you have sex with them when you don’t want to, hit you, shove you, or push you, this is domestic abuse. 
    • Your partner threatens you or your family.
    • Your partner puts your down. They attack your capabilities, mental health, looks, or intelligence. They blame you for their violent outbursts.
    • Your partner is jealous. They may isolate you from your family or friends or they may accuse you of not being faithful.
    • Your partner is possessive. They may check up on you all of the time and they may get angry if you hang out with certain people.
    • Your partner has strangled you, beat you, or hit you in the past.

    Emotional Abuse

    When we talk about raising awareness for Domestic Violence Awareness Month, it’s important that we acknowledge emotional abuse. This is a much bigger problem than a lot of people realize. Just because you don’t have bruises on your skin does not mean you are not being abused. A lot of women and men suffer from emotional abuse, and it is no less destructive. Unfortunately, emotional abuse is often overlooked or minimized, even by those experiencing this.

    Emotional abusers look to chip away at your feelings of independence and self-worth. You can end up feeling like you do not have anything without your abusive partner or that there is no way out of your relationship. 

    Emotional abuse includes verbal abuse. This includes controlling behavior, intimidation, isolation, shaming, blaming, name-calling, and yelling. Abusers who use psychological or emotional abuse will often throw about threats of physical violence, as well as other repercussions if you do not do what they demand. 

    Gaslighting is one form of emotional and verbal abuse

    Taken from https://www.growthcounselingservices.com/blog/2019/9/18/intimate-and-tribal-gas-lighting-how-to-keep-yourself-safe-amp-sane

    The scars of emotional abuse run deep, and they are very real! You may assume that physical abuse is a lot worse, as people can end up with physical wounds and send you to the hospital. However, emotional abuse can be just as damaging. Sometimes, it can even be worse. This is why it is important to raise awareness of all types of domestic violence and abuse.

    Financial abuse is one of the subtler forms of emotional abuse. Some examples of this include:

    • Taking your money or stealing from you
    • Sabotaging your job – calling constantly or making you miss work
    • Preventing you from choosing your own career or working
    • Restricting you to an allowance
    • Withholding basic necessities, such as shelter, medications, clothes, and food 
    • Making you account for every penny you spend
    • Withholding credit cards or money
    • Rigidly controlling your finances

    Note that Men can experience Domestic abuse too. I have experienced both abuse by a controlling dominating Mother and then having suffered emotional abuse in a previous long term relationship.

    If you would like to speak in confidence about Domestic Abuse that you are suffering as a male – then do contact this helpline – https://mensadviceline.org.uk

    Or Man kind ; Here : https://www.mankind.org.uk/help-for-victims/types-of-domestic-abuse/

    Its not just women, its not just relationships linked to poverty, its not relationships ‘out there’ it occurs in churches and so called ‘christian relationships’ no relationship is immune from it, when actions occur that stem from not taking personal responsibility, blaming, deep neediness, as well as power imbalances.

    If you have committed abuse of others – do get help – there is time, there is support to change, should you realise that there is a better way to behave.

    The world is a better place when we all are too.

    There is no shame in asking for help

    There is no shame in admitting that there is a problem in your relationship

    There is no shame in realising that you have been or are being abused.

    It isn’t your fault, their behaviour isn’t your responsibility.

    Time to make yourself safe, time to deserve better, time to feel like living and not just surviving.

    #domesticviolenceawarenessmonth

    Purple is the colour.

  • The Joy of First Time Puddles

    It rained today.

    Actually, where I was, it more than rained today

    Rain bounced off the roof today

    Rain flooded the cafe patio where I was today

    And it deluged the country lanes off North Yorkshire today for about 4 hours.

    And it was so bad, and spectacular some people took photos of it.

    So did I

    But I was inside. With the other sweaty walkers who’d made it indoors – filling the cafe with a stale damp smell of wet boots and jackets.

    And by three hours later the water had cascaded down the hill, and it was sunny at the top, and most of what was evident in the photo above, had dried away.

    But that’s not really what I wanted to write about. I wanted to give you the first part of my afternoon.

    Rain.

    As I drove back I saw something far far more remarkable and precious.

    28 Miles later and I have driven down the hill, over the A19 to Northallerton and making my way home.

    When I’m about a mile from my house and driving in the 30mph zone and about to queue for a roundabout.

    It has clearly been raining here too.

    The paved ‘pavement’ with its undulating slabs and grass edges was holding pools of water, substantial ones.

    And next to one of these pools was a navy blue push chair, containing a baby, the handle of the pushchair held by mum.

    Standing in the pool of water on the pavement was a tiny blonde boy. Navy blue dungarees, blue trainer shoes.

    Must have been about a year old, not much more.

    Standing still in the water, water about as high up to the top of his soles, so, not too deep.

    He was standing there as if this was the first puddle he had stood in in his entire life. Spellbound.

    Not splashing the water, running in it – but just standing in it.

    Feeling it.

    Noting the moment.

    Amazed.

    Then I thought, given the lack of rain, and his age – it might well be the first time he has seen a puddle.

    Seeing and feeling a puddle for the first time.

    Standing amazed, raptured. That feeling.

    First

    Time

    Puddle

    And it was pure joy.

    And watching it, for that split second moment – was pure joy too.

    Seeing childlike curiosity and joy – was joy in itself.

    Maybe that blue dressed blonde boy reminded me of someone…

    Maybe it was joyful too to see how the mum was letting the boy just ‘be present’ in the puddle and feel it

    It was ‘just’ a moment. But it was a ‘joy’ moment.

    A moment where I saw the little boy in the arena – the little boy in the puddle – the boy risk being himself – the boy risk the reaction of others – and have this moment validated by his mum.

    The boy experience the feeling of being wet. (and not just in a bath)

    Its easier to watch the rain and take photos of it, and moan about it, or be bored and frustrated by it.

    It was easier for me to stand on the edge of the arena and avoid the feelings, and watch as I didn’t take part in being myself in life. It wasnt easier, it was, as Brene Brown says, about numbing, shielding and hiding my vulnerabilities for the sake of survival. Watching life from the edge, disconnected.

    Watching the boy in the puddle helped me realise how I started to feel.

    How I needed the safety to dip my toe into the feelings – of metaphorical water.

    To let myself feel

    Feelings ive found can be like puddles, they can be like waves, they can be like waterfalls.

    High Force – County Durham – Sept 2022

    Some are pleasant, some are calm, some surprise and some feeling like a downward uncontrollable swirl, sometimes the water is warm, other times it’s cold.

    I used to try and wear layers of waterproofs, heavy boots and umbrellas and lather myself in oil. Anything to avoid and protect myself from getting wet emotionally. Or stay in the warm spots of looking into and helping others with their emotions. I could understand aspects of other peoples water. But without letting my own feet get wet. Too risky.

    Im on a continual journey of keeping my feet in the water. Keeping my feet in. Not afraid.

    Feeling, the sand, the cold, the wet, the reaction.

    Feelings like rain, like water.

    Raw, naked feet and ankles.

    About to feel.

    The joy of the first time puddle.

    The joy of feeling

    And it was ok. It was ok to feel. Safe to feel.

    The vulnerability of feeling for the first time.

    Learning to feel

    Learning to accept

    Learning to be raw and naked

    Learning to stand in the water

    Attending to my human self, my emotional self.

    The raw joy of first time puddles.

    References to ‘The Arena’ are from Brene Browns book Daring Greatly – which im reading at the moment.

  • 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.

  • 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 28) After you’ve closed the door … let the Guilting begin.

    Surviving Psychopathic Parenting (Part 28) After you’ve closed the door … let the Guilting begin.

    No I don’t mean the nostalgic return to quilting involving turning fabric into bed sheets. I mean guilting.

    After I plucked up the courage and made difficult decisions to leave and block abusive people in my life.

    People who had treated me badly, abusively in different ways- though lots of emotional abuse, gaslighting, covert narcissism, emotional neglect, bullying and bewildering drama.

    I took steps to remove them from my life – standing up for myself.

    Then, do you know what happened, they decided just to let me go, peacefully, respecting my decision.

    (im being sarcastic..)

    No, you see, even though they make absolutely no effort for a relationship – they have to make it look as though they are now making an effort, and that the person, me, becomes the subject of operation guilting.

    ‘We’re really sad you dont speak to us’

    ‘They’re missing you’

    ‘What does God say about broken relationships – shouldn’t you reconcile’

    ‘ Remember all our happy memories’

    ‘Shouldn’t you….’

    ‘so and so said we were good together’

    ‘You’re missing out’

    ‘Just remember we’re your parents…’

    ‘The Bible says…’

    On one occasion my personal details were given away to someone who sent me a pleading guilt ridden letter, and a book on ‘restoring relationships’. I mean…..

    Amongst other things, they go for playing on the thing that might cause the most guilt or shame – faith, compliance, some tug at a happy memory, in amongst 20 or 40 or more years of suffering. Im trying to draw a slight line here in separating guilting from breadcrumbing. Breadcrumbing is when the person gives gift, or promises that are nothing other than breadcrumbs, trying to win you back. Guilting is when they use guilt to.

    Often guilting appears with breadcrumbs, but its a different one. They might say that they’re not going to try and win you back – but instead play the guilt cards.

    Whats often telling with guilting is the lack of actual effort they make in the relationship (a narcissist never takes responsibility for anything) – they spend more effort in guiding afterwards in victimised mode – that when they could actually do something in the relationship itself. They’d rather play on the heart strings after, and have no heart within.

    They are not wanting you back – for who you really are (nb you were barely anything other than a toy, a slave or a trophy to them anyway) – they are doing everything they can be not to be angry, but projecting anger as guilt – because they have lost control of you. That is what they have lost. A wounded control freak is continuing the same behaviour. The tricks they once used have been revealed.

    The unexpected email may arrive, the card through the door, the letter – after you have made that decision to leave and leave for good – whether friend, sibling, partner or parent – watching for the guilting to begin, it’ll be there. Its just about control.

    One thing to note, guilting can be the last tactic they use, its the final flings of their loaded abusive dice. Once its been ignored – they know the game is up. But that might also be the tone in which any future communication is also. Its just that often, anger, fear and guilt are their only genuine emotional currency anyway, so its to be expected- every thing else is just false breadcrumbs.

  • Surviving Psychopathic Parenting (part 27) Without making a Noise

    I walked on tip toes for a good few years after learning to walk – I must have known the importance of having to stay quiet

    When I was told of for sneezing at the dinner table, I learned to sneeze, without making a noise

    Dont touch the water when peeing, too noisy

    Turn the TV down – I don’t want to hear it – came the voice from the kitchen

    Knowing which floorboards were creaky on the stairs, and avoiding them

    Helped to know this, so that ‘operation turn bedroom light off’ could be invoked when these same stairs were landed on by those whose noise was constant.

    As well as mild, and loyal – being quiet was a survival strategy, don’t make a noise

    Dont draw attention….away from the one who’s attention was demanded

    Dont touch the piano– unless you’re going to play its properly

    I dont want you to learn the violin – ‘I cant bear the sound’

    And as for other noises…

    No burping or swearing allowed.

    No raised voices.

    Learning to be quiet – it was the only way.

    No shouting, no anger, no aggression

    Nothing to upset the monster.

    Creeping quietly around the house, hoping not to be found.

    Sneaking into the front room, whilst she was in the kitchen.

    A parent with a ‘do not disturb’ sign hung permanently around their neck.

    This wasn’t because she was working from home with a major investment project – or on the phone to clients – or with friends round – we were an inconvenience, unless useful.

    My role every day was to set the video each morning, to record the lunchtime episode of neighbours so we could watch at 4pm after school, so that she could be cooking at that time for when Dad got home. That was the ‘shared’ family moment – watching TV, the rest of the time..

    ‘Do not disturb’

    Quiet toys, lego (get them out one by one, don’t make a mess or a noise)

    Trains that didn’t have batteries

    Pocket calculators, chess, colouring

    Books to read

    Toys that didn’t involve anyone else to play with, so I could be on my own, all the time.

    Only one person could make a noise, only one person could dominate the sound.

    Other noise was a threat.

    Challenge it was seen to rebel. So stay quiet.

    What happens when you’re scared to make a noise? Utter inhibition.

    Learning to be quiet

    Learning to stay invisible , except where it was acceptable, on the trophy shelf.

    Noise was shameful, noise was disrespectful

    Noise challenged, noise rebelled

    So to comply, and to be loyal, I stayed quiet. Until I learned

    Until I learned how quiet had damaged me, and others around me, until I realised I could use my voice, speak and let my heart rise again.

  • Wounds like Eyes

    If the process of healing is like an onion

    One layer of tears at a time
    One more step towards the core

    Then wounds are like eyes

    They hurt when stung

    They are the raw, vulnerable awakening

    Of pain needing more work

    Raw exposed and seen

    Wound of black hurt

    The pupil, the dark eye in the middle

    A wound of pain surrounded by levels of anger, grief, torment, fear and betrayal

    Like an eye

    Today has been a wound day, completely unexpectedly

    A trigger went deep

    Rawness to the surface

    Yet it helped me to see

    To look at the pain again

    And see, that I am not the pain

    That i am powerful

    That I am safe

    That I am loved

    And I am not in that place

    Somehow for me, wounds help me to see

    Help me to feel, a reminder to continue to be the new me

    Wounds help me to see

    See me for me now

    See what I need

    Wounds like eyes.

  • I had to make it happen – myself

    I love when I read something and because im in a different time and place, it means something different to me, I see something different in the words and meaning that I didn’t before. When I studied hermeneutics as part of my theology studies and then personal research 10 years ago, I would have understood this as the ‘reader response’ to a text, and thought then only of sacred texts like the Bible.

    I have just finished re-reading The Hobbit, it’s the fourth time I have read it, and the second time I’ve read it out loud, I read it to my son George about 10 years ago, and recently to my fiance Christelle, also as a bed time story.

    It’s the first time I’ve read it in 8 years though, and I had sort of dismissed it as an adventure story, and wonder how I’d find it compared to having just read the Harry Potter series

    As well as finding resonance in the conversation with the dragon part, the sneaky burglar role and the effect of power and wealth – whether got for legitimate or non legitimate means, it was this part at the end that stood out

    And why should they not come true, surely you don’t disbelieve the prophecies, because you had a hand in bring them about yourself? You don’t really suppose that all your adventures and escapes were managed by mere luck, just for your sole benefit?

    What did I once believe? That God would sort things out? That I couldn’t make anything happen? Maybe even that my destiny was never to be happy and that was what my luck was?

    Or was I waiting for someone else to fix it for me? Me, the passive victim waiting to be emotionally rescued and someone else patch me up, and yes at the point of crisis I needed immediate patching up. But..

    I had to make it happen

    I had to act, even with all the best guidance and support in the world

    I had to make a myriad of choices and actions happen

    I had to learn how to make decisions for myself and also that were for myself

    I had to stop being passive, or waiting for someone or something else to fix it, or play a never ending waiting game of was a manipulation in itself.

    Echart Tolle writes something very similar, stating that in simple terms, if we want to get out of a situation, or change it, we must act, and doing nothing is also action. Improbably misquoting him, but hey I’m writing this on a train

    If I attributed what I did to ‘The Gods’ where would that leave me now? What if how Ive changes and grown and dug deep been all just God and not me? I’m not going to say that I don’t believe God wasn’t in it, and I’m rediscovering God again, but what sense of power, or achievement or self pride would I have in it, if It was just God’s plan or destiny? Or good luck?

    The universe conspires to help the dreamer – Paulo Coelho

    But even then I had to make things happen, i had to take responsibility for myself, make choices and decisions, not all of them perfect or right, but I where I listened to my heart, and sought to do something that I felt was best for me, somehow that did. And that includes every day. Every day even now.

    Whether that’s a positive decision to not have a TV or watch the news, whether that’s a positive decision to listen to my feelings and anxiety and sit, write and express them, whether that’s to cook good food for myself, whether that’s to continue to deal with the mess of the past or survival strategies of the past through therapy, whether that’s to embrace love and vulnerability with my fiance Christelle, whether that’s continuing day by day to attend to myself, be kind to myself, these are all active choices I make every single day.

    So maybe, this is all about power after all. I had to realise I had more power that I thought, more power than I knew, more power than I wanted, and that I wasn’t fatalistically dependent on someone else. That I didn’t need to be scared anymore.

    From a place of fear, of being abused and scared, I had to take power, I had to start to make things happen for myself, sometimes one vulnerable step after another, but still steps.

    Maybe destiny and prophecies have to be found and created, and not waited for…thanks Gandalf…

  • True Courage

    True Courage

    Im learning courage

    Not the courage to climb, to fight or to be successful

    Not the courage to be disliked, or happy

    But the courage to listen to the frightened parts of me

    The courage to love those parts

    The parts of me I hid away

    The part of me that hid away those parts

    The parts I hid away, in a safe place

    The parts of shame and guilt

    The hidden needs and wants

    The dreams and ambitions

    The pains and the joys

    I chose to hide them away

    Safe, from my abusers

    Feelings I hid- not acceptable, not appropriate

    Mask truth, lie to adapt, lie to survive

    The part of me that hid things

    To control, to keep safe.

    But now it is safe, for me to love

    Love opens the door to let light into the hidden places

    Love is gentle

    Love is kind

    To myself

    Feelings, emotions, stories, actions, coping strategies all like lost children hiding in a cupboard, hide and seek, with no seek

    Gradually waiting, to be held, loved, to be seen.

    This has been the courage I’m learning over the last month, especially, the courage to love and hold my abandoned childhood, to listen, slowly.

    One abandoned, hidden, neglected child at a time.

    Spiritual partnership by Gary Zukav