I am not entirely sure if there are words in the dictionary to describe the events of my last three weeks, and in the main they are not for here. But let’s just say that for almost every single one of them, there have been moments of being brave, courageous, of facing inner and outer demons, and doing a lot of digging deep. Much has been revealed.
But yesterday I crashed. I was done.
A call to my line manager, and two much needed days off were required. Yet I woke today with barely a plan, and barely the energy to even think of what I might do for the day.
Instead of giving I needed to receive.
Instead of trying to write, and be creative, just needed to be
Instead of learning I needed to feel
Instead of self help, I turned to poetry.
And after a walk along the river, and with my free Caffè Nero vouchers, started my flat white coffee, and picked up ‘Brave’ by Donna Ashworth.
And for an hour it was as if she took me out for coffee.
Words of her poetry speaking into my soul.
Phrases that leapt off the page, some more warmly received than others, some affirming, some bringing a silent tear, but delivered with a warmth, care and love, that I needed.
I offer some that struck out for me today, my coffee out with Donna Ashworth, for you today too.
One Day you will see,
That all this mud
was simply the soil
that grew you to full height
(Donna Ashworth, Brave)
You Mustn’t run on a broken leg
bones rest to heal, thats true
but you can still love with a
broken heart and you must
because love is the glue
(Donna Ashworth, Brave)
And this one:
I wish you beauty in this life, my friend
but most of all, I wish you the bravery
to see that beauty in yourself
because it is there, it most definitely is there.
(Donna Ashworth, I wish you beauty)
To become a more positive person
you must make a pact with your inner child
to hear her voice above that
of your inner critics and demons
(Donna Ashworth, The Positivity Pact)
Just begin….
The world may not immediately embrace
your contribution
but the universe will and its her you need on side
(Donne Ashworth)
If you dont know how to move forward…
just take a few brave steps and have faith,
the universe will meet you there
(Donna Ashworth)
It is brave not to be busy
to be bare and boldly being
when everyone else strives to buy
the emperors new clothes
(Donna Ashworth)
My Soul garden is in bloom when light is being sought
and love is at the forefront of all I choose
starting with
me
(Donna Ashworth, Soul Garden)
Sometimes it was just the words in between the poems, the almost throw away sentences that had no titles, not made it to ‘poetry status’ just gaps in between when balming words gracefully arrived from the page.
In amidst the conversations in the coffee shop, I had this one with Donna Ashworth, she sat there, invisible in the chair, but the words of her heart, written, calmed and restored my soul.
It’s about the way in which the unconscious expectations are placed on a child, it’s the story of how a child, then teenager, Jeannette McCurdy, has to resist growing up to maintain the fantasy of her mother, whom she adored, of being an actress.
I have read many books on parents and narcissism, but this is the first book I have read that describes the story of what the child had to do, and the effects long term.
There’s much in the book that I can relate to, there’s much that I have seen in other situations too.
If you want to get an idea of the damage emotional and coercive abuse, by a mother, can do and looks like, and how it sits under the radar of criminality, but is wholly self absorbed and destructive, then this is it.
It’s telling that the behaviour in the book has generational patterns, the grandmother was a similar whining moaning complaining woman. The men got all the blame (not doing enough, not meeting their needs, aloof, blamed for affairs to disorientate as the women were actually having affairs.. I’ll not tell spoilers) , the women sat aloof , controlling them all.
The thread of the mother’s perpetual victim story, of having and surviving cancer runs through. This story is forced down her own children’s throats on home videos, and used as a lever to get acting roles for Jeannette, ‘tell them your mum survived cancer as part of the audition’ is often directed.
The effect on Jeanette is continual people pleasing, pretending, orientating her entire life around not upsetting her mother,(who was always liable to cry, get angry, scream ‘ungrateful’ , or be disappointed) at any or regular occasions. Jeannette is on emotional alert all the time, in a life that until near the end of the book is not hers, but her mothers.
Jeannette takes on, since childhood, the emotional regulation of her mom, as the one who can soothe her, who can make her mum happy, yet.. to keep the relationship and Jeannette in her mothers orbit, nothing, not even a good audition or making a part is good enough. So Jeannette is perpetually emotionally exhausted, and notably is comes as a shock in her mid twenties that she can think of herself also. But by this time she is high on alcohol and the effects of 12 years of eating disorders.
Im glad my mom died is raw, it’s funny at times, and I found myself cheering Jeannette on for every healing conversation with a therapist and every step forward she was making, yet the catalogue of abuse and those who could take advantage of her extended beyond just her mother, which isn’t surprising.
It would be easy to dismiss this book as only being relevent in the culture created by child acting, the media and production companies, but it is easily relatable to other organizations and cultures, especially with a high performative, high expectation , moral expectation. The fact that Jeannette also experienced a high rigid culture of Mormonism and it’s expectations, and it’s associated shame, is a pointer. It’s interesting that Jeannette mothers pulled her away from church, as also projecting criticism of them to Jeannette, causing Jeannette to not continue to go, and feel the shame. Jeannette mom was just invalidating those who might be critical of her to her daughter.
What I like too is that Jeannette doesn’t use the N word until the very end of the book. But what she describes throughout is her experiences, as they are, the treatment and behaviour she suffered, and her responses to it, so that when she uses the ‘N’ word (Narcissistic) is carries all the weight. Again, those of us who experienced then normalised, then survived in and amongst this will likely get this, how the naming of it heals, but also the categorising hides the varieties of behaviour behind it. It reminded me of when I first read the pink book – the words I discovered were ‘self absorbed’ or as in Lindsay Gibsons books, ‘Emotionally immature’ rather than the oft-banded around N word. But when we learn the terms having suffered it, we know.
I was warned that I might be triggered by the book, and maybe that warning meant that I read the book prepared for what it may do. Yes, there are some aspects I relate to, high expectations, perpetual victim, emotional eggshells, at least, there are some differences, not every abusive mother looks or is the same.
Some are more covert, some overt
Some rely on victimhood, others entitlement
All have prey and supply, all divide, all use people as extension of roles, none take any responsibility, all create drama.
I’m Glad my Mom Died, is one such story of the effect of one type of narcissistic abusive mothers, it’s relief to those who’ve experienced something similar (to know we’re not alone) and insight to those who start to see the patterns from this example.
Cheering you on Jeannette, keep on going putting yourself first.
Thank you to my new Daughter in Law Meghan for recommending this book to me, much appreciated, and to my lovely Christelle for transporting it across the pond.
At least for me it can sometimes feel like it, I dont always know what I’m going to pick up, or what is going to stick. Or the importance of some of those small insignificant moments at the time.
Or the way in which one persons journey inspires my own.
Its that thing, what I learned I pass on to others, but also, by sharing my story could end up being someone else survival manual.
So this one starts with a Sword.
Because if there wasn’t a sword, there wouldnt be a story.
And if there wasn’t a story, many millions, including myself wouldnt have found the life sparkles, glimpses of God, love, destiny and power as described by Paulo Coelho.
But my story of Paulo Coelho started in a headmasters office in Billingham, near Middlesbrough in April 2018.
I was doing a piece of community work for my then employers, FYT, in which I was conducting a community profile, including a semi structured questionnaire with , I think a headteacher or deputy headteacher in their office, at around about 4pm or so, school was empty. I remember the interview going well, and the headteacher had a number of unusual inspirational quotes on their wall. Now up until then, like a good youth worker, the only Paulo’s that I knew of were Paulo Maldini (Italian footballer) and more obviously Paulo Freire. I dont remember the quote itself, but I do remember liking it, writing it down on a notepad and then having a conversation with the headteacher about Paulo Coelho, he said that he was a Brazilian writer.
It was an unexpected seed that stuck to me like velcro. At a time when I didnt realise how soon I might start having life revealed in the ways in which Paulo Coelho talks about it.
I can honestly say that reading to understand and reading to see life have been so part of my healing process, from within the dark times, and also since.
But sometimes the way in which some things have found me have been as mysterious, gifts from the universe, that are so difficult to explain.
Fast forward less than 9 months.
I am travelling from Sunderland to South Shields, from the friends house where I am staying, to my therapists office. It must be maybe my 2nd or 3rd session. Definitely not the first one. I have little money, though I have just started a new job. But one of the things I realise that I have started to enjoy is taking myself out for coffee, with a book. Enjoying the introvert life.
But this was slightly less relaxing as I’m in a strange place that I dont know, I’m nervous about therapy, and I have probably 30-40 mins to spare. So I park up, and walk into the town, and noted that as I drove past there was a community cafe/centre that was open.
I go in. Its basic looking – ie its a community cafe, its not Costa or Starbucks or a trendy independent coffee shop. It sells instant coffee in a polystyrene type cup for about £1, perfect. Luxury coffee would be too much when pre therapy angst was in the air.
They do have, however, a second hand book stall. Second, third or fourth hand, but that’s ok. Two books grabbed my attention. They shone to my attention. They were ‘The Alchemist’ , and also ‘Veronica Prepares to die’ both by Paolo Coelho. I pay only slightly more for these two books that I do the coffee. They appeared to me, at that right time. Even as I bought them I could sense some kind of universe destiny about them. As if they were a gift to me, as I started the long road of recovery , here was a gift, a guide along the way. I would have no idea about Paulo Coelho if it wasn’t for that Headmaster office in Billingham, but it was such a compelling moment that these books were calling for me at that time. And me being open to that nudge. To follow that mysterious calling…
I dont remember what happened in that therapy session. But I do remember that I started to read the Alchemist straight away. And…
Id like to say that I had a wonderful experience reading it, but it didnt quite resonate in the way that I half expected it too (given its very high popularity and readership), yes some nice phrases and it wasn’t that I didnt like the story, I just found it a bit to remote, too much in a world that I didnt understand yet to connect with.
Though I loved ‘Veronica prepares to die’. Maybe because at that time I needed to read something about dignity and life, and about facing the reality death, and in this moment life.
Paulo Coelho has accompanied me (and also Christelle) throughout both our healing journeys and our relationship together, we have read at least 8 books of his together , some I have read alone first, some we’ve read together. Some have shown us about love, about life, about power, about death, truth, victory, and also about faith, spirit and God.
We also re read The Alchemist, and it made more sense the second time, it resonated in a different way. But then again dont many books when we read them again? When we have changed, we see things differently.
And that’s the beauty of Paulo Coelho.
So, along with the many ‘self help’ reflective books I have read in the last few years,. and there’s been a lot – there hasn’t been more than a few months when I haven’t read a Paulo Coelho book, or even re read one.
I realised, that his journey, across the strange road to San Tiago, Spain, started with his search for his sword.
And as a consequence of searching for his sword, found more besides, and as a consequence of his journey Paulo, then wrote, stating in the Authors note afterwards, how this journey inspired him to write. His self discovery started with a sword, a faith, The Tradition.
I realise that many of the Paulo Coelho books have found me, its been rare that I have searched them deliberately. At least 5 have been ‘found’ in second hand bookstores, in places where I was only there momentarily, Dundee, Stockton, and those two in South Shields to start off with. Its like gifts from the universe. It makes me realise how much it has been a variety of books that have accompanied me along the way, and Paulo Coelho’s fiction has almost balanced my desire for understanding and knowledge, and provided a different kind of wisdom, through story, as story. Some of Paulo Coelho, is his story.
As Coelho says, ‘The universe conspires to help the dreamer.’
Sometimes that ‘help’ has been in the form of therapists, or self help books, friends and gifts. Other times its been the stories of Paulo Coelho that have prompted my heart, soul and spirit, they have been spiritual experiences in themselves. Ill write this elsewhere, but he is definitely an author I feel safe with.
I used to think there was only one Paulo (Friere) that was worth reading, now id say that my life is fuller because of the universe gifts from Paulo Coelho.
Who’d have thought this would have started from a headteachers office in Billingham?
” When you want something, all the universe conspires to help you achieve it”
(Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist)
Im trying in a way to describe something that feels very deep and meaningful, but strangely dont have the words. Maybe its because the depth of Paulo Coelho is there for those who want to read him for themselves. Ive loved being led and guided by his journeys, maybe you will do too?
James Ballantyne 