I got to the Coffee shop
After a walk that included
more work chat.
Sitting down.
I
Open the blank lined page
Green tea poured.
Red pen chosen.
Ready.
Tired.
But ready,
The page.
Blank.
Inviting.
Alive with possibility.
Daunting with expectancy.
Weary limbs picking up the pen.
Mind unsure.
Facing the unknowingness of what to write.
This side of the release.
Blank page
Bleak page.
Write,
The place of comfort
as the words flow from you
to you.
As inside your heart breaks open its loose edges
Awakening itself from the slumber of the tired mind.
Pen
Writing
a melody.
A tune echoing in the line of ink flowing onto the page
Uneven, breaking, heart leaking its colour on the page
Giving itself as it appears,
To be immediately read by the eyes,
A message from the heart eyes.
Eyes read,
What the heart bleeds.
Colour lines appear as meaningful imaginations of the soul
Read back into the same mind that consumes it all with acceptance
Rage, Wonder, Hurt, Joy
All taken in in the moment of the hearts disposal in the pen
Soul imagination writing its truth
Soul imagination writing its love
For your mind to keep reading
Head healed by Soul
The Delicate passage of time.
Imagination working at the speed of consumption
Consumption furthering the flow of imaginaion
One stoke
One flow
One ink bleed at a time
Word by word.
Connecting the disconnect within the fracturedness
As mind embraces the speaking heart
Consciousness watching the cyclical orbit around it
Increasing as the mind and soul unite in divine imagining
Heart creating space for the soul to expand
One
Flow
Of
Ink
at
a
time.
Soul words written by flesh hands
Transported back into the mind
Sealing the divine circle
With love within
Eyes read,
What the heart bleeds.
Bleed love
Bleed kindness
Bleed it all through the hand
Restoring fragments buried underground
Subconscious soul connection in the pathway of the pen
Its the possibility of having a dream come true that makes life interesting (Paulo Coelho)
‘Whats the dream?’ once asked my university tutor, over eight years ago. It was a question I meekly answered, along the lines of ‘to be well known in theodrama’.
It was the first time, aged 38 that I had been asked this question. It was a question I couldn’t answer. Dreams were not possible. Dreams were too selfish. At that time, and up until then and some years after, I didnt have dreams, dreams about what I wanted to be, or do. It’s probably the same part of me that couldnt engage with ‘The Purpose driven life’ book that did the christian rounds back in the early 2000’s. Whilst I could also criticise it for the being capitalist American goal setting drivel, it was also that deep down, purpose and dream were something that I couldnt have.
Dreams werent allowed growing up, unless they were the same as the expectations my parents, mostly the abusive dominant one. Yet, dont mistake that for them being driven and forcing me to ‘be a vet, or doctor, or psychologist’ no, that would be too clear cut – because so many people ive spoken to in the last few years talk of parents who pay for their university to ‘make sure’ that their child becomes a certain thing (doctor /vet etc) . My parents wouldn’t do that (because that would mean actually offering financial support) no, the expectation was to just ‘not upset your mother’ and ‘dont let her down’ , without any actual support to do so. It wasnt that they couldnt afford it, they didnt want to.
This meant that my choices for career had to be both self sufficient, and somehow please and not upset. It most definitely wasnt a ‘dream’. It was about somehow making her happy, or fulfilling my role as golden trophy child so I could be boasted about (for going to university) to her coffee shop churchy friends, or instead be complained and moaned about (which is almost certainly more likely) for upsetting her.
Allign this also with belonging to a faith, and having an identity in which I was desperate to please God, and do ‘his will’ and so, in this space and having no dream for any other career, I wanted to continue being a youth worker, after being a junior youth leader in my church. It seemed to be something I enjoyed and was good at. Was it a dream? Was it even a calling?
I hoped it would be a sensible and ‘good’ thing – but no it aroswed their fury…. – and did it make ‘them’ happy. Dear God no.
12 years later, and even having written books on youthwork and done an honours degree, (all paid for myself with £0 from them) I am asked when I am going to get a proper job like a teacher on a regular basis. Or whether the degree I had paid for (and completed as a mature student with two small children) was worth it. Though it didnt stop them coming to my graduation and ruining it, with the celebratory present to me being a meal out in a cafe for lunch in which I was asked to pay 1/2. (that went a long way to pay off the £9000 fees, I tell you)
Anyway, I digress.
What i only realised a few years ago, and its been reiterated to me in the last 6 months too, is the level of coping that is required in situation of high emotional, physical or financial stress (and a lot of my first 40 years included these at varying degrees of high) is that its only possible to think or plan one hour, one day or one week, or one pay month at a time, and even then, being in a constant place of turmoil, navigating eggshells, fears, avoidance and drama – life is only about being in it and soothing it – through whatever means.
Future planning felt conditional. Some of my thought patterns were things like:
If I become a ________ then we’ll have money and then _______ will like me.
If I do _________ and then ________ then I might have temporary relief from being hurt.
If I do _________ then ill get a qualification and more money and with more money itll mean things will be easier.
If I do ________ then God will be happy with me
If I do __________ then my parents might be actually proud of me.
None of this was ever about dreams. It was about trying to please others, trying to soothe others, trying to be safe, trying to earn something that with emotionally abusive people, was actually not possible. But I carried on. Thats was the pattern.
And then I would get angry and think to myself that I had done something that would hopefully help….but it was met with only further rejection or criticism, so, then I would try harder.
It wasnt dreams, it wasnt purpose – it was existing inside a tortured shell that was trying to earn impossible affection, validity and recognition.
Thats what survival does.
And that had been my conditioning since birth, and until the last few years, I hadn’t realised how unnormal it was, or the effect of childhood trauma on being able to think about the future in a clear purposeful way.
I read ‘Codependency no more’ back in 2019/20. In it Melody Beattie, describes how healing from this, is about slowly remembering that we can have our lives to lead (and not be waiting for someone else to change/get better/not be addicted) , and start setting small goals, and maybe even have dream lists. Even at this point in my healing, I found this a really difficult thing to do. It was alien to be to set a goal. To make plans. Yes I was in my own flat, yes I had all the opportunity and space in the world. but I hadn’t yet given a future a thought, and in that space I was just enjoying being, and enjoying being safe.
Goals and plans did include being able to go for walks, or holidays. But not quite dreams. It was all week to week. And then Covid hit.
Bottom line is that I was scared to have dreams. Scared because for so long any dream was conditional, and any dream was something I would have to more than likely have to support myself alone. And for so often dreams meant a kind of work that I didnt have the confidence to keep going in, or had the voices of self criticism that would cause it to end. Any encouragement was in the main self determined, and that was frail, especially when those thoughts had been indwelt with self protection and fear. Dreams means desire, and desire was also quashed as being selfish.
Can you understand the mess of my head?
In Johann Haris book ‘Lost Connections’ he shares, when talking about children who had experience of abuse and depression in their lives:
At some profound level M had discovered that , extremely depressed people have become disconnected from a sense of the future , in a way that other really distressed people have not’
They are, in all intense a purposes living in the here and now. What he tried to set about was whether this was cause or effect. It’s significant though, that if motivational growth is dependence on Autonomy, Belonging and Competence (Deci/Ryan) then if that Autonomy is about being able to create, plan for and make choices about the future, and growth happens when this is the case. What happens when that is taken away – consciously or subconsciously. This happens in organisations too, purposeless organisations become depressed and anxious.
For about 14 months I had been living in a state of being that included enjoying my job, having a sense of distance from my childhood past and feeling safe, secure and getting to a place of relative security. In that time I had began to be able to give time to the possibility of a dream, and give a lot of time for this dream. I was able to think ahead… and thinking ahead was a gift, as this helped to balance the times of anxiety and ‘the past’ coming back – and have one tiny foot in future possibility to keep hold of.
For the last 6 months that has barely been possible. Ive been hit with a number of situations, relating to facing the past again, its situation and injustice, that has meant that what I have needed to do is to dig deep into ‘just being’. Whilst some of that hasn’t quite ended, theres relatively clarity in the mud of it all. But what happened as a result?
Its funny, its one thing trying to live in the now, in the present – but theres one thing about living in the present when the future is open and full of possibility, another when the past has seeped in and the future feels clouded. It’s still the present from a time perspective, but it’s a space full of anxieties, flashbacks and uncertainty, digging deep one day at a time. Dreamless, with the only dreams being the nightmare of the past being relived.
I couldnt think about the future. I stopped being able to write creatively (part of the dream has been writing a children’s book) , I was writing responsively, expressively and about the hurt or the recovery or the learning through the moment by moment of it all. But sitting down and being able to write, or focus on the dream, was difficult, almost impossible. I was ok, in my day to day, but future thinking was nigh on impossible, though I tried to valiantly keep the flame alive.
I didnt realise the extent to which being able to have dreams was a luxury, and privilege. I didnt realise that it wasnt selfish for me to have dreams or purpose, that was about me, and not just for others. Working on a dream stimulated me, gave me life, gave me purpose, spark and creativity, and took me one step into an unknown future, that I was in a good place about trying to get to.
The only way we can save our dreams is to be generous to ourselves (Paulo Coelho)
Dreams are important. They make life interesting.
They take effort. But they require soft open heartedness. To be generous to myself in search of them, to know they will happen, to give myself grace in the pursuit of them. Grace I had, but had to unlearn self criticism and the voices.
Dreams are important to have a step in a future that can keep the past thoughts away at times, not deny them, not bypass them, but balance them, because it can be so easily, with a traumatised mind, to have two feet stuck in the past, stuck in other peoples drama, stuck in responding to others.
And now that ive got to a place in time beyond the dealing with and responding to past related stuff…. it’s time again… to give time for the dream.
Having a Dream is way more complicated and important than it seems.
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.
The mind goes clear, the fog lift and the words come out again. Truth. Hope. Love. Wonder. Words. Feel. Alive. Soul gives. Hope springs. Forth. Writing. Writing. Making. Shaping. Creating. Meaning. Trying. Giving. True. Soul. Energy. Life. Feeling. Bliss again. Just writing. Fingers pounding. Not making Sense, of it all. Just writing. Let writing flow. Soul writing. Edit freee. Sharing. Writing. Alive. The Feeling. Lifting. Breathing, words, breathing, in and out, make a shout, and about, life words, feeling free to fly high in the sky, so blue so clear, so wondrous, just like you. Writing , soul, Expression. Timing, having, yearning, longing for belonging in the midst of time that takes so long and frustrating patiently tick tock shaking. Yearning into being. Faking into reality making constructing heading into truth telling in the shaking, breaking and wondering if the pain will end, writing, writing. Writing into love, Mind emptying and flow writing, giving over, surrender.
Surrender.
Mind surrender
To the flow. The Urge, the passion to write.
Stemming from the soul. bursting.
Soul bursting. Busting. Song. Shape. Writing.
It’s time, again. Follow the flow.
Ready, are you ready? The joyous soul adventure, lived life again.
Writing Writing Writing Writing
Life Writing. It’s coming out. Dont hold it in.
Words feeling free again.
dancing words, freedom being on the page. Joining together
Writing in a dance, across the space of the page and imagining the dance of the pen, the dance of these fingers and words dancing with each other as they combine on the movement and share in the wonder they create in the life, magic and love, dancing together in the space of your soul, combining, twisting, fast and slow, dance of the divine. Magic and Love to the music of Joy. Making their play on the page of your soul.
Writing, light writing. Like dance, light movement, light, wispy letters, feeling graceful and playful and free. Writing the moment, writing the play, living the dream in the creating of meaning.
It happens, that when something is challenging, difficult and messy (mild words for ‘WTF is going on?’)
I write. I write for myself, with words you will never see.
I write for myself – and they end up in the draft pile
I write for myself, with words that you sometimes see
I have thoughts and ideas of stuff I could write about and come back to later.
I also, in the moments through the mind swirl of the WTF moments, develop new creative interests.
Oh, I just realised.
STFU James.
I haven’t existed without ‘that’ mind swirl.
There has barely been times when the damaging effect of my psychopathic parents doesn’t have some underlying, or explicit effect, that I might be in the midst of processing, learning, and regrouping myself from, the ‘big’ feelings.
But what I find interesting, is that I struggle to write, or even want to write when im not having to wrestle, churn or try and deal with something.
Its as if there’s creative energy from within it.
Expression through Depression for want for a better word.
And there’s something interesting too.
I find it really easy to invalidate my own work – not because it’s not any good.
But because of what I was going through at the time.
It’s like ‘ I dont think I’ll publish that, because I was definitely having a WTF kind of day?’
Yes I should check what motives I have for writing, and sometimes I get that wrong, I know – I mean not every one of 1000 blogs in 12 years is with a perfect motive, some cross the line – especially if I have been angry with the government ;-)
But it’s like saying that The Verve shouldn’t have written Bitter sweet symphony when in a depeessive state and waited until they were feeling ok… and as for Damien Rice..
Maybe I have been conditioned to only validate what I write when im feeling good – so not to overshare too much darkness? But is that hopeful or real? Because you really want to hear how I am ok now, but felt shit a few weeks ago, and look at me, giving a great redemptive arc story.
Maybe there’s inspiration in the sticky muddy mess of life, and creativity through and in the pain, maybe thats more human. Maybe polished, is just that, polished, pretend and shiny. Maybe I should just write, because that may be what I am good at. Maybe there is no perfect time to write, maybe actually there will only be ‘in the midst’ of long term processing and remaking (I still reluctant to use recovery as a term tbh) , and there will be pockets of light punctuating the revealing and discoveries. Maybe there’s something about the gritty struggle as much as when it’s like riding s bike downhill with the wind in the back. The glimpses of blissful consciousness concurrent in fields where poppies and thorns grow.
Isnt that what good poetry or songwriting is all about anyway?
Creativity in and through the rainbows of clouds, sunshine and rain.
Holding the float out to surf on the calm and choppy waves
To let the flow of creativity ride, sink or swim on the waves.
Time to write about surfing, sinking or swimming through the waves,
Time to write about life in all its becoming wholeness
Time to release the wrestling with writing, and let it flow.
To open up the doorways into which the channels of life flows.
It sometimes feels an effort to have fun – dont you think? well it does for me
Nothing is stopping me, I can do what I want, So what cant I?
But then I started to realise why… its those voices in my head, the critical ones, the sensible ones…these ones…
‘Are you boys having fun?’
Came the voice of the abuser to me, on a number of times, its often at a time when I have actually been having fun.
Its tone was accusatory. It was as if ‘fun’ was not allowed.
Fun was ‘found out’ – look you couldn’t hide it from me, you were having fun
Secret fun.
You doing have fun without me, you don’t have fun in this house,
Isnt there something more useful you should be doing… like meeting my needs instead?
Fun guilt.
‘Just dont make a mess’
Fun now has to be clean, organised, tidy.
‘I didnt say dont have fun, just keep the noise down’
I gave up fun, fun was no fun..
Another factor in the fun thing for me is the church thing.
Growing up evangelical – meant having conditional fun, and being judgemental on other peoples fun
‘Look at us having fun without alcohol’ – at a barn dance that is excruciatingly painful in 1991 with other ‘young people’ who are finding it excruciatingly painful watching their parents dance and look as though they are pretending to be having fun and its just so awful. Then to be forced to dance. URGH.
It wasnt just sex, drugs and rock and roll that were banned – it was anything that was the gateway to any of these things, school discos, pop music, smoking (anything) ..- we dont do what they do…
Fun for me as a teenager was doing ‘christian fun’ – what was allowed – the christian music festival – and yet even there I struggled to have fun, because I was so un easy about having fun, with the exception of sports, just dont get me to dance, or draw
Problem is in a context of what is and what isnt allowed….nothing seems much fun
If Fun is about doing something for the sake of it, doing something that might be boundless, free, creative and spontaneous.. then I realise that part of rediscovering myself, and my inner child is about ‘having fun’ again
I can definitely see how having conditions on fun – meant that something wasnt fun
I can see now also that as part of the trauma of growing up with a psychopathic parent, that fun wasnt part of the deal, because more than not fun was about being responsible, staying alert. The only fun was to do the thing they wanted to do.
Theres only allowed fun in abusive narcissist prison.
Guilty for having fun? Shame for having the wrong kind of fun? Too responsible to have fun?
Too inhibited to get drunk, always needing to be aware, responsible and look after others..- yes
So when did I start to notice this, and realise it?
I notice all the time, id rather be serious, think about serious things, learn, write (like this), digest the news (see previous post), and even some hobbies can feel like a performance, competitive…
I really noticed about fun when I asked my inner child what he wanted to do that was fun – and then actually do it
It was my inner child that wrote what it above.
I noticed too when it felt a momentous action to pick up a felt tip pen and make a messy splurge on a piece of paper.
Dont make a mess, stick to the lines, you cant draw, dont be silly, that’s silly…voices in my head, every time
Be a grown up, dont be childish, whats the point, haven’t you something more responsible, or helpful to do – like write a blog or check twitter or tidy, or…
I realise that its a struggle to ‘have fun’ – when the voices in my head, the critical parent – from the sources of those critical voices, abusive people and excessively moral churches – have been so dominant, and Ive been conditioned to comply, to fit, and found belonging or a trauma bond in compliance.
Overthinking fun makes it a struggle to have fun at all.
Just need to do it.
So one of those things is that fun is guided.
What do I do now for fun? new things that ive never been interested in before… and also new things I didnt know I could do before, as well as some of the old things like trains, cycling and growing food, but also photography,
Walks, and after those occasions a few months ago, now experimenting with drawing, art and self discovery in drawing, colours, and art – something I left behind as a child. Learning to be creative will be another piece, but at this stage, just to say that ive discovered something fun in stuff that I thought I couldn’t do or hated as a child. Its like an unlocking.
PICK UP THE PENS JAMES. JUST DO IT..so..
Heres something I drew yesterday, just for fun….and with both hands simultaneously…
Safety is so important in the pursuit of creativity – unless you dont give a fuck about what it is you’re creating and potentially upsetting in the process
So often emotional abuse resolves around the shameful control of behaviour and that includes ‘what is allowed as fun’
Often those who cannot have fun project rules onto those so it prevents them from doing so.
I do find it a struggle to have fun.
Maybe thats an ‘adult thing’ – but I’m more sure its a recovery from narcissistic abuse thing too. Life was about survival – and fun doesnt play a part – (maybe except outside the prison walls)
A few thoughts on Fun:
I can relate. When you’ve been fighting for justice or for survival all your life, it doesn’t take much to be content. A safe place to live, some peace and quiet, can be enough for a while. Your idea of fun might just change a bit. (Ryan on Twitter @Ryan_Daigler)
I think I feel guilty for enjoying myself? And also sometimes in the past bad things have happened to others whilst I’ve been out enjoying myself so there’s that.(Lydia @Lydimoo)
and someone trying to..
I promised myself I would do fun things while I’ve got all my evenings to myself during the school holidays. It’s not yet working out as planned, Ive killed alot of time playing games though (Helen @Helenmt)
One of the hardest things for me about rebuilding after trauma is to do it.
Its not a linear thing, but I find it fascinating that what I needed in the midst of dealing the traumatic situations was a calm cool head, the oft said ‘breathe’ and as Van Der Kolk writes about, to use breathing to begin to bring the intellect into play, when in an emotionally traumatic experience.
If part of the rebuild after emotional trauma is to be in a safe place, a calm one, then its fascinating that the rebuild requires a active shift.
Research suggests that creative practices (Cappachione, 1988) and physical practices (Van Der Kolk 2014) are keys to the re-make post trauma.
So its a doing thing.
I have to participate in my own trauma rebuilding.
Id rather learn the theory.
Im used to creating spaces to help others do this
Im used to watching from the sidelines
I watch, while others dance.
Watching, rather than being active, Hobbies that have included transporting, birdwatching, all stemming from a need to be observant of others.
Yet I still find ‘doing’ recovery from trauma practices difficult, because it involves parts of me that have been inhibited, restricted, shamed into non being.
‘We dont do that sort of thing’ (Dance),
‘Thats a bit weird and of the devil’ (Yoga),
‘Dont make a mess , we dont want to clutter up the kitchen with these drawings’ (Art and Creativity), dont be silly, dont be messy.
Its like to trying to de-concentrate and just do.
Id rather write a blog about why I find doing trauma remaking practices difficult than pick up a wax crayon. But its so that I didnt have to write this line, that the last week I have been picking up the wax crayons.
Thats the thing though, I have to let my head stop. Yet its what I needed to survive.
I need to just do. Let my body do.
I may have read about theory of trauma, but unless its a tick box exercise, Id avoid the exercises in even the list of resources in the menu above.
It was only in front of my therapist that I drew a picture.
Draw something on a sheet of paper. No – I cant draw
Go on – No – why, its pointless
Do it….No its silly
Its like learning to swear and get it out. Let feelings loose
Use crayons and scribble, let it happen…
Theres so many reasons why I find participating in my own healing difficult.
So many excuses not to, because theres other peoples to think of
But also, so used to being the observer to other peoples existence, the soother of others pain, concentrating to stay safe, being told not to feel, easily distracted by the safety of helping others, and having my brain engaged in debates, or the empathy and response patterns of social media.
It means me being selfish with my time. Investing in myself as I reparent myself.
My remaking after trauma and through it involved my participation.
Just doing it. Like there Nike Advert.
Im glad my therapist recommended this book: ‘Recovery of your inner child’ by Lucio Cappachione to me. Because, although it contains some writing, it also has many exercises to actually do. Things I had to do. Myself.
Things I had to do and feel. Do and respond to.
Im not sure its possible to theorise my way out of trauma. Or to watch others. Or just to talk about it.
Remaking after trauma is a participation thing, that I have to do.
What about you? Are you in that mindset struggle to ‘do’ the practices of self care/healing? Do you have strategies, things you tell yourself? Do share below:
James Ballantyne 