Tag: expectations

  • Embrace your authenticity, to give something more.

    Embrace your authenticity, to give something more.

    Because it isn’t possible my friend

    To give one hundred percent.

    For that is just a number

    An expectational requirement…..stuck in your head

    And who judges that anyway?

    That is just a notion

    A lie to be subscribed to

    Arbitrary notion, expectant requirement

    Pressure, from uncaring sources.

    When all that matters, truly

    Is to act with heart intentions

    from somewhere close to your soul

    To do your best with what you have

    And who you are.

    To be upon the stage of the world

    Raw, uncomplicated you.

    Yes you might get pot shots

    Yes, the crowd may boo

    But when you give with loving kindness

    They’re misunderstanding you.

    You can’t be liked and also love

    In cultures cruel and systems tough

    Where 100% is barest minimum,

    and exhaustion on the cards

    And Mindfulness a way of coping

    with unnecessary harm.

    So act with love, and walk with power

    Decide your action, with intention

    And grace the stage with higher calling

    Fail at giving 100%, because you can

    To give your joy, smile and sparkle instead,

    For thats worth more than figures in their head.

  • There are no shortcuts.

    I had expectations for today.

    Last Saturday I was working, today I am not.

    When I was out walking during the week I was talking to a dog walker who was telling me about the Otters in Darlington on the main Skerne river, saying that the best time to see them was in the mornings. So I thought.

    Ill get up fairly early, walk along the river, take some lovely photos of Otters, and this will be magical, and then head to my favourite coffee spot in town to then do some writing on my book.

    So I did get up earlyish, after a not a bad nights sleep, ate breakfast and walked into town.

    And along the river, from town all the way into South Park. And guess what.

    Nothing.

    Nothing.

    Well, no otters anyway. No magic miracle for me today.

    How long to wait? not very, just a walk down the river and back. No movements into the water (by anything different than a Mallard) and no movements in the bushes different to pigeons, doves, blue tits and a wren skuttling around.

    So I left.

    Disappointed.

    And I got to my writing cafe in a low mood. Frustrated.

    I mean, nature should be rewarding me for my efforts to find it surely?

    Thats how it works?

    And then I would feel the blessings of this magic moment and be inspired to write all day and do some great creativity. But instead I am writing this.

    I am writing this, after I spent an hour just journaling about disappointment, and getting close to it.

    Getting close to disappointment.

    Unmet resentments, I deserved better from nature this morning, didnt I?

    It’s not fair?

    I was looking for a quick win, a solution

    What was being shown to me, was another opportunity to just let be, to feel.

    To not give the world the responsibility of adhering to my needs and wants, for the thing to be ‘the thing’

    If only I saw an Otter then id be happy this morning?

    If only X then Y

    If my team wins, then that will give me a lift – that was basically my soothing strategy since 1990

    along with the classic ‘ If only I prayed harder, or louder, then this would make things better’

    But these are all shortcuts.

    Bypasses.

    So I sat in the cafe this morning. Writing out my pretty petty disappointment.

    And heard that voice again.

    That reminder of being loved and love not because of anything in the world, but because I just am. No-thing matters.

    A reminder to let go, to surrender, to the patience of the magic.

    The patience of self kindness, self compassion, of the journey of inner mystery and wholeness.

    To let love inside win, its slow acts of healing.

    There are no shortcuts.

  • The tiring, futility of trying to be good.

    The tiring, futility of trying to be good.

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

    Edith Eger, The Choice (2017)

    It is not necessary to satisfy other peoples expectations

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    But there was a complication to this.

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

    But I was a good boy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    But this isn’t true.

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

    And thats something neither I or you can control.

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

    At the risk of being disliked.

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

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

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

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

    More to come on this… probably..

    Thank you for reading.

  • Realising…Its My Life

    I thought to myself today

    I am loving my life.

    I am living my life.

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

    Then I realised.

    If I am living my life now…

    Whose life was I living before?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Its taken me courage to see that I can live.

    I can live and sparkle.

    I have my own story.

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

    Time to realise that

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

    to know

    that I can live my own life.

    That I am. Who I am.

    And I can be me.

    And I am beautiful

    Flawed but beautiful. A project on the make.

    Its continuously time for me to be me.

    Whole me, showing up into the world.

    Happy, Free, and totally alive.

  • Survival of the Mildest – born to be Mild

    Survival of the Mildest – born to be Mild

    I realise the other day how much ‘second-guessing’ that accompanied every decision I had to make – to do with something that was about me.

    One of the consequences of being ‘Born to be loyal’ was that what accompanied it was the fear of stepping out of line. Conformity was embedded. As was the sheer terror of her, mother. Upsetting her, making her angry, all of which she was capable of being at anything- or nothing.

    What this meant for me, was that to keep myself safe I was fulfilling the role. Survival meant the survival of the mildest, the quietest.

    This was reflected in everything I did.

    The children books that I read were comics and Roald Dahl, toys were lego and trains.

    I didn’t listen to music – in fact music was practically banned in the house, except TV soundtracks (this was the music on cassette tape in the car on family holidays, or tape childrens books) TV soundtracks…and my parents were around during the 1960’s but you wouldn’t know it – its as if they went through the 1960’s in an evangelical cult, avoiding the real world. So, no music. So what was my first single. I was a child of the 1980’s… Duran Duran, Pet Shop Boys, Metallica, Guns n Roses? – nope…. A TV theme song…. yes that one from ‘Neighbours’ 1989, Angry Anderson – there’s an irony, the closest I got to angry from the age of 11 – mild song, mild me.

    The same theme continued – having to stay safe with music, the most rebellious I got, was to play Meat Loaf loud – and then I was made to feel guilty for it, or asked – ‘Are you sure to be listening to this’? yuk yuk.

    But it meant I didnt buy songs with swearing in, and kept things safe. How many 17 year olds were listening to christian worship music?

    Born to be wild… yeah… frankly anything but….

    Mild.

    So that I didnt have to ask them for anything, I worked from the age of 13, paper rounds, babysitting, and then retail work. Id learned not to ask for what I wanted or needed – but I noticed that even when I bought things it was interrogated – certain things were a ‘waste’ of my own money…too many sweets.. or ‘shouldn’t you be saving some of that’ .

    Everything I chose to buy, even with my own earned money – was commented on or interrogated.

    What I realised was that I hated any comment from them, it was never genuine, it was loaded, with patronising criticism, jealousy, or projection.

    ‘Is it Christian?’

    ‘are you sure thats appropriate?’

    ‘Should you be listening to that?’

    ‘Don’t you think you should have been home earlier’

    So I had to second guess what I bought for myself.

    Useful things were ok, like a bike, a hi-fi, camera – but given that I had the money to buy clothes – I still had to buy ‘bargains’ or safe clothes that weren’t rebellious. Usually plain, unless it was the favourite checked shirt or waist coat – or football tops. What I realise now, is that my second guessing brain was in charge of my purchasing. I remember going to Leicester on a few occasions, armed with a few hundred pounds, and not able to buy clothes I liked – but trying to buy clothes that weren’t too expensive, were reasonable, and didnt stand out , spending hours walking between three different shops to try and make a decision about a shirt, a jacket, jeans or whatever it was.

    I was in a teenage body, but reasoning decisions like a frightened child or adult – and not anything like a normal teenager would be.

    Mild – also wasn’t going out, getting drunk, coming back late. Nothing external to rebel.

    Mild was babysitting at a friends house on New Years eve, so that I could finish A level homework – and still being told off for being late home. When my 18 yr old friends were getting drunk. Mild.

    Mild was doing a Christian gap year at the end of those A levels, but this didnt fit in with their plans/trophied expectations – still a mild way to rebel.

    Mild was taking the car once id learned to drive to Christian music festivals.

    Mild – was never getting angry or emotional.

    Mild – I remember not being allowed to have to colours I wanted in my room – they were too bright. I wanted Red….but a brighter red that I was allowed.

    Mild meant not being really good at something, or failing either. I levelled out somewhere in the middle, and hid anything extreme. If I did something that good, credit was taken from it…

    And definitely not swearing.

    As a consequence of being born to be loyal, survival meant being born to be mild. Being the safe, invisible, oldest child. Doing nothing to upset the apple cart, not asking or needing, not standing out, not rebelling, not noisy, conform.

    I was easily criticised for being indecisive. I had to over think every ‘seen as selfish’ decision – and so this paralysed my decision making. In fact, strange how the persons who caused the indecision that criticised me for being indecisive at times. Utterly overthinking, second guessing, trying to please, partly, moreover, trying to not upset, trying to not stand out, trying to be stay invisible, trying to stay loyal, meant born to be mild.

    Why did I notice recently how mild I had to be?

    Because for the last few years I have bought my own clothes. I put colour in my choice of socks, I bought even more checked colourful shirts and t shirts. I now take my inner child shopping, and little James has fun trying on things, trying on fun things, being brave with colour. Little James makes impulse buys. Little James is growing a music collection.

  • Born to be Loyal

    The more I think about it, the more I realise

    That I was born to be loyal

    Surrounded by a world of rules

    That seeped in from an early age

    Rules to follow

    not to choose

    to be good, but

    to be Loyal

    I promise to do my best,

    To do my duty

    Think of others before yourself

    Be holy, like I am holy

    Don’t you dare upset me

    I need you to not cause stress

    To God and the Queen

    To God and the church

    To the monster unseen

    Born to be loyal

    Born to be good

    Born to be safe

    Born to be true

    Born to be weak

    Born to be small

    Born to be invisible

    Born to not ask

    not born to be me

    born to be theirs

    Born to be a trophy

    all shiny and perfect

    sat on a shelf

    Born to surrender

    all to Jesus, all to loyalty

    born to conform

    Born to doubt – who I really am

    Scared to trangress

    Scared to give up

    That place on the shelf

    Being good by proxy

    Comatose existence,

    feelings bewildered

    Conform, loyal

    Be the good boy

    Be our saviour

    Stick to the safe

    Dont rock the boat

    Thats your role

    Dont disrupt, Dont make noise

    Play quietly with your toys

    Dont rebel – make us proud

    It was hard being a teenager, being good, yet told I was trouble

    In trouble for not pledging allegiance to the God of the home

    Keep my loyal place, on the shelf of the favoured, trophy boy

    Fear of losing that place – yet what did it gain?

    Become the favourite, soothe the abuser.

    Loyal to everything, but me.

    Be good

    Be quiet

    and above all else

    Be loyal.

    Born to be loyal

    am I finally free?

    Born to be loyal

    Can I now be me?

    Born to be loyal

    Now I can choose?

    Born to be loyal

    I want to be be

    Born to be loyal

    Awaken the fight

    for me to be me

    Born to be loyal

    I can finally see

    Born to be loyal

    its now time to be, loyal to me.

  • How does Shame hold you?

    How does Shame hold you?

    When we (Men) reach out and be vulnerable, we get the shit beat out of us… and dont tell me from the guys…but from the women in our lives

    So I started interviewing men and..

    You show me a woman who can sit with a man with real vulnerability – ill show you a woman who has done incredible work

    You show me a man who can sit with a woman who has got to the end of her tether and his first response isn’t ‘I unloaded the dishwasher’ but he really listens – because thats what we need – then ill show you a guy whose done a lot of work

    Shame is an epidemic in our culture

    To find our way back to ourselves in our culture we have to find out how it affects us, the way we’re parenting, the way we’re working, the way we’re looking at each other

    When asked what the things men have to do to conform with male norms in culture, research showed the following:

    • Always show emotional control
    • Make work a Primary goal
    • Pursue Status
    • Violence

    The antidote to shame is empathy, if you put shame in a petrie dish it goes away.

    Shame needs three things to grow exponentially, secrecy, silence and judgement – it can’t survive with empathy.

    If we’re going to find our way back to each other, vulnerability is going to be that path.

    It may be seductive to stand outside the arena, when im perfect and bulletproof…but that never happens, we bring ourselves as we are to the battle ‘

    (Brene Brown, TED Talk 2012 – https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=psN1DORYYV0

    I have spent the last week digging deep reflecting on vulnerability and shame, on guilt, on myself – and this brought me to the point of actually reading or watching something of Brene Brown, a name that to me had been only a social media meme, or someone who I hadn’t got around to yet.

    So I watched her two TED talks over the weekend. Whilst there’s so much to reflect on in full. Its these last few comments about Men that I highlighted above, that I felt it appropriate to share here.

    Lets look again. For a man in society to live up to cultural norms (in a US based research) it involves

    Emotional Control

    Primacy of work

    Status

    Violence.

    So shall we ask the question – do you agree or disagree?

    Or a better one – have you felt shame in not fulfilling these things?

    Or another – how much effort does it take to ‘go against’ them?

    What does shame feel like for you?

    Are you expected to be ‘in emotional control’ – around others who lose their shit – so what place do your feelings have?

    when was the last time you cried? When was the last time you cried, in front of your partner?

    Are you expected to work until – well until you are sick? Because you are meant to? Is your life about success at all costs?

    Status and power – Have felt the pressure or shame for not taking on that promoted role, or that position?

    Violence – Dont be the victim of bullying, stand up for yourself… fight back… – win at all costs ?

    Which of these resonates for you? Or might it be something else?

    If im honest I was shocked by these 4 things, especially Violence, but then whats the method in which superheroes win in films? or in video games? (as one example) – and it worried me that these were revealed as expectations and then areas in which Men might feel shame about, and realised that even if we dont think all apply to us – we can still carry shame because of just one of these areas.

    Maybe lets pause for a moment and reflect on the shame that we carry.

    What is it, and what is it doing to us that is likely to be unhealthy.

    What subliminal message about expectations and shame are we passing onto our children? What have we inhabited? What does shame and vulnerability mean for us, as men?

    I had to admit something to my partner Christelle the other day, she knows me as someone who is wise, clever, reads, who likes nature, adventures, travel and food, who is in work that involves justice, poverty and faith. I had to admit something, that feels like a guilty secret, in comparison of all these noble, creative, wise activities about me.

    And that was my also my following of sport. Specifically the capitalist business model team that is Manchester United – a team I supported since I was 8. My guilty pleasure, out in the open. But it felt almost shameful. Not liking football could be seen as odd in the UK, but that I support ‘that’ team (and not just because of recent results) seems so out of character with so many parts of me that I stand for. Though this felt trivial it wasnt in a way. It was a tiny bit of vulnerability on my part, a part of me that I often feel shame about, and hide, as it makes me feel less perfect, less with integrity, interested in something ‘trivial’. Though it sounded trivial, it still felt like a thing I felt shame about.

    In another example : I had to take a covid test today, like so many of us in the last 2 years – but can you remember how it was ‘shameful’ to admit getting this disease? Shame and blame in culture… – and yes I am writing this post whilst dosed up on lemsips and a bag full of tissues to hand – and the test has come back negative…

    Maybe thats the thing with shame and vulnerability – its about giving ourselves away, to hope that we’ll be loved despite our imperfections, and take a risk – where its safe to do so.

    So to the Men who might read this – what might shame and being vulnerable mean to you – what are you scared of, or afraid of?

    What cultures in work, or religious groups, make it even easier to hold on to shame- where our real lives can be hidden away for pretence or expectation – to not be our real selves..pretending…

    It might be time to bring it out of the secrecy, silence and judgement.

    Do the expectations of emotional control, stays, work and violence affect you? – in what ways?

    Is it one of these things more than the others? And who and how might you begin to expose the layers of some of the wounds of shame and let them go, in a way like Matt Haig describes below:

    Imagine forgiving yourself completely. The goals you didnt reach. The Mistakes you made -(the choices that you made even). Instead of locking those flaws inside to define and repeat yourself, imagine letting your past float through your present and away like air through a window, freshening a room. Imagine that.

    Matt Haig (The Comfort Book)

    Of course, the other side of this is those who feel no shame, the tiny proportion, but still large number who might be considered sociopathic. Shame is part of being human, part of being a human that is more whole and humane.