James Ballantyne

Tag: feelings

  • Passing Places

    Ive just come back from a week holiday away in the gorgeously delightful tiny village of Port Appin, on the west coast of Scotland, almost equidistant between Oban and Fort William.

    I wrote lots, and read less, but didnt write anything here (or on my substack – if you’d like to subscribe to me there heres the link https://substack.com/@jamesballantyne1) , mostly wrote out alot in my journal and some ideas. But mainly I walked, along either way of the coastline.

    The first thing I noticed when driving into the village was that the road was single track, with passing places every so often. The village was only accessible by two small roads, and on the Monday I walked back along the road (no pavement, as you can see)

    Because at the end of the road was the jubilee bridge, across the estuary. A bridge, incidentally that was so narrow it fit one person at a time.

    The Passing places on the road fascinated me though.

    The bridge added to it as well.

    It meant that there was always going to be some kind of interaction between people (or people in cars) to negotiate the passing of each other.

    Speed was only rude. Barging past the other as likely to cause accidents.

    So it meant that entering the village was only an opportunity to acknowledge the other, a raised hand of ‘thank you for letting me pass’ or ‘thank you for waiting for me’ . Im not sure what happens on the bridge though, as in 4 days I didnt see how this would be negotiated as there were so few people.

    It was a gentle reminder to me of the passing places, and letting things pass, holding things lightly.

    As Micheal Singer writes in ‘The Untethered Soul’, so much of our internal suffering is due to ‘Clinging’ onto things, holding them too tightly, whether emotions, memories, responses and anxiety, or being so close to something we care about it too much. The Irish describe emotions and something has ‘come upon me’. But decisively it is not me.

    In a passing place two things meet, in the places in our lives, it might be many more, two emotions, work, people, feelings, fears, thoughts, dreams and pasts, all meeting with each other, and sometimes the path feels laden heavy, and entering a passing place can feel like leaving it heavier than prior to entering. We picked up more than we left down, more weight, more fear, more responsibility, something else clung to us. To the point of sometimes stopping moving. To weighted down by what someone else gave us in that passing place, guilt, expectation, shame – and yet they left lighter having disposed of their weightiness.

    On other occasions the passing takes place with no one else, its those moments when memories pass with emotions, when dreams pass with thoughts, when thoughts and thoughts pass by each other, and sometimes the two parts stick together rather than pass – and clog up the whole road, blockages, or theres tension between the two and peace has shifted.

    Prior to being away a number of things were in my passing place, lots of anger, stuff to do with work, and for quite a few weeks , the passing place was more clogged up, heavy, weighted, tension between so many parts that I couldnt see how beautiful the scenery was around, couldn’t be grateful, struggled to be anything like calm or separate from what I was feeling. And though much of that had begun to clear the week before, the image and reminder of the passing place on the holiday, early on was a tiny reassurance and remembering of allowing myself to be, and to let go of the things that were causing harm, for….they are and were not me, just things that hurt.

    I can, and you can, leave the passing places, you have more power than you realise. Yet in the passing places so much can demand our attention, combine, circle around each other – and for there not to be gentle movement, noticing of the speed, and grateful acknowledgement of what the moment was there to teach us, and softly, still gently we give ourselves distance from it, until the next passing place around the corner….

  • Bestowing Your Gift Softly.

    Bestowing Your Gift Softly.

    One of the treasures within each and every one of us is our hearts. You have one, as do I, and yet so often in our day to day lives our hearts, and the desires of them play a silent role in our lives. Advertisers appeal to our minds, our desires , our discontent and our wallets, our thinking is so honed and shaped that its the reason behind entire education systems, create knowledge, and experiences, so that you can work. Religion is not far different, belief is highly attuned to ‘thought’ and less about feeling (in some places feelings are derided or discarded within religion, for the sake of holding beliefs that are about facts) and I’m not deriding the pursuit of depth of knowledge or curiosity – our minds are important…but they are not everything.

    But our minds can only do so much, even if our thinking wants to convince us that it can do everything – thats often the role we have given it, thats more our ego than our whole. But our mind knows things, it knows experiences, it knows, it calculates, it thinks, constantly, and that constant thinking, is often why the heart seems to be silent. Yet a life without heart, is a life on the move, an life on constancy, a life reacting to the speed of thought, where each curiously results in action, where layers of life build on each other.

    One of the treasures is our hearts. It is where there is pure love, where there are feelings of anger, desire, passion, love, and where the channel opens to the soul , a place that can’t be thought into, it can only be felt, and have soft loving hands open the doorway, to a space of consciousness beyond, a place where there is harmony, security and the soft stillness of the inner love voice.

    Where your heart is there will be your treasure. Your life is ‘wholer’ when you can feel, and be grateful for being able to and safe to (Michael Singer, Living Untethered) and yet so often we live a life afraid of, in denial of, or ashamed of feelings, and the experiences in our lives that caused them. Spirituality is the task of loving softness on the parts we’d rather hide. ‘Morality is often the enemy of growth’ writes John O Donohue ( Anam Cara) Morality is thoughts and shame put together, often in institutional cultures and behaviours. Spiritual growth requires deep inner love, requires hearts, requires anger, requires the softness of the love that comes from the depth and mystery of our heart itself.

    A heart that holds when life around us breaks into a million pieces. A heart that heals with tears. A heart that responds inside with softness. A heart that loves the world with bliss and connection. A heart that rests and the moment at the end of each breath. A heart that tells you ‘ I love you’, ‘Im proud of you’ , even if your thinking wants to tell you otherwise. Your heart will always be on your side. Your thinking has so often been placed there from other sources.

    And when you find your heart, your life will shine with beauty.

    And when you find the gift of your heart, it was your heart that found itself all alone. For it is love that carries you in love all along, to find that love that hides under that shadows of shame and pain, and guilt and perfection, until its gift is accepted, and its gentle hands are held, walking hand in hand in love.

    Part of the beauty of the act of discovery is the integrity of its desire for wholeness. Your soul will not want to avoid of neglect the regions of your heart that do not fit the expected. When you trust yourself enough to discover and integrate your strangeness, you bestow a gift to yourself.

    Rather than annulling a complex part of your heart which would continue to haunt you, you have thrown your arms around yourself to embrace who you are’

    (John O Donohue, Divine Beauty)

  • Joys…are there to be felt!

    Joys…are there to be felt!

    To feel it

    I had to feel it.

    Just like when I was on the beach today with my team, a day out in the glorious north east coast, at Whitley Bay/ Cullarcoats. Food was eaten, the sun was out, yes there was a westerly breeze.

    Old me would have kept his shoes on. Old me was scared to feel. Old me would be afraid to enjoy himself. Old me would have stayed in his head. Old me would probably have told people off for taking their shoes off. Old me would have thought them childish.

    Today, the sand on my feet belonged to me.

    Today, I didnt care, and it was time to let my feet get covered in warm glorious sand.

    And put my feet into the water.

    Blue Sky meets the Crisp cold north sea.

    Ripples of sand, water and sun dancing

    And my feet part of it all

    Feeling

    To feel it, it had to be felt.

    And I remember a time before.

    When my head would prevent me from feeling, because it was safer that way.

    Thats what denial, distraction, critical old me would have done. Anything to avoid feeling. Anything to stay in safe mode.

    I used to live near the beach as well. For a whole year I would walk along the beach, in shoes or boots. They were my covid restrictive walks, along the sand, glorious…but..

    watching others in the water

    watching dogs run in and out

    taking photos of the sea.

    me walking along the sand, in boots, keeping my body clothing layers away from feeling.

    scared to feel.

    Until one day I decided to take off the shoes.

    Until one day I realised it didnt matter if I got sand everywhere, or my feet wet or anything, because it didnt matter.

    I wasnt going to get told off.

    I didnt need permission

    I could feel

    I could run in. I could make splashes

    I could get my t shirt wet

    It was ok to feel.

    It was safe to feel.

    It wasnt enough to think about feeling. It wasnt enough to watch the water, to assess, judge or stay distance from it.

    It wanted me to feel it, to feel its abandonment and life in it. Inviting me to freedom, requires feeling it, even just toes, just cold, just anything.

    Joys are there to be felt.

    Joys are there to be felt!

    Thank you for reading!

    My previous piece on Joy is here…it feels like it’s a thing!

  • How Journalling has helped me (and why I found it difficult to start)

    How Journalling has helped me (and why I found it difficult to start)

    I had the weird moment a few weeks ago when I was standing in the well known outlet store ‘TK Maxx’ in the stationary and journal section, where I was joined by….another man in the aisle, looking for a new suitable journal. It was a rare experience. I have never encountered another man in the journal section of either TK Maxx, Waterstones or WHSmith. The lesser spotted male journaller.

    In amongst the array of pink, peach, ‘self care for you’ , ‘be your better self’ journals, that were mainly targeting the female journaller, in conversation we realised we were both looking for something very similar. A plain looking, plain inside journal. No ‘Year planner’ no ‘Goal setting’ no ‘write your dreams for 2026’ – just plain, so that we could write, and write without prompting.

    Oh it wasnt allowed to be pink. Sorry. Just plain. A blue, green, black or purple.

    I didnt feel like asking this random stranger male what he journaled, or what he wrote, we just looked for a while trying to find what we were both looking for.

    Given that its incredibly important that we men have healthy avenues to try and describe, write and formulate our thoughts and feelings – that it seems that its a market more targeted to women, is another tiny obstacle men face when beginning the inner journey. (dont mishear, this is not an excuse..just an observation)

    So, I journal. And I realise that over my lifetime I have written down my thoughts in different ways.

    Firstly, given that bedrooms weren’t safe, there was no way I could write about what was going on at home as a child, nor leave it in a place. Some of my girl friends (friends who were girls) wrote diaries, as did the girls in TV shows, but rarely did boys. The times that I did I kept everything factual and boring, like the weather that day, school homework and probably football scores. Thats all that was safe to be left in my childhood bedroom.

    Between then and 5-6 years ago I would write thoughts and ideas down, usually stemming from what I had read in the Bible, talks or conferences, training notes or my academic notes or ideas for essays. Rarely entering the world of my feelings, or heart – just ideas, thoughts, concepts.

    I probably baulked at the idea of doing journaling back 6 years ago. It seems like a ‘girly’ thing to do. But that I know now was my reactions to it, because it wasnt a safe thing to do in the recent or long term past. But now, I had my own flat, my own space, and I was learning to realise that i was safe to write, safe to express myself and safe to put anything I want down on paper and in any shape or form. Even if at times this had to be fought against the inner voices that were inhibiting it at times.

    I would say that I have used writing in four main ways in the last 5 years, the private stuff, not what I write here.

    1. Free writing – This can take the form of wax crayons, colours and plain paper, closing my eyes and just scribbling, and writing anything on the page depending on the feeling that wants to come out, anger, rage, frustration, hurt, pain, and it can be anything, swear words, scrawl – anything at all – sometimes its a fight to come out but I just sit there and let it, however much thought resistance there might be.
    2. Therapy homework and dreams – After one particular time of therapy I was introduced to inner child writing, and so, i have a journal in which i have an ongoing inner dialogue with my ‘self’ or my feelings, my childhood ego state, and listen, love and care for it. I do this one more often when feeling anxious, depressed, or fearful – but also, when calm too, as it’s a good way of assessing my inner feeling temperature. I followed the ‘discovery of your inner child’ book by Lucio Cappacione for a very long while. I needed to do..not just understand.
    3. Dreams. I write them down. So that I notice what my subconscious is having a play around with during my sleep.
    4. Raging words and trying to understand things. One of my journals was about trying to understand things, trying to write out the questions, the reasons, the hurt and pain of what I suffered.
    5. My Affirmation journal. I began this in 2023 (Here is the story), and continued it each day (give or take a few) , in which I write to myself affirmations, no negatives, no questions, just positive affirmations, as if the universe and its angels were looking at me with delight and then telling me, or as if I as a friend to myself was telling me my truth. Who I am. This has been utterly transformative, not using the language of lies and limitations to shape my inner voice or self any more. To re – orientate my inner critic into something small, and let me heart and soul speak into my life.
    6. The blank one. There always a blank journal on the go, for anything else, just to grab it and write something, a sentence, a phrase, a line from a book, a meme. It’s a bit like the journal equivalent of saving screen shots from healing memes on fb, that also include stuff from books too. Sometimes words just find me, and so I let them arrive and put them down, sometimes these become titles for blogs too. Oh and more recently writing poetry has begun from this.

    For most of these I use coloured pens, to express myself inwardly, and also because blue and black are too close to official colours of study or work. My inner life deserves purples, pinks, greens and yellows, and feelings often emerge in colour.

    I have used writing in a number of ways to listen, and speak from my pain and trauma, from my heart and to my wounded parts, and as the process has continued I have developed different strategies as different aspects have required attention.

    I definitely didnt start this process thinking ‘I am going to journal’ though maybe it was likely given my blogging history and love of writing academically, that writing was going to be one way that was going to be a very useful tool for my healing processing and journey. I did find it painful to start, to force myself to write deep things, as I had spent so long writing thoughts and ideas and my inner heart and feelings were so locked, shamed and hidden away. It was always going to take time, and the guidance of psychological professionals to help me unlock and unblock.

    Sometimes it’s a quick grab of the paper and write down something, sometimes I realise that ive been fighting myself for hours and I just needed to sit, and write and listen and respond. It doesn’t matter, it’s just day by day doing the work, rebuilding, noticing, revealing and loving my self through its own expressions.

    This has been, so far my journey of journalling, what about you? Id love to hear in the comments below your hints and tips for journalling and how it has been part of your healing journey through whatever the situation has been for you.

  • Keeping it real, some days are like treacle.

    I had one of ‘those’ kinds of days today. The kind of days I used to have a lot of, and the kind of days I never used to notice.

    Today I had one of those days when I just felt a bit ‘meh’ a bit ‘unsettled’ a bit ‘I had expectations to try and do a bit of writing and creative thinking and it didnt quite happen and so I was a bit frustrated’ days.. and then I got frustrated, because I was frustrated….

    I sometimes call them ‘treacle days’ – just a bit stodgy, for no real reason, when nothing happens, just that there’s an inner fight.

    But I realise, that I dont get them very often. Which is a nice thing to be reminded of..and thats why they’re unusual and help me stay a little in check, a little moment to remember my vulnerable new humanness with all its emotions having space to play.

    But the reason I get them at all, is that I realise that I am in a good place generally, and that not quite every day can feel calm, can feel easy – especially creatively easy, not every day feels like flow. But thats the thing. Its because I now I feel more feelings, that I can sense that there’s something not quite right.

    It may be absolutely nothing in the grand scheme of things, not a big problem, but thats not what my inner critic wants to hear…… and when it starts to latch onto the tiniest of anxieties, or self doubts, or moments…

    The everyday ‘recovery’ from childhood trauma, and the associated behaviours, continues to be a daily, ongoing piece by piece listening, attending and loving these wounded parts, even if they might just be a bit of frustration……unsettled……

    And so, in a way I realise that I am grateful for the treacle days or treacles moments, because its a part of me thats alive, its apart of me thats allowed and safe to be wanting to tell me something, or do something.

    What I used to have was continual un-dealt with bottled up emotions so that every day was painted in survival stony grey. No treacle days as there was no contrast, just stoic grey, avoidance and dissociation and self soothing one day to the next.

    And back today, what I stopped myself from doing, which I have done in the past is attach the frustration with negative self shame talk like this:

    ‘Ive done all this therapy and healing, I shouldn’t feel like this’

    but thats not the reality is it. Most days are good, most days I feel alive, whole and in the main secure.

    But there are treacle days. Even, actually especially in the process of learning to be our loving whole selves….

    And treacle days or hours that require a little attention, a little love, and little bit of gratefulness, for the feelings, and thoughts themselves.

    So , instead of continuing the inner self fight, I moved, I went out, and I took myself off out for a walk instead, breathed windy air and sunshine, watched ospreys land, and watched as the lizards moved around my feet.

  • Embracing your Angels

    What if every thought,

    What if every feeling,

    Was an angel from your soul

    Calling you to the dream beyond reality

    Calling you to fly upon its wings

    Desiring your frustration to be met with courage

    To fly with them

    To radiate free

    To jump beyond the waters

    Not to fight against anymore

    Not to avoid

    Not to suppress

    Not to feel shame about

    But instead to flow with them

    To thank…….as it screams to you

    Urges you

    Fights for you, the best you

    The real you thats breaking underneath

    Laying low under the strain

    Shrinking under the cloud

    Grey in the logic world

    Passivity of the sensible way

    Collusion of the capitalist coercion.

    Because the thoughts, the feelings are you

    Protecting you when required

    Healing you…when desired

    They are you

    And so…..maybe it’s time not to fight them anymore

    As they wrestle for you

    As they urge to you the place of soul

    The place of wonder

    The place beyond all place

    The space beyond all thing

    The energy beyond all power

    Angels dressed in emotions

    Thoughts as wings riding high

    Creativity and confidence mesmerising in the sky

    Thoughts and Feelings sent from beyond

    To reach you

    To teach you

    To guide you

    To free you

    Into life,

    Into your spiritual side

    of open hearted wonderment

    What can you do with them?

    Fight them….or

    Let them

    see them

    be grateful for them

    Enjoy them, love them

    As your internal superpower

    As your internal angelic community

    Urging you into beauty

    A life of beauty,

    Life that lives

    Life that breathes

    Life that lightens

    Life that shines

    Life that awakens

    Life that lives.

  • Loving discomfort

    I used to suppress everything, so I didn’t feel anything

    Get through it

    Survive it

    Bounce

    Close off my heart, live a shrouded life.

    Any discomfort was barely even felt

    Or felt in silence, private and…

    then pushed through,

    and receive the weight , the noise of my own destructive self talk.

    Trauma voice shouting internally.

    No heart open to love myself, so no love to do its work.

    But I realised over the course of the last year,

    of journaling words of self love everyday.

    That there are more aspects of life that I now talk more lovingly to.

    Because, talking lovingly to myself is actually a free choice. You can do it, but like me, I was too scared to.

    I didnt want to believe that I actually was lovable, incredible, brave, courageous, powerful.

    But then I did.

    And something I noticed, is that when I talked kindly to myself…

    I didnt beat myself up that often

    I could tell myself that I had done well in what I was doing

    I could feel proud of myself

    All completely unconditionally. A choice.

    Loving the discomfort.

    Thats been tough.

    Because often I forget, or I am tired, or there’s a new ‘thing’ that appears, a feeling or situation, and it swipes me.

    Sometimes I berate myself for feeling what I feel. it’s like I think I shouldn’t feel anxiety, or depressed, or lonely even after doing all this work.

    Maybe I dont think I should be triggered.

    But thats not what it’s about.

    It’s these moments, where the work helps to self regulate. It’s these moments to notice the feeling. It’s these moments to feel them.

    Sensing it.

    And to love it.

    In the moment.

    Because they stem from wounded parts. They are feelings, angels of learning, and opportunities to be loved and held.

    Discomfort needs to be loved and not berated

    Discomfort needs to be loved and not criticised

    Discomfort needs to be loved and not ignored or suppressed

    Discomfort needs to be held, in your open heart

    And know that its ok, its trying to protect you

    And love you may have for someone else, rightly, turn it inwards, protect your energy and fill that discomfort, that pain with love from within. Talk to it as a friend. Ask. Love. Breathe love into it.

    Because then healing arrives from the inside out.

    Love does always win, truly.

    Love the discomfort, and then be transformed.

  • The Wild Path

    With the love of new companions

    Angels that found me and a loving self

    I go

    To

    The wild path.

    Step out onto its mysterious threshold

    hurting, pained, afraid

    The first act of love

    To walk the wild path

    Alone, but not alone.

    Stones reveal their shapes

    Masking my pain.

    Unable to feel,

    their jagged shapes,

    Cuts my feet, brushed off as nothing.

    Walking the wild path,

    In blind hope

    More that expectation.

    The wild path,

    Awakening the wild one within.

    Wild,

    Daunting,

    Wild,

    Where unpredictable thorns tire each step,

    Where danger seems to lurk,

    Wild, for it doesn’t seem to end.

    Wild,

    Yet,

    On that path, feeling mysteriously held

    Where vulnerability to walk is met

    hand in hand with the awakening of heart.

    Walking the wild path

    held by an invisible chord

    that becomes a friend.

    A chord laid by angels

    Angels webbing

    Shining, dangling, hoping in the darkness

    Wild path

    The call, the chord, the mystery

    Wild path promises.

    The wild path.

    Alone.

    Facing the elements

    Clinging, unsure, fighting

    Only the wild path.

    I have to go.

    I have to stay on it.

    I have to do this by myself.

    I have to cling on.

    I have to believe.

    I have to believe in a love so strong.

    That has hidden itself for so long,

    Its Mine.

    Mine to face.

    Mine to receive.

    Mine to feel held,

    by that angel string

    and grow.

    I walk, alone, along

    The wild path

    Where anxiety and dreams go hand in hand

    Where I find

    That I find

    and face,

    The demons I once avoided.

    The shadows

    and the bridge of haunted memories,

    the caves of cravings.

    I walk, I have to walk

    towards them

    with love

    and know that everything I need is on the path.

    There is nothing else.

    Even if I feel

    I can’t do this,

    I can’t face this,

    I don’t want to face that shame any more,

    I don’t want to,

    I don’t want to go there.

    But

    I have to.

    I just do.

    The wild path takes me there

    The wild path

    leads me straight to that door

    to that cave

    to that space

    where I have to

    I have to walk

    and can do nothing more

    than

    follow the angel thread

    and follow the angel heart

    and face the strange parts on the wild path

    with love.

    Angels meeting me in their light.

    Angels grace the path with love.

    Angels help my heart to grow.

    Angels and me,

    walking the wild path.

    Walking the wild path

    Alone, but with love.

    Walking the wild path

    Love, making me brave enough to go.

    Taken by an invisible chord

    To take me back to myself

    All along.

  • Feeling (truly) safe now.

    Three days ago my mum died.

    Yeah, thats quite a start to a blog isnt it.

    I mean I could have warned you, or said something reflective, or a nice quote. But no.

    Three days ago my mum died.

    And the hardest thing about it, so far, has been trying to share this news, to friends (who know my story) and maybe all of you who have followed it on here, to illicit the kind of response that seems appropriate.

    My story. My survival and rebuilding story.

    Because, for so long my life wasnt about me, and even most of what I wrote here, wasn’t about me. She dominated… and im almost reluctant to give this news attention, but I almost want to share because it means that the story ive written about here, has completion, or reality. Its not even as if in writing this I feel like i’m processing, or hurting or sharing pain, its more just acknowledging the reality.

    On a human level, she died 9 months after being diagnosed with cancer, and it accelerated fairly quickly, and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, yet also there is something in the relief of such an illness not dragging on.

    But I didnt feel the need to see her, there was nothing I needed to hear, say or see, and I am at peace with this.

    Peace. Thats an interesting word.

    If there has been a word that this has all felt in the last few days, it has been safe.. and safe is a bit like peace. The world is safer, for me and many others.

    I know other people might have different opinions or have had different experiences of her, I can’t imagine anyone who met her didnt at some point feel any sense of emotional eggshell walking, or the force of abruptness, some of you might choose to ignore these things.

    (Ive already had someone share their story yesterday to me of being on the received end of her rudeness, and my last conversation with her (March 2020) involved being shouted at on the phone and being told that covid was being over dramatised…. )

    It’s almost like I didnt want to give this news and her any attention, yet somehow, there is some attention I need to give this or should, because it is important, and big.

    Should. Thats an interesting word.

    Should.

    What should I feel.. when my life abuser dies?

    Who also played the role of mother.

    What should I feel…

    Is there a should?

    Is there a should about what I feel?

    Because..

    If you’ve known me personally this year, you will know that ive been very real and present with my emotions, safe on the inside, doing a lot of crying, happy, feeling this year.. safe… and ive felt like life has been from my heart, open.. to feel, receive and give…

    And I know what numb and suppression feels like – I had to do this for 40 years. This doesn’t feel like that. Neither does it feel like denial.

    I have space to feel, safety to do so… yet…

    Its not even as if I haven’t ‘gone there’ to find a good memory, or moment… but when I have… its not been met with a sense of grief, or happy, or anything… its just a memory.

    And the memories that have emerged, have all been negative.. and because of therapy and where I am at.. they have also been met with self love, and care… but also.. just a memory.

    A thought, a past thought, that feels distant.

    Maybe I was already ready for this.

    Maybe I had already gained life despite, or maybe realised my own self in such love and power, that she had emotionally and physically disappeared…. and the grief I gave myself safety to feel about 8 weeks ago, was the grief of what might have been .. with loving supportive parents, not those who I had to navigate, hide away from and avoid emotionally.

    Maybe when I read this book in November, (and thank you to Meghan, for sharing it with me)

    Im glad my mom died by Jeanette McCurdy

    – it gave me permission to feel what might be a reality in the nearer future than anyone thought a few years ago. (mum was only 68)

    It also helped me see what I have had to do to make my story public about what I suffered. Yes im not the only one who has done this, but not many write about their mothers publicly. It also helped me know that others have stood up to them, yet Jeanette did this when her mother was dead.

    (I raised complaints and made safeguarding statements in the last 4 years against her, when she was alive. I made others aware of her, in professional places. Yeah, you didnt know this, and this adds to all of this)

    Jeannettes story is full of heartbreak, anger and coping. Mine has been too, and you have read this.

    But im not raging, angry or feel like any sort of fight, thats been done. That fight had been 4 years with all those processes, and it nearly killed me last summer, I was empty.

    I had to finally let go, and do life for me.

    Neither …i’m not glad, happy, or even feel like dancing on her grave stuff… even if that would make for a good blog title or book cover, im not cruel, and that can be sensationalist, and its not that.

    But today I dont feel in that place, I haven’t all year.

    Its calm. Its peace. Its safe. And even writing this today isnt being met with anything other than these feelings. Feeling held and whole, love full on the inside, peace, calm, safe.

    And, I didnt wait until her death to find life, or feel safe, this been apparent all year, but now..it feels complete.

    I have let things go and doing so has felt light, for different things this year.

    So this… feels like… a release? maybe.

    It’s almost like… it’s over.

    I had created life for myself in almost every way that didnt involve her, except any processing of the strings of old abuse, and I am utterly proud of what that has been for me, its been massive.

    I know what I have had to do. I know what I have done.I know who I am. I know that I am love, I feel full of love and joy, in myself that feels so so deep.

    I do wonder if other feelings and thoughts will emerge in the next few days or weeks, and maybe they will, maybe they won’t, and they won’t hurt me, it won’t hurt me to feel them.

    This might be one of the may pieces I have written that to you feels really big as you read this… but as I write, it just feels like ‘just a part of my story, part of the reality, part of me feeling my way through all of this.

    Im truly safe now. Thats what this feels.

  • I had an Anger issue, but had to pretend I didnt.

    Let the flame of anger free you from all falsity

    (John O Donohue, To Bless the space between us)

    In one of the books I am writing at the moment, I am about to talk about the feeling and emotions around Anger, it is already half written, it needs expanding, yet, as today I read the blessing and prayer above, it has caused me to realise the complexities of how I didnt deal with anger, or couldn’t.

    I share, because I know I am not alone in this, not at all, I share because the damage we do when not dealing with anger in the right way can be horrific both for ourselves and the people we love around us, those who we transfer it to.

    A few weeks ago I was talking to some friends of mine, with foster kids, they shared how the kids would rage and destroy things because they felt angry about what had happened to them, as they realised how they had been treated. We both agreed that this, was a good thing, for them, that pain is so raw it has to come out.

    In the conversation, I said, that it took me 40 years to be in any position to process what had happened to me, and have any sense of anger about it.

    I remember a friend react with anger as something my parents said to them, and I witnessed them be angry and punch the door, at the tender age of 15, I said, ‘theres just no point in being angry’ or words to that effect, because I had to delegitimise being angry for my own good, and I had shut this all down, because for me, to survive was to stay small and quiet. But someone else, my friend, in their home was safe to be angry.

    I held on to it. I held it inside.

    No emotion was safe, so all inside.

    Playing sports got some of it out, and I pushed myself hard at this from 12-40 in different ways.

    Talking to young people about Anger Management in my late 20’s was all about me hiding and pretending that by ‘being calm’ that was the way to deal with it all.

    And even though I had probably realised that Anger wasn’t a sin (just something I had held inside) from better theology, I still couldn’t be angry, denying the self, meant staying emotionally small and invisible..and safe this way…

    I did my best to add things on top of the inner pain. Keeping busy, being responsible, adding more things that were brain things, study, read, write, think, get consumed by sport, politics and the news, adding more on top of the real, layers upon layers. Burying the real.

    I couldn’t be angry about the real thing, so I directed it to other things; politics and twitter, blogging, being harsh on my kids when they were v young, the dog, these got my anger at times, because they were ‘safe’ to receive it.

    Was this a conscious thing at the time, not sure, but it was how I was trying to cope.

    I couldnt be angry because I had a reputation of being soft, kind, patient, caring, loving… keep up the facade… and yet inside so much was hurting, raw, empty, and still in survival mode.

    And, because a survival technique as a child was to ‘be there’ to soothe other peoples emotions, especially those who were also abusing me, I internalised that my emotions weren’t important, though other peoples were. Soothing other peoples angry was a safe place.

    It was a matter of feeling like I had to be the strong one for others. I could be safe for others, whilst feeling false and dead inside.

    Had to be good, Had to be helpful, had to be ‘christian’, had to be mild, had to be small, had to accept, had to be ‘grateful’, had to please others, had to…

    I couldnt be angry because that would mean that me and my feelings had validity, and that wouldn’t have been safe or acceptable. So I denied the possibility, I denied myself.

    I couldn’t be angry about what happened to me, because I had been given the suffocating rope of responsibility within this, so there was no one to be angry about it… except myself

    So I internalised it, and gave in, caved in to comfort eating, self neglect, self criticism, being annoyed at myself, despair, self loathing and shame – yet trying to hold it all together….to keep face.

    Even transferring it to others, in ways such as cynicism, passive aggression, sullen awful behaviour.. created a negative cycle of shame and further torment, and I was utterly miserable. In a pattern I could see no way out of, and felt responsible and condemned through it all. Shame cycles. Avoidance cycles. But I knew no different and had to be strong and safe for others.

    Bottling it inside, sullen energy, masking, yet reacting to everything, a mess. A hurting, bruised, mess. When pricked, acted like the frightened hurting teenager, sullen, moody, that even as a teenager wasnt allowed to be.. lid on. Raging inside with no where to go.

    All this took considerable energy, but survival and avoidance was the place of known comfort for decades.

    I couldn’t be angry at was happening to me, because until I was 40 I didnt fully see it as abuse.

    That’s the bewilderment of emotional abuse, especially by narcissists or the emotionally immature. (Check out a few resources here on this, they helped me see this for what it is, there’s also tons of this stuff on You tube, I like F Rieberson on it here)

    I couldn’t be angry because I felt shame to feel angry. It felt wrong to be angry.

    Anger wasn’t valid, because Anger meant facing reality, and facing reality was only going to be difficult, and at that time I had no where to feel safe to even start this process, and no one I thought would even know or understand what it all was.

    I was running from the external monsters, like a frightened child, running from the reality I couldn’t and didnt want to face, and running from wanting to deal with all the feelings inside and how I had tried to deal with it.

    Not being angry, was a falsity. I get it now.

    Holding Anger in was a blockage, it meant I couldn’t feel anything else, not fully.

    I was stone. Suppressed rage. Suppressed pain.

    Lifeless.

    Starting with realisations, self awareness and safety in many ways, I began to recognise what happened.. but it still took a while to deal with the anger. It was as if I had 40 odd years of it stored up and I was afraid of it, pretending it wasnt there, too self conscious to want to feel it.

    When a friend 6 years ago told me to swear and use the F word, it took me almost 30 minutes to meekly say the word. I was so scared of that feeling, the shame of letting out the depth of feeling, i was so inhibited, so afraid.

    Afraid of letting out a reality in myself… that I was angry, and it was valid, I was valid. Hiding truth had been a falsity, and I was protecting something that needed dealing with.

    And I did.

    Within the safety of both therapy and my own safe space of home, I wrote.

    Red crayon, red pencil, anything, and felt every bit of rage inside come out by letting the crayon write deep, painful scribble and lines and anything.

    Moment by moment, memory by memory, trigger by trigger.

    It had to come out.

    It had space to come out.

    It was better out.

    And yes tears, many…rage.. a lot… but all leaving…

    I began to let some of what was held inside… go…

    I wrote other writing, that will never see the light of day, but it had to just be given air to and let out

    I started to feel the truth.

    I became more able to stand up for myself and create boundaries in saying no, to them (and to others).

    Anger made me realise I was important, and vice versa.

    I had to finally recognise that what I had experienced wasn’t my fault.

    I started to feel my heart burn

    I started to feel… my heart at all

    Pretend peace and suppression became slowly slowly something real.

    Something real beyond.

    Somewhere real beyond a place I was comfortable in for too long.

    Somewhere I had to go.

    How am I today?

    Like I said in a previous piece, it’s so hard to describe.

    There are moments when I feel angry, desire and hurt and pain…because thats one colour of my heart- red – and this is legitimate and beautiful!

    There are moments when I feel peace, joy, wonder and curiosity – and thats a different colour too – orange or purple – equally beautiful too!

    And much much more, but previously everything was grey.

    Now life is colour, life is joy and my heart feels utterly alive and open.. and I love it! But God it’s taken work… but so so worth it.

    I didnt want to get real about my stuff. It felt too big and I didnt feel worth it to do so.

    And you may not want to either. You may not be able to. But my friend if you are reading this, know that there is nothing to be frightened of by feeling angry, it means there is something wrong and something needs to change….

    To take the courage to realise that you are important and worthy to be angry and act.. for your own good.

    What we get angry about is rarely the real thing, and is often expressed in places where it’s safe to, rather than directed at the situation that it needs to be.

    It could be a whole other things beyond it, like grief, frustration, overwhelmed, injustice… Anger might be the cork..released to enable us to see other things..

    What we can get angry about is how we’ve been treated and its time, time my friend to let that anger burn away the falsity, so that you, your truth and your being may emerge and be felt.

    And so, as I write a book about the feelings of anger, I realise how my own anger ‘journey ‘ has been so so complicated, but writing it, and this today in a place of health and light.

    Anger is real. Anger is so so real. I was trying not to feel it, but it was still real.

    If you are suppressing it and damaging others….. time to face this too…

    Anger… It may heal you, it may make you and take you to your truth.

    May it free you from all falsity.