It started with a goldfinch, making its pearl like chirping from the tree, just outside St Cuthbert’s Church, Darlington.
Ordinary Goldfinch.
Making me take notice at it.
And ended with a Bumble bee scrambling for the pollen in the blossom in the trees opposite.
And in between that distance of less than 10 metres, I walked. Slowly.
No deadlines. No expectation. No Time.
Slow Wonder Walking.
Following the path along the river Skerne.
Slow, almost the same pace as the river itself.
Could I see the otters? Maybe.
Walk slow. Notice
Everyday wonder in the midst of the ordinary.
The bee springing from the nettles
The wren launching itself from the base of the tree trunk to a branch then shouting at me in its loud voice.
The Dogs that didnt give me dog hugs. The Owners that smiled when they didnt.
Slow step.
Surprise after Surprise.
Unexpected red breasted Merganser. Female, on her own.
Grey Wagtails, fluttering their uniquely yellow underbellies.
The joyful playful shriek of the girl toddler running away from her pretend chasing daddy, squealing and playing with utter delight. Her all black romper suit covered in a myriad of rainbow hearts. Joy.
I wondered that I used to run, run away, or need to go fast.
But now slow.
Contented slowness.
Embracing peace.
Shades. Streaks of sunlight.
Slow walking
When we walk slow, we give the opportunity for a new person to grow inside of us
Paulo Coelho
Who is that person?
That same joyous toddler full of curiosity and play
Probably
Sounds of play
Sounds of nature
The inner feelings of bliss
Some kind of bliss
Some kind of calm
Rest.
Bridge.
Wonder at reflections.
Watch the water ripple, make them fuzzy
Watch and wonder.
Stare.
Be.
In the moment, of accepting the magic of the ordinary.
10 minutes of staring at willow branches fluttering in the water.
interrupted by the joy of pooh sticks.
Wonder, magic, delight of floating sticks.
And beating grandpa.
Boy running. Boy in wonder.
Wonder.
Awe.
Everything is magic.
Everything is open.
Slow.
Walking, back the same way.
Temptation to think, ive been here before, must go some other route
But I haven’t, I haven’t been there in this moment.
“Always we have to look, Today suddenly a flower is the reason for your surprise, tomorrow it may be the same flower, just with a different colour, because of the age of the flower”
Paulo Freire
Resist the urge to need to go somewhere new, do the same, do it slow again
I am 20 minutes older. Inside. Or Younger. How does this new person feel time
It just is.
Feeling its way in the moment.
Though suddenly…
Oh look what’s this, a thought, a thought about tomorrow, a thought about something I need to do and suddenly, my feet have grinded up a gear…. subconscious speeding up,
Lost from the moment, into thought.
Noticed.
I saw you.
I saw you thought.
But I am here.
And I stopped you.
Because you are not for now.
This is now.
Wonder is now
Slow is now.
So I made you stop. For now is wonder time.
And those dancing grey wagtails captivated once again
And the gold crest in the tree
The couples with their beautiful babies in pushchairs, all full of life and energy
Noticing the joy.
Noticing my feet slowly placing one foot in front of the other.
feeling. Breathing. Heart filled with joy.
That new person finding life
That new person safe in wonder
Smiling, arms outstretched
Whistling Heaven.
When I walk among the hills.
Walking slow.
Walking in wonder.
Awakening.
In the moment.
Seeing in the midst, glory in the everyday.
Timeless unbridled joy.
Being fully alive.
Peace from within.
Return to the town.
Slow. (but slightly quicker crossing the road)
Calm.
Bliss.
An avenue of blossom, beauty amongst buildings.
It all started with a Goldfinch.
It ended with a bumblebee.
A blissful walk that went nowhere, but everywhere in between.
Wonder at Wonder. Awe is something awesome.
Some kindness of bliss.
Wordless, thoughtless, timeless.
“What remains will be the love that moves the heavens, the stars, people, flowers, insects, the love that obliges us all to walk across the ice despite the danger, that fills us with joy and with fear, and gives meaning to everything.”
When I got triggered by something a few weeks ago I went into a bit of a spiral.
Downwards.
And I forgot.
My mind went into overdrive
The words, fears and punishments from my childhood got relived into my present.
Thats what trauma, childhood trauma, any trauma feels like.
Mind whirlwind.
Anxiety.
Thinking.
Over thinking.
And in the midst, I forgot.
I forgot because I had got consumed.
I forgot who I was, I became the frightened child, the frightened me, hiding and scared.
I didn’t even realise I was doing it.
I needed my fiancé to keep checking in and asking me.
The Trigger.
Did it matter what it was? No – but it was big one.
I spiralled downwards for at least 5 days. But tried to keep going and pretending.
During that time wrote a bit – publically
And wrote a bit privately – a lot of emotions out, alot
But I was still on edge. Even after beginning to realise myself in the present.
Beginning to regroup and rebuild
Telling myself, that I am safe, that I am enough, that I am stronger than I realise.
I did a great job of telling others too, but I needed to hear myself.
But ultimately, it wasn’t what I wrote, what I read
The things I needed to know.
I had to learn again, and again that I didnt have to suffer alone – and my lovely Christelle sat with me on times, affirmed that I was having a trauma reaction.
Affirmed that what I was going through was trauma anxiety.
Taking me back to the past, unable to rest in the moment
Unsettled.
I forgot and also I resisted, I resisted to do the very things that I knew would help
So I did all the other things, like comfort eat, excessive cleaning, distractions.
Part of me was anxious, so I listened to that part
Part of me was also resistant to and didn’t want to get rid of the anxiety, it was loving the attention
Two weeks of the swirl, back and forth, heart racing, forgetting to breathe.
Forgetting my safety
Forgetting the journey to this point
Forgetting and being over taken by mymind racing
Forgetting my power
Forgetting myself
Yet in the midst of last Thursday, in the afternoon, I somehow did something that I remembered.
Yes I had began to regroup the preeceding few days. Get myself out of the swirl
Something I had barely needed or used for a long while.
So I sat down
Breathed
Closed my eyes
And for a few minutes listened to my breathing
and tapped either side of my shoulder blades, first quickly, then slower.
Breathing too.
Why had I forgotten EMDR? In the midst of a severe trauma reaction, I forgot a lot.
The part of me that wanted pain to remain dominant raced – Tolle calls this the Pain-Body -the ego.
Anxiety induced forgetfulness
And what happened.
Since I did EMDR, my brain completely stopped the anxiety patterns. And it has done ever since.
The descending of calm on me.
Calm. Utter calm.
A reordering of the neurones and programming, that no amount of writing, eating or other externals would have changed. Almost miraculous to be honest, and virtually instant.
Incredible. Its as if my entire mind has shifted. To a new place. One that isn’t racing.
I can breathe.
Literally 5 minutes of EMDR. After 2 weeks of trauma responding. Panic and Anxiety.
On one hand I could be annoyed I didnt do EMDR within a few days, on the other the trigger did give me the opportunity to work through some things- part of me that needed to heal.
Maybe I need to have mental notes around my flat – remember the good practices. Remember EMDR, or Yoga, or other good trauma healing practices. Especially when in the midst im likely to forget.
Recognising that recovery from a lifetime of abuse is seriously hard work, so im not beating myself up, but noting what trauma and anxiety does to the memory in the present, and how it created in me resistance to wanting to, and conscious memory of what I needed to do in response.
How a trauma reaction caused me to forget – and highlight what I might need to do to remember in the future.
Over the last few weeks I have, again, through a combination of therapy and personal reading, began to identify more about the ways in which I survived – or were guided towards surviving as a child in the midst of emotionally immature parenting (from both parents).
I had some favourite toys as a child, many of which – except for board games- were ones in which I played alone, I was the older child. Some of those favourite toys were train sets, lego and less so mechano – they all involved building, making a route, a building and then playing with them. The constructing was more fun than the playing. In the 1980’s Video games were non existent, for me, though there was at least one racing game I remember – but these kind of games were seen as a waste of time by the parents. (sudden realisation here…. something frivolous was a ‘waste of time’ – play wasn’t worth spending money on….most of my toys had some education purpose….or they were quiet) (I’ve talked about fun elsewhere..)
I read a lot of books, and at this time of the year I am reminded of the very long summer nights as a child and how I would read late into the night, books by Roald Dahl mostly, though also Beano Annuals, Comics and other books I cant remember- my bedroom window had a western facing window and so it was so light until late I wouldn’t need the light on.
There were a few electronic games, educational ones obviously, that I did have, one was a kind of colour coded game in which I had to copy the sequence of colours/lights in a row , and the sequence would get longer and longer. From about the age of 10, as I had learned to play chess by then, I had a computer chess game, so that I could play chess by myself, and move the pieces and follow the coordinates on the red lights, this was great as I could play in the room and listen to adult chat or could hide away somewhere. Other times I remembered playing and making up games to myself, even playing against myself in games like naughts and crosses or one of the children TV quiz shows.
However, the one toy that summed up the child that I was, in the main, was a small yellow electronic calculator, called ‘The Little Professor’ . I was given one at the age of about 5 I think.
The 1980’s Little Professor
I learned quickly that I had to be clever. I wasnt going to be happy, neither felt in any way physically tough or handsome, and as I have said before, I was having to adapt to the systems around me, and also try and understand in it all. Words like conscientious on a good school report or ‘don’t try and be a clever clogs’ on a bad parent reaction day – were common. I learned to find safety in learning. I learned that I was going to have to try and work things out. Try and work out how to do well, how to survive, and even, as I said in this piece, how to work out how to get what I needed, without getting caught…
The little professors, the thinker, perceptive to have to work things out.
Some of it paid off, 4 years of home based little professor and my maths grades at Primary school were the very top. I was intelligent but utterly messy with it, untidy – I didn’t present what I knew well, but I knew things. Oh and I also worked out how to win the Little Bowden School story cup, by copying Martyn Buzzards story, he won by having a dog go on an adventure, I won the next month by having a cat do the same. Teachers couldn’t believe that I would cheat? I didnt cheat, I copied the good idea and turned it into my own. Clever. And maybe sweet and innocent too.
Little James had a very strong little professor – always thinking, trying to work things out, and in the case of this..
I was able to self learn all the times tables, all the sums, and began to memorise complicated sums like 27*37 which is 999 because the display on the little professor only had went up to 999 and so I wanted to work out what sum went to the highest number. There were many games on it, and most of the time I was doing very quick multiplication of double figures, the kind that id only learn to do properly in school many years later.
The ironic thing about the little professor in me, is that numbers was safe. I had no life experience aged 5,6,7,8,9 to fit with the things I was trying to find out, my mind was exploring, and wanting to know answers to questions, but id end up being seriously naive at times. It makes sense in another way too though, because I had to already know intuitively how to navigate eggshells, I had to be perceptive, always. Its no wonder I wanted to do psychology at the age of 16, its as if I knew something about reading other people. Sometimes that Little Professor was creative and innovative – sometimes it still is, and so I am very grateful for my little professor childhood survival strategy, going into my head and valuing learning and intelligence was what I needed to do to survive. Both to do well at school and thrive, and also to understand how to get what I needed, even if was devious.
I may come back to my ‘little professor’ childhood again, but there’s no doubt that in the midst of emotional neglect and abuse, the one thing that did develop , maybe too much, and detrimentally in later life – was that little professor part of my childhood development.
I have stood and made a number of commitments to others.
Commitments to workplace ideals and agreements
Commitments to the terms and conditions of a large purchase
Commitments to the planet as I have tried at times to reduce my carboin footprint, buy organic or grow my own
Commitments to others in relationships.
Commitments to a God, recommitments on a regular teenage basis
Commitments as new year resolutions? – what have they been like for you?
Whats been the biggest struggle for me in terms of commitment?
Commitment to myself
In all my existence, I have only notionally given any thought to making commitments to myself.
There was the time when I was 40 when I decided to do more exercise before my 40th Birthday, and cut down alcohol and reduce food.
It still felt like an external change. Even if my body did appreciate it at the time.
I barely gave any thought to myself. I barely could.
I had been conditioned to think that to think of myself was selfish
I had been conditioned to revolve emotionally around others
I had such an aching emptiness inside that I thought ‘helping others’ was what brought be me joy.
So what could I commit to myself?
External things, like food, exercise and bodily health. Not unimportant.
It wasn’t in balance.
I wouldn’t say I was selfless, though I was at times accused of being selfish for even considering that I had needs.
And I poured out from a completely empty vessel. Because that was exactly what I was used to being.
Neglected and empty, and used to it.
Don’t get me wrong it wasnt that I rejected self-care because I thought it was worthless – though I acknowledge that in the past I may have scoffed a projection of what worth it might do – that was just my defensive survival talk speaking. Why bother with self care – I’ve managed without it?Id rather just tell others about it.
And that’s it isn’t it; before being able to commit to myself, before being able to protect myself, before being able to listen to myself
I had to acknowledge myself
I had to start to recognise that I had a self worth valuing
Some of that started with getting to know myself – self knowledge
Continuing with the ‘feeling of feelings’ ,
and over the course of the last 3-4 years being on a path of self acceptance, self knowledge, self awareness to where I am now, which again is in a process of therapy, and also finishing a counselling course – and reading books on self understanding
What I began without realising it was a path of deep self discovery, a path of rebelling my external intelligence, with internal intelligence too
What might it look like to make commitments to myself, as I am now?
A commitment to personal growth? A commitment to ongoing spiritual and emotional growth?
Committing myself to thinking positively of myself
A commitment to love myself, including the parts of me that have been hidden or frightened?
A commitment to accept raw and vulnerability as part of the process of rebuilding
A commitment to keep listening to myself, my inner voice, my spiritual child within?
A commitment to prioritise myself maybe?
A commitment to value being present perhaps?
A commitment to the slow, and not the fast? The slow rebuild….
A commitment to not give everything away? (NB – I have written a lot in the last 4 weeks, and its not for you here)
In Gary Zukavs book ‘Spiritual Partnership’ he outlines five commitments for his own spiritual and emotional growth, which have inspired me to think about commitment; his are;
Focus on what I can learn about myself
Pay attention to my emotions
Pay attention to my thoughts
Pay attention to my intention
I reflect on my own journey. From denial of myself, to understanding and acceptance of myself, to loving myself – yes its taken a while, yes its not been without tears and revelations of my own responsibilities, behaviour and choices, and also my life survival requirements – but to be in a position of even considering making commitments to myself, for my own sake, for my own well being. How might I pledge these 5 things for myself – and what difference will it continue to make, for me, and others around me, such as Christelle, my kids, family, work…?
So I ask – what commitments have you made to prioritise your own spiritual and emotional self?
Not ideals, but self pledges, self determination, to stay as real, the best I and you can be – what might it be for you?
You get your intuition back when you make space for it, when you stop the chattering of the rational mind
The rational mind doesn’t nourish you.
You assume that it gives you the truth, because the rational mind is the golden calf that this culture worships , but this is not true.
Rationality squeezes out much that is rich and juicy and fascinating.
Sometimes intuition needs coaxing, because intuition is a little shy.
But if you try not to crowd it, intuition often wafts up from the soul or subconscious, and then becomes a tiny fitful little flame.
It will be blown about about by too much compulsion and manic attention, but will burn quietly when watched with gentle concentration
Anne Lamott, Bird By Bird (1994)
What has it meant to me, to let my soul speak?
What does it mean to you
That spark from the well of the soul
Warmth, energy, power, from within
Tentative
What has it meant to me to hide my inner voice for so long, to have the rational mind needfully take over for my own survival. Rational mind to survive. Intuition and inner voice to nourish. Theres a big difference.
What do you think? What do you feel? What colour is your intuition when it emerges from within?
I realised this week that I’ve been able to breathe for 2 years now, these were the first two years I’d been able to breathe in my whole life
I remember when I walked into the flat 25 months ago and being emotional in front of the estate agent. Realising that this was going to be my space, my space to look after, my space to look after myself in, my space , haven, calm
My space, to make home. To light candles, listen to music, read, and enjoy life in my own pace.
My space to determine boundaries of what I listen to, read or who I allow in
My space to look forward to coming home to after leaving it
My safe space
I can breathe
Stop and slow down
41 years of emotionally abusive home space, with 2 in-between of working/living in houses with gap year teams, with me being the ‘responsible’ one
2 years of being able to breathe
2 years of being enough, 2 years of listening to my heart, 2 years of not having to revolve around the often crazy unpredictable needs of others, 2 years of being just me.
2 years of healing from the 41 years previously
2 years of starting to see
Healing requires time, safety and connection, and in the process, self determination to make decisions, take control, for me about putting myself first, making decisions for my own good.
It makes me stop and realise quite how unhealthy places are when breathing isn’t possible. When eggshells are the only floor covering and avoiding fighting or fawning conflict is the only reality. That’s not to mention lies and gaslighting, and trying to constantly work out who the crazy one is.
It’s worth saying here, if you’re the one creating eggshells for others in your relationships, or family, through manipulation, control, bullying and neediness then maybe decide to give it up. You can change. Problem is, that you’re unlikely to read this. But…
If you’re not breathing you’re not living, you’re just surviving. I was just surviving all my life. Ignoring every attempt of my heart to make itself known. Just surviving. Bouncing from one crisis to another. Fawning over the needy anger of toxicity.
Breathing for 2 years, learning to be me. Realising who ‘me’ is.
As I write I’m on holiday, camping in the rain, and up to now, my few holidays have been busy ones, climbing, walking, city breaks, and I’ve filled my days. Today I’ve tried to do what I am learning to do in my home. To stop and enjoy a ‘doing nothing’ day.
Yes I’ve walked a short distance,but no rushing for trains , or climbing hills, just a short meander to the village a walk by the river and now just time reflecting on it as I write this, in a tent in the rain.
In the past I realised that I struggle to slow down, in the last two years I’ve realised quite how much I’m able to slow down.
Business was my ongoing distraction. Busy work, busy hobbies, busy. It’s no wonder that I’d wait to get ill during Christmas holidays only, when I had the time and my body relaxed. This was the pattern since childhood.
Learning to slow down
2 years of being in and feeling like being home.
Safe
Rest
Breathe
I’m sure I have more healing to do, as more layers are uncovered, as I listen more to my inner child, as I draw, write and play. But for now, a mark to note two years of being able to breathe, and feel new life, growth and change.
Thank you to all friends and family alike in their support and encouragement to me in these last 2-3 years, and to Christelle whose healing, loving kindness is a joy
Over the past 8 months, through Trauma Therapy, I’ve been getting in touch with my inner child.
The remarkable thing was, I didnt even know I had one.
A child.
A child part of me
What I began to realise was…I had spent my whole life parenting other peoples inner child..
But not my own
So what did I say?
How did a relationship start with a person, that I had never met?
A person that, told me that I had left him behind
A person that disappeared when I felt I had to grow up
A part of me that hid
That was scared at time to come out
A part of me that was terrified of the anger, the abuse and shock of those who had tormented me
A part of me that needed to know it was safe to appear
I had to youth work myself.
Safe
Slow
Easy conversation
Allowing my inner child to speak
To say the words that hadn’t been said in 40 odd years
Letting it out
Hello, little James
Would you like to say anything?
What would you like to do to today?
What even is your name?
baby steps as my vulnerable child begins a dialogue
I am just beginning to listen, and keep listening
Sometimes he swears at me. Sometimes he’s angry with me
Sometimes hes quiet
I am finding out what he likes, what he wants and what he needs.
More that often I listen, try to hear, what my inner child is trying to say.
Finding out who he feels safe with
I am just discovering my inner child
Re-covering my inner child
Letting him out to play
And in case you hadn’t noticed, be creative
in his own time.
Sometimes he writes, scribbles, draws, colours, just to get feelings out
Sometimes I can hear him tell me off ive been too busy or distracted to talk, to listen
Yes. He knows, as..deep down I also do too.
What has it been like?
Painful, raw and exhausting at times, but all of what my inner child has been holding onto for 30 odd years is having to come out, when its time, safe, and when he can trust me, to be protective, nurturing and safe.
The things that were absent from my own childhood.
And ive encountered the parts of me that I had inhabited, the critical parent, my wounded self, the voices in my head that say ‘stop being silly’ and try and let that inner child rest, play and pick up the crayon and make a silly mess. Because its not silly.
And Critical me has had a lifelong field day. Ask anyone who’s been on the wrong end of my questions.
As Lucia Cappachione writes, the fascinating thing is that the more we encounter , nurture, protect and parent our inner child.. the less we jump to rescue others, and also the less we need others to rescue us. Im not going to share too much from my inner child here, for, that is something for later, and maybe in a new relationship I will protect him and keep him safe, away from needing to be shared.
But in re-parenting myself, ive discovering myself, and feel like a coherent person in a way that I have never done before. Im feeling my way into a real, whole person that until this year had felt disjointed, disconnected and I had lived out of a false self.
If anyone reading this would like to start this journey, and it is recommended with a Therapist who specialises in this, the resources I am using on this, to do the work, not just learn about the work, are from Lucia Cappachione, most notably, Recovery of your inner child, 1991
James Ballantyne 