James Ballantyne

Tag: mental health

  • The Power of Jet:Lag (the game)

    There was a time in July/August of last year when I was going through a pretty significant mental spiralling, down down and down. I was plagued by the bleak thoughts of self criticism, self sabotage, blame and self loathing, all things I realise I have been carrying since childhood, and all things triggered by events involving those people that brought all these things back to the surface (stuff that will remain private) . I would go as far to say that it was one of my biggest spirals, as instead of feeling numb to the pain and ‘I will survive’ which was my previous default, now I was feeling the feelings, and the voices were pretty strong.

    I was digging deep, every day, sometimes every hour, felt like a struggle to get through. I knew a number of things though, one was that whatever I was going through was an opportunity for it to be revealed and for me to heal from. The other was that I had to remember in the midst of it all the tools that I had learned so far.

    But my mind was in overdrive. Serious overdrive.

    It felt like everything I was doing was in some way connected to the trauma, and so I was finding it a swirl just to try and ‘sit with my feelings’ and I didnt feel safe or strong in myself to appeal to the inner voice of sheer panic and pain.

    I have written before about how I have needed to switch off from things, such as the news or TV (I am yet to watch or listen to the news on a TV or Radio in about 5 years), but what I was finding was that I was becoming seriously self absorbed, in a frightened alll consuming, can’t stop thinking, worrying, being anxious kind of way.

    It was around about this time that I started to write my book. It was a different kind of writing to what I had been doing before, and it wasn’t just the process of writing but also finding a lovely cafe at Waterstones Darlington meant that I was in a different environment, around non threatening strangers and friendly safe books, all going a tiny way to giving my mind a break.

    But this in itself, though creative, and positive, also involved energy, and though I found I could write at times, it could also lead to frustration when I found I couldn’t write or my mind was struggling to ‘un-focus’.

    And thats where Jet:Lag comes in.

    For much of the last 5 years I have mostly watched You Tube for my ‘entertainment’ . I struggle to watch films, and there’s something about the unfiltered, human creativity on you tube, from its documentaries, and human interest stuff that I like. My first encounters with it were to listen to music when I was studying, and in 2017-2018 I found railway You tube and especially people like Geoff Marshall and ‘All the Stations’ was a particular personal relaxation therapy gift, back in the day.

    In the midst of the swirl of last year I was finding that I was struggling to find and have to desire to watch or read anything that was thoughtful or even involved learning , my brain had had enough, and yet I didn’t feel I could give myself permission to do nothing, honestly writing this now, but if you have been through depression and anxiety you will know what its like, its like the voices of criticism and responsibility not allowing me to do anything.

    I had just watched a few train based challenge videos on YT and it was now suggesting that I might like what looked like a fairly goofy channel called ‘Jet lag; the game‘ in which it looked like they did races and challenges across various countries.

    I dont remember the order or exactly what happened, but after a few days of noticing this suggestion I clicked it.

    And then on one Saturday in late September (I think) I did nothing but watch four or five of the seasons and challenges. Three geeks (and often a 4th geek joining in) doing silly challenges, in competition, including travel and having fun, hard earned and tiring fun, with a whole load of jeopardy and unscripted coincidences.

    Nothing else. No cleaning, no social media-ing, no writing, just making myself some food, and sitting watching Jet Lag. Nothing that required losing emotional energy, and yet, something that in doing ‘nothing’ was also restoring it, personal introvert time- yet but without the necessity of trying to ‘work stuff out’ or ‘process things’ or ‘understand what’s going on’ just rest. A gap. A rest.

    And it was the mental break and gap my mind needed, one of the many things, but for one day this was it.

    I can’t quite work out what the ‘correct’ balance it, but there is one, when I felt in the mental state that I was in. It had to be safe – so no heightened drama that I could be invested in or be triggered by abuse – it had to captivate in a way that meant I could be invested in it (its a competition, but done in a v friendly and respectful way), it was also creative and funny too. At least, it was for me. I could get lost in it, without it overwhelming me, I could enjoy it and appreciate it, and it could give my mind something to be engrossed in that didnt require personal internal work or feeling responsible. Im not sure if I have described the balance right, but I know that other things I was trying to watch or do or think, were either too open (going for a walk and processing), watching sport theory (there’s only so many times I can be captivated by Arsenals pressing system, and my team Man Utd, are too triggering, too many sociopaths involved too much drama on top of more drama) and somethings I had relegated to ‘boring’ like food review shows, only so many times I could watch someone eat.

    Some times it’s important to find the thing. Or maybe, that thing in that moment finds us. I did not realise quite how ok it was to just allow myself to be not thinking and trying to process stuff. I am in a different place now, 6 months on, and im happy to sit and journal and colour, but im not sure I could have done that then.

    For one almost entire weekend, I did nothing but watch Jet lag; the game, and it was the gap my mind required to not think, but just to curl up on the couch and just be. When we’re in the middle of ‘the thing’ it can be difficult to know what the thing is that we need, for me it was something wholesome and fun, safe and non threatening, but captivating too. It was me saying to my mind, back off, i’m in charge and i’m going to just watch this today, it was a gap in the mind.

    Sometimes attending to our mental needs requires a whole load of things, one is to be so aware of what we are consuming and the energy of this on us, but also being able to give ourselves the mental power to tell our overactive minds to back off and rest. It could be something very different for you, and there are times when it can be something very different for me too, it can be walks and photography, it can be travel and writing, but on that weekend 6 months ago, what I needed was 3 geeks doing challenges, travelling and competitions, and the pure captivating enjoyment of fun, it may seem like nothing, but it retrospect it was so part of my healing process from such a dark period of my life.

    (it goes without saying that I am not suggesting that watching Jet lag in a time of anxiety or depression is the only thing you should do to alleviate this, I was also about to start therapy also)

    Talking about my book, if you would like to support me, you can do so at this link here, where you can give a one off or support me monthly as I write a book for boys and feelings. Thank you

  • Shining a light onto my Depression

    Its ok to not be ok

    But what if ‘norm’ was a depression that I didnt realise was?

    I’m pretty sure now that I was depressed but I just didnt realise how this had been my normal experience.

    Thats a conclusion I came to a month or so ago.

    I had never thought of myself as being depressed, that was something other people experienced and not something I would want to or could conceive of being the lens to which I was experiencing life, maybe I was masking it.

    But I can imagine now how a cloud, mostly grey, was being taken into every room that I was in, and, not intentionally.

    Oh and I dont mean the obvious emotional breakdown moments, the teary moments that i’ve experienced in the last few years, as my emotions have welled up, have broken up through the layers of cold, hardened exterior.

    I’m more talking about the cold, prickly, exterior. The despairing hopelessness. The Self doubt and beating myself up on the inside.

    So let me wind back a bit.

    I read two books back to back just before Christmas, whilst also being in the process of therapy. (I tell a lie, there were probably 5 books on the go…but anyways..) The first was Stolen Focus, and the second was Lost Connections, Stolen focus was the gateway for me into the writing of Johann Hari (ive written about Stolen focus Here on my youthwork blog, as this is all about play).

    Lost Connections is Johann Hari’s personal exploration into his own depression story, how he was prescribed anti depressants as a late teen, the journey of medication, and his research into the causes, indicators and alleviators of depression.

    So, I read Johanns book with interest. But not with the thought that I was depressed, more that it intrigued me that he was going to talk about the importance of social relationships in mental health. But no, not that I was depressed.

    Buy the book from Hive bookstores here: Lost Connections

    If you’ve read my story (in the menus) you will know what’s coming, but it is very accurate to say that one of my survival strategies for dealing with a psychopathic mother, was to hide my emotions, including any semblance of happiness or joy. In fact I would go further and say that any moments of being happy were stolen: ‘I need to feel your joy for you passing your exams’ , and times when I felt happy outside of her influence were negated : ‘ I need to get all that toxicity out from when you were at grandmas’ – as there were and are photos of me smiling and happy at grandma’s. Any place where I was paraded or made an example of, I hid my smile, including family and school photos. If I was going to be on a mantel piece for others to see, it would not be with a smile.

    Yet I was aware I wasn’t smiling. It was ok when other people took the photo, like church events or elsewhere, but if it was photo heading to the mantel piece or taken by her, no smile.

    Thats just one example, there were many. But what it meant, and I knew that expressing any emotion was unsafe – it was stolen. Or I had to be responsible for soothing her emotions, yes thats what happened, me aged 5 and above was the one who soothed her upset ‘only you can make me feel better, not even Dad can’ was one message from when I was a child, a young child.

    Talk about being emotionally tortured. It’s what I had to do. And also, this was a survival strategy, even if I didnt have a choice to do it.

    It all makes sense now doesn’t it. It makes so much sense to the extent to which I was desperate, alone and wanted to end it all, aged 9. I wanted to wake up as someone else, failing that wondered what it would have been like to jump out of my bedroom window, or wait for a midland main line train to hit me. Aged fucking 9. Thats not normal is it?

    Funny thing, when I tried to talk about this in starting my testimony at a church event in my teens (17) no one actually believed me, thinking that I was making it up as I didnt think I had a good ‘Jesus saved me’ story. But, folks, it was utterly true.

    I couldn’t actually talk about how I was actually feeling, because I could hardly describe it, and very few people who I could talk to were safe, or would understand. It surely wasn’t normal to be scared of your own mother. But that was my normal.

    But I was stony cold, prickly, critical and only able to let my head have any responsibility in how I was dealing with daily life. Not hard hearted, but wounded, heart hiding, protected. I was trying work out things, trying to work out how to cope, having to be one step ahead to know what to do in a situation, always trying to predict.

    In some ways, this is all for me just ‘coping/survival’ stuff. I wouldn’t have categorised it as depression.

    That was my normal, and if you’ve been in any type of abusive relationship you will know what that is like. Adopting to their unpredictable rage, strategising safety.

    I wondered what it might have been like had I gone as a 10 year old to my GP and said, ‘is it normal to feel suicidal aged 9’? or ‘I feel like I have to hide my emotions around people who should be protecting and nurturing me?’ – but I didnt, anyway back to the book.

    Oh, and one more thing, this actually was the thing.

    I didnt know what I wanted to do with my life.

    Throughout school, throughout my twenties, thirties even, ask me, and I didnt know.

    My usual answer, was ‘Whatever God wants’ that was my get out, but that wasn’t what I wanted, I just didnt know.

    I had no idea that not having any concept of a future was a sign of depression, a key sign. As Johann explains, it’s like the future is wiped away, inconceivable, as the present moment is the only valid space (and the haunted past) to attempt to survive in. Getting through. Making it out alive. One day at a time.

    The other reason for me, was that my future was also something stolen. It was made conditional by that person again, as I had to do something to ‘make me proud‘ ‘not disappointing me‘ or I would have to ‘prove her wrong’ by things that had been decreed as things she was upset by. Stolen Future indeed.

    Another indicator of depression, described in the book, was the lack of being in control. This is fascinating. In the book, research is conducted into 1,000 people all working in the same building, from the very top, to the bottom, CEO to the cleaners. It was found that depression was linked to those who had less control of what happens, in short, insecurity of the future was linked to depression. Being able to dictate and decide gave people more responsibility and stress, yes, but not depression, because they could see the way ahead and have some say in it, Insecurity led to depression.

    It reminded me of Deci and Ryans work in that intrinsic motivators are linked to Relationship (connection/belonging) , Competence (being good at something/positive feedback) and Autonomy (being able to have decisions on the future) (in Human Being by Jocelyn Bryan) . I think this is extraordinarily interesting in relation to faith and systems of faith, especially in a time when status anxiety is rife. I’ll write more about this another time I think.

    Anyway, back to me.

    Well, back to the book to be honest, Johann outlines 8 ‘disconnections’ that are significant causes of depression, they are

    1. (disconnection from) Meaningful work
    2. Other people
    3. Meaningful values. (Capitalism and the need for stuff that kills the soul)
    4. Childhood Trauma
    5. Natural World
    6. Status and Respect
    7. Hopeful/Secure Future
    8. and ‘the Role of Genes/Brain changes in depression’.

    Each of the chapters is utterly fascinating, each is woven with his own personal story of what he needed to alleviate his own depression, something to blame, something that wasn’t himself, a chemical (low serotonin- this is a myth btw), a story. But each of these ’causes’ made a lot of sense. When he talked about depression and anxiety being very similar that resonated too, but what’s interesting for me, is the extent to which I hid and buried all of this, to not feel anything. The other thread being the social dynamic of depression, the lost connections with the human, natural experience. 

    I was ok, I would say. But dont we all say this?

    There was some I definitely scored myself high on. Given that its only been recently (4 years) that I have reconnected inside with the effects of childhood trauma and abuse, connecting with my feelings, and also, been able to consider myself as important and have status (and not a victim) , a lot resonated, not just the ‘future planning’ section.

    The book was another window, a light into my own life, a lens even.

    It was only when I could see all of this that I realise the extent to which my ‘normal’ could only have been an underlying depression.

    Reconnection has been the journey I have been on, probably without realising it, some of that has been to have deep, real , brave conversations, and learn to be vulnerable, some of that has been to seek professional help, and some of that has been to do the work, to reconnect in myself – all sounds simple doesn’t it, well, its so not, its a daily ongoing process. But reconnection (and gentle loving repair) is definitely a good word for it.

    I guess I didn’t realise I was depressed, or parts of me were, until I felt what it was like to feel happy, to feel calm.

    As my therapist said a few weeks ago, there’s now a bright room light shining on all of the museum artefacts of past hurts and parts, rather than trying to fumble around in the darkness trying to look at things with a tiny torchlight.

    As I sit here, I have candles glowing on my window sill, I have relaxing music playing, and I feel a calm inside, a peace inside, a sense of connection inside – that yes can be disturbed and im sure will be even today, but holding my hands to my heart, I sense the breath of love and life in my soul and body, a deep love that is holding me. And the warm glow of the sun shines on the trees, the love of the universe is awakening the darkness. Sounds blissful, and it is, but it’s been a hard road to get here.

    I write this with peace and hopefulness, with a sense of love for my past wounded self, my ignored and hurt parts, and where I am now.

    You need your nausea, you need your pain. It is a message and we must listen to that message. All these depressed and anxious people, all over the world – they are giving us a message. They are telling us that something has gone wrong with the way that we live. We need to stop trying to muffle, silence, pathologise, or soothe the pain. Instead we need to honour it and listen to it. It is only when we listen to our pain that we can follow it back to its source – and only there where we can see it true causes, that we can truly overcome it

    Johann Hari, Lost Connections (2018)

    And yes, I recommend the book, especially if you know or are working with people who are suffering from depression or anxiety.

    References

    Lost Connections (2018), Stolen Focus (2023) Johann Hari

    Human Being (2017) Jocelyn Bryan.

  • My Heart was wounded, not cold and dark. (Why faith language can hinder healing)

    I attended my first ‘religious’ service for quite a long time yesterday, I haven’t gone to ‘church’ for a long while, though I used to, weekly. But yesterday in my team meeting, as I work for the methodist church, we shared communion. A number of the team brought something to share, including songs, poems and prayers, and we used the Celtic Daily Prayer liturgy, including, because it was the 1st February the reflections of St Brigid. It was a genuine moving experience, because it felt as though we were all spiritually and theologically in a very similar place, it was gentle, provocative and deep, reflective and peaceful.

    Yet in the context of my inner healing journey, two phrases stood out.

    I make the cross of Christ upon my breast

    over the tablet of my hard heart

    and I beseech the living God of the Universe,

    may the Light of lights come to my dark heart

    so that I may live in the power of your love.

    Celtic Daily Prayer, Vol 1

    The phrase stood out, because, it was what I believed.

    I believed my heart to be dark. To be hard.

    I believed that my core was full of selfishness, hatred and impurity

    I believed that

    I believed that for far too long.

    I believed it so that I needed a Saviour.

    But let me be fair on this one. Maybe this liturgy was written at a time when heart just meant ‘everything inside’ , and not ‘heart’ full of emotions and feelings, distinct from the mind. Maybe it was written from ignorance of ‘heart’ and not deliberation. Maybe, it was written by the powerful, who might struggle to open up their heart, and felt like a modern day Pharaoh (who it was said closed his heart/God closed it so that Moses had to return many times to let the Israelite slaves free). Maybe the ‘heart’ was something at the time of writing was misunderstood, maybe heart feelings/emotions was seen genuinely as dark – can I include a witchcraft reference here, for 1600’s Britain was rife with ‘sensitives’ or women deemed as witches who ‘sensed’ things. So the ‘heart’ could be feared, but it’s almost talking about cleansing a dark one, not calming a fired up one. Im just pondering. And I love the northumbria community, and contemplative practice.

    Yet the Evangelical christian faith I grew up with was full of the dark heart stuff…

    ‘Dont let my heart grow cold’

    ‘Purify my heart’ 

    And I get that there might be different/newer understandings of the relationship between our minds and hearts, our feelings, emotions and thoughts. I’ll reference a few TED talks below and other references are in my resource library. This is one of the best, by Lisa Feldman 

    There’s so many angles on this ‘dark heart narrative’ that I could reflect on, here are 4, briefly…

    1. It lets our minds off scot free. Maybe the mind was seen as neutral, as dominant and unquestioned, the ‘heart’ can get the blame. The Heart may be hardened, and unable to feel, because the mind is making too much noise. It is the mind and its search for satisfaction for its thirsty ego that causes the most damage.
    2. It causes us have less reverence for our inner workings and body. As many Spiritual people and mystic argue, spiritual awakening is through the body and not away from it (Eckhart Tolle, The Power of Now), not outside of the body or in denial of it. It’s unlikely to produce wholeness and a fragmented/fractured sense of self and body.
    3. It individualises the problem (if only I can get my hard heart to open/be more faithful/pray more/ do more church) rather than consider the external causes of these, and the body’s natural responses such in its need for self protection and survival. ‘It’s my cold/hard heart thats the problem, not the actual reality that ive been mistreated’ - an understanding of external stimuli/trauma here might be helpful.
    4. Only God can save. Because my heart is so hard that there’s nothing in it to be able to love/care for myself… how does this marry up with being ‘wonderfully made in the image of God?’ Where is my heart then?
    5. A heart is the source of emotions and feelings, which make us who we are, denying or hiding these is so so unhealthy.

    There could be essays on all of these, and thats not for now.

    My journey of healing, spiritually and emotionally has been a process of healing my inner self, including my body, and its wounded parts. Its been a journey in which, spiritually I have found the descriptions of the spiritual life, in Eckhart Tolle, Richard Rohr and John O Donohue to resonate deeply, and all take the body, the heart and the mind seriously and kindly in the process.

    My heart wasn’t impure, dark or hard all along.

    In fact, I needed my heart to be able to be self compassionate

    I needed a heart to love, myself

    I could love and care for myself

    My heart just couldn’t feel

    My heart had been stolen from

    My heart had been broken

    My heart had been wounded from birth

    My heart had never been nurtured or protected, it had never been loved.

    My heart had to be protected, sealed and enclosed – to protect myself

    My heart wasn’t dark, it was there all along – being told that it was.

    My heart could love and heal – as can yours

    My heart just wanted to feel, to be healthy, to be part of me – just like yours does

    My heart wanted safety to cry, feel and rage – just like yours

    My heart was never dark.

    It had had its flame squashed and buried

    It was hiding underneath

    It was screaming

    It wasn’t ever dark – it was love all along.

    It was me.

    I had to begin the process of peeling gently back the layers and wounds, and I could only do that gently because of love and my heart. I had to learn to love my body, my heart and create safety for my feelings. Listening to my heart, listening to my core and what it needs. None of this would have been possible had I continued the pattern of believing I was broken and my heart was core to that brokenness.

    May you be blessed with good friends

    And you learn to be a good friend to yourself

    Journeying to that place in your soul where

    there is love, warmth and feeling

    May this change you

    John O Donohue, ‘For Friendship’; To Bless the space between us

  • I Like Me

    I’ve been pondering on writing this piece for a few days now, wondering if it is suitable, wondering how to express it, especially as it’s kind of simple. Full disclosure, I have been back receiving therapy since October, on that journey of remaking, regrouping and rebuilding. One of the revelations from it, was the simple yet, deep self -love and compassion acceptance of myself, to the point where I can say and believe the three words above.

    Then this morning I saw the image I’ve included below, by my friend Andy, it was the spark to the flame of this piece. Do check his work out, he is an incredible artist.

    3 simple words.

    I

    Like

    Me

    Can you say them?

    Do you believe them?

    Those three simple words.

    I. Like. Me

    Image by Andy Gray, Email Website

    But I feel so empty?

    But I feel so ugly?

    But I dont feel good enough?

    If you knew what I had done I the past, you wouldn’t like me

    But. But.

    I’ve been told i’m full of sin and shame

    I was abused and neglected

    I feel overwhelmed and responsible

    I feel out of control

    I have so many feelings

    I can’t like me, I can’t , there’s just too much about me not to like

    Is that true? really is that true?

    My friend, that voice is lying to you.

    what about the daft things?

    like what?

    like when Ive forgotten to send that email, or I tripped over the cat, or put peanut butter in the fridge, or when I let those plants die and..

    I really beat myself up for letting the plants die…

    It’s ok, you give yourself such a hard time, listen but doubt this voice

    It’s time to realise that you don’t have to believe this voice anymore.

    There is nothing stopping you from being able and willing to like yourself.

    Genuinely, 100% genuinely. 

    Who is listening to the voice telling you that you’re not good enough? Thats you. And you are more, you are bigger and you are the listener of the voice.

    So, you can say the words, however, brave or courageous you need to be, its not weird at all – its just not been your norm, but now, now its time…

    Go on, say it, say it slow, write it down, look in the mirror with love and peace.

    I. like. me.

    There is no frailty, no addiction, no secret, no action, no torment, no worry, no fear, no concept, that is you.

    You are not those things, You are YOU.

    And you can like you.

    It is time to say the words.

    I like Me

    I like me, and I can breathe now

    I like me and when I sit it stillness, there is no torment, no mind fuckery

    I like me, and I dont need to do ..anything

    I like me…and I can rest

    I like me… and knowing this gives me freedom

    I like me… even with peanut butter in the fridge

    I like me…even if it cries

    I like me… even if it tries

    I like me….even if it feels

    I just like me.

    I like me… and I am not broken

    I like me.. and I deserve Happy and love and joy and all the best things

    I like me…

    When ‘I like me’ is more than a meme on Facebook, and self-care just a coping mechanism, but self love and compassion means a genuine sense of self acceptance (beyond self knowledge).

    I like me.

    If used properly, the same mental voice that has been a source of worry, distraction and general neurosis can become the launching ground for true spiritual awakening.

    The Untethered Soul, Michael A Singer, 2007

  • Deckchairs.

    No not these ones.

    You know the ones I mean.

    Not the beach ones, the ones that get filled with sand, or get fought over by those who’ve paid the tourist tax to hire then on a British cloudy (but was sunny that morning) kind of day.

    No, I don’t mean these ones.

    Im thinking about the ones that get referenced in the times of personal, collective, or organisational despair.

    Because, there’s nothing more despairing that when someone trots out that phrase. The one about Rearranging Deckchairs on the Titanic.

    For, at that moment, there does not seem to be anything more despairing. Imagine, (and it may not be that difficult to imagine, given that most of us have seen ‘that’ film) what it might have been like, seeing or feeling the iceberg hit, and being the ones to know that there would be only 2-3 hours left. Time spent trying to convince only those who had read the news that the ship couldn’t go down. But it could.

    If you weren’t able to read this, then neither you or I have been in such a situation, such a perilous state of emergency with almost no escape. (or you’re reading this and you survived a miracle).

    But let’s just imagine, for a moment, that this is you, what would you do?

    Given the utter pointlessness of the situation, do you clamber on to what is worth saving? Why not just sit an eat a meal in the slightly sinking cabin? Sing along with the band? Watch a favourite movie? Hold hands and enjoy the final embrace of a loved one? Dance or play the piano? Say a prayer? Save others, try and save yourself?

    Deckchairs – would re arranging them even cross your mind? At that moment?

    If we’re prone to depression, despair and cynicism – or when we might be told often enough that the company, organisation, institution or ideology is waning on its final death-knell – then it can often feel like there’s no way out, no alternative, no escape.

    And that can be what we tell ourselves, when things feel futile and pointless.

    But there is a subtle difference, always, between whatever our situation is, and to those stuck on that ocean liner in the early 1900’s.

    We have Time.

    And, in the main, we also have more Choices too. (even if we can’t think of them, thats our inner critic lying to us again)

    That time thing though, is the crucial thing.

    Even in the midst of despair and hopelessness, there is time, and, in the midst of that time, there is still you, able to note and notice the time.

    So what if the ship of your mental or organisational health is starting to tilt, wobble and begin to sink?

    Maybe rearranging the deckchairs might take a colossal effort at that time, panic setting in, but it’s important to do something that seems menial, just to give other people somewhere to sit. Maybe it is time to sand down the decks and give it a proper paint job too, because thats just what you need to do in the midst of that state of despondency, just to paint the floors, be useful and do so maybe even with the tiniest of proud smiles on your face. Well done you, that takes effort just to do that one thing. It wasn’t pointless at all, was it, no, not for you.

    There might well be other things to do, on that sinking ship, that show bravery, courage and creativity – or maybe were creative, that showed bravery and courage: drawing, painting , songwriting – or just looking out from the deck at the sea beyond, trying to catch a glimpse of whales, puffins or other sea birds flying in the distance, just because thats what you love to do – and loving what you do in the midst of that despairing spiral might just be exactly what you need to do. One brave showing up for yourself step at a time. Binoculars might just give perspective.

    Dancing on the ships deck might seem the most ridiculous, but there are no rules at that point of paralytic fear and hopelessness, if you want to dance and smile, shake it out, then let the critics judge, its only your recovery that matters – and even if we might feel that the situation is a disaster , we might as well enjoy ourselves, might as well see what happens when we give ourselves time to have fun – like go to that movie, football match, or play darts on the ship deck.

    Life is going to throw us curveballs all the time, some as serious as Titanic ones, some far lesser, sometimes these challenge our expectations, sometimes they question our realities, sometimes, maybe all times, we have time, we still have complete responsibilities for the choices we make, we can try something new, reassess, and emerge far far different, and look back and realise, that it wasn’t pointless re-arranging deckchairs on the titanic after all.

    Maybe, just maybe, it was the absolute right thing to do, in that very moment after all.

    and… surrendering to the final inevitable, might just mean that the important things, like those birds in the binoculars, come into sharper focus than ever before, like joy, wonder and life..

    References

    A Therapeutic Journey by Alain de Botton (2023)

  • Abuse and the fragility of self-belief.

    ‘You shouldn’t doubt yourself, you’re really good at’

    Aww shucks, thank you

    But when those voices return

    Those ones

    You know the ones I mean

    Every action, every creative, public action is a huge sap of energy

    Self doubt shouts with a megaphone from the recess of the mind

    Ive been fighting my own voices for a few months now

    Maybe for a few longer

    I used to pretend that they weren’t there, but they just lay dormant

    ‘You’re no good at this’

    ‘You never make it work’

    ‘You’re not as good as _________ at it’

    ‘are you sure this is you?’

    ‘Faker’

    ‘Dont have ideas beyond your station’

    The voices

    Self doubt merges into paralytic self criticism

    But then again, its no surprise is it?

    The Trophy child, on display

    All the work, no pay

    A childhood ground on expectation, rules and shame

    With only a few teachers to point me in the right direction

    Relying on my own head to survive, the voices I can tell myself

    Those voices I can do this – despite

    I can be something – without

    I can make it – on my own

    Survival voices, from an unsafe land. Maybe that was it, so much energy taken up in trying to survive, self protection, understanding, trying to please, that there wasn’t space to actually be good at something, to be creative.

    Compliments and encouragement I find hard to trust, easier to dismiss than believe them, I know you mean well.

    It may be easy for you to tell me that I shouldn’t doubt myself – it really isn’t easy for me, I know you mean well

    The effort to doubt my own self doubt, keeping the darkness at bay

    realising that actually, the darkness might be a friend too, it wants to tell me something.

    The battle in my mind, doesn’t need more weapons.

    It’s not a fight. Its a reminder

    A reminder to remember, who I truly am.

    That I am not the voice. That those voices need not over power me.

    A reminder towards love. A reminder towards awakening.

    A reminder towards heart. A reminder towards soul.

    That I am is more than I can.

  • Overthinking: A Tale of Three Walks

    Overthinking: A Tale of Three Walks

    The best way for me to describe this is to tell you a story.

    Last Sunday morning I had fun with my camera.

    But. I had to make a choice to do this.

    Because, the previous Thursday I went out, hoping to have fun, a relaxing walk, mixing some bird watching and photography. But for some reason it wasn’t fun. I had got to a point of digesting a few days worth of new knowledge about photography skills and practice and then went out armed with this knowledge.

    On a grey uninspiring day. I also went to go nature walking.

    There wasn’t much nature, and there wasn’t much of interest. It was a bit bleak.

    Here’s a few examples from the day. Grey light mostly.

    In short, I got back and felt as though I was trying to do too much.

    Rushing. And over thinking.

    Was I enjoying the walk..? No.

    Was I chasing a bird or moment of nature? Yes

    Was I trying to use my camera and look at scenes , sometimes..

    Was I trying to practice a new skill, walk and find places, or see nature?

    Too much going on. Over thinking.

    Anyway. A few moments of fun in the sunset. Nothing is wasted, absolutely.

    But I got back and thought id wasted a day, frustrated.

    But on Sunday things were different.

    I went to a place I had only been once before, HedleyHope Fell, just outside Tow Law, last time I was there it was wet and cold and looked like this:

    Though I also realise that this photo doesn’t give any indication of how wet it was that day. Its just a tree. But trust me it was wet here in November.

    On Sunday I went, the sun was hazy and out, and I decided that I would solely use the space to walk and try taking interesting photos, try some different angles and settings and just have some fun. I also thought I would take seriously the suggestion that I would tell a story, and the simple story of my photos was that it was me going for a walk.

    So, in 8 photos, here’s me going for a walk at HedleyHope Fell.

    Im not going to write this 4 days later and make out that I was gliding around the setting, in a beautiful flow of human with camera making beautiful art.. but I can say that I was having fun.

    I was lost in the moment, yet present in the moment. Observing landscapes, light and scenes in front of me, trying to look, feel and sense the place.

    Being present.

    Enjoying myself.

    And, I could tell what happened to take me out of this.

    A text message , just as I was about to climb up the hill to the car.

    A message that took me away from the place, the fun and the enjoyment.

    I should have turned off my phone, but I dont do that for emergency sake, and text messages are so rare…so, I

    was into thinking again. Panic even.

    In that moment I lost presence.

    Even breathing and trying to ‘slow down’ I had gone. Only my body remained in the fell, my mind was elsewhere, panic anxiety or whatever it was.

    I did have plans to go to a different nature reserve after this one, but instead I faced the challenge, knowing that avoiding it would only make me worry more. Though I had resolved that on my drive back home that the worst case scenario was unlikely. And, it was unlikely. It was and is something I can deal with.

    So its all ok.

    So in a way I am proud of myself for how I responded and reacted calmly to a situation..eventually.

    But what im also aware of is how easy it is for the fun and enjoyment I was having to burst like a bubble.

    My flow went, my mind raced, panic, but then gradually logic and calmness did return.

    I did go out again later, and I did enjoy an afternoon of sunshine, but what I did on this occasion at the nature reserve, was focus on recovering calmly from the minor stress, walking, breathing and doing the nature thing. Doing one thing at a time. So just outside Darlington at the Burdon Community Woodland, I got these photos.

    Maybe not the best photos. But that wasn’t the point.

    But it was important for me notice that I had to focus on one thing.

    Walking and being in nature is good for me for slowing down, for appreciating connections with the earth. It was what I needed to restore myself. Sitting and waiting for an owl, or the movement of birds slows me down. It was one thing to focus on. It wasn’t the time for me to learn a new skill, a new toy. I needed something different for myself, than I needed in the morning.

    Fun in the morning, Slow speed in the afternoon. Nature in attendance.

    So, that’s my slightly unwieldy story about overthinking. Im kind of over thinking whether I should even share it, because its probably not that interesting, or enlightening, just me going out for walks and realising when I’ve been present in them or not, and I would imagine that’s just like any one of us.

  • The Long Road of Recovering.

    The Long Road of Recovering.

    Yesterday I wrote a piece about how it was 4 years since I picked up my first self help book, when I realised that the damaging effect of, and types of narcissistic behaviour that had dominated my life, that piece is here:

    My Healing started the day I realised the narcissism of my mother

    4 Year ago the same month was also my first session with a therapist, and even deciding to do therapy felt like a deep personal shift in loving myself

    The thing I realised to is that its been 4 years.

    If I’m honest with myself, I kind of knew that the process of recovering from the childhood experiences, the abusiveness of my principle care giver (to give a more technical term), it was going to take significant time. It’ll be one reason why it took me having to hit rock bottom, and also have safe emotional space to start to deal with it.

    Though part of me might have wanted a quick -fix, there was and is no such thing.

    4 years, and the road still continues.

    I wouldnt say that even at this point that ‘I have dealt’ with everything.

    Im just walking. Sometimes slowly. Sometimes sitting on a bench. Sometimes taking a risk and putting my feet in the water. Sometimes letting the metaphorical emotions, memories, dreams and moments be felt on my face, like the wind. Sometimes feel like I’m walking and getting lost or stuck, and in those moments there’s been many tools, and guides along the way, encouaragers and supporters. Revisits to therapy. Reminders of what I knew. Reminders even that in tiring and stressful moments, I’m likely to forget what I knew.

    I still need to remember to breathe. I mean Im not going to be able to walk very far without breathing. But even that basic thing, I can easily forget.

    I still need to remind myself not to avoid feeling feelings – like getting a stone in my shoe on a hike, feel, notice, and respond.

    I still need to remind myself of my own strength, and to be kind on myself – getting lost on a walk might be an adventure in disguise.

    I still need to remind myself to notice the beauty moments along the way. The equivalent of the wild flowers or tiny insects on walk

    as well as some of the larger moments, that seem like clouds shifting and light pouring in. Storms on a walk dont seem fun, but they can shift the air around. With no storms there’s no rainbow.

    I still need be reminded of the universe. The universe that speaks in the loud storm or the colourful rainbow, the tiny insect of the rumbling waters over the weir. To be reminded to listen, and to hear in that moment, to sense, to feel, to appreciate.

    Its a long road.

    Ive had times when I thought, ‘yeah’ I’m sorted now. But then I get the ‘opportunity’ to face something else, to notice something in my shadow, to sense grief, or realise where I had stopped listening. Complacency doesn’t seem to be appropriate on this walk.

    Its a long road and its one step at a time.

    Its a long road, but at least I can sense myself on the road.

    Im not just watching the road, or watching others on the road.

    But sensing that I am on the road. The long road of life

    That I am on.

    I am making it happen. I am walking. One slow step at a time.

    Life on the road.

    Lord I dont know where I’m going, but I am walking.

    One conscious present moment at time.

    The long road – the long road of life,

    The long road – of being conscious me in the moment of each step.

    Learning and Feeling along the way.

    Points of gratitude. Moments of the guiding Universe.

    Tools laid by others, picked up to aid me.

    Reminding myself that I cannot be rushed.

    Step by Step, Moment by Moment.

    Walking, not rushing the long road of recovering.

  • Christmas and the Feels.

    Just stopping by on the beginning of Christmas week 2022, in the midst of me getting ready to cook some food for my son and his girlfriend, and then as I travel on trains tomorrow and planes on Wednesday to be with my beautiful wife Christelle for Christmas.

    A moment of calm. Nat King Cole is playing. The Christmas lights and candles are glowing. Apple and Cinnamon scent is wafting around, presents have been wrapped and its a moment to breathe.

    A moment to notice.

    A moment to appreciate feeling safe. A moment to appreciate feeling love. A moment to be thankful, to be grateful. A moment to feel, and notice that moments like this, gaps, are not to be frightened of anymore. Its these cracks where love washes in.

    Its 4.30pm and its not been all like this all day. Ive carried a pre Christmas and travel to do list around in my head all day, whilst also being at work for the last day. But now, having scurried around a bit for the day, Im having just a moment of me time.

    Breathing slowly. Noticing the light of the candle. Feeling.

    Realising too, the effort its taken, the effort Ive taken to get to where I am, this year. A lot has been happening. There’s been some dark moments of reliving trauma, abuse and suffering. There’s been times of facing my own complex vulnerabilities, of embracing what’s its meant by being self compassionate, of enjoying receiving, of making choices about responding to what I’m actually feeling day by day.

    So I sit here, feeling a sense of love for myself, acceptance of myself, and feeling relaxed as I take one then another breath. Grateful for the vulnerable giants whose own shared lives have inspired, encouraged and caused me to dig deep into my own heart, power and strength, Brene Brown, Gary Zukav, Paulo Coelho, Edith Eger, Matt Haig, your life story, your fictions and your insight is truly transformative. The therapists in person, and the therapy groups on Facebook – there’s many a time you have struck a chord and enabled me to come face to face with a new reality, so thank you, North Brisbane Psychotherapists, Dr Glenn Patrick Doyle, Mike Philips and Patrick Weaver Ministries. Thank you.

    But Christmas.

    Somehow as I sit here and in conversation with Christelle, we shared about how this time can be a weird one for those of us rebuilding our lives after childhood trauma. Weird in that kind of way of noticing, facing, and accepting the moments that aren’t so apparent in April , June or September. Pain in a Christmas movie can be about grief for the much loved parent who isn’t around – rarely one who was abusive. (yes I know, no one wants that Christmas movie)

    Christmas time gives opportunities for continued self love, tenderness and self- compassion.

    Know that its ok to feel whatever Christmas feels for you. Feel that mystery of love deep within your wounded heart and soul. Neither I, neither you are the pain or shame.

    May I share with you this blessing, as a gift, from John O Donohue, as I also say thank you, and do have a truly restful, calm, loving, heartfelt, self compassionate Christmas.

    A Prayer for the Awakened:

    For Everything under the Sun, there is a time, This is the season of your harvest awakening, where pain takes you where you would rather not go.

    Through the white curtain of yesterdays to a place you had forgotten you knew from the Inside out, And a time when that bitter tree was planted.

    That has grown always invisibly beside you, and whose branches your awakened hands, now long to disentangle from your heart.

    You are coming to see how your looking often darkened, When you should have felt safe enough to fall towards love; How deep down your eyes were always owned by something.

    That faced them through a dark fester of thorns, Converting whoever came into a further figure of the wrong, You could only see what touched you as already torn.

    Now the act of seeing begins your work of mourning, and your memory is ready to show you everything, having waited all these years for you to return and know.

    Only you know where the casket of pain is interred, You will have to scare through all the layers of covering, And according to your readiness, everything will open.

    May you be blessed with a wise and compassionate guide, Who can accompany you through the fear and grief, until your heart has wept its way to your true self.

    As your tears fall over that wounded place,

    May they wash away the hurt and free your heart

    May your forgiveness still – the hunger of the wound

    So that for the first time you can walk away from that place, Reunited with your banished heart, now healed and freed

    And feel the clear, free air bless your new face

    For Someone Awakening to the Trauma of their past – John O Donohue

    Be Still friends, and Know that you are love – Happy Christmas to you

    James

  • Why I’m enjoying Euro 2020: Its because I don’t need it

    Why I’m enjoying Euro 2020: Its because I don’t need it

    I realised something the other day, Im quite enjoying the football at Euro 2020 (in 2021, but you know, Covid etc) , and its not just having the crowds back in, or just from yesterdays two thrilling games of 14 goals with France, Switzerland , Spain and Croatia. But its something else. I cant even watch much of it, with no TV or license, and im not listening to Radio 5 either.

    I realised that I’m not needing the football this year.

    There have been two fairly constant aspect of my life since I was a young teenager, Faith has been one of them, and football has been another. (Some would argue that food has too, but maybe thats for another story)

    I needed football. Football took me on emotional roller coasters

    It shaped my yearly calendar, the end of the season was also summer, then a tournament.

    It gave me an outlet.

    It also gave me a space to hide away.

    I could literally shut out everything and everyone else to focus on football.

    I still can.

    But it gave me an escape.

    I needed it for its drama, and I needed the journey of a summer tournament of the existential hope of an England tournament victory to keep me going.

    So when they got knocked out, usually by penalties, usually by Germany, it wasnt just the end of hope. It was the return, for a few months of real life. I needed football. Its role in my life was 90 minutes each evening on my teenage bed listening to Radio 5, the soothing noise of people commentating.

    It was painful when England lost, when my team (Man Utd lost), because something in me needed them to be a source of joy, of hope, of belief.

    I needed it as a distraction, a drug, a hope, to be a fan, and yet ive tried to give it up in the past, but sometimes it was a safe place, a distraction. Time away from somewhere unsafe and toxic and Radio 5 in the earphones walking the dog, or driving the car. The filling of my head of a different noise to drown out the pain.

    What I discovered, through a breakdown, a complete life rebuild from scratch and in the recovering and understanding of trauma was that I could just have carried on on that cycle of adding further activity to the mind and life, and not deal with the actual need. What I needed was less of the other, and more attention to me. I can enjoy football more, now, because I dont need it.

    As I said in my first piece on this blog, I get the obsession, I get the need. I get the use of football for men to talk about which is safe. And I know there are some good people in football who are talking about football and mental health, depression and dealing with significant life problems, like Mark Goldbridge for one, and on his United Stand there are always many people who thank him for talking about Mental Health, and being real about emotions.

    I still like football. But if you feel like you need it, as an escape, a distraction from things in your life that you aren’t choosing to deal with, then, even after basking in an England win over Germany this evening, maybe listen to that voice, that inner voice inside that gnawing away at you, as it gnawed away at me. If its masking a pain, then maybe its time to say out loud what that pain is, acknowledge it, whether its abuse, neglect, shame, guilt, drink or drug problems, maybe its time to stop and listen, and begin life, that includes football, and includes a you that is healthier. Football isnt a therapist, unlike a therapist, or a dog might be.