James Ballantyne

Tag: responsibility

  • Why I struggle to sleep on a flight

    Why I struggle to sleep on a flight

    There are some people who can sleep on an aeroplane.

    But I, sadly, am not one of them.

    Since February 2020 I have now had the experience of many transatlantic flights to both Montreal and San Diego to meet, visit and spend time with Christelle. At least 12 flights over 6 hours long.

    I had the ‘joy’ of the cancelled flight in July (re arranged to a direct 9hr flight :-)) , and last week a double cancelled, staying overnight in random city (Seattle) only for 2 more flights the next day experience.

    This was me at Seattle…

    Early in my flight experiences I didn’t have many ideas of ‘what to do’ and how it works, so I think on my first Montreal flight I packed a bag full of food, as I didnt click the ‘food option’ but then on the BA flight got a decent 3 course meal, wine, beer and snacks, to my surprise.

    But I often note other people to see what they are doing, like the use of the complimentary cushion, blanket or what’s on their TV to see if that’s something I would like.

    Its not just what other people are doing. I like to know what is going on.

    Every bell noise in the plane, I’m checking to see which of the lights has gone on or off, or whether this causes any sudden movement in the airline crew. What calls are being made. I like to know what’s going on.

    The sleepers I guess dont care, they sleep.

    But for some reason I care, or at least I feel as though I should care or be responsible, or be ready.

    Even after an overnight of 4 hours sleep, and then on the second night flying from Detroit to Heathrow and losing 5 hours, I slept for less than 2 hours, but I at least slept a bit, I think. But it took for me to be completely exhausted to finally sleep, though never feeling that I was actually asleep. The display on the TV went from ‘4hr 40’ to arrival, to ‘1 hr 45’ and I know id been dozing only for much of it.

    What I did this time was have an eye mask on, and ear plugs – and yes ive tried these things before, but they did work for the 2 hours or so this time. It helped me close away from the light and noise that represented things and situations I might need to be aware of.

    Maybe that’s the same as everyone else. But, horror of horrors, there are some people on long distance flights who sleep so well they dont eat or drink anything complimentary? I mean what’s that all about? Who are these people? ;-) Hiding under a blanket and out for the count. Maybe they in that moment are doubly exhausted, and they can just crash.

    But there’s something else.

    There’s three things that come to mind as I reflect on my ‘plane’ sleep experiences.

    The first is my experience of climbing.

    Although I did have some outdoor experiences as a boy, climbing wasn’t one of them, it wasn’t until I was part of the leadership team on young peoples camps in Scotland that I took part in climbing, at two compass centres and on a trip to Edinburgh. I was a nervous, shaking wreck on the first two occasions, trying to get my feet into the ‘sockets’ and my arms reaching up, with barely any arm strength. The third time I went I made a mental note to myself. I would trust the rope. I would trust that the staff had done their work properly to set it up safely, and as a 29 year old I would be ok. But the main thing was, was that I would trust the rope. And I so enjoyed that third climbing experience. Trust.

    The second is that Biblical story of Jesus being asleep in the storm, whilst the waves crash around their boat, Jesus slept, and yet the disciples exclaimed how it could be the case. I guess that some of the disciples stayed awake knowing they felt they had to be responsible for Jesus, given that they knew a little about who he was. As well as try and keep their boat afloat.

    The third thing is that I remember taking ages to get to sleep as a child. I had to stay awake as I simultaneously felt responsible and scared of my emotionally immature psychopathic mother. So, in between reading books, I would be listening at each loud shouting conversation in the kitchen, in the floor below..and it was only one screechy voice that was making the noise. Id be awake listening for each time the hall door would open (as then id turn off my light) or know that the 2nd stair creaked, and then I would turn it off. And then there would be footsteps all the way to my bedroom door, because that’s also where the bathroom door was, next to mine, so I had no idea if I was about to be told off. Often I would be awake long after they would themselves be in bed. It was safe. Many books were read.

    There was no sleep when there was a monster to be aware of.

    Being aware of danger. Trust the rope (plane). Feeling responsible.

    There is a different kind of awareness I often feel on a plane too.

    Its a gap, a space.

    And though I often take books to read (very old school) , what I often find is that I have felt travel tense until I get to the gate and on the plane. However I dont have anything to worry about, there’s travel to the airport (trains to Newcastle or London), security queues and going through it, and any check in required, it doesn’t sound much, writing it, but even with trains on time or a short tube from somewhere in London to Heathrow, I still have some residual travel anxiety. So, getting into my seat on the plane, each time, I get a sense of relief, and also a sense of excitement of the travel to Christelle, which up until then has been mixed with the travel anxiety.

    A breath. An awareness moment on the plane. I go from being anxious about my own getting on the flight process – to then feeling like I am needing to be aware and responsible for other people on the plane. Hence the no sleep. Weird huh. But what I dont have or do on the plane is have wifi – I just charge my phone, eat the food and take time selecting and watching a movie or three. (Yes I have now watched the entire LOTR and Harry Potter films)

    Awareness. Presence. Even on a plane.

    This morning I watched this

    How to be present in 2023 – Eckhart Tolle

    in it he talks about responding to that great challenge… The Cancelled flight. Also about how to have a kind of alertness on a plane. ✈️

    Im learning. I noted how I responded to my double cancelled flight issue of last week, that’s for another piece I think. Life spills over even on 48 hours of travel.

    Tolle talks about the right kind of alertness. About acceptance and surrender.

    Maybe noticing all my feelings is part of all of this. It isn’t taking me long to note how I’m feeling anxious, or overly alert. Sometime my survival skills kick in, other times I give myself the time to stop, note and feel, and remember to breathe. Continually practicing presence.

  • My Problem(s) being an Abuse Victim

    What do I see myself as, A Victim or a Survivor?

    If I go back 4 years;

    I couldn’t be a victim, unless I realised that I was badly treated.

    So I was in denial

    I couldn’t realise the extent of what had happened to me, until I started to say that I was a victim of abuse.

    Because , until then, I was holding onto the responsibility of actions someone else had done to me.

    I was protecting them and fearing them, holding it all in, running from dealing with it.

    Thinking that what happened to me, was what I deserved.

    I was responsible. I was full of shame.

    Thats what emotional abuse is. The ongoing belief that I was responsible, guilty for actions other people had done to me.

    It was my responsibility to soothe them and do what they wanted, or I would be punished.

    But I didn’t know it. I lived in a daze of slavery.

    Compliant and Passive. Loyal and Dead on the inside, and outside.

    It was only when I realised that I was more than ok, that I realised I was being treated badly. It was only when I realised this, that I could stand up for myself, and pass that responsibility onto those whose it was to take.

    In fact on more than one occasion one of the accusations levelled at me, shouted drunk, by my abuser was ‘Dont you starting thinking of yourself as the victim’ …. So… I was projected and abused into not being able to see that I was being abused.

    I had to realise that those who had played victim – so that I took responsibility for their feelings, weren’t actually the real victim.

    Not that I am utterly blameless, this isn’t the point.

    In understanding what had happened to me, and the safe space to do it – was the moment that I realised, gradually and slowly that I had been a victim of domestic abuse.

    I started to see the patterns, I started to read the books, I started to assess how I was being treated, used and lied to.

    So I was a victim.

    But I didnt know it.

    And I was reluctant to own it. I didnt want to be known as a victim. Even if I did start to realise what had happened to me.

    And yet at the same time, almost at exactly the same time, because I didnt realise that I had been a victim of this for 40 years, and I was in a safe place from virtually the time I realised. I considered myself a survivor too.

    I was a victim, it was the past tense. At that moment. It had happened.

    In the current moment of knowing, and acknowledging the past pain – the present moment I could say that I wasn’t currently a victim either. It had happened.

    Why would I want to keep playing the victim card? Thats what I’ve seen all my life- to abuse me. Why would I want to abuse myself in the same way – or bring out that same needy ‘poor me’ personality. No – why would I do that? I write my story for awareness. I know my story isnt unique. Well not quite at times. I dont want to dwell in a victim mindset.

    But it was important for me to realise that I had been a victim. That I had been treated, or allowed myself to be treated badly, from a deep core of trauma, shame, codependency and people pleasing – and hiding all this, and it not being safe to deal with it.

    So.. I was a victim. But I wasnt too. ,

    Would I say I was a survivor? Is that appropriate?

    Maybe. Maybe not.

    Have I survived? Currently yes – though some weeks, this week especially has been pretty dark. Surviving is what I had to do, throughout the time of the abuse. My internal voice that constantly said ‘I am going to get through this’..

    I dont like the thought that I am still surviving. Though I did survive. Many others dont. So I am grateful, eternally grateful to be here and alive. I wasnt close to jumping off the cliffs of Roker , when my therapist asked about my mental health. I was determined to grow, to dig deep and wrestle with myself and what I needed to do, for myself. I knew I was ok. I was probably more than that. But I had also survived the worst of it.

    In the present moment; I did survive. I wasnt a victim.

    Affected by decades of emotional and psychological abuse. Yes.

    Realising and attending to myself in the process of loving myself to be me. Yes

    Choosing the slow road, the self-kind road and trying to listen to my inner childhood voice. Yes

    It feels like a choice I make every day. A powerful choice to regard myself highly.

    Am I a survivor – yes then. But what would I rather be?

    I would rather be me.

    I would rather not be defined by what someone else did to me.

    I would rather not have them centred in my story.

    I am me – I am James – I am who I am.

    I am living and alive, love and loved, present and the future.

    I dont want to be a victim, I dont want their curse to stay on me.

    I am rebuilding , I am becoming a truer version of me

    I just am me.

    Just like you are you.

    This piece was inspired by Dr Glenns one – do read it here in it he says:

    In my experience as a trauma therapist, that’s just now how trauma recovery unfolds in the real world.

    In the real world, we ONLY recover WHEN we take responsibility for our happiness and stability— and part of taking REALISTIC responsibility means acknowledging our pain.

    It is not reality to pretend we are responsible for our post traumatic pain.

    It is not reality to “accept responsibility” for injuries that resulted from other peoples’ decisions and behavior.

    It is not reality to deny the fact that we are in pain, and there are layers to our pain that we do not control and can not reliably affect.

    It IS reality to see what we see and know what we know about our past and our present functioning— that there were aspects of our past that were painful and terrifying, and there are aspects of our current functioning that aren’t great as a result.

    None of that is “victim mindset.” It is reality mindset.”

    Dr Glenn Patrick Doyle

  • Surviving Psychopathic Parenting (Part 29) Actually I nearly didn’t.

    (Trigger Warning: Suicide)

    I wanted to die at 9

    I was 9 when I had had enough

    9

    At the age of 9 years old I was desperate to get out, get out of the life I was in

    9 was the age I contemplated ending it all, suicide.

    At the age of 9, when my blonde hair was barely tinting itself brown.

    9 is the age of fun, playing out, bmx, bikes, games, toys, lego and the rest – and it was

    But it was also the age when I wanted out.

    I had something else to carry, that haunted me.

    Not 13, not mid teens, not early 20’s.

    Before being bullied at high school…

    But at 9.

    Who does that? Who wants to die at 9?

    I wanted to end it all, or end the part I was living in it

    I wanted to sleep and never wake up – or even wake up as someone else – someone famous, someone who wasn’t in my life – anyone, but just not me.

    Im not sure I would have gone through with it, but as the intercity 125’s roared past the bottom of my garden, I wondered if that might have been the place to go – but I couldnt

    Or what about from the upstairs window, would I die if I jumped out and landed through the shed roof?

    Im not sure I could do it – why? for the very reason that I wanted to do it. I’d be responsible.

    I would be responsible. I was already responsible. I was already too responsible, aged 9.

    I was just hoping I didnt exist anymore.

    At 9

    At fucking 9

    Who else thinks this at 9?

    Other people do – other people in so called ‘broken homes’ and ‘non christian ones’ – but not 9 year olds in a ‘stable family’.

    I was 9, and I wanted to not exist any more.

    Because of the weight of responsibility – I had and knew I had

    Because of the criticisms of being messy, being silly, being not good enough

    Because i felt utterly alone. At 9 there was no one to cry for help to – teachers wouldn’t have understood (mum was a dinner lady), church wouldn’t ( parents we’re involved) , and relatives were disappearing from the scene, one family row after another. So who would believe me, even if I could articulate it?

    Alone, cut off and carrying shame, guilt and responsibility

    Aged 9

    I was 9, but hated the responsibility of the drama queen, she who must be obeyed

    I was 9, and unable to ask – for fear of being demanding, spoilt or disruptive

    I was 9, and expected to know things, and so patronised if I did ask?

    I was 9, and bereave of guidance, nurture, or any physical close intimacy

    I was 9, and blamed

    I was 9 and internalised every thought and action I had done – to cause them grievance – I carried shame that stuck in the back like the metal frame of the awful rucksack they once bought me.

    I was 9, and facing the daunting life ahead of me, alone, responsible, frightened, – life was not worth living. Nothing to look forward to.

    I was 9 and had had enough

    I was 9 and not a child anymore and told not to be

    I was 9 and little professor was trying to work out how to survive, and how to respond to feelings of hurt, anger, shame, pain and fear that were continually emerging.

    I was 9 and took it all on myself.

    At 9.

    I would be in my room, waiting for a miracle to happen, waiting for the escape. Hoping beyond hoping.

    At 9 something was wrong. I was wrong.

    At 9 realising that these were my parents and were going to be for the rest of my life, this was going to be my life for another how many years, not something I could conceive of wanting to.

    At 9.

    What would have happened if I had done it? What would the story have been – What kind of narrative would have spun? ‘He was a happy child and no one expected this’ ‘He just couldn’t deal with not being spoiled’…

    In side my head at 9 so many voices. The one that was telling me that I could end it all, the other trying to survive, the other trying to work out what to do, what a solution was.

    What stopped me going through with it? I wasnt brave enough, I was too responsible already.

    Even when I kicked and screamed and tried even to pray – there wasnt any answer. Not even the God of Sunday school was any good. God wasnt doing anything. Yet.

    This is what I felt – these were the swirls of my thoughts at the ages of 9 and onwards.

    Then I felt shame for having them. The thoughts.

    A number of things did start to change for at around this time. One was that I started to realise that I accepted that if was going to make it in life – I was going to have to do it alone. The other was that I was beginning to see that some of those messages of ‘Im not ok’ from that parent – were slightly less valid – my teachers were saying good things, as were people like my Cub Scout leaders, and I started to dedicate myself to sports, and from nearer 10 or 11, to taking more care over myself – academically.

    I tried to keep trying to understand things or fix things – but thats another story. I took on the responsibility for my awful family – yet whilst they were destroying me.

    At 10 I became a Christian – because I wanted the sin and guilt ‘for what I had done wrong’ to disappear – be carried by someone else – because I was responsible. Further safe places emerged in my teenage life, places of rescue, further from the monster. I was crying out for love and nurture but projecting that I didn’t need help and I could deal with things.

    I only ever gave this part of me away twice. Both a few years later. At 14 I wrote a poem in English class in which I wrote it in the first person and then I died at the end , I think my American English teacher was a little surprised and also told me that I wasn’t allowed to write a poem in which I died at the end. And then maybe a year or two later, I was given the opportunity to share my testimony at the church, in it I revealed that as a child I felt suicidal, but wasnt successful. I was partly saying this because there’s a thing about making a testimony sound more dramatic, but also actually because it was true. I waited for feedback, or support or a space for someone to listen to me afterwards, but none came. Maybe they were just relieved that I didnt go through with it, or that I was lying.

    So I started to disbelieve my own story. Started to distance myself from it, shut it away, never to be seen again. Avoid and run. Survive meant blocking it out.

    But now as I listen to that inner child within, I see that 17 year old, the 12 year old, and also that 9 year old, and wonder what he needed, what he didnt have, and completely see how lost, alone, fearful, frightened, despairing and responsible he was feeling. At 9 I seriously wanted to end it all.

    So, when I think about ‘How I Survived psychopathic parenting’ – I actually nearly didn’t.

    Why am I writing this today? For a number of reasons, mostly because the memory of this came to me over the last few days, as I delved into the different ages of my inner child, partly as I read Stewart and Joines book on TA, I realise how many messages I heard that accumulated to ‘Do not exist’ , `Don’t stay a child’ and ‘Dont be important’ – and it took me to the time when I didnt want to carry on any more. I just knew from that moment on, or already, I was in survival mode. Digging deep. The other reason is that I have never spoken about this before to anyone, does anyone want to hear about the damage emotional, psychological and spiritual abuse does to children, to the point where they want to end it? Well, that was me. Im glad I didnt, but I still had a whole lot more to endure that I didnt know at 9, and it would take a long while to unravel the damage.

    Thank you for reading, sharing, and do seek help from specialists if my story at any point has affected you. You Are Valuable, You are worthy, and the world is a better place with you in it.

  • Playing the grown up (even at Primary school)

    I think I must have been 7 or 8 years old when I got the lead role in the Primary school play, I was to take the part of the shop keeper. There was no selection process, other that my primary school teacher Mrs Knox (I think) choosing me for the role. I remember it well.

    Little Bowden Primary school – its been updated a bit since 1985….

    I have been reflecting on vulnerability recently, and also reading Brene Browns book ‘Braving the Wilderness’ in it she tells stories of her childhood. Maybe thats why this one comes to mind to me.

    I played the shopkeeper – I was given the ‘adult’ role in the group, being the ‘grown up’ aged 7 or 8 – When everyone else in the class could be a toy, a doll, a vehicle, an action hero. When the shopkeeper (me) closed the door at 5pm, the toys (my friends in costumes) all came mysteriously to life.

    They could play in front of people. I had 5 mins at the beginning of the performance and less than 2 mins at the end – the other 40 odd minutes was about the playful enjoyment of the toys that came to life and their adventures, self realisation of ‘life’ and what they discovered they could do – alive.

    When they played, I was to one side, waiting for my moment – waiting for a moment to respond to their sneaky, secret playing; being the magical toys that came to life. I overlooked, whilst they played – even at age 7. I watched other people play and have fun.

    I was to be the one who was shocked, betrayed, and look as If I was telling them off for it. What and whose role was I copying here I wonder?

    The joke was on me. It was also on me, as my time arrived to respond I had to do a ‘shocked’ face, and what I expected was the audience, including my parents, to clap and cheer and even be with me in my faux astonishment – from what I remember, the audience thought it was funny and laughed.

    It wasnt a ‘I tripped over on the stage’ moment when they laughed because I made a mistake – no – there was laughter in the audience when I did what I was supposed to do. The joke was on me – twice.

    I had never really thought about my ‘on stage’ moments before, I was narrator in a few Christmas nativities or in the orchestra for others, I wonder now what was going on in me at that very young age.

    I was good at reading and music, so they might have been easy reasons for my roles. But..

    I remember now, 37 years on, being uncomfortable with being physically embarrassed, ie acting, dancing in public that sort of thing. It was as if I couldn’t see myself doing that movement and so I’d shy away from it.

    Though I played sports and for teams, the same public physical disconnection occured, I was good in practice but for the team not so much. I couldn’t disconnect brain, thinking slowed down instinct…there was something about how I couldn’t connect my physical body, relax, let it move – so self conscious, so in my head.

    And since the same age, probably 7 or 8 I hated action songs in church – and wherever possible hid behind playing the music for them.

    There was something also about seeing life from a viewpoint that everyone else seems to have fun, or be able too, and from an early age I was cast as ‘responsible’ or narrator or musical prompt (of others fun) and until these last few days I hadn’t really realised it.

    Fun was what other people had…

    So it was better for me to grow up quickly and leave fun behind…do sensible things, like study and learn – I assessed that I was to do ‘responsible’ things.

    At least, even from primary school that’s the role I played, so I became the facilitator of other people’s fun, on the edges, the sidelines, the owner of the shop, not the toy that came to life. The responsible one.

    Theres something there about becoming a youth worker – facilitating other peoples fun, putting my own ‘fun’ to one side..

    It’s amazing how some of the smallest things in our childhoods are seen in a new light, light at all, and I’m constantly reminded that being close to these things is an opportunity to heal them. Not that these were traumatic experienced, but ones where I look back on and reflect somewhat… Did these roles cast me in them – or were they what my teachers identified as my strengths? could easily be both.. ..

    What about you? What school experiences did you have that might be signs or symbols for you?

  • Making Choices or Making Mistakes?

    I made the choice to stay in bed the extra two hours this morning

    Then when I woke up I chose to have a shower

    I chose coffee over tea

    then cereal over toast, id have loved blueberries on it, but didnt have any (I couldn’t make that choice)

    I chose to sit on the couch and watch the birds as I ate, instead of at the table

    and now I chose to write about it

    I chose all of these things, they were choices I made

    I chose also to get up and not dwell and let the challenges of yesterday take over

    I chose to respond by getting up

    I chose. They were my decisions.

    Ive just got back from a two week visit to the South west of the USA, to spend Christmas with my now fiancé Christelle, and it was lovely to be away, away from job hunting, away from family drama and away.

    There was something that I noticed at the very beginning of the time that I was there. Something I hadn’t never noticed before, from being in other countries, Spain, Greece or Tunisia.

    Crossing roads was weird.

    Now I get the ‘driving on the other side of the road’ thing – that makes sense. That was easy.

    What was odd and disorientating was that responsibilities and choices were different.

    As I made intentions clear..(a choice) I didnt know what was expected of me – what the custom was – who had the right of way, who would look if they were in a car, and when a car might wait for me that I wasnt used to.

    What I could chose and what I had responsibility for was blurred. It was my responsibility to look and pay attention, to learn the customs and not expect all the 5m drivers in San Diego to obey my road crossing rules. It was my responsibility to keep myself safe, and also keep Christelle safe too.

    Choice and responsibility is changing on the UK roads too, and it was the circulation of this diagram on social media that provoked this piece

    The choices that are made now have different legal and physical consequences.

    When I look back on my own life I can note the times when I have tried to cover up, our excuse the actual choices I made, in such ways as

    ‘I made a mistake’

    or ‘The devil made me do it’ (when I was in a=n evangelical/charismatic phase)

    ‘that was a trauma reaction’ or

    ‘I didnt mean to do it’ (maybe followed by..)

    ‘Im only human…’

    ‘Im not as perfect as you think I am’

    Its easier to hold someone else or something else responsible for your pain that to take responsibility for ending your own victimhood

    Edith Eğer, The Choice

    Trying to excuse, minimalise, convince the person I’ve hurt, or myself, that it wasnt me acting with responsibility in that moment. When the truth of the matter is, I made a choice. I cant say that I make a choice to have coffee at £3 in Starbucks every morning and then say ‘I made a mistake’ when I ran out of money, or I cant say that I make choices every day in my workplace, but only mistakes when abusing other people at parties. (though lets not confuse the issue further with the choices people make at work-parties, and their excuses afterwards)

    Gary Zukav says this:

    Each Choice that you make is a choice of intention. You may choose to remain silent in a particular situation, for example, and that action may serve the intention of penalising, sharing compassion, extracting vengeance, showing patience or loving. You may choose to speak forcefully, and that action may serve any of the same intentions.

    Zukav (The Seat of the Soul)

    He goes on to say that the splintered personality has many parts, each surfacing to fulfil the needs of the ego and what satisfies them. Eckhart Tolle writes:

    If you had a choice, or realised that you do have a choice, would you choose suffering or joy, ease or non ease, peace or conflict? Would you choose a thought or feeling that cuts you off from your natural state of wellbeing, the joy of life within?

    Tolle (The Power of Now)

    When do I ‘take responsibility for choices’ or assign myself to the ‘poor me mistake maker’? – What positions to I take power in, what ones do I feel powerless in?

    If its a choice- then I have to take responsibility for it – and not blame it away….facing that thought might be the most terrifying for all of us.

    What consciousness (as Tolle would say) do I need to bring into situations so that I can see the light of what I do, as a choice , and make powerful choices even more?

    Is there something different in the way we (Men) see the world – choices and responsibilities – than Women? Or given the greater awareness of abusive women in society than previously – is it something else? (just thinking out loud) Men are less likely to think about the consequences? – and this determines choice making?

    Whether it affects it or not, We make choices. We can make good choices, to love, heal and joy – or we can make choices to hurt, confuse, damage and abuse. We can choose to love ourselves, and our world – or take from it and destroy. We can choose how we respond to oppression of poverty or war, we can choose. (The end of Poverty Safari by Darren McGarvey is very interesting)

    I know there is more to write on this subject, and all three of the books I have mentioned are teaching and showing me more about choices and responsibilities, do give them a read. On Choice and responsibilities – what do you think? I know I haven’t covered the effects of trauma or medical diagnosis, or oppression in this piece, and so I know it is hugely complicated subject. I also want to write about how we have the power to choose our emotions, maybe thats in a follow up piece. Because, today I chose to get up, and chose how I might respond to today.

  • Naming my Shame

    I think I’m being abused

    I said

    Tentatively

    Because, I was scared to say it out loud

    Because, I didn’t want to admit it

    Because, I thought I’d be responsible for the abuse

    Because, it was always my fault

    Because, i couldn’t be abused, I’m male

    I think I’m being abused

    Is that a possibility?

    Yes. I think you are – said my friend

    How do you know?

    You’re being used, and lied to

    And you’re doing all the effort

    But I always have

    Accepting accusations that felt somehow incorrect

    Made to feel wrong, for doing nearly everything good

    Feeling always guilty or in trouble

    The shame of not being able to fix something I felt responsible for

    When the only person changing or holding responsibility was me

    Feeling responsible for the abuse my abuser chose to do

    Feeling powerless and trapped

    Accepting the abuse because somehow I was responsible for it

    If it’s nothing to do with you, it’s everything to do with me.

    I’m meant to be the strong one

    I’m meant to deal with things

    I’m starting to see what was happening

    I think I’m being abused

    I think that’s what’s happened to me my whole life

    I’m in clear air

    I can breathe

    But I had to start by saying it

    Naming it

    Making the unconscious, conscious

    Tentatively

    Even if others could see, I had to see it myself

    Slower to recognise what was happening to me, easy to see it others

    Your fish tank is dirty, as I was swimming through algae

    I think I can change

    I want to

    I want life

    I want to stay in clean air

    Breathing isnt a luxury

    Holding onto shame for so long, the shame of being abused.

    I needed help

    I needed to see

    I needed to name the shame.

  • Surviving Psychopathic Parenting (Part 7): Why I have to thank Roald Dahl (but didn’t realise until last week)

    I was wondering a few months ago about whether there was any children story books written to help them see what domestic violence looks like, when it is against them, and by their parents. In Lindsay Gibsons book she refers to the many children stories of old that regail of how children survive and thrive, win and adventure without the help of parents, or against the abuse by ‘step’ parents, and you’ll know the Disney ones I mean. At the time I was reading, and am still reading Harry Potter, and though he is extremely abused by his adoptive Guardians, and is full of recollected grief for his own parents, he was not abused by them.

    What I realised two weeks ago was that I knew of the book.

    What I realised two weeks, minus 1 day ago, is that I knew of the book, because I had the book.

    What I realised two weeks, minus one day go, is that I read the book that includes many elements of the behaviour of my psychopathic/emotionally immature parents in it, whilst I was as child.

    Im sure there are other books out there, but the realisation that I not only had the book, read the book, I also loved the book, and I somehow even then saw something in me in the main character, whilst not completely seeing the extent to which the abuse she encountered at the time. But then again, my brain was probably doing its protective thing and not seeing it.

    So reading it again and Im seeing:

    At this point ______ entered the room. He was incapable of entering any room quietly, he always had to make his presence felt immediately by creating a lot of noise and clatter. One could almost hear him saying ‘Its me, Here I come, the great man himself, the master of the house, the wage earner…

    From the main characters Parents.

    When confronted by the Parents, the teacher has to develop all the required tools to deal with narcissism, like not using anger, staying cool, being firm, creating boundaries and not rising to their bait. It was amazing to read in a childrens book, all the techniques I’ve had to read in self help books on this (see the resources in the menu above).

    By now, youve probably worked out the book, its Matilda, by Roald Dahl, published in 1988.Matilda (novel) - Wikipedia

    Later after we have encountered the head teacher at Matildas school, Miss Trunchbull, we see that in the words of a 5 year old child, we see emotional intelligence and perception so beyond her years, and in Matildas words, the pattern of the entitled , narcissist is revealed. After an incident in which the Trunchbull throws a girl in pigtails, by the pigtails over the school fence, there is this conversation;

    How can she get away with it? Lavender said to Matilda ‘Surely the children go home and tell their mothers and fathers.I know my father would raise a terrific stink if I told him the headmistress had grabbed me by the hair and slung me over the fence’

    No, he wouldn’t  Said Matilda, ‘and ill tell you why..he simply wouldn’t believe you’

    ‘Of Course he would’ , Said Lavender

    ‘He wouldn’t ‘ Matilda said, And the reason is obvious. Your story would sound too ridiculous to be believed. And that is there Trunchbulls great secret

    ‘What is’ ,  Said Lavender.

    ‘Never do anything by halves if you want to get away with it. Be outrageous. Go the whole hog. Make sure everything you do is completely crazy its unbelievable. No parent is going to believe this pigtail story, not in a million years, Mine wouldn’t they’d call me a liar’

    Now obviously Matildas parents don’t see her, and view her merely as a scab (Page 2), but from her own words (or Dahls) we see the pattern of the self obsessed narcissistic parent, in the Trunchbull. The one who has no regard for the rules, for social rules of dignity and decency, of the human condition of the other. They are the law unto themselves. Doing actions so shocking, that evoke stunned trauma, and disbelief. That is the pattern of one of my parents.

    So why didn’t I see it? Maybe I did. Maybe I also saw what I had to do.

    As you may know Matilds draws on her inner guile, magic, knowledge and self to survive. I wonder how much this book, reading it at age 10 had on me at the time, subliminally, she was stuck between abusive parents and headteacher, and yet emerged with her own sense of self, and with one supportive adult that gave her the emotional space she needed to thrive, but also knowing she had to take responsibility for herself, because it wasn’t going to be from elsewhere.

    But if you want to see how to respond to entitlement, narcissism, and abusive adults, and educate and help children see it, then in my opinion you could do alot worse than use Matilda as an example. 30 years on, and I cant quite believe how accurate its descriptions are of behaviour I have witnessed in my whole life. Maybe the magic of Roald Dahl, for me was that he showed the ways of survival and also patterns of behaviour to the child.

    Yes Matilda had the help of some significant miracles to combat the Trunchbull in the heat of the storm, and get justice, and overcome her Parents, but so much else was about the inner strength and responsibility she took for her own life, being generally kind, grounded and diligent, and also having one trusting, supportive adult who also saw her, believed in her and gave her time.

    So yes, I have Roald Dahl to thank, because he gave me a hero that survived and thrived in the midst of the most emotionally toxic situations, and even though I didnt ‘see’ it at the time, obviously something completely resonated.

    Thank you for reading, this is part 7 of my Survivor Story, if you’d like to read from the beginning part 1 is here and the rest of the parts are in the menu above.