James Ballantyne

Tag: self-worth

  • Walking the hard road of loving myself

    Walking the hard road of loving myself

    Who is the most important person in your life?

    The hardest thing for me, was too realise..that this was actually me.

    What are the things you look after? Your bike? Your tools? the remote control? The car?

    What about yourself?

    I didnt.

    I had no idea how to.

    Theres a great description in the beginning of the book Matilda by Roald Dahl of the sickening parents who espouse greatness on a mediocre child, compared to the parents who completely ignore, belittle and fail to see the magical talented one. I found it revealing as I re read it a few months ago.

    Growing up, messages I heard were that ‘other parents spoil their children’ or ‘pamper’ them

    or

    ‘We’re not going to put pressure on you by rewarding you with money’

    These and others were projections.

    Justifications for a lack of support, acknowledgement and encouragement – for..it couldn’t look like being spoiled or pampered could it…

    Justifications for expectations, and for emotional neglect.

    The thing is, is that as I grew up looking for something that would never happen, I ended up forgetting myself, and times that I did think I was choosing myself, it was seen as being selfish.

    The thing about the constant walking on eggshells, is that your only trying to avoid them, appease them, sooth them.. what happened to me, and others with narcissistic/emotionally immature parents or partners, is that I lost myself.

    There was the ‘me’ that tried to be compliant

    There was the ‘me’ that realised that they had to do life alone

    There was the ‘me’ that had to discover a way of doing life despite them

    There was the ‘me’ that was only scared.

    There was the me – who was unable to make decisions or choices or have needs and wants – because..

    There was the ‘me’ that effectively was oriented around them…around her….around the other

    I hadn’t ever realised myself as important or valuable. How could I? The key to survival was meet their needs.

    What do you mean ‘I’ might be important?

    that just sounds like being selfish James….

    you have to meet my needs, I cant cope if im not the needy one around here

    Isnt God the most important thing in your life James? not you….

    In a way it was easy to hide myself in a profession, vocation even, where I could think of others before myself. Love my neighbour, and get angry about injustice ‘over there’ – rather than be angry about my own condition. Love myself enough to have something to defend.

    Thats the thing with emotional abuse – you become devalued and fearful into becoming almost nothing, but a slave to them.

    Back to Trauma bonding.

    No wonder I and many others dont just get emotionally abused once. Childhood abuse sets us up again.

    Why?

    Unless its obvious, but even then, we dont know how what abused us did so, and therefore we have no words or language to describe it, or then get help to recover from it. So we blindly give ourselves away again in the same way we only know how to. Attracted to only slightly less worse treatment than we’ve already had once. Or think we can try and fix this new abusive person.

    I started to realise, once I had permission and safety to be able to, that I was important.

    I started to realise that I was valuable.

    I started to realise that I was worth something – not just for what I did..but who I am

    I started to realise that I could love myself

    I started to realise that the I part of me, my -self – was ok, was good.

    How did I realise?

    Because I started to give myself time. Because someone treated me to some food, and a house, and somewhere to stay when I had nothing. Because I received.

    I had no choice.

    I was important enough..to be cared for myself.

    It was only a start, it was all it needed to be, a start to realise – but it was a new start, I became my own new toy.

    I was important enough…to invest in discovering myself, and paying for therapy – internal work a priority – rather than external entertainment…because I am important

    I was important enough…to value my time, my safety, boundaries of noise and distraction

    I was important enough…to say no and block those who caused abuse.

    I was important enough…and somehow other changes took place..

    I was important..so its ok to buy myself new clothes, eat nice food, travel and buy things for me that I like, it didnt need an excuse or reason.

    Maybe these things come naturally to you, but they didnt to me. Buying things for myself had previously been met with ‘do you really need that’ or ‘nice of you to spend money on yourself’ or ‘you already have one of those, why do you need another one’ –

    Because someone else needs and neediness more important that my own.

    Gaining self importance was one of the big keys for me in unlocking the doors, removing the layers of onion skins of re building and changing that I needed to do. I would say now that I spend 40 odd years of my life having no sense of self worth or value at all. It was hard work, it still is, as it involves new habits, behaviours and patterns that were default for a very long time.

    I had an inner voice that told me repeatedly that I would get through this, I would survive, that I would work it out…but not an inner voice that told me that I was important, that I was worth it… so when that started to change it was a big thing.

    Feeling and accepting a healthy self importance has been the journey I have made from a place of emotionally empty selflessness.

    Who is the most important person in your life?

    You are.

    And that isn’t selfish. Its the truth.

    How might you start today?

    Are you about to pick a fight with yourself over it?

    Give yourself excuses not to bother?

    Make a reason?

    Yes, its fucking hard to do.

    But you are the most important person you could love today.

    And…so am I…

    Time to love, enjoy, and accept ourselves…we are beautiful just the way we are.

  • On Comfort Eating, and my relationship with food

    If the end to the abuse and pain was at the end of a tunnel made of bread, then I spent most of my first 40 years on this earth trying to eat my way towards that distance unreachable utopia.

    When I say 40 years, I mean all 40 years.

    It was said of me, by my abusive mother, that James will eat his weight every day, and his friend C (best friend from 0-11) would drink his way. My friend C drank so much juice, whilst I was eating everything, once I discovered solids.

    I bet we all have a interesting relationship with food though dont we? Maybe spend a moment reflecting on yours..

    I became the eater. Known for it.

    In public I would be the first in the queue at the church fellowship teas – this food was so good, sandwiches, quick, pasta, pizza, deserts..oh my all the 1980’s deserts, cheesecakes, gateaux, jellies, laid on large tables that covered 2/3 of a length of the room, piled high.

    I only had one motto on things like that. I didnt eat the food my mum had contributed.

    But feast on everything else. It wasnt quite a competition with the contributions (probably all women , it was the 1980’s) , but many would pull out the stops.. and so it was good food, and I was known for being first in the queue, and first in the queue when everyone else had had.

    Food, glorious food.

    I know now that many of the situations, and the content of the food I grew up with was orientated with emotional trauma. Yes I was forced to eat what was on the plate – what ever it was, and some of it was highly questionable, liver, marrow, but the dinner table was also the place where that person dominated. Anything that was worth eating was worth eating fast, and getting out of there.

    What I know now, is that food was a metaphor. My abusive mum was feeding the men in the house, whilst behind the scenes abusing the women, my sister, about food. The old trick- do one thing over here, abuse over there. Eat up – youre working men, or growing boys. She was feeding the men, as a cover up.

    Problem was that food wasnt safe. Some of it at times barely edible. It was as if she couldn’t do the thing that other people did, like be predictable, she was a dangerous unpredictability when there was one ingredient missing, would get replaced by something weird.

    She was a dangerous unpredictability the rest of the time too.

    ‘They’ll just have to be grateful for what I give them’ – That was her mantra. And it was the same for gifts and presents.

    In later years, after I left home, food got even worse. Or maybe I noticed it more.

    So, what else did I do?

    Ah yes, that tunnel of bread (though it could have been cereal too)

    As soon as I discovered that glorious new meal ‘supper’ I was in for it big time.

    Early occasions of supper were about 9.30pm on summer nights after id been playing football so late and starving, or after swimming club, that kind of thing.

    But as I got older, and it got later, supper was a safe place too. The house and downstairs would be mine, space, and a few slices bread and late night comedy or sport on the TV to enjoy, to myself.

    What I also did was disconnect from my body, That was the place of shame, that wasnt important, compared to my mind, my soul and spirit (and heart didnt get a look in), but if the body was the source of a kind of evil – then it didnt matter what did to it. So I piled it with food. Body health couldn’t happen, when body value was so low.

    Was I comfort eating?

    Sometimes, as it would be a quantity of bread that I didnt need to eat for physical reasons.

    And that was pretty much the pattern that didnt change.

    I wasnt ever subject to the horrors of actual toxic food ever again, not unless we went to my parents house, for even when we visited the food was always known to be a weird concoction, or actually something inedible, to make a point, to make a point of making everyone uncomfortable. I mean who makes a chicken soup and leaves all the bones in, crunched up by a mixer (though not fully) and serves this to their 4 and 6 year old grandchildren. Or undercooks pasta. They’ll just have to be grateful……

    Childhood food included Prunes in Lime Jelly, chicken frikasee with the bones in, every meat with all the yucky fatty bits, liver…

    Its no wonder I developed places of food eating that we’re safe.

    Most of my late night eating pattern stayed the same, it was what I was used to. There would be bouts of me trying to give up bread, and trying to discipline myself on food, and strangely I did start this, in the last few years.

    But I looked forward to having my own space, when everyone else had gone to bed, and I would raid the bread.

    Bread

    Toast

    Jam

    Marmite

    Peanut Butter

    Bananas

    Honey

    Sweet

    All the above.

    I think my record was 8 slices one night. it could have been 12, I just didnt stop.

    Craving and filling emptiness.

    Then I started to make my own bread. A sure sign of a pending emotional breakdown. Breadmaking.

    The other thing I would do is raid the reduced aisle in the supermarket, especially when I was late at work, and was late at work often on late night detached Youthwork sessions, or on the way back from them. Id eat far far more junk that I needed to, over eating, and piling the weight on, one reduced wrap, doughnut, fruit smoothie, cake or cookie at a time. Secret over eating. Secret Comfort eating.

    Until I stopped.

    My 40th year I stopped, just about.

    Or maybe I began to stop.

    I wasnt looking forward to my 40th, intact, with abusive parents you dont look forward to any birthday, but I wasnt looking forward to my 40th.

    But having downloaded the STRAVA app a few years previously I decided that I was going to do 40 Strava app exercises between Boxing Day and then my 40th that year, in late march. 90 days, 40 inputs of reasonable quality, a run, swim or bike. And I did. I also changed my eating pattern too, I had always cooked food, in fact I had done most of the home cooking for 10 years, but for three months I cooked lots of vegetable soups, lentils and though in so many ways may life wasnt in a good shape, what I was beginning to do was change some of the outer things. Mostly knowing that if I carried on I was only expanding, and doing so from an already getting larger shape at the time. I may have been deeply unhappy (or just used to surviving) but I was going to make an attempt to deal with the food thing.

    And I at least started to.

    I think I lost about 2 stone that year. I was probably slightly obsessed by my weight at the time, but it was one way of checking and disciplining myself. I was starting to take control of myself. Maybe even to start to care and love myself, which started physically.

    What I didnt realise at the time was what I actually needed to do.

    Or maybe, was about to happen that was going to unravel, and how food changed even more so.

    Not many months later I’m staying in a friends house for 6 months, having left ‘my own fridge’ house, family and have no job.

    But do I comfort eat in this situation? Nope.

    Through this situation I’m beginning to realise that I’m starting a process of dealing with the inner me. If one of those onion layers is about pain, and emotional abuse, then as I reveal, and begin the work on this, and the roots, then I understand how and why I dealt with life, and food the way I did, and what I needed it for.

    As I changed on the inside, other things changed on the outside.

    My relationship with food changed, as my relationship with myself changed.

    For 40 years I coped with life, survived sometimes daily on the knowledge that late night bread was waiting for me and a safe place.

    Is it because I’m in my 40’s that I now see differently. I dont think so. I needed to breakdown and start to see, heal. I needed the disruption of clearer space, a retreat, safety. I needed to start the emotional work, therapy and see the monsters differently, and see myself who had unnecessarily carried guilt, shame and responsibility for everything and everyone.

    Am I ‘over it’ – Now that I’m in a place of safety, a place of knowing and valuing myself more, a place where I have a better body image, where previously I didnt matter, my body didnt matter, and I was grasping for something with food that food could never do. How do I feel about food now?

    On one hand it took me 5 months of living in my own space to realise that ‘I was cooking for one’ – and I enjoy cooking, following recipes, trying new things, and part of valuing myself has been to value what I eat, and value making good healthy food for myself. I like experimenting with new recipes, growing food that I can eat, and also in becoming vegetarian over two years ago, have developed other new cooking habits.

    Whether its African bean stew or Mexican Avocado eggs.. food is a thing of value and beauty, because thats what I deserve.

    Do I still eat bread? Yes.. because its nice.

    What about food and you? I can see how my relationship with food changed as I developed a different relationship with myself, my emotions, when I saw and understood myself and my life differently. As the inside changed, so did the outside. It wasnt the other way around, and thats probably the lie never told by the diet industry. Curing emotional comfort eating with a disconnected body, was not going to be solved on a diet alone- though it was a bit of a start.

    What about you and food? Other men, has food, been a part of your journey? and in what way?