Category: Holistic Health & Emotional Healing

There is a current and ongoing discussion in mainstream media around children’s education: reading ages, extended play, European differences, SATS, assessments, pressure, summer children.

Parents fighting for their children’s right to childhood cross checked with the government’s pressure to increase literacy, create constant childcare, push parents back to work.

In our little family, we are currently in the Steiner system for our children’s education. They play with wooden toys, hold strong daily rhythms, spend plenty of time outdoors until they are 6 or 7. Then they begin to learn their academics, slowly, carefully they are taught their letters entwined into magical stories, numbers have context, languages introduced subtly & playfully – learning is gentle, enjoyable, fun. It is not a perfect system but it is working for us.

My daughter (6) is loving her new foray into ‘big school’, she tells me with excitement all the new things she had discovered in her hours there. She cannot wait to read. And I am so glad she is waiting…

I have noticed many subtleties around this principle, the debate is not just about literacy and intellectual potential, there are so many other layers. I notice the loud words on billboards, the confusing messages at bus stops and on shop windows and I’m really glad that she can’t read yet. I’m so pleased that she has another few minutes of innocence before she is assaulted with ideas and concepts too old for her years. And there are even smaller subltleties; how we still get our evening moments when I read to her, where we enjoy our stories unfolding together. She has always loved books and as soon as she can read she will, like I did, disappear into a world of books. She will sit for hours, absorbed, entranced and away from us, that is what I predict. I cannot fault her is she chooses to do this, it is one of my greatest pleasures, to escape into another realm, but I will miss her so much. We will; her brother, her father and I.

And as I think about this, I realise how the subtleties of life are so often missed in amongst the warring, the shouting, the brash and constant conflict out in the big wide world. The subtleties of so many issues, breastfeeding, birth, ISIS, religion, feminism, all of these big topics have a gazillion subtleties that if we stopped and observed them could entirely shift the energy of discussion. For me, it is the idea of looking for the beauty, looking for the understanding, rather than fighting for the principle or the dogma.

The core guts that can mean so much but yet become the quiet, unspoken, unobserved aspects of our issues – the emotional role breastfeeding plays in a child’s development; the empowering rite of passage of a vaginal birth; the deeper ideology of religion that transcends ego; the space for humanity to usurp the need for feminism. These are all subtleties that are lost in the black & white sound bites of discussion, not enough characters in our tweets, not enough vavoom for a headline. Subtlety has been forgotten.

A couple of months ago, we took our children to the cinema to see the new Cinderella. It fulfilled its promise and provided magic and sparkles a plenty; it also offered a beautiful motto, which hung gently throughout the film…. the dying words of Cinderella’s mother  – ‘Have Courage, Be Kind’.

As an affirmation, it has resonated in our house and my daughter remembers it now and again, most often, when she is in need of some courage for herself. This week it has vibrated strongly for me…

I had reached a place in my parenting where I was really struggling. I have read my books and know my principles well, I am all for peaceful parenting; I am all for respecting my children’s individual characters; refraining from rigid rules and punishments; expressing my unconditional love to be absorbed as a foundational source of strength. I know how I want to parent and I know how I do parent. The truth is that at times my rules are rigid, that whilst I generally don’t punish, if they don’t tidy up at bedtime, they don’t get their story – honestly, I just haven’t found another way, yet. And unconditional love? Oh yes I feel it, I know it, but when I’m raging, when I’m tired and cross and over the crazy days, do they know it? Probably not.

I feel so sad about this, I witness the words I say at times, or the impatient tone that I use and wonder who the hell am I?

I am wounded

I am wounded with a great big, enormously, massive, gaping, pussing, infected wound.

It’s not always easy to see, there is no blood dripping and I get through my days well enough (in general), but my head swirls with endless trails of crippling thoughts and anxieties.

All I want is to be kind, to register the age and delicacy of my children and be compassionate towards that, to not expect too much of them and to honour their uniqueness. Isn’t that just being kind? Why do I find it so hard at times?

Because my wound is throbbing, and aching, and weeping.

Who is kind when they are in pain? Isn’t that one of the toughest things to be? Pain takes over the body’s responses leaving little room for more than survival; managing pain is all consuming, as those with chronic physical conditions know too well. Emotional pain ain’t much different.

But this week I sat down and started to look at the wound. I started to pick out the shards of dirt and dust that were making it so infected, I began to peel back the folds that were finding distorted ways to heal, I took a deep look inside to really figure out what this wound needs to be able to set me free.

I am working on this wound project with tandem support, I have committed to the online course of Bethany Webster (Womb of Light) whilst simultaneously reading the work of Dr Laura Markham (Peaceful Parents, Happy Kid). Bethany’s work is for me and my wound and Laura’s for my children.

I am at the very beginning but the few hours I have spent already just looking at this wound, simply looking and observing it for what it is, have already brought incredible energetic release. I have felt so liberated because I have discovered that it is not self inflicted – for so long I believed I had made it, created it in me, deserved it even. No. My job is to heal it.

My job is to do the work. To take courage in order to be kind.

Gratitude to Bethany Webster and Dr Laura Markham for their offerings to the world and to me.

I wrote this blog late last night and left it until today to reflect upon; this afternoon this quote from Caroline Myss popped up on my Facebook page and it captures the pure essence of what I am describing – we are responsible for our own emotional world.

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‘The Bully’ is trending, perhaps not on twitter, but certainly in the western culture of blame and retribution.  If we successfully label someone a bully, we make them wrong, and we become not only right but also a sympathetic victim. We become righteous and indignant in the way we have been treated and are able to excuse our own questionable behaviours as one ‘who has been bullied’.

My issue with this stance is that I don’t actually believe there are as many bullies around as the media would like us to believe.

For me a bully is someone who derives pleasure from their victim’s pain (please feel free to offer me an alternative to this definition), a sociopath perhaps. I think there are a multitude of clashing personality types, I think there is anger and disagreement and some who feel more empowered than others to speak up and out, to force their way if there is no opposition, but are they all bullies or victims?

As I sat outside my daughter’s kindergarten (age range 3-6) this week a mother and I were discussing her issues with some of the children. She labelled an older boy a bully for, in my view, being exuberant, wilful and adventurous. Don’t get me wrong, this particular little one works well with solid boundaries and will otherwise stretch them to Kingdom Come, but he certainly isn’t a bully. Has he upset other kids? Yes. Has he hurt other kids during play? Yes. Has he done any of it on purpose hoping to damage another child? Most certainly not. In fact, I’ve seen him hurt my daughter and I’ve seen the uncertainty and shame etched upon his face. This boy has conscience and a whole lot of love.

Aside from the obvious discomfort I have categorising a child of that age and disposition as a ‘bully’, it really brought home to me how distorted the definition of that has become. It is so damaging for everyone to start placing us all into pigeon holes of any description. It is damaging to the myriad of strong minded, strong willed, opinionated individuals who dare to stand up and be counted and are shot down for being ‘a bully’. It is damaging to all those ‘victims’ who become labelled into being disempowered, weak and broken rather than someone who has been knocked down and needs a hand getting back up.

Please don’t think I am dismissing the true emotional issues that come from the bully/victim relationship, I understand that both those parties need support and guidance to come out the other side and find peaceful and loving value in themselves. However, there are countless individuals who, guided by the media and our social protocol, refer to themselves as being bullied by someone or other, be it parent, teacher, boss, company or friend, and in doing so remove the option of ‘difference of opinion’; throw out the chance of a healthy, educating, potentially heated, discussion; and most importantly honouring and recognising that we are all unique individuals with vast and personal histories that create our myriad reactions.

Is it not better for the media to offer us ways to meet these challenges, with tools such as NVC (non violent communication) being taught in schools and boardrooms, rather than belittle us into our roles of right and wrong? What about reminders about how the complexities of characters in this world create the shifting dynamics of change and innovation? And messages that embrace our conflicting view points, rather than shooting down all those that contradict them?

I would love to see parents listening to their children’s tough day at school and, instead of storming to the head for a showdown about little bully x, empowering and teaching their children the tools to set boundaries, to say ‘No’ and to redirect unwelcome energy. Isn’t this going to change the dynamic of our society? Where everyone has a voice, no matter how strident or quiet, no matter how determined or unsure.

I hate hurting people’s feelings but I’m not always the most diplomatic in expressing my opinions. I am not a bully because of it; I am someone who is learning to soften my manner.

So when someone is disagreeable and vehement with it, let’s ask them to find a gentler tone and when another is subdued and frightened let’s hold their hand until they’ve found their voice.

Let us tear off those labels and know we are all capable of being bull-ish and all capable of being cowed; as the Bull & the Cow are the same, so are we.

So in this past week I have been asked in numerous ways for numerous reasons to caretake another person’s or child’s emotions.

It is my passion and my vocation to support and guide others through their highs and lows in this crazy old world but caretaking is something that I strongly disagree with, yet it’s a tempestuous subject. Just this last evening I have received an email from a woman labelling me non-compassionate because I am refusing to caretake her emotions. Am I cruel and callous? Or am I offering space for empowerment?

So what does caretaking actually mean to me?

For me, it means presuming or projecting someone’s emotional reactions and being proactive in taking steps to remove their pain. This can also result in me stepping out of my own authenticity and integrity, perhaps over stretching my own safety boundaries, in order to rescue someone from their feelings.

My own clarifying example came when I went on a workshop/retreat weekend way back in 2005 and part of that process included a sweatlodge. Having experienced claustrophobia since I was a child I was nervous of this ritual and hesitant to try it, however I am a sucker for throwing myself into each therapeutic experience and encased myself in this pitch black hot tent like the rest of the women. I lasted just one round. It brought up every delicate tendon of fear and I couldn’t hack it. I believe most of the other women stayed for the duration and emerged high, joyful and exuberant. I had come out alone and found the site mostly deserted; finding solitude by the river I slipped into a familiar pit of failure and sadness. Later that evening, I approached the head facilitator expressing my disappointment that I had not been better supported coming out of the lodge, that I had felt it difficult and no one had cared for me. She asked me one question.

Did you ask for help?

I got it. Straight away I got it. I had been wanting someone to caretake me, to imagine my feelings and to help me without me having to step up and speak those fears out loud. And where would that have left me?

It would have left me in place without growth, without experiencing the gamut of emotions that I ran through – from needing to leave the sweat, to my lurch of failure, to my place of wishing someone to rescue me and finally to reaching out for some support.

I believe when we caretake others we leave them disempowered and that serves no one. That is not to say we leave those who are vulnerable without support and nurture, but that instead of jumping into soften their discomfort, we can hold the space for them to unfold, to stretch, to reach further in asking for what they need and for acknowledging who they are. These are opportunities for spiritual & emotional growth.

So this past week I have twice been asked to rescue a child from an uncomfortable emotion either by my own actions or by influencing by eldest child and therefore her interactions. I have declined. I have been called non-compassionate and actually lots more besides. But I would not do it for my own child or friend or client, not because I lack compassion but because I want to offer them space to learn, to make tools to carry for life, to touch that ownership of their feelings and how they can process them. These are great gifts.

When we caretake others, we do so out of fear, worrying about someone’s potential suffering, deeply understandable, but also so limiting.

My choice is to encourage my loved ones and my peers to face their fears and discomfort, not to protect them from them, but I will happily hold their hand the whole way.

In many cultures around the world there is a tradition that, for 40 days after giving birth, a mother is to remain at home with her baby, to be tended to by family and to be left to rest, connect, bond and restore her energy. I remember my midwife telling me a story of a client who insisted on keeping this tradition with her children (I believe she had four or five); she lived in a large house in central London and was fortunate to have staff to cook, clean and tend to her other children as she remained in her attic room for the duration, with each new child.

I wonder what you felt when you read that? I know that, whilst I didn’t judge it negatively, I certainly framed it as being a ‘luxury’, a nice ideal but far from most people’s reality. Then I took this principle of honouring our need for rest, that perhaps we once held traditionally but is now fading fast, and explored some other areas: a woman’s monthly menses is one such moment that used to be a sign for a woman to withdraw and recharge; fever and sickness offering a reminder to take time for oneself; fire-gazing as a space for relaxation and restoration.

I look at my world and my life and see there is very little ‘space’ left, very few in-between moments and ritual recharging going on.

Let me divert for a minute….. This week I left my boy with his grandparents for a few hours whilst I went to take a yoga class. This was really the first time that he had such a break from me since he was born over 3 years ago. It is the first time I have had a break like that since my daughter was born, nearly 6 years ago. Some people find these time lines shocking, inappropriate, perhaps even indulgent and it was huge for me; I cried as I walked away, feeling vulnerable and alone and anxious AND also exhilarated and anticipatory.

As I returned later that afternoon, I had a deep sense of peace, knowing that I had supported my children in holding secure attachment until such time as they were ready to explore the world a little more for themselves. It was this experience that reminded me of the lady in her loft in London taking 40 days to honour the arrival of a new soul and brought this awareness of how lacking our western society is in relation to taking time to be with what needs to be. It is never going to be easy for a family to announce its 40 day solitude, but if we all start to reconsider the importance of interludes, however they relate to our lives, if we can reframe our fast paced lives and find a few more spaces for fire gazing and moon watching and occasional napping and silence and allowing and, not forgetting, parenthood as an interlude all of its own…. oh how much more blissful could this life become?