Maverick

This week I watched ‘The Darkest Hour’ with Gary Oldman playing Winston Churchill. One of the core pieces that I loved within this film was how clear it was that Churchill was an emotionally messy individual; by all accounts an alcoholic, perhaps without financial savvy, fractious, demanding AND alongside this a brilliant mind, a wordsmith, family man, and the one who determined to save Great Britain from Adolf Hitler.

He was a maverick: ‘an unorthodox or independent-minded person’

When my brothers and I had to decide which three words we would have on my father’s gravestone, I pushed for Maverick. I can’t even remember now what the other two words are but I knew I wanted a word to honour his fuck-ups and his genius all at once. That is who he was to me.

What I saw from the film was that it took the character of a Maverick to save us from invasion, it took that single minded belief, that ability to walk against the tide, and a little bit of ‘crazy’. I watched the film and I saw my father.

My father did terrible things, he sexually molested me, he paid little attention to the emotional needs of his children, he was frightening in his temper. And he did wonderful things too. He transformed people’s lives both through his psychiatry practice and his generosity in bringing in to his home those in need, including the homeless. He invented psychometric computer programs that are still used globally today (he just forgot to patent them!). His mind was brilliant and broken.

I was not really able to see my father this way until after he died, until then our relationship was just too painful. In watching ‘The Darkest Hour’, I was reminded how important Mavericks are in the world and how an individual can be two parts simultaneously – dark and light.

There is a cleansing going on in our western society right now, where anyone who has ever faltered, made a mistake, royally fucked up or, worst case, been severely abusive is being silenced and shut down. I’ve seen on social media something to the effect of: ‘it doesn’t matter what good they have done, abusive behaviour wipes all of that away’. Does it? Should it?

I just don’t know if life is this back and white, that right and wrong is so clear cut. What if someone can have blurred and damaging boundaries and also create magic in the world? My relationship with my mother is super toxic but she is also a wonderful friend to others. I worked with Jamie Oliver once upon a time and I personally found him difficult (others found him inspiring) but I also hugely respect his drive to change the health of our children through food. My experience of someone can be diametrically opposite to someone else’s. I can also dislike one aspect of someone and appreciate another. One person can experience abuse another healing at the hands of the same person. So how does this tally? How do we bring abusers or fault makers to justice without cleansing our society of the inspiration and necessary change that they sometimes bring?

It makes me wonder how Einstein, Marie Curie, Van Gogh, Michael Angelo, Mother Theresa, Alexander Fleming, Emmeline Pankhurst, Jesus or Mary Magdalene would fair on social media today? Would we celebrate their achievements or chastise them for their failings?

How I reached this place with my father, of being able to respect his achievements whilst not accepting his abuse, was through conversation. Before he died we spoke about my accusation of molestation, he said his mother had done the same to him and there wasn’t anything wrong with that. It wasn’t an apology, it wasn’t really even an admission; soulfully, he still had a long way to go before being accountable to his actions. Yet from that conversation I could understand that he had been taught as a child that this behaviour was ok, that to look at it from my perspective (and indeed much of society’s) was something quite unfathomable to his psyche. He was acting from trauma. I have compassion for that.

And before I am shouted down from the rooftops, yes I still believe abuse must be called to account and appropriately dealt with. But that is the extreme end of our current cleansing and there are multiple shades of grey in between for all the characters and individuals of the world.

I am a flawed and loving person, which part do you see?

Scapegoat

I have so much to say and I’m not sure how’s it’s all going to come out but it’s a real mixture of what’s tumbling around my head, heart and soul and also how that relates to the pertinent space the global media is reflecting right now.

I received a real lashing for a recent post (Weinstein et al). It hit me hard and I have taken some time to reflect on it. As much as I work hard to construct my opinions as solely mine and I endeavour to use ‘I’ statements to emphasise that, I have realised that when I post something on someone else’s social media page, it turns my I statements into a ‘you should’. It can feel as if I am telling someone that my opinion belongs in their space. So I have learned from that and will be more cautious about how and where I share my thoughts.

But the essence of that blog still stands for me and I have delved a little deeper into my psyche as to why I hold these beliefs which are perhaps in conflict with a majority. What are my reasons?

What comes up for me is the concept of the Scapegoat. Because not only I have created a scapegoat to escape facing my own issues in the past but I have also been heavily labelled as the scapegoat in my family of origin.

Being the scapegoat within my family dynamic has meant that I am the excuse for them to not be accountable and responsible for their own actions and parts within a story. If I am the person who is ‘wrong’ then that makes those labelling me ‘right’.

And the water is murky because as sure as some of what I’ve been accused of are downright lies, some rumours are carried in truth. Which, more than anything, gives them greater fuel. But what I have come to learn is that my truth and their truth are two very different animals. So whilst my behaviour may be judged by one to be sordid, or untrustworthy, neurotic or perhaps even a little bit crazy. My truth is that I can see the cause and effect on how these events unfolded. I can see the beginning of pain and woundedness that developed into acts of desperate love seeking, or unhealthy out-letting. Once I stopped believing the stories about me from them, I started to see how unhappiness evolves.

And truthfully, it has been the most extraordinary gift, because now I can no longer see ‘bad behaviour’ but only brokenness. I can no longer label someone a predator or an abuser because I see their desperation, their shattered spirits trying to find a way home. I know that being labelled the bad one only spiralled me into deeper despair and I can’t see how it is a solution to anything except the abdication of accountability for all parties.

Because not only have I been the scapegoat but I have also made others my scapegoat. I have been abused and I have abused. When I think of the #metoo campaign, I wonder how many of those speaking out have ever abused others in some form? How many people have used their power to manipulate a person or scenario for their own gain or safety? And why is sexual abuse the pinnacle of this discussion? Some of my experiences that have had no sexual overtones or physical violation have been far more damaging to my spirit than the more overt domination. None of it is right but perhaps neither is it simply wrong.

I cannot stand on a pedestal and say #metoo without also saying that perhaps I have left others uncomfortable, damaged, hurt by my own actions – from a place of unconscious woundedness maybe. But isn’t that the same for most?

Speaking out, speaking up, reclaiming our power is vitally important but with that comes the core piece of accountability and compassion. Where are our own  wounds reflected in these others? How can healing really occur without understanding?

I am a scapegoat, I am an abuser, I am a wounded and healing woman.

Belief vs. Intuition

I was involved in a discussion on social media recently; one of those totally random engagements with complete strangers whom I will never cross paths with again, yet had a compelling urge to connect to for a flash of time.

One of those.

I was hooked into this one by the curiousness of her statement. She stated that her intuition has told her to have a c-section ‘knowing her baby was too big to birth’. Doctors had refused, her labour halted and off she went for her section.

Well, a few of us jumped straight onto this. ‘That’s not your intuition, that’s your belief’. We petitioned her in numerous ways to explain that her conscious or subconscious belief that she couldn’t birth big babies was leeched into her by who knows whom, but that it certainly wasn’t an innate inner knowing that told her this, babies just aren’t too big to birth.

A belief is entirely different to intuition.

She was having none of it and was enraged that we were trying to squash her intuitive vibe, which had, seemingly, proved her right.

Then I heard it again a couple of days ago, someone describing their difficult interaction and judgements towards another as an ‘intuitive response’. They ‘knew’ with absolute assurity that a stranger was a particular personality because their intuition told them so, full stop, end of story. That person was then tried and sentenced based on that intuition.

It’s a hard one. I do believe that as a western society we are certainly low on the intuitive front, we prefer solid, hard and immovable facts over anything vaguely floaty or unclear. AND I think it’s sad how squashed and dampened our intuition has become. But what exactly is our intuition?

Mine was definitely hiding in some dark recess of my forgotten self, until more recent years when I have braved the fear and poked it into the cracks of light. What I have discovered about my intuition is that it is super subtle, so used to its banishment that it is quick to flee under any cross examination. But when it does rise up, it is a moment of knowing deeply, feeling without confusion and total clarity. It’s the moment when the words fall from my heart onto the page; when I know my child’s mood by the movement of their eyes; when a sentence pours from my mouth and brings healing to a client’s soul. Subtle, gentle, quiet….

What I have learned also is that my anxiety and beliefs can pretend they are intuition, giving me countless messages to listen to and to heed, added to which they name themselves as my intuitive voice: ‘listen, this is your intuition, there’s a car coming and it’s going to run over your kids’; ‘listen, this is your intuition, that person has hair like your old abusive friend, they must be an abuser too’; ‘listen, this is your intuition, no one will like your book, don’t bother writing it’.

Except that none of those, self proclaimed intuitive memos, are really my intuition, they are simply my fears. And my fears can come true, and they can prove me ‘right’, but they are still not my intuition.

Learning to distinguish between the emotional beliefs and the inner wisdom of our intuitive selves is like unraveling two identical, twisted and impenetrable balls of yarn, anciently meshed and knotted. They look the same, feel the same, but as they unravel, one leads to heartache and one leads to happiness.

Listen carefully. Which one is speaking to you?