Soul Reflection – Page 13 – An alternative talk-therapy

The Story Behind

Just over a month ago, I received some heavy criticism about my mothering. It came from a source that I was intending to bring into my inner-circle, that I was hoping would become a safe place for my son to spend time, so it hit me pretty hard. Not just a stranger on the street criticism, a real heart punch.

So I have, as is my way, been reflecting on it quietly for the past weeks, wondering what gift it is bringing me.

I have found it now, it is The Story Behind.

The story behind everyone’s behaviours is something so often missed, not least that of children. I was accused of being controlled by my son and not creating enough boundaries for him. So I have replayed my memories to try and understand how that perspective arose, because it is not one that resonates for me.

I’ll start with the ‘control’. I have learned and am still learning when to change my No’s to Yes’. I very carefully ‘control’ or consider certain aspects of my children’s upbringing, including their nutrition, their education path, their sleep amounts etc; then there are other things that I try to control until I realise that actually it’s my ‘shit’ that I’m trying to enforce and let it go. So when my child asks me for something, quite often I’ll say ‘No’, because I’m too tired, or it feels a bit complicated or anxiety inducing, and then my child will explain to me through their feelings or words how important it is for them and if I can see that it is my ‘shit’ stopping them following their bliss, even if that means allowing my son to bring home another 10 (bloody) sticks, I’m going to do it. And when my son throws a wobbly because I am not standing next to him in an unfamiliar and scary environment, I’m going to try and listen to that wobbly more than whether or not he needs to ‘learn’ independence, because I’m hearing his feelings. So am I controlled by his feelings? When I deem them to be valid and important, which of course is entirely subjective, yes I am and happy to be so. Do I feel controlled by him? Not at all.

But I can see how it might look to someone who doesn’t know my son; I can see that him getting a bit frantic and asking for me might look demanding and ‘controlling’. What, of course, they don’t see is how content and happy he is most of the time, they don’t see the contrast, which is the sign for me to know how he’s feeling. I am, after all, his mother.

Then there are his boundaries, which I perceive to be quite solid, strong and wise (age appropriately of course), so how did another see this completely differently? One example was when he was doing some cutting and he reached up, with the scissors, and mimed cutting at my hair. In the seconds that followed, that always feel like long minutes, two adults came down hard and fast on his actions. They told him he mustn’t, they told him ‘poor mummy and her beautiful hair’ and he buried his head in my lap, shamed and sad. I whispered to him, I told him I knew he was just tricking, I knew he wasn’t really going to cut my hair; I explained that they didn’t know him well enough to know he was being cheeky and funny and they were just worried. I whispered all these things to him to raise him out of being, in his eyes, unfairly judged. I could also see how it was perceived that I wasn’t setting boundaries, that I didn’t ‘back up’ the other adults, except they didn’t know the story behind. They don’t know how that boundary had already been set and that’s how he felt so confident jesting with me, us both clear that he wouldn’t cut my hair ‘for real’.

I see this play out in the world today and I see polarity and hatred following Brexit and Soon-to-be president Trump. I see the split second dive that shames each side rather than the breath, the moment to consider the story behind. No one is born racist, there is a story behind that, no child hits without a reason why. I was judged, as was my family, by the lack of looking for that story.

AND I understand that this will happen, that I can’t protect my children from those that forget to look at the story, or haven’t time, or haven’t patience, or have had a bad day. They will be judged, they are judged, I will be judged and I am judged and I, also, will judge others when all those factors rise for me too. But it’s worth talking about, worth writing about because I know that once we hear another’s story, and I mean REALLY hear it, judgement dies and love comes in.

Defined by Pain

When both my sister and my cousin hung themselves, the words offered to me by my family were… ‘troubled souls’. As if that explained everything.

Those words defined these two individuals, wrote off their whole lives because they were perceived to have been born into the world as ‘troubled souls’. I am also described in this way.

Frankly, it’s Bullshit.

No one is born a troubled soul; no one comes into the world shattered and full of pain. It is given to us on our journey and mostly, predominately, from our childhood.

When I was a young teen, a mother at my school told me (indirectly via my mother) that I reminded her of Jodie Foster, in the film ‘The Accused’ (Jodie Foster’s character is gang raped in the back room of a bar, witnessed and ignored by on lookers, and treated like the criminal rather than the victim.) Quite an offensive and powerful statement to make about a young girl. At the time I was indignant and outraged that someone could speak about me in such a way, still a child, still a virgin, still innocent. It has taken me another 20+ years to fully understand her statement.

When my father molested me as a small child, he took away my innocence. He created a premature sexuality in my expression and personality and, more than that, it was birthed through me without my understanding. What that meant was that my dynamics with men were utterly confusing. I attracted unwanted attention from all quarters, not least my mother’s boyfriends, men in the street, the caretaker at school, my driving instructor, all to a lesser or greater degree treated me as an object of desire, a Lolita.

I had only ever learned, from my role model, my father, that this is who I was supposed to be in the world, a desired feminine; and with that there would be complications. With that men would believe that I had led them on, teased them, courted them. And I had, but I didn’t know it, I didn’t understand how, because I was just being ‘me’.

The thing was nobody else understood either. So my family members saw me as flirtatious, inappropriate, testing, asking for it… friends could feel threatened by my presence and, again, rightly so. I lost count of how many of their boyfriends tried to ‘cop a feel’ under the table or in the back of the car when they thought no one was watching. All of this I thought was normal, this is men, this is life, this is how it is to be a woman. But I also felt judged and alienated and lonely and I didn’t know why, because I was just being ‘me’.

When I uncovered my father’s actions to me, which had been hidden in my early childhood memories, I first told them to a friend of mine who is a therapist. He said to me, ‘Didn’t you know? You showed all the signs of an abused child’. Slowly my memories unravelled and I was able to see how my unconscious sexuality had permeated my life, my attractions, my complications. I was able to see that I had been defined by my pain, my wound that had been inflicted upon me, but only the rare few could see through the pain, the rest just saw me as a ‘troubled soul’.

So I want to speak up for my sister, for my cousin, for me and all of those who have had great wounds inflicted upon them. None of us are troubled souls, just the opposite; we are innocent ones, born like the rest in perfection and purity. We have been defined by our wounds, some of us get the opportunity to change that, some of us don’t, but behind every uncomfortable, inappropriate, damaging behaviour is just another innocent that has been badly hurt.

Slaying the Dragon

My heart felt that clutch of fear this morning as I turned on my phone to see that, by a tiny margin, we had left Europe; that our population had decided, in majority, to step away from our larger community.

I felt that brief panic of insecurity, scared for the future of my family. And then I breathed. And I remembered. There is always a gift.

In the darkest of days, there is always a light that starts as a faint glimmer, sometimes almost imperceptible, but it’s there; and it will get stronger and brighter because light always wins. Always.

So I reflected a little on why we have hit this point in our history together. Why we have chosen separatism over community. What I see is that we are divided in our country, that my friends and community all wanted to stay in Europe, that I barely knew anyone who wanted to leave and yet more than 50% of my country wanted this and I don’t know them. I am isolated in my existence by surrounding myself by only those whose thoughts and beliefs predominantly align with mine.

Here in lies the problem. If I want community, I need to reach out, to cross the borders that alienate, to find the common ground. It is easy for me to feel that my liberal views are inclusive but not if they are making other people’s views wrong.

So what is the gift of today for our country? To spend time seeking out those that we fear, that represent our darkest anxieties and our repressed shadows and find a way to love them, find a way to create a real community, rich in the diversity of thoughts and feelings. Only then can we manifest the global community that we crave, only when our own back yard is in order, when the fences are down and the feasting between neighbours commences, then we truly claim our liberal and loving titles.

We are a country built on legends not least that of George and the Dragon. It is time that we slay our metaphorical dragon, that of fear. Rise up Knights (of all genders!), rise up and face the challenges ahead by conquering our demons within and without.

Love and Light ALWAYS shine the brightest in the end.

Love Linguistics

2016 is the year of love, absent and present.

I started the year in a place in my relationship that, whilst knowing cerebrally that my husband loved me, I couldn’t feel it. I felt unloved.

Added to this ache was a gnawing sense that my daughter couldn’t feel my love, that no matter what I did for her she was tetchy and upset. I truly believe children can fare many life storms as long as they feel deeply loved, yet I was sensing that my darling girl felt empty despite my absolute adoration. How could this be?

Thankfully a dear friend directed me towards the work of Gary Chapman and his ‘5 love languages’ for couples and for children.

What a revelation! How could I have lived till nearly 40 (it’s the big one this year!) and not have understood these crucial love languages?

To précis his work (which I cannot recommend highly enough), each of us needs to have a full love ‘tank’ in order to be at our emotional best. This tank is filled by receiving love in 5 different forms, but, from age 5 upwards, we usually utilise one (or two) of these ways as our primary expression of love.

The 5 languages are quality time, physical touch, acts of service, gifts, words of affirmation.

Before even reading the book I had a moment of hallelujah when I read the 5 types. I am so clearly an ‘acts of service’ personality, I had even explained it unknowingly to a friend when discussing my daughter – how does she not know I love her when I get her to all her classes and desires on time with the right outfits, snacks and accessories! This was me showing her how important she is to me. But she is not an ‘acts of service’ love-receiver and here is the crux.

As Gary Chapman explains, once we move beyond our honeymoon love fest, both in relationship and parenting, and we settle into our own spaces and habits, we need to speak the same language in order to top up our tanks. Without this we end up like a Chinese man and a French woman trying to sustain connection without learning each other’s language.

Such a simple concept and yet so indefatigably important.

As with the Chinese & French couple, it is a choice they make to learn each other’s language. It may not be easy to speak, but if connection is desired, it is really the only way.

So I started to speak the love languages of my husband and daughter; and my husband began to speak mine.

The change in our household has been near instant. From feelings of sadness, desperation and alienation to connection, love, vibrancy and happiness. This. Just from dialling in to each other’s beings.

My daughter now comes and curls and folds herself into me just as she used to…. Absolute bliss. My husband and I are enjoying the lightness and humour of love again.

I am beyond grateful for this work and I wish is were a curriculum subject at school. I believe these linguistics to be part of the foundation of a happy society; connection across borders on all levels.

So let’s study on….. let’s Love on…….

Messy Friendships

There is a weird double standard that floats around in the world. There is an understanding that marriages and love relationships don’t always endure a full lifetime; that paths diverge; partners grow up and away from each other; there is an allowance for this to occur and yet, for friendships, there is a shame and disapproval when they hit similarly rocky times.

From my experience, friendships are not dramatically different from love relationships. There is always a honeymoon period, that time with a friend where you feel the soul bond, the bubbles of happiness in each other’s company, the hits of connection when your thoughts collide and that high of being ‘understood’. How long that lasts and what it transforms into is unique and varied but there is undoubtedly a pressure that, once a friendship has been created, it carries with it a veil of perfection that mustn’t be questioned.

In my relationship, if there is an ‘issue’, a moment of conflict, I am supported socially to endeavour to resolve it. ‘Don’t go to sleep angry’; if you carry resentment it will only rear its ugly head later down the line; best keep lines of communication clear and open etc etc. Apply this to a friendship model and it’s almost as if you are creating conflict, making trouble, rocking the boat.

I am that person who likes to clear the air, I like to talk things through when I’m pissed about something and try and figure out a better way for both of us. I think it is definitely a positive attribute in my relationship but in my friendships it makes them messy.

My husband will comment that I seem to have patterns of conflict in my friendships but when I step back and really take a wider view on it, actually I have the odd moment of disagreement. Certainly, compared to how often I argue with my husband, my points of disagreements with friends are few and far between (and rightly so, when we include the context of time spent together). However, they feel emotionally so much bigger, as if I have trespassed into forbidden territory. There is a fear of loss so much greater than in my marriage, where we hold a spoken and written commitment; in friendship there seems to be a stronger possibility of final separation.

Let me put this into context, imagine having a flash point with your partner and instead of cooling down to then talk it through, you choose not to speak to them for 6 weeks and then when you do pretend as if nothing’s happened. Is that at all sustainable as a relationship model? Yet it is widely used in friendships. And please don’t think I’m preaching from a high horse, I have been completely guilty of this too, more times than I care to confess.

But today it just struck me as totally crazy. I want my friends to be just like my relationships, that we front up to our difficult moments, that we stare them right in the face and work it out, because I know that it brings me into deeper and more loving connection with my husband when I do this and I know it would be the same for my friendships too. It might be messy but it would definitely feel more real.

Dot to Dot

A couple of dear friends have recently confided their frustrations at where they are at emotionally. They have done ‘work’, they’ve uncovered, examined and released some of their wounded places and they feel like they should be in a better place than they are.

I get that. Doing the work often releases these bubbles of happiness and connection; these moments of awareness where I can feel in the flow of life, love and the universe. Sometimes these bubbles last for months at a time, sometimes only hours or days, and in between times I can wonder if they were real or will ever be attainable again.

Whilst listening to my friends in recent days, I came up with a metaphor that feels realistic to me. The dot to dot drawings….

If my life is a dot to dot drawing and each dot is one of those bubbles of universal understanding and connection, the spaces inbetween are the moments of confusion and wondering.

There are times in my life where the dots are so close together that I almost surf between them, that the difficult moments are so brief I can feel the flow of universal love supporting me to the next dot; and there are times where the leap between dots feels like a chasm so large I lose my faith that I can ever experience those moments of soul love again.

The entire picture is my whole life, I am not going to hit that final dot, I am not going to complete the drawing until my last breath on this earth. That makes sense to me, that it is an impossible expectation to be in that dot state at all times but the more dots we experience, the clearer the picture becomes, our greater understanding grows despite the fact that our confusion can still appear with regularity.

This dot to dot will be framed and displayed as a reminder for me during the connection and the disconnect.

I hope it helps you too xxx

Anger

I recently got cross with a dear friend’s little girl. It had been bubbling a while, something that I needed to take some time to look at and also a reflex. I had spent the weekend being told a series of untruths, just as children do, but one came after too many and I had enough. I was angry, not wildly so, I didn’t say or do anything terrible but it was clear I was annoyed and cross. As many of us know, this a great faux pas. To be angry with another person’s child is a line that ought not to be traversed.

I apologised, and I meant it, both to child and mother but that line had been crossed and therein lies an issue.

I “shouldn’t” have been angry with her.

Except where there are ‘shoulds’ there are unhealthy shadows, more over it has been done, it can’t be undone, yet the focus is so often about trying to erase its memory, trying to find a way to discount it from our past. Why have we got such an aversion, such a stigma around anger? Of course, we can always endeavour to find the kind way, of course we can learn from our outbursts and try to do it differently next time, but why are we, as a society, so unforgiving about anger? If someone does something to upset you surely it is healthy to let that out? And even with the very best of intentions, sometimes that comes as an explosion. I don’t believe that anger is a bad energy, it is One of our energies and it is important to acknowledge it.

I look at all the sickness in the world right now and so much is spawn from anger; I am closely present to a darling friend trying to save her own life as she heals herself of cancer, and she has Anger. She has anger from her childhood, so buried within her system that it is making her mortally sick. And I can promise you, that anger is well deserved, I know a fraction of her story and she has every right to be mad as hell. I expect she has her moments of daily anger, she has a political rant every now and again, but she needs to get crazy angry for a moment, a real stomach churning, yeti screaming, puce face eruption of energy and get it out. But where can she do this? Where is there permission to do this? Instead she is supposed to move on, forgive, take the high road, have compassion. Well she does, she has all of those in buckets and spades but she needs her anger too. She needs is so that she can live to see her children grow up and so that I can make my way to Oz and give her a bloody big hug.

So I go back to this place I’m at right now where I feel so horrible for having been angry with this lovely little girl, I feel mean and ogre-ish and yet there is a tendril poking up through my shame that says, ‘it’s ok’, ‘you got cross because right then you needed to’, ‘you apologised because you’re nice too’ and actually I think that is true.

And I am grateful to this experience, as much as the fences that need building between me and my friend are hurting my soul, I know this reflection on my own anger is healing and positive. I know that I am going to take it into my own family and give greater permission for my kids and my husband AND Me to have our outbursts. That instead of shaming those moments, instead of shaming me for being perceived as imperfect, I am going to feel that energy course out of my system and return to peace.

Anger is welcome here.

I’m Done

I have been breastfeeding for 6 years, 9 months and 17 days.

And now I’m done.

My little boy decided that today would be the day he was to stop having his milk; tonight we celebrated this choice at a restaurant for supper; and this very evening he has soothed himself to sleep for the first time in his life.

He is 4 years and 1 month old. My daughter was 3 years and 11 months old when she chose to stop.

When I was pregnant with my daughter, my first born, I thought that I would breastfeed for 6 months as that is all that a baby really ‘needs’, according to current trends. 6 months of nutrition and immunity, then done!

Except that she arrived into the world with the amazing support of my awesome midwife who imparted to me, subtly and gently, ancient wisdom of mothering. So instead of deciding to stop at 6 months, I adopted a ‘wait and see’ attitude. Indeed, if you’d asked me back then if I’d be feeding my kids until they were 4 I would have been horrified, thankfully I didn’t make plans either way.

By removing this rigidity, I was able to step into real connection with my breastfeeding relationship. By feeding on demand, I was able to look beyond the process as just scheduled meals and begin to recognise the cues associated with emotional needs, hunger needs, ailments needs. I began to see the enormous depths that this relationship creates between me and my children.

A friend recently wrote to me “… it all makes sense to me now the older she gets. Before I was a mum I used to look at breastfeeding as just nutrition but I understand now it’s so much more.”

This is the sadness I feel around the breastfeeding status in society at the moment, unless we give ourselves the opportunity to see beyond that 6 month plan, it can be so hard to understand, to really get into connection with what else breastfeeding provides.

This is just a small part of what it has meant for me and my children. It has naturally imparted all the health benefits of shared immunity; the nutritional magic that nature created; it has protected against allergens by coating the gut lining; it has been a reassuring source of hydration and nutrition during times of sickness; it has soothed pains of bruises, cuts, new teeth and even broken arms. That’s the physical stuff.

Emotionally it has helped my children transition from one developmental shift to another. They have had a non-verbal base to return to when the adventures of the world have proved a little too much. In those moments of high emotion when rational conversation is just beyond reach, the boob has restored their centre and calm. It makes so much sense to me that the average age of full term breastfeeding is 4 years old (the bell curve ranging from 2.5 to 7) as this is an age where they begin to introduce rational thought into those tumultuous feelings and therefore to self manage those highs and lows.

It is not an easy process and there have been many moments along the way when I have had to sit and reflect on my choices, their importance for me, for my kids, for my husband and indeed with the outside world too. Tandem feeding was, psychologically, one of the hardest things I have ever done and there are times I have had to remind myself that holding boundaries around my breasts is not in conflict with my aims & philosophy.

Yet without a doubt, it has been an amazing journey and one for which I am profoundly grateful. In these early years, when my head has been in a spin and I have not grounded myself as I’d of liked, my kids have been able to ground themselves on my breast; it has brought me back to nature, to trusting the miraculous power and intelligence of this force; it has given my kids a solid foundation from which to sprout and grow wildly.

I choose to share all of this because I know I would have loved to have read this support and encouragement when I was finding my way through this adventure, when faced with opposition and judgement, I would have wanted to read these words. That does not mean it is a directive to all woman, it does not have to be received as another guilt inducing blog for those that have done things differently, it is just my story for those that wish to hear it.

With blessings to all mamas, on all their journeys xx

Mother’s Day

I have not been kind to myself recently. I have been chastising myself for my failings as a mother – the usual thorny branches that we can whip ourselves with in this sensitive job role: impatience, raised voice, less then sympathetic reactions to my children’s demands.

I wish to be something I am not. I am fiery and passionate and despite my intentions and desires, my combo of conditioning and personality means sometimes (quite a lot actually) I’m scary mummy as well as lovely mummy.

I also, deep down, know this is the same for most mummies. The problem for me is that I read so many memes about gentle parenting, conscious parenting, wholesome parenting and they all talk about how important it is to be respectful to your children, to empathise, to speak kindly, otherwise we damage our children’s self esteem. True and also not realistic! Not for me.

This is how I roll….

Yesterday we went to a kids party in the middle of Richmond park. We had to drive to the car park and then walk down a hill for about 15 minute (kids pace). Within ten minutes of arriving my son had stepped into the pond up to his thighs…. Soaked. The weather is currently near freezing. The only option to avoid illness was to take my son back up the hill, car, home, change, car, walk and back to party. I was seriously annoyed. My son was crying, didn’t want to leave the party, was cold and wet and miserable. But I was annoyed. So my little boy cried his heart out whilst we walked back to the car and I went into self flagellation in my head because I was snappish and irritated instead of being compassionate.

But you know what…. I got there. On the drive home he told me how he absolutely had to go into the pond because there was a stick there that he needed. And he really needed it. And I heard that. And we talked about finding one of the (thousands) of sticks from the back of the car and taking that back with his new dry self so that he didn’t ‘need’ to go back into the pond again. And we laughed and had some rescue remedy and enjoyed the last part of the party.

And this is how I mother. I get there eventually. I might get mad, scream like a banshee, storm about, sulk and generally be a bit rubbish at times but I come back when I’m ready and we figure it out. And when I think about it I feel the same towards anyone else who does that too. They can be super mean to me but if they come back one day or twenty plus years later and try and figure it out, I’m going to hear that and welcome it. That feels more realistic to me.

So Happy Mother’s Day to all of us just figuring things out in the way that works.

Good Children

When my daughter was two there was a flash point between my own mother and myself as I heard her praise her granddaughter with the words ‘good girl’, frequently and repetitively. Nothing wrong with that? My mother didn’t think so and understandably so, it is a standard reinforcing phrase for our children, encouraging and affirming, right?

Except that I didn’t agree. I didn’t want my daughter being fed this belief that she was good if she managed to fit a shape into its matching hole, or if she tidied the animals back into the box. Yes I wanted to affirm her actions, encourage her explorations and adventures, but I didn’t and don’t want my children to believe that they are either good, or conversely bad, for arbitrary things.

I remembered this incident this evening as I flicked on the television and an image flashed up of a celebrity in a third world environment endorsing some ‘saving’ protocol. It irritated me and I took a moment to wonder why. What came up for me was the fact that all these endorsements can so often come from wanting to be perceived as good, worthy of love, worthy of their status by doing the ‘right’ thing. I do not know any of their individual motivations and I don’t want to crush the spirit of charity and philanthrophy, in the slightest; but there is a truth that some of these processes do more harm than good, some corporations pay a face to promote something that may not be the best for those in need or for the environment. Yet, if egos are schmoozed into believing they are doing ‘good’ in the world, it hits that childhood reinforced message – you are loved if you are good and the deeper questions, the deeper morality actually don’t have to be mentioned.

Goodness 1 v Humanity 0

Boy, I do not want my kids or anyone, or me (!) to feel like they have to be good to be loved. Within 24 hours I can be so wonderful, kind, patient, loving, attentive, generous and also hateful, jealous, angry, spiteful and mean. I still want to be loved. I still want to love myself for those whole 24 hours not just the ‘good’ bits. I want to be able to stand up to the world and shout out the injustices, the misdoings, the corruption and still be lovable even if it means I have not toed the party line.

I want my children to feel like they can say no to being seen to be good, if actually it is not real kindness, real honesty, real humanity. Being good used to represent those things, but it has become generic & soulless, our generations have been so numbed by this baseless praise that we are responding like Pavlov’s dogs to it. Tell us we are good and we won’t ask any more questions…

Does that resonate?