The Liberation of NO!

One of the best things ever to happen to me was learning to say no. I have mentioned in previous posts that I have memories of being told nasty things when I was little – that I was ‘mental’, that I was a liar, that I wouldn’t amount to anything. And this was by people close to me that I looked up to, loved and trusted. The trouble with that was, even though I knew what they were saying made me feel bad and was wrong, it laid a sort of foundation that, as I have loved and trusted people I have chosen as an adult, when they behaved badly towards me, I thought it was normal. A little bit like I deserved it because I was not worth anything and was bad, and also because I was used to it.

It got me into all sorts of trouble in my relationships. It got a bit worse too, I think, as I am a tall and quite strong appearing person, and lead people for my living. At the beginning of my two previous marriages, I think that both women made judgements from how I appeared and came across (and to be fair how I put myself across) and when they found that, actually, I was very vulnerable and hurt on the inside…. it felt like they turned on me like hyenas, feeding off the suddenly weak link in the pack. I don’t say that in a self deprecating way – it’s just how I choose to describe what I look back and observe in the past. I’m sure, of course that they would have very different perceptions and stories to tell, as people do!

In both cases, I tried and tried to work at the relationships, flying backwards and forwards half way across the world in the first and sometimes dealing with drunken abuse in the second. The first time, I just snapped one day and said ‘no’ but wasn’t really aware of the depths that I’d been down to mentally, and dived pretty much straight away into another relationship which turned out to be marriage No.2. The second time, after an encounter where I had to protect my wife and her friend (both utterly legless) from the friend’s husband – who had come to take her home armed with an axe – I felt empty and finished and knew I had to change the way I treated and looked after myself, and what and who I allowed into my life. So No.2 bit the dust, just after I had started Counselling to try and get to the bottom of what was happening in my head.

Even then, I wasn’t quite on the right track. A while later I started seeing a woman who had a little girl. After only a couple of weeks I was told that I would have to sell my van, and asked where we would spend Christmas! And THAT, my friends, is when it happened.

I just said no. No, this Christmas I will spend with my Parents and on my own. No, I will not sell my van. No, I will not see you tonight, I am tired. No, I will not see you any more as I have to walk into the light of healing – which will burn and hurt a bit, the bright whiteness will hurt my eyes…. but I will stick some dark glasses on, learn to see and make choices, get to the bottom of why I make (or made) them and learn to live a more gentle, kind and less vulnerable life. And be kind to myself, and stop giving myself away and leaving myself with nothing – no money, no energy, no time, beyond empty.

It felt like this, and it felt great. Try it.

It’s ok to take control

Following on from my ‘Head day’ post, another thing I think I’ve found is that I’ve lived my life in a sort of mental paralysis. If you’re told you’re not good enough, not worth anything, that you can’t do things, you get stuck in a place where you don’t feel you have the strength or ability to change situations, to alter course from impending disaster. You know that you have to do something, but you’re too used to being told what to do (but perversely, that you’re not actually capable of doing it) that you freeze, letting the bad stuff happen, wash over you. Because you’re used to feeling bad and responsible for bad things, and it becomes something you’re used to. You almost tend to like it, it’s familiar. It becomes a grim safe place to be. Like a kind of mental Stockholm Syndrome.

And because you don’t have a plan, a strategy for things when they’re manageable, they gather and grow so you end up paralysed and suffocated by many things that’re too big to contemplate dealing with.

I just got to the end of my tether last year, and had to start dealing with things. Xena has helped me deal with little bits at a time. That way you get tiny little small wins and just because you’ve achieved something, and the thing has become just a tiny bit smaller, you start to get movement, you start to get somewhere. Something is better than nothing. Gradually the landscape begins to change.

You will need to call on all the strength that you have, but were told that you didn’t have, but start the job. You’ll be surprised at who you are and what you have. You’re alright after all.

Cautionary Signals

Here’s a little analogy in life for you to think about.

On particularly busy high speed, high capacity railway lines, multi aspect signalling is used. Different aspects and colours give train drivers advanced information about how close the train in front is, and where to stop – a safe distance behind the rear of the train in front.

There is a descending order of safety depending upon the aspect you see. Green tells you that two or more signals are clear ahead. Double yellow tells you that the second signal you will see is red. A single yellow tells you that the next signal is red. And red…. means stop.

So you can tear along quite happily at 125mph when you’re running on greens. Sometimes you can see two or three signals ahead too, on a straight section in clear weather. You soon reach and pass the signals at that speed, I can tell you. When you see a Double yellow, you should always assume that it’s double yellow because there’s a red in two signal’s time. But it’s not quite as simple as that. It could be that you’ve caught up a slower train, or you’re reaching a town or city where trains tend to bunch up and slow down as they are routed through various junctions. Knowing the area and route you are travelling will give you some idea of what to expect, whether it’s a dead stop or just reducing your speed. Either way, you have to start slowing down and pay close attention to what’s in front of you for further information.

I like to apply these principles to the way I live. It’s exhilarating to be tearing along at breakneck speed through this life we live, but it’s important to read and pay attention to the signals. When you see life’s double yellows, be cautious. It might be that you have to slow down a bit, just for a while, before returning to full speed. It might be that you have to slow down to negotiate a junction. Or it might be a full stop and phone the Signaller for further instructions!

All too often, we are too busy rooting in our bag for something, not paying attention, or even like to be a cavalier ‘laugh in the face of danger’ driver and try to drive our trains at full speed on double yellows. Some signals are not evenly spaced and before you know it, you’re emergency braking and sailing past a red, far too fast, hoping that the rear of another train will not come looming up from round the blind corner you’re approaching.

You don’t have to crawl through life nervously waiting for caution, or to stop, but pay attention to the signals. They are there to help you and keep you safe.

What do you feed roses with?

I have mostly maintained a positive attitude about my life and worked through the hard times. This is almost singularly down to the mighty love and nurturing of my Grandparents. My Nan and Grandad have been, and always will be, a huge force of goodness and love for me. My Grandad never lost touch with himself or humanity in general, having fought through the Second World War with the Royal Artillery, alongside the 8th Army in North Africa and up through Naples and into Germany towards the end of the war. When my Dad and I went round to their flat to tell them that my Sister was in a coma, seriously brain damaged and unlikely to survive, my Grandad cried. A (still) big, strong 81 year old man having come through all those horrors, and through past society in general, not keeping a stiff upper lip and letting his feelings happen. He was years ahead of his time. My Nan…. my Nan never failed to see the bright side of things, and if there didn’t seem to be one, she would simply keep going, finding little things to smile and laugh about to keep everyone cheery. She never gave up, she always had hope, and whilst I’ve struggled with life a fair bit, their love, influence and example have guided me through much.

When I was going out with the woman that was to become wife number one (I only capitalise the word ‘wife’ for Jenny, my present and last Wife!) we got matching tattoos with each other’s names in. (Schoolboy mistake. Never get a name tattoo.) And there it stayed, for years, quietly festering, malevolently, on my shoulder. Wife number two said right from the very start that she wasn’t bothered and didn’t care and I couldn’t afford to get it lasered off, so there it stayed. I don’t know why, but at that point, it didn’t cross my mind to cover it up with another tattoo. Then marriage number two broke up and one day I found myself driving down a huge hill into Plymouth, where I have family. I suddenly knew it was ‘the time’ and decided there and then to get that tattoo covered up – after all, if I couldn’t find a decent artist in a city full of matlows (sailors), where the hell else would I find one?!

I found a great, award winning artist who freehanded in biro what I asked for: a beautiful rose with lots of swirly stems with buds on. I wanted to signify something beautiful, growing out of something that had caused me immense pain, after holding the promise of love, hope, and a long and happy life.

It was an afterthought really – but it struck me afterwards that you pile shit on soil to grow beautiful roses. That rose now always reminds me of a period of great relief, a new start in life, where I started to grow again – and in some ways for the very first time. And that’s really the point of today’s words – it’s brown, it’s smelly, it’s horrible, both in reality and figuratively, but it’s full of nutrients that would otherwise go to waste. Clever Mother Nature, naturally recycling her, and our, waste. And out come nice things.

Sometimes, we don’t see the shit coming down the hill, it just hits us. Sometimes, if we’re lucky, we see it coming and have half a chance of directing it to the place where it will be able to fertilise what we are trying to grow. Either way – take the shit you are given, hold your breath, put it where you want it, and start to grow your roses.

See, my Grandparents are still there. Horticulture from my Grandad, and Hope from my Nan. Quite possibly the best gifts I could ever share with you.

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Shock

This morning, I have been considering the subject of Shock and the effect it has on our lives, from the very beginning. It comes in many shapes and sizes, some we bring upon ourselves, others visited upon us by others. Either way, by and large, it hurts.

Maybe Shock and Surprise are cousins. Surprise is the kinder cousin, you get to meet it first on a childhood birthday for example, when you open the most brilliant present ever and realise that the person who gave it to you had thought about you and by association, must love you a lot. Or at least thinks a great deal of you.

Shock is the darker, moodier, unpredictable cousin who you know, but does stuff you don’t expect and sometimes can be very hurtful, pretending to be surprise, but when you least expect it, slapping you in the face just after you’ve opened up that most brilliant present ever.

I guess all our lives start with Shock. A baby born into fresh air from it’s Mother’s womb cries. From that lovely liquid all enveloping warmth, the reality of fresh air shocks it to life. Crying at that point is seen as a good thing, as it’s the first indication that the baby has been born alive. And consider the environment the baby has been born into. A harsh cold hospital with lots of blue curtains and people in masks, or outside in the world, anywhere. Childbirth is traumatic on the mother, but actually equally traumatic on the child. (Yes, I know. I’m a bloke. What do I know?!)

During childhood, Parents use Shock to train their children. It could be ‘don’t run into the road or you will get run over and die’. It could be shouted: ‘I TOLD YOU NOT TO RUN INTO THE ROAD, YOU ALMOST GOT RUN OVER’. Or it could be a slap, or a thrashing, or a hiding, or whatever your Parents threatened or indeed visited upon you. Now in one way, and delivered properly, Shock is an effective tool. (It also gives rise to questions that you then have to dig deep to answer – “Daaaaaaad. What does ‘die’ mean”?! Good luck with that one!) But all too often, the Shock is delivered by it’s wicked Uncle Horror, with Shock looking particularly smarmy as it arrives. Horror and Shock are born out of lack of patience at best, or nastiness and evil at worst.

During adulthood, Shock’s method of delivery changes a bit, sometimes still accompanied by Uncle Horror, and is built upon the foundation dug in no small part by your Parents. The thing that makes you feel stupid, though, is that the choices you have made lead you to Shock. The job you choose, the person you choose to go out with. So when that Shock really gives you a kicking, it feels even worse because you also feel like a mug for bringing it upon yourself, walking into it with your eyes open.

When you make a decision, you make it based on the information you have at the time, and in no small part on what you want in the future…. lots of money, a good relationship, kids…. ad infinitum. When it all falls down, you are left in the initial cloud of dust, rubble all around you, gazing at the desolation of your 9/11, your 7/7. Shock.

I won’t flower this up. Give yourself a break, for goodness sake. You did what you thought was right at the time. Shock is the realisation of those times you got warning signs that things weren’t quite right, that you were heading down a wrong path. The worst thing is not that you misjudged, or made the mistake. It’s not learning from it. And seek comfort – not in the bosom of the same mistake again, but carefully consider what happened, seek help and gather good people around you that will help you move on. They are there. It’s not easy, but take one day, one hour, even one minute at a time.

Here’s a song about a moment of Shock. If you’re going to listen to it, stop. Find a nice quiet comfortable place and let Richard wash over you. Let it hug you and comfort you and start you moving on.

Just The Beginning

Well here we go. I have myriad things to say, share and postulate upon. Perhaps you’d like to join me. I am a 49 year old Dad of three, Zak 20 and twins Batman and Wonderwoman, 5. I am 2 1/2 times married: Jenny and I have done the Nikka in a Mosque and will do the Civil ceremony…. sometime soon. (She doesn’t know I have started this blog, so I won’t get in trouble for being vague.) We are not Religious, even though I just typed the word ‘Mosque’. I’ll type it again just to be edgy. Mosque. There you go.

I was diagnosed with Anxiety and Depression last year and am currently on Sertraline to even out my peaks and troughs, which generally works. I have been having counselling since last June, which has been really hard at times, but even though I feel (and probably smell) like I have been wading through shit and treacle for 9 months, it’s bloody brilliant and the journey is incredibly liberating.

All this (and more) has led me to a multi exit crossroads in life. There seem to be more than three exits, which would make the word ‘crossroads’ wrong. It’s more of a Cathedral full of doors, none of which are the right or wrong door to walk through.

So as this blog unfolds, and I open various doors and have a peak, you can come with me. I hope you will laugh, and if you need it, that it helps you along your journey too.