Not many people get the privilege of reading about a childhood they scarcely remember. It is, I would imagine, a most remarkable event. And I also imagine that the day I discovered my adoptive mother Janet had written a book about my childhood, would have been remarkable if only it hadn’t been the second most remarkable event that year. These … Read More
It’s less about the dopamine high and more about the euphoria of finally feeling confident and capable. Feeling relaxed. Trusting that my children are safe.
When my self esteem was low, my relationships were abusive. Yet I always assumed that when my self-esteem was higher that my relationships would be healthy.
But it wasn’t about love, it was about power. About how far I would be willing to go. About how much abuse I might be prepared to accept.
You’ve felt it your entire life, that there’s something wrong with the world. You don’t know what it is, but its there, like a splinter in your mind, driving you mad.
I have a son and a daughter (with a man who is as far removed from being an asshole as it is possible to be). If either of them were ever caught up in a situation where they were the perpetrator or the victim of such a situation, I don’t know how I would contain my vitriol …or my guilt. Because in both positions, my children would be operating out of a place of low self-esteem. One who needed to feed their ego by taking power to control and manipulate. One who felt they were worth very little and that this was the only relationship they deserved.
My grandmother was the essence of respectability, sometimes sharp tongued and very much cultured. And to insiders – who knows? For I am not one of them.
It’s not what I know I’ve done. But what I don’t know I’ve done. Yawning black holes of nothingness taunt me with their awful possibilities.
That you desire to earn money from writing out your paltry experiences is exploitative, unskilled and ultimately worth nothing. But of course you know all of this even as you try and cover it with swathes of denial.
The guilt of who I am, what I have done is so shameful that I cannot face the pain. There is no point in holding someone who is shattered and worthless.
The most useful tool I’ve discovered on our life journey is compassionate honesty. It heals so many wounds. This month has given me the chance to compassionately and honestly re-examine the relationship between my adopted Mother and I, to see whether the wound has healed between us. But my mother continues to want to play the game of ‘who-is-right-and-wrong’, and … Read More
We have each claimed our respective subjective realities to be ‘the’ one and only truth over the years, but as it turns out there is no one and only truth. We can’t change our realities, only accept that my experience is true for me as your experience is true for you. I am not trying to make you wrong. But nor will I undermine my own reality to make you right.
I discovered last week that you read my blog. This blog! Although my initial reaction was one of fear, after 5 seconds I started laughing at what I imagine your reaction to be when you read about my not-so-private sex life out there on the web.
I knew, even at 21, that my ‘off’ button didn’t function in the same way as other people’s. I lost 4 pairs of shoes out drinking over the course of 2 years.
It is always a matter of self-protection, or indeed what we believe to be self-protection… which is why stopping playing it seems counter intuitive.
My unhappy oppressed soul had been searching for escape. Any escape. And the escape I needed, was to be an adult even as a child. Because an adult was free.
I don’t know whether the roaring was in my head or from his throat, but it felt like I had gone mad.
And in an instant, late at night, I changed. This person was in pain. Ugly and blank. My features were twisted into a belligerent mask.