Recovery from assault, post-traumatic stress & depression, plus poetry, silliness, yoga & spiritual stuff…
Namaste
I’m a little haphazard. I haven’t been telling my story in strict chronological order. Start with this post: Once upon a time.
Or check out the timeline of events.
If you’re not new here: all new posts will now appear below this sorta message board one…
Om Shanti!
~Svasti
There’s a lot of relief flowing ’round the ever expanding Svasti-world right now. (Read the title of this post for a clue why)…
Yeah. Phew!
In June this year, I took a contract job that I wasn’t particularly happy about on account of the fact that it’s a big corporate giant that owns the company I worked for last year, just before I quit and went to Thailand. Not to mention the pay was pretty average, the contract written heavily in favour of the company (they could call an end to the contract any time without notice). But it was that, or continued unemployment.
And considering I was out of a job for roughly four months prior to this job offer, I wasn’t in a position to say no.
So I took it, with reservations… someone I used to work with once made me promise to never work for this company, but such things mean little when you’re wondering how you’ll pay rent next month. I also had the words of a Vedic astrologer ringing in my ears from a reading two years ago… something about a karmic debt still owed to my employer.
Really, it’s been a bit of a mixed blessing.
The good: a regular pay check; nice people; not being homeless; a non-stressful work environment. Well, sorta.
The bad: anxiety (due to nature of contract); the corporate environment I’d tried so hard to escape; the lack of actual work to do.
Seriously.
Y’know, when I’ve needed to hire a contractor myself in the past, it’s usually because there is too much work to do and we need help, pronto.
But not this job. I’ve never actually figured out why they decided they needed to hire me. They just did, and I’ve really only done little pieces of work (they call them projects, but I’d describe them as small tasks) here and there.
Some people might think it’s cool to get paid to sit on your butt all day and do almost no work. For me, it’s kinda okay for a short period of time. But not for months on end.
I don’t know how people work here permanently and do it for a much longer timeframe!
In a way it’s been kind of a blessing, too. I mean a job where I have almost no work to do? Giving me time to read blogs and write and no one gives a damn?
I suppose it’s been nice having time to get my head together as I’ve worked to shrug off depression.
But then there’s my work ethic, sense of pride in my work, and the endless hours of utter boredom to contend with!
Not to mention the anxiety I felt for a couple of months there. I mean… there I was on a contract that could be terminated with no notice. None! And there wasn’t enough work to keep me busy all day, every day. So I was waiting to be told they’d worked out they didn’t need me there any more.
Eventually, one of my work mates told me that pretty much EVERYONE in the team is in the same boat. Either there’s a stream of last minute/short run ‘project’s or there’s nothing to do. And that it was extremely unlikely they’d end my contract early.
Okay… but I was still bored and felt like I was losing my edge, so to speak. I could feel my brains turning to mush and seeping out my ears. Welcome to an ex-public service company, apparently!
Probably, I shouldn’t confess this. But, here goes! Look, things got so bad there for a while, with no motivation to go to work and do nothing all day, that one particular Monday I simply didn’t show up. And I didn’t ring. I was kinda testing to see if anyone noticed. AND THEY DIDN’T!! Seriously.
I was also worried about my résumé. There’s not a heck of a lot I can say about my time here, and very little that I can point to and say: This is what I achieved. Which bothers me, and my work ethic!
Also, I have a wide range of skills that are just sitting idly by in this job. In fact, its a job I can do with my eyes closed (when there’s actual work to do).
Anyways, the contract end-date was early December, and that brought on a whole different kind of anxiety: Potential unemployment through December/January!!
So for months I’ve been slogging away, trying to find another job. I’ve been to a bunch of interviews. There were a couple of near misses. Each passing week meant more anxiety… here comes unemployment again, here it comes, here it… THEN one of my recruitment contacts called me.
That call resulted in a new contract job offer. HOORAY! Which keeps me employed til end-June next year. Maybe longer, potentially.
But the best thing is that it’s a job working in my industry (digital media) on something that’s actually worthwhile for once: Education.
The company I’m going to work for is a government initiative delivering digital/online education resources for primary and high schools throughout Australia and New Zealand.
My role will be as a Digital Project Manager… pretty much what I do anyway, just with a different title. Which is cool. And they are paying me a proper contract rate. And I’ve had three endorsements to date that my new workplace is good.
So I’m excited!!
I start my new job on Monday. Which means I have approximately one day and three hours to go (at the time of writing) here in my current job… where the people are nice, but mostly a little incompetent… where the pace of doing things equals a snail’s.
Also, the other cool thing that happened recently was the re-signing of the lease on my apartment. I fully expected some kind of rent increase, but nope! The last place I leased before going to Thailand was quite maniacal about upping the rent. Not so much with my current place.
I suppose none of this is particularly unusual news. It’s just that I’d kind of gotten out of the habit of expecting good things to happen. Really.
Is it any coincidence that as I’m healing and growing stronger, other aspects of my life are improving, too? I think not!
~Svasti
A Swami, a Rabbi, an Imam, a Tenzin, a layperson, and a Reverend walk into a bar…
Sounds like the beginning of a joke!
But no.
TED (Technology, Entertainment, Design) is an organisation dedicated to Ideas Worth Spreading. And this idea is very cool.
What they’ve assembled are six different perspectives on the topic of compassion. With – you guessed it – a Swami, a Rabbi, an Imam, a Tenzin, a layperson, and a Reverend.
Some I found easier to relate to than others, but they are all wonderful discussions on compassion.
Of course, compassion has to start with ourselves. True compassion becomes a part of who you are, not like a jacket you clothe yourself in at will, applied sporadically.
But as Swami Dayananda puts it (paraphrased)… to learn to swim you must swim… in order to be compassionate you must act with compassion… and you fake it til you make it!
Also, check out the Charter for Compassion – a brand new inter-faith initiative looking at how to develop world-wide compassion…
The Charter seeks to change the conversation so that compassion becomes a key word in public and private discourse, making it clear that any ideology that breeds hatred or contempt ~ be it religious or secular ~ has failed the test of our time.
This is all good stuff for contemplating how we treat ourselves and others. And hopefully, a little more ammunition for learning to make peace with ourselves. 
~Svasti
Did you know the majority of people on planet Earth are at war?
It’s true.
But it’s a war with no name. And it’s silent and sneaky. Very few people talk about it. There’s no protests, or political action to bring it to an end. But it takes plenty of hostages and casualties. It cuts a path of destruction on all seven continents. There’s no place it does not reach…
This my friends, is the Great War. The murderer of souls. The sniper of happiness. The assassin of freedom. The destroyer of self-acceptance.
That’s right. I’m talking about the collateral damage we drag through our lives. The absolutely violent thoughts and actions we take against ourselves every day. The unkind words. The self-neglect. The hyper-critical and unfair attitude we have about our actions and/or appearance. The public and/or private flagellation we suffer at our own hands.
Let’s not forget the way we pass our own misery on to the next generation so that it may flourish… through our actions, we show them how to be self-defeating and self-loathing. We teach them that that’s how life is for most people.
One of the worst fall outs of this war is the way we’re so willing to believe anything negative about ourselves at the drop of a hat, while being unable to accept a compliment or be proud of our achievements.
We are displaced people. Displaced in our sense of Self.
And I don’t know about you, but I’m sick of it. Because all of this adds up to an unacceptable abuse of human rights.
Worse – most of these campaigns of self-hatred are conducted behind closed doors. Of course, some do make it out into the streets too, where we drink excessively or take drugs, or lay our self-disgust at the feet of others.
But almost everyone else is engaged in their own internal warfare. And so we try to relate the best we can, limping along, tending to our war as well as those belonging to the people we love.
And sometimes we mistake other people for combatants in our war. So, we take the fight externally and make them the enemy. At last, someone tangible to fight with – the driver of the car that cut you off, your lover, your friend, your parents, your boss, the rude waitress… and so on.
Appalling isn’t it? And yet, so very difficult to control. This war has agents everywhere!
The big question for me is this: How are we ever going to make peace with other people if we can’t even make peace with ourselves?
Y’know, Ahimsa (non-violence/non-injury) is the first of the five Yamas (restraints) of Patanjali’s system of yoga. The very first discipline to master, for developing consciousness on the path to enlightenment.
And yet, it seems to be one of the hardest things to do. We can sympathise with the trials of others. We give money and/or service to charities. We’ll give a guy on the street food or cash. We’ll help someone change a flat tyre.
But we can’t stop looking in the mirror and thinking about all the ways we are “deficient”. Can we?
And to win, we have to find a way to make peace with ourselves. Have to!
I’m still working on it. What about you?
~Svasti
My friend Christa over at Giggle On! has a very sad tale to tell.
Her blog was created in memory of a good friend Jim (#1) who lost his battle with depression and committed suicide in 2005.
His death helped Christa to climb out of her own depression and since then, she’s been on a mission to fight the good fight of suicide prevention and bring happiness and laughter to the world.
Her message is: Don’t give up! Giggle on!
Or in other words: find another way. Christa’s way is laughter and humour.
The message continues: Know that where you’re at with your depression is NOT the end of the world. And that when we back ourselves into a corner of a small claustrophobic room called Depression, our choices seem very few. It looks like those limited choices are all we have.
And that’s when suicide can start to look like a good idea.
Very sadly, another friend of Christa’s – also called Jim – has taken his life, just this week. This Jim (#2) was a support to Christa as she grieved for the loss of Jim #1. And he helped her to create the Giggle On! site.
To Christa, the friends and family of the two Jims… I offer endless sympathy and love. No matter what, suicide is shocking and painful for those left behind.
You know, it wasn’t long ago I was engaged in my own showdown with depression – one that could’ve very easily ended the same way as the two Jims.
BlissChick has just written a beautiful post on the Habits of Depression. She describes something I’ve labelled the “Bottom Lurker” – an energy that’s just waiting for an excuse to re-emerge. It sits patiently on the ocean floor of our sub-concious in the shadows and it waits.
And while that Bottom Lurker exists, depression is always a possibility. It’s capable of robbing us of sunshine and joi de vivre, especially if we let our guard down.
I understand how bad it can feel to be alive when your mind is telling you there’s no point. But it’s a lie. It is your mind lying to you, pulling down the shades and painting everything midnight black and scary.
I don’t pretend to know why we so readily believe these lies. Why it’s so tough to see alternatives when we are depressed. It’s just so unfair, because right around the corner is our potential, waiting mutely in the wings for us to awaken.
The trick is to find a way to hang on til you do. To trust the stories of others who’ve been where you’re standing who can honestly say: There is another way out!
Because there really is a way to recover that doesn’t involve taking your own life.
My wish for everyone out there dealing with depression and suicidal thoughts is Strength and Persistence. And Trust. And the desire to Hold On and Push Through those painfully difficult times. And for a Break in the Clouds, one that’s big enough to help you remember what life can be like when you are not depressed.
Ultimately, I wish Healing, Joy, Happiness and the desire to live out your life in Contentment. For all of us.
Namaste.
~Svasti
Just to clarify, part 1 was NOT an ode to being selfish and self-involved taking care of numero uno and screw everyone else kind of attitude. Quite the opposite really.
First things first though, that old maxim is true – how can you possibly offer real love and care to others if you’re always looking outside yourself for love and acceptance? You can’t. That’s just how it is.
You have to find your own happiness first, whatever that looks like.
But what if you’re not sure how to get there? That’s where the concept of starting with just doing things you really love, and letting the experience of doing those things take you over for a while… that can help A LOT.
Of course, for some this is much harder than for others.
What if you’re not even sure of what you like, let alone what you love or enjoy? What if you’ve suppressed all of that under a mound of unhappiness and hurt and sadness and depression? What if it’s hard to even imagine liking something a lot?
Have you ever been in that place? I know I have.
So you just start small. Perhaps there’s… I dunno… a tree you like in a local park. Or the birds outside your window sing prettily. Or a computer game you enjoy. Or a TV show you like. Or taking photos of street art (one of my secret pleasures). Or ice-cream. Or… well, it could be anything. And perhaps just for a nanosecond, that gives you a fleeting thought. Like: Hey, that’s nice.
Nice. That can be enough to get you started.
Might take a few attempts before you can get from that fleeting moment to something that lasts a little longer.
Might not seem like you’re getting anywhere. But you have to stick with it, you know?
Then eventually, one day you might just be able to say you really like something. Anything. And that should be celebrated. It’s an achievement, especially for those coming from a deeply wounded place.
Keep going. Don’t stop yet. Before you know it, you might even allow yourself to enjoy something fully. Then, you might extend yourself and find yet another thing that makes you happy.
Then you might notice that doing things that make you happy has an impact on how you see yourself and everyone else around you, too.
Like = Enjoyment = Happiness.
And eventually, Happiness = Love.
A teaching I’ve been given (many times now) is this:
There’s nothing that we feel or experience that is external. No matter how subjective reality appears. All of our experiences, things we think of as caused by other people or experiences, are really just our own reactions, feelings and thoughts…
I know, that can be a lot to take in and accept.
An example of this is enjoying the finest meal you can think of. The ingredients are fresh and perfectly prepared, the aromas are mouth watering and everything is faultlessly seasoned and spiced. It’s not like you’re just eating food – it’s more like music or poetry with every bite you take. Ever eaten food that’s positively orgasmic? Yeah, like that…
In the middle of this incredible meal, you get a call that a loved one has been in a horrific car crash and they’ve passed away. Not only are you in shock, and busy trying to work out what you need to do, if you to keep eating your meal, you’d find those amazing flavours have vanished. For all you know, it could be a hamburger from the corner shop.
This is because the taste, the enjoyment, everything that you were getting out of that experience actually comes from within. It is your perception of the food that makes it the best thing you’ve ever eaten, and again it’s your perception when it loses its appeal.
And I guess what I’m trying to get to, is suggesting that there’s a lot of people in the world out there living with a chronic lack of love.
Which is partly due to our perception of life, our reaction to other people and our life experiences. The end result is however, that we feel unloved. Neglected. Rightly or wrongly, it doesn’t matter. What matters is how that impacts us.
There are well documented studies proving that plants grow better when given love. So do people. And while many have grown up with adequate love and affection, there’s many more who didn’t.
They may not have been assaulted or abused or neglected, or maybe they were! Either way they sure as heck didn’t grow up feeling loved.
What I’m saying is that our experience growing up might’ve been that we didn’t get what we needed from our interactions with the world and other people, in order to feel confident, loved, cherished.
And that’s enough to start feeling the need to shut down. And when we shut down, we stop taking care of ourselves, including activities that allow us to generate our own sense of love.
Make sense? Yeah, it does for me too.
[To be continued…]
~Svasti
Dear friends, here’s a little treat for you!
I’d embed it here, but you really should go to YogaDawg’s blog to see the awesome mashup video he produced, combining Bob Weisenberg’s wonderous Flamenco-style (I think) guitar playing with some beauteous yoga asana.
Most inspiring.
Happy Tuesday, people.
~Svasti
Been coming across some interesting PTSD-related blogs of late. Including the boys over at Operation PTSD (looking out for war veterans) and Teresa’s blog: My Embodiment (Misadventures and Adventures of a Psychotherapist in Yoga School).
A recent post (**potential trigger warning**) of Teresa’s has inspired some self-contemplation about the “lost years” of my own PTSD induced fog.
Have a look at my Timeline page. Under 2006 and 2007, there are almost no posts. And the reason for that is simply that I barely remember anything from that time.
Jason from Operation PTSD wrote:
Most people who are affected by PTSD will initially recluse into a world of their own leaving everyone around them searching for answers.
And that was me.
Untreated PTSD is like a 3D tactile, sensory and enveloping version of acid reflux on a loop, wherein your trauma repeats on you frequently, engaging ALL of your senses. Sometimes multiple times a day.
Can you imagine living every day of your life in terror of your own mind?
The following is about as much as I can remember of that time…
I didn’t want to think, I didn’t want to sleep. Or rather, I wanted to sleep, but without the nightmares (they eventually went away and then I just wanted to stay asleep – I often slept away whole weekends).
I didn’t want to do anything or be seen by anyone. When I wasn’t at work, I was a hermit, living alone and not going out, except to the corner store for more ice-cream or DVDs. I forgot more than I remembered. I couldn’t manage to get anywhere on time. And I absolutely couldn’t stop crying for the life of me.
I remember wishing away months of my life. I’d think things like “another six months or so, and I’ll be okay”. I wasn’t though. Healing from PTSD doesn’t really work that way.
Some people are amazed I didn’t take medication. Maybe I should have. Maybe it would’ve made my life a little less stressful.
But the truth is I didn’t see a doctor post-assault, because I was too ashamed. I also didn’t know there was anything to go and see a doctor about as I didn’t understand what PTSD was, or that someone like me could end up with it.
Eventually, I think I learned to coat myself with a layer of protective numbness. The Fog. Maybe this is nature’s way of medicating a person from the horrors? And right then (whenever “then” was) is when the Fog really set in!
The Fog was insurance, protection.
It was hard to remember to buy food to eat, let alone anything more important. However, during this time I was also being bullied at work, had bone graft surgery, a crazy neighbour and a mother who almost got me arrested! Stressful much? You bet!
There’s one thing I managed to do pretty well in that time: keep it together at work. I’ve now shared my story with a handful of ex-workmates and they’re amazed. One response was: You always seemed so happy, smart and confident!
Heh. There you have it. Externally, I had an excellent cover story working for me. I needed it desperately, to keep the Fog in tact so life didn’t hurt quite so much. And I think I know where I got that from: the Parental Units are experts.
Something that punctuated the ongoing sameness (apart from the above mentioned) was my grandfather’s passing in early October 2006.
It was just a month after his 85th birthday, when Dad had driven an hour each way to pick him up (he refused to move after my grandma died even though he was far away from family).
For some reason, I felt inspired to take a few photos of my dad with his dad, arms around each other – they were the last photos ever taken of my grandpa.
He died at home, his heart finally giving out as he made his way from the bedroom to the living room, still in his pyjamas and dressing gown.
At a family conference the next day in my grandpa’s living room, I somehow agreed to speak at the funeral on my dad’s behalf because he said couldn’t do it without breaking down. I don’t know what made me think I could, either.
But maybe this is just what my family does by default? Shift, shuffle, handaball, sidestep… we wrap what’s really going on in layers of silk, never really looking at it directly. It’s possible to survive like that for a while, but not forever. At least, not for me anyway.
The day of the funeral I arrived early because I wanted to say my goodbyes in private. I was nervous because I’d only seen one other dead person before – my grandmother. In contrast to her plumped and pristine condition, my grandpa looked small, shrunken and stone-like.
Sitting in a chair, I could just see his forehead over the top of the coffin while I said mantra and prayers. Perhaps it was my numbness but while in the presence of his body, I felt incredibly peaceful. Here was someone who’d lived a full and happy life and now he was done. There was no lingering energy of his presence. And in a way, the nothingness was soothing.
Thing about my grandpa was, he never wished away any of his life. Even once he’d lost his wife – the love of his life – he still made the most of his time, socialising, flirting with dental nurses and maintaining a perrenial twinkle in his eye.
But that was then.
I kissed his frigid forehead, wishing him well in his travels as I tried not to look at his shrivelled and sunken eyes.
Of course I didn’t get through the service without tears. They were too readily available. And after, I was back to dealing with the balancing act between the Fog and dealing directly with PTSD.
But I guess in some ways I was glad to have an “acceptable” reason to cry in public for a few weeks. Because I couldn’t always control it, and I’m pretty sure that a lot of the grief I was feeling was as much about my own life as it was for my grandpa.
~Svasti
It’s so literal, it’s actually beyond cliché. The fires are still burning, the kaleidoscope’s whirring and I’m cleansing everything in sight with an unabated frenzy.
Someone must’ve fed me a hallucinogen or two. Or three perhaps, or maybe my water supply’s laced with the stuff.
There’s bound to be some explanation for the cyclonic activity of me.
A crazy wench demands (now that she’s relatively sane-ish), she ALSO wants to claim her body back, too. There’s vanity in there, of course. But there’s also victory, power, aliveness. A synchronisation between heart, mind, soul and body.
Thus, I found myself signed up to group personal training (aka Boot Camp) twice a week, necessitating early nights and mornings, pre-dawn cycling, sweating, running, boxing and skipping. And more. Ole!
And yes I feel like I’m dying and a small but pointed voice asks demoralising questions like So why the hell are we doing this?? Luckily the wench has an answer ready, lobbing it back quickly BECAUSE we want our cardio fitness back.
Then, the yogini signed up for yet another yoga class, an eleven week course. Her voice is loud too, but emanates from the heart, not the ego. There was a moment in that demonstration class where the pleas started. We HAVE to do this course!!! NOW!!
Oh… I didn’t want to talk about Shadow Yoga yet, as I simply don’t know enough. It’s a mystery actually like a pass the parcel prize I get to unwrap a little more each week.
Perhaps though, I can talk about how I’m doing: simultaneously undone and re-made. I scatter into a thousand rainbow shapes and, learning new alignment and strength pulls me back together. It makes me sob, but in a good way. I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s something rather miraculous.
Like its moniker this work takes me inside my yoga, working from the inside out. I see angles and creases where before I only saw form. And already my body is doing things I never knew it could.
Hilariously, this is just the introduction. Not yet the preludes. There’s barely any asana happening and there won’t be, not for months. Still, I work hard and sweat and I feel it in my body.
Between regular yoga, yoga teacher training, cycling everywhere, Boot Camp and Shadow Yoga, my body triumphantly aches.
And there’s a desire to CLEAN. Everything! The twice a week early mornings are rubbing off on other days. Now I awaken freely, no alarm needed. The absolute opposite of the past few years. And there’s in-the-corners-totally-thorough type house cleaning going on. Weird.
Strangely I find myself saying things I don’t expect. Randomly, an old work mate strikes up a Facebook chat and says something like With all that yoga you must be so bendy. Must keep all the boys happy!
Says I: Boys? What boys?
Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t realise [assumes I bat for the other team]…
No [guessing her assumption], what I meant to say is, the man-drought is still in full swing…
And then this conversation leads me to openly, freely and very clearly explain exactly why that is. Initially, the man-drought being self-imposed until it became self-perpetuating! And why.
Strange. Who is this woman talking openly to another person about where I’ve been for the past four years? Undramatic. Straight-forward. Honest with outsiders. Without shame. Where did SHE come from?
Too many questions. So much movement and activity. I fire up iTunes, clean the windows and sob as my heart undergoes suction, extracting puss and atrophied tissues.
~Svasti
His rehabilitation. Apu’s that is.
The guy that assaulted me and who, for a long time on my blog I would only call Andre. I couldn’t bear to speak his name aloud or write it down or even think about it. Although, I did think about it involuntarily, of course.
Thanks to some awesome work from both of my therapists, eventually I was able to get there. H kicked things off, stirring that pot to peel that unmentionable name loose. Then AS, with the help of EMDR therapy, finally helped me elucidate those syllables and expunge the horror and denial I’d associated with his name, something that kept me a prisoner of my own terror far too long.
Thing is, I’ve never thought about him as someone who is likely to change. I know a little of his history, that he’s assaulted and intimidated women before. And I guess my assumption was that his behavioural patterns are simply too ingrained for him to change.
That might be true, but then again it might not.
I’ve just finished reading an article by Cary Tennis (a writer and something of an existential agony aunt on Salon.com), called I’m a former abuser — should I tell my girlfriend?
This is my reply (slightly edited) to that article:
Cary, as someone who’s been assaulted by a former partner I’ll freely admit your advice here did NOT make me very happy at all.
Quite frankly, it causes me some anxiety that the guy wrote this letter in the first place. He abused his ex-wife, has had some therapy, feels as though he’s “cured”, and is kind of worried his ex-wife will tell the new girlfriend of his past actions.
I can tell you if I was that ex-wife, I sure as hell would do exactly that!
And so he says he wants to tell his new love, but doesn’t want to get dumped.
The letter is problematic for me because the way its worded suggests he’s still not fully recovered and/or in control of whatever it is that makes him feel like he has the right to assault another person.
If the guy was in AA for alcohol abuse, his counsellor would recommend he stays out of any new relationship for a period of time. Because he’s not a recovering alcoholic in AA, he’s had ‘some counselling’ and has decided he’s okay… and yet he still isn’t sure he wants to come clean in case someone leaves him.
Therefore, his concern is for himself, not others.
And then Cary, you’ve provided this guy with a plausible framework to help him explain to the new girlfriend how it is that he’s changed. You’ve practically written the script to make him sound genuine!
This is highly problematic. I mean sure, you’ve suggested: “…the more evidence you can produce of your current behavior, the better chance you have…”
Which is implying (but not stating clearly), the guy needs to walk the talk to back up his claims. Great.
But it’s possible for abusers to hold it together for a period of time before they lose their shit. Absolutely.
And so, you’ve possibly helped this guy (if he has the balls, which many abusers don’t) to come clean. So, he comes clean using your advice and the girl he’s dating doesn’t leave him. Probably because he’s a charming SOB (the way a lot of abusers are).
Then, its all puppy dogs and sunshine for a while. Until the guy loses it, because he’s forgotten to stay with the program.
Rehabilitation of abusers. Is it possible? Maybe, but at this point on my own journey, I wouldn’t trust someone who says they’ve got a previous history of abuse. Not at all.
They would have to have years of evidence, not just months, before I’d even consider they were telling the truth. Just sayin’…
Then, some dude wrote a follow up reply to my letter which makes me want to vomit:
Yes, let him “come clean”, and his girlfriend will leave him because, well, it just isn’t that serious yet and she doesn’t need the headache, and he is once again alone and sad. So, by all means, destroy his life before he even has a chance to prove himself.
That is what I hate about America now – nobody gets a second chance. Nobody.
You know, bruises and broken bones heal. But there is no law against the emotional torture a woman can put a man through. There is no law against tearing someone’s soul out. And you KNOW there are women out there who do that. And they are never held accountable.
My reply to him was as follows:
Right, are you saying the girlfriend has no right to know the facts about someone she’s getting involved with?
Whether or not she leaves him is up to her. But like it or not, that man has to prove himself. As Cary has suggested, he *must* show evidence he’s changed. And not just a week or a month’s worth of change. That’s not enough, sorry.
I’d suggest this guy has already had a hand in the destruction of his own life, by being an abuser of women. No one has the right to assault another human being like that.
I am not American. I’m Australian. And yes, bruises and broken bones heal. But unfortunately, it seems the psychological impacts of assault are grossly under-reported.
For example, in my very own personal experience, assault cost me nearly four years of my life. It wasn’t just one night where a former lover lost control and showed me the dark side of his nature. It was the years of post-traumatic stress, the daily flashbacks, nightly nightmares, depression and an inability to function that almost cost me my job.
What did the guy who assaulted me get? Nothing. It was deemed a “his word against mine” situation, despite the bruises on my body and the broken glass in my front door. I managed to get a restraining order taken out but we all know how great they can work, don’t we?
So I lived in terror for months before I moved, changed my phone number, car, and everything that he could have connected to me. And I still didn’t feel safe. The cost for me was four years of not being able to relate to another human being properly. And of course, the therapist fees.
I’m doing much better now, thanks. But I still haven’t been able form another intimate relationship. I’ve only recently begun to feel happiness and possibilities for my future arising again.
Sure, bruises heal quickly but the spectre of assault lingers for a long, long time.
Clearly, I’m not all the way there yet. I can’t respond to this sort of tripe without my blood boiling. And I guess I’ve never considered whether or not leopards with habitual patterns of assault can ever change their spots.
The jury is still out for me on that front…
~Svasti
Recently life’s been a little kaleidoscopic. So much going on, it’s kinda hard to work out what I’m actually meant to be focusing on.
Which can be good and not so good. Then when there’s half a moment to calm down, sometimes things settle in a pattern that makes sense of the world a little more.
And that’s good, right?
So, last week I heard this (voice in my head), then wrote it down AND made it my Facebook status:
Do something you love, something from the core of your being. Give over to it entirely. Let your heart open. It makes all the difference…
And today I’d like to add this:
Doing the things you love, generates love.
See, I’ve been thinking a lot about our outward seeking culture recently and how needy we human beings are as a result.
To clarify, there are two broad definitions of need that I’m talking about here:
Need type #1 – fundamentals that help us to live. E.g. oxygen, sunlight, breathing, nutritious food, love (yes, I think love falls into this group). Characterised by things we do not thrive without.
Need type #2 – internal or external objects of desire that we crave. E.g. entertainment, clothes, physical appearance, other people, money, cars, houses, iPods, travel, fame etc. Characterised by a belief they will improve our self-image/confidence etc.
Of course, needs from type #1 can and do cross over into needs from type #2. And we tend to believe strongly that needs type #2 are in fact, needs type #1.
I’ve been wondering about that. Why? Why are we so needy? How do we get these different types of needs so messed up?
And I confess. Most of my life I’ve felt that sense of need, based on what I think I’m missing. How, if only I had a boyfriend who loved me, or more money, or more friends, or if I was prettier, or wasn’t such a dork, or had a home of my own, or children or nicer/better taste in clothes, or if I was taller/shorter/thinner, or if I didn’t have to work for a living or… you get my drift… that I’d be happier.
Maybe other people are smarter than me and have this stuff figured out already? But I’d be willing to bet that most of us, even if it’s only in a very subtle way these days, experience that kind of need. It can make a person feel desperate at times. Or hollow, even.
But generally, we just think less of ourselves because we don’t have what we think we need.
This my friends, is need type #2. The kind of need that creates suffering because it makes us feel incomplete in some way. But actually this is really just the default human condition, until we get sick of it that is, and seek another path.
For me, that path is yoga. And what I’m trying to convey here are some personal realisations combined with everything I’ve studied and learned to date.
So, let me talk a little about my own personal kryptonite: love. Or the lack thereof.
I’ve had such a funny relationship with love in my lifetime. Mostly, I’ve felt like I never had enough love, or enough of the right kind of love. Not accepted. Not wanted.
And if you believe it, and so it will be.
Like many people I grew up believing that we must be loved by someone else in order to have love, and to feel like we are valued. And much of the “evidence” in my life suggested that I was not valued very highly at all!
I have a good idea how these beliefs arose. As far as I can tell they date back at least several generations before I was even born. I grew up saturated in them and so of course, I’ve inhabited those ideas for myself.
At the same time, as I’ve been re-counting, my other life-long goal has been spiritual evolvement, before I even knew what that meant. There’s been this ongoing battle between my extreme neediness and my desire to shed such a limited view of life.
Of course, throw a few traumatic experiences into a person’s life, and watch the neediness factor multiply. Especially if they’ve got screwy ideas about love in the first place.
I’d say this is something that’s plagued my relationships and friendships for most of my life. Even worse, it’s had endless impacts on my relationship with my Self…
A few weeks back I went to something called ‘Yoga of Chant’, conveniently held at a yoga studio just a five minute cycle from my place. It was advertised on a meet up website that I’ve used before, and I was immediately drawn.
First one I didn’t get to as I was at home with a horrible flu. So disappointing! Second one was only two weeks later and I was determined to go! Of course, it had to bucket down rain just as I was leaving. I arrived kind of sodden but it was worth it.
Had to peel off my plastic pants and rain jacket, so the chanting (or kirtan) started before I found a seat. The dude running the group (a yoga teacher) played electric keyboard and sang (gorgeous voice!) while his friend played double bass (it worked really, really well), while we sang extended versions of Sri Krishna Govinda and Om Namah Shivaya mantras (Krishna Das style).
I don’t get too many opportunities for kirtan here in Melbourne (i.e. none) and this one rocked. It was kinda awesome actually and for me, there was real bhakti in the singing – loudly, deeply, from the very center of my heart.
Its not that I have a fantastic voice, but I absolutely ADORE singing kirtan.
Next day I was still buzzing, and had this lovely-warm-gooey-heart-opening sensation most of the day. The sort of feeling I get when I do ardha chandrasana and reeeaaalllly rotate and open through the torso…
…times about a hundred!
Interesting, I thought… and went to the next one (last Saturday actually).
The other thing I did last Saturday was attend a free Shadow Yoga class (more about that in another post). And I came away literally glowing with happiness. I could feel it, and I noticed other people noticing it, too.
Cycling home from the yoga class (before the kirtan), that’s when those words popped into my mind: Do something you love, something from the core of your being. Give over to it entirely. Let your heart open. It makes all the difference…
And I got it. Hey, sometimes it takes me a while to get things!
Ohhhhhhh! By doing things you really, really, REALLY enjoy, you are generating love for yourself and other people? And when you do that, there’s no sense of neediness? No space for miserable, self-defeating thoughts? No feeling bereft, adrift and craving connection with others, because the connection is already generated with yourself, through the LOVE you’ve been pumping out via your own actions?
Ahhhh..!!!
That’s what happens sometimes, when you shake all the pretty pieces of coloured light in your kaleidoscope to reveal a mandala you probably already knew about on some level… but had never experienced for yourself.
Until that moment when you do.
And it changes EVERYTHING.
~Svasti
Lucy from Earth to Holly is such a rockstar, she now has her own calendar.
