Feedback, grace and de-snarking

Tags

Anger, Dancing, downward dog, feedback, Fibromyalgia, Grace, grattitude, Hashimoto’s, inflammation, Kinesiology, massage, Road rage, snappy, snarky, snippy, Yoga

Giant demon baby: lurking outside Melbourne's town hall

So I want to tell you about teaching last night, but I don’t want to sound like I’m bragging.

I’m not.

I don’t think these things are so much about me, as a reflection of all of the wonderful teachings I’ve been fortunate enough to receive and pass on.

But I want to share what happened because so far in my still very early-days career as a yoga teacher, I’ve noticed that feedback from students – good or bad – doesn’t come around that often.

I mean, I’ve also noticed that as a student I too, do this lack of feedback thing. I go to classes that I love but I rarely share with my teacher how much I enjoy the class. Sure, I say “thank you” and smile and come back again and again. But as for implicit feedback that lets the teacher know what I’m getting out of the class? That’s not something I do very much.

And it’s a weird thing, being a new yoga teacher like me and sharing the teachings and… not really getting any information back from students. I get it, though. I mean, when a yoga class works for you, it creates a fairly internal experience. Really, it can be hard to share when you’re in that sort of space.

Then some days out of the blue and maybe after weeks or months, feedback arrives and it’s pretty WOW.

Like last night.

With downward dog/mountain pose, I like to observe how my beginner students fare before getting into sequences that use it a lot. Because while it looks like a really simple pose, there’s quite a lot going on!

I find there’s always a huge variance in how people interpret my initial instructions. Of course, there’s a bunch of reasons for that – body awareness, stiffness, injury and so on. So I get them to try the pose on for size. Then we talk about it a bit before I get them to try it again. There’s always an improvement the second time around, so I know they hear me once they’ve started to connect with their body a little more.

One girl had what I refer to as an “oh WOW moment”. With big wide eyes, she told me that she’s never felt comfortable doing that pose before and now it’s starting to make sense to her. She was astounded, but actually the astounding thing (as I told her later) is that she’s starting to connect to her own body and to the pose.

This is just the beginning, I said, keep up this sense of feeling and finding what works in your poses!

The other piece of feedback I had was after the class, from a student who’s been coming fairly steadily for about four months now. She’s a lesson in all of the things your students never tell you, even when you ask them to, and how much there is to learn from making time to talk with your students outside of the class.

Because until last night, I didn’t know she had fibromyalgia (no mention of it on her initial registration form!). She told me that doing yoga has transformed her health, which honestly makes my heart do a little dance. Yay, yoga!

BUT she wasn’t happy with the way the last two classes had been somewhat “disrupted” by individuals asking questions that were specific to their own needs. She likes it when the classes flow and we just get into what we’re doing. Which isn’t always possible, as I explained. This is a beginner’s yoga class and sometimes the beginners are total newbies who need specific help.

So we sat down for a little chat. I talked to her about inflammation, knowing from my conversations with Rachel that fibromyalgia/ME has a LOT in common with Hashimoto’s. And we talked about how anger and its cousins: irritation; frustration; annoyance (etc), are basically inflammation – which doesn’t help her health issues. She knew exactly what I was talking about.

I also told her that knowing all of that doesn’t mean that her frustrations don’t matter. They do, but that it’s another aspect of yoga, to work on finding ways to let go of that which irritates us because ultimately, it’s better for our health.

Holding onto anger = holding on to inflammation.

The win in this situation is this: her practice is showing her how easy it is to get irritated, and that’s actually an opportunity to do something about it.

So. What am I saying here?

I guess I’m saying… okay, from time to time, get into a little conversation with your yoga teacher. If they’re caring, they’ll be open to it. Tell them if you’re enjoying their class and/or if there’s something that bothers you. They’ll be very thankful for your words, I promise.

I’m also saying this – even if you don’t have fibromyalgia/ME, Hashimoto’s or any other condition caused by inflammation in the body, letting go of all the things that irritate you means less chance of ever succumbing to chronic inflammation and therefore, dis-ease.

So: work at defusing your road rage, and/or all those little things that niggle you in life. The stuff that makes you snarky, snippy or snappy at yourself/others on your bad days.

Because my lovelies, THAT is all inflammation. And too much inflammation will make you sick.

You can try things like kinesiology, yoga, massage, dancing and other kinaesthetic-based practices that help you connect with what’s really going on with yourself.

It isn’t easy, but it’s possible, says the formerly VERY ANGRY person writing this post.

Coz life is better when we’re not snarky at a moments notice – for us and everyone around us.

~ Svasti

My love for you is a flat screen TV

Tags

Anger, concrete, flat screen TV, Forgiveness, highly sensitive person, Kinesiology, Love, Repression, thyroid, unicorn sightings

Forgiveness. I’ve written about it before, both in terms of forgiving myself and others. For ages it was a very nice concept but like the top shelf in your wardrobe, out of reach. Seems that understanding how to forgive is about as elusive as unicorn sightings.

I’ve worked out why though. It’s because forgiveness isn’t so much about getting over stuff that’s happened. Instead it’s about seeing things as they really are. Like, really. Down to the bones, with no elaborations.

Like a lot of the work I’m doing lately, it’s all been going down on the kinesiology table. That’s where I was when I saw for myself how it’s always been and why.

A few weeks ago, I lay there on the treatment table staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed at my kinesiologist. Joining the dots and dropping pennies in slots.

Fuck! So THAT’S why I’ve never been able to forgive my parents for anything, my whole life!

Clarity provides space and understanding and suddenly forgiveness isn’t even an issue any more.

So what happened, I hear you ask? Something came up in that session around the idea of “feeling overlooked and betrayed”. Immediately I knew this was OLD. Sure enough, back we went (back… back… back) and further again, to four year old me.

What do I recall about being four? Not much really. I was in kindergarten, I guess. I remember painting, the sandpit, story time, and the room with the hooks for our wee bags. The odd flash of kindergarten kid faces. My sister was two, my brother was six. This represents the sum total of my conscious four year old knowledge and memories.

But the conscious mind knows jack-shit sometimes, yeah?

Without a doubt, I’m what they call a highly sensitive person.

Highly sensitive people are born with fewer filters between themselves and the world than “regular” people-types. We feel everything more intensely. Our highs and lows are more extreme because that’s the way we’re built. There’s nothing wrong with us. It’s just a slightly different way of being.

For example, today the fact that I live in a place where there’s too much concrete was causing me a great deal of pain. Yeah, I know. It sounds stupid, right? But a lot of creative types are like this, and I suspect most people with mental health problems are, too.

My parents are NOT highly sensitive. A thousand and one times while growing up, I was labelled “too sensitive/emotional” and made to feel as though my reactions and experiences weren’t acceptable.

What I learned in my kinesiology session is that four year old me was both enraged and deeply saddened at being overlooked like this. At having her feelings belittled and constantly being told she was “too much”.

That rage? I’m pretty sure it’s fuelled all the anger I’ve ever felt in this lifetime.

The way my parents dealt with me must’ve been similar to what they told me about how they deal with my eldest niece. She’s like me – extra-sensitive – and to my horror, they calmly explained how they tell her “don’t be so silly”, or to “shake it off” when she’s “in a mood”. I saw major red flags right there, both for myself and my niece (I’ve had words with my sister since then)!

Of course, I was born to a mother who began grieving for my stolen half-brother way before I was born and a father who is so emotionally shut down that he remains a mystery to me, even today.

Knowing all of this, and working on my shit with kinesiology allowed thirty-nine year old me and four year old me to put all the pieces together. We finally got it!

Four-year-old me never felt acceptable just as she was and this set the stage for feeling like an alien pretty much my whole damn life.

My parents, despite their own emotionally crippled natures, did the best they could (I know – such a cliché right?). They never meant to wound me the way that they did. They didn’t know any better. However, that four year old girl has been seething in anger ever since.

Until now.

I was telling my neighbour about this and she asked – so how do you let something like that go? It’s like this: seeing things clearly and getting kinesiology work done just clears it the heck out.

This has allowed me to transform my relationship with my parents. No, we’re not best buddies all the sudden but I find I’m just not triggered by their actions the way I used to be. Even my sister has noticed the difference.

My folks don’t really do “I love you”. They also don’t do love and caring the way I do. They’re not so much into affection or the cooking of meals or the offering of lifts – the sort of practical things that would’ve been so beneficial to me when I was very sick earlier this year, not to mention all of the years I lived in PTSD-landia.

Instead, they’ll do stuff like give me a flat screen TV.

Yep. You heard that right. I might not see or hear from them for weeks or months, but I’m the first person they thought of when they wanted to off-load their old (but not actually that old) one; they’ve bought a monster-sized replacement (looking at their new TV makes my brain dizzy).

It should be said that spending money on a TV is possibly one of the lowest priorities in my life. But the gift was welcome enough, if only because I now watch DVDs on a better screen.

If this was a different time in my life I’d be cynical and bitter about inappropriate gift giving instead of more useful and supportive actions.

Now, I just see it for what it is: its love.

A few weeks back they also gave me their old digital video camera and I couldn’t really turn it down because I get that it’s their way of showing me they care in lieu of hugs or conversations.

And I’m good with that.

As my thyroid heals, so do many other things. After all, our minds, immune system, physical body, our sense of well-being – none of it is separate.

~ Svasti

Soften. Relax. Surrender.

Tags

Anger, autoimmune disorder, completely heart-centred life, fire personality type, Hashimoto’s, Heart, hridaya, inflammation, Inspiration, letting go, Mark Whitwell, observations from the mat, Relax, relaxation, soften, Surrender, tension, vira, Yoga

King Crankypants needs to relax!

Yoga starts from the heart, spreads through your whole body, then to your loved ones, then to the whole world.
~Mark Whitwell

I don’t enjoy writing posts like my last one. Really. But sometimes I feel like they’re necessary.

I just read the above quote from the delightful Mark Whitwell and I realised that pretty much everything comes down to the heart – crappy Funny or Die videos don’t come from the heart. Those who actually think those crappy videos are funny? That sense of humour is not heart-centred. Being abusive towards someone who makes a stand and says what they think, is also not heart-centred behaviour. Getting stroppy with perpetrators of said abusive behaviour? Nope, not quite heart-centred either.

Increasingly, I know that what I want for myself is a completely from-the-heart life. Where everything I do, every action I take and every word that comes out of my mouth is coming from the heart. That DOES NOT mean that everything will always all sunshine and puppy dogs. I’ll still have healthy boundaries, be ferocious when required, and speak out about stuff I think of as wrong. But maybe not quite in the same way.

All of this is challenging for me as a vira/fire personality type. Like many people, anger has been the default response to things I don’t like for most of my life. I’ve done a fantastic job thus far at tempering that fire but there’s more to do. I mean heck, getting an autoimmune disorder is a clear sign there’s too much fire and inflammation in my system, right?

As such, I get the point of doing things like having a negative media fast. Still, I’ve got the heart of a protester and I aint afraid to call it like I see it when needed.

But reading quotes like Mark’s help me to remember to keep a balance. I reckon it’s okay to be angry about something when it’s needed. But letting go is important, too.

So as always, it’s back to practicing yoga for me

The best things I learn from my yoga practice aren’t about how to work my way into a more advanced version of some asana or other. Don’t get me wrong – that’s lots of fun but it’s not what keeps me coming back.

What I value most are the moments of inspiration in how I deal with myself, my body/mind and/or with other people.

Monday was day one of a new term – the second for me at this yoga school – and the bearer of new realisations, too.

Given that I spent most of the winter term rather unwell (with Hashimoto’s) and injured (torn right calf muscle), I was surprised last week to discover that despite all of this and despite doing a very basic kind of practice for the last couple of months, I’ve gained strength. It’s pretty amazing actually – every inversion I do feels stronger, more balanced and stable. Every balance is steadier.

In other words, a gentle and steady practice caused an increase in strength.

So I was excited to come back to day one of classes for the term, now that my energy levels have lifted a little and that after two long months, and I’m no longer limping.

One of the themes of Monday night’s class was the difference between tension and relaxation.

Without meaning to, I found myself sharing this:

What I learned from last term’s classes is that even when we think we’re relaxed, we can still be holding a lot of tension. It wasn’t until my teacher suggested a slightly different arm or leg position, that I noticed my previous one wasn’t exactly comfortable. We just sort of get used to holding our tension, to the point that we simply don’t feel it until someone shows us an easier way.

This is actually true for many things – yoga, our lives, or looking at our own behaviours and actions. We sometimes don’t see our own tensions, or limitations. We don’t get the easier way until someone else reflects it back for us.

Then we have a choice – we can keep doing what we were doing all along, and possibly do ourselves an injury in the process. Our rigidity might even hurt someone else. Or we can adapt to another way of being that flows better and requires less energy to maintain.

It’s up to us, isn’t it?

Like most westerners who spend too much time n front of a computer, I hold a lot of tension in my shoulders. So in my practice I have to constantly find ways to soften and release through my shoulders and upper back. I’ve also been learning the difference a 10 degree angle can make in the positioning of my arms over my head. If one position jams my neck, why do I persist in holding my arms up higher when I don’t have to?

Soften. Relax. Surrender.

Until we learn to treat ourselves this way, it’s impossible to show others kindness as a day-to-day 24/7 way of being. We need to let go of our anger and frustration (they’re actually the same thing) and soften the way we treat ourselves, first. Then, we can expand that out to others.

This is yoga, and this is life.

Here’s to keeping our hridaya (heart) centre in mind as we practice and move through our days.

It’s a process I’m in. What about you?

~ Svasti

Honesty box Tuesday [1]

Tags

Anger, Compassion, detachment, ego, feisty, honesty, idiotic behaviour, Kindness, Tias Little

• Yoga teachers are not perfect!
• Regardless of how much yoga I do, I have a feisty nature. The fuse that triggers my feisty-ness is long but when invoked, my anger isn’t pleasant for anyone.
• I have a very low tolerance for idiotic behaviour when coming from people I think should know better.
• These days I’ve generally got a pretty good handle on detachment and letting go of my “stuff”. You could say I’ve had a lot of practice! But sometimes, someone offends me in a way that REALLY presses my buttons. Twenty other so-called insults that might look almost identical pass me by. I laugh, I see the bigger picture and I have compassion for myself and the other party. Then, the twenty-first insult comes along and I am mightily pissed off. I take deep, deep offense and I feel that the other person owes me a heartfelt apology. Until I get that apology, I hold a grudge. I am not friendly to that person and I can hold onto that for a long, long time. It’s stupid, and it doesn’t make sense. I’m not proud of it, but that’s how it is. Eventually I chip-chip-chip away at my own stupidity and pigheadedness. I finally let go, but it’s a hard lesson. I can still be an idiot at times…
• Tonight, teaching my second weekly regular yoga class… I felt a little burst of ego bubbling to the surface when I saw there were repeat students from the previous week. My ego translated this as: they must have enjoyed MY class! Cue the swell of pride. Kinda icky really, since teaching is just so NOT about me.
• I’m not really a fan of Elephant Journal, but I really REALLY love this article: Anorexia and Yoga on the Runway, by Tias Little. THANK GOODNESS for Tias! If only all men and women could be accepting of our bodies like this!
• And then there is yoga teaching: teaching is such a different way of understanding yoga. I have a responsibility not just to myself but to my students, and I want them to learn more than just the “correct” physical movements of downward facing dog.
• I have a vast body of yoga knowledge somewhere in this person-shaped flesh-pod that identifies as me. Over ten years of meditation, yogic philosophy, asana practice and all the rest! To me, this represents only a beginning – I’ve decades of study ahead of me! But I can only genuinely share those teachings that I’ve embodied and taken on as my own. And drip-drip-drip feeding these things to my students because I will never forget how overwhelming it all was to me way back when. There’s a lot to learn and it’s all marvelous. So I slowly pass on the tiniest of moments.
• Somewhere in the middle of today I saw a re-tweet from the wonderful Cora Wen:
  
• Oh yes. So important. Be kind – to yourself and to others, in your yoga practice and your day-to-day life. This wee Twittered seed became the theme of my class this evening.
• Because it is not kind of me to be short with people I brand “idiots” for their behaviour. And it’s definitely not kind to myself or others to hold grudges, no matter how few or how mild they might be.
• I also need to be kind to my body – gentle with it while it gets used to the idea that I’m no longer in the siege-mode of recent years.
  I must re-learn to nourish it with good foods, and not just eat as a mindless function of being alive.
• And I need to reach out to my students who are no doubt giving themselves a hard time about their yoga practice: what they can/can’t do; if the person next to them is better/worse than they are; straining to get into a pose; berating themselves for their busy mind or their injuries.
• I know they need to offer themselves this kindness because I have to remember to offer it to myself, too. Perhaps not in the same ways anymore, or to the same extent. But still, do I give myself the same latitude I would give to a beloved friend? Erm, sometimes…
• Kindness towards yourself and others is: honesty and acceptance of how things are; being aware of one’s weaknesses and strengths; observing one’s actions and thoughts without judging them harshly; and letting things be as they are.
• I tell my yoga students that nothing is wrong with the way they do their yoga. It isn’t important if they can touch their toes or not. What’s important is how connected they are to their breath and the movement. This is kindness and honesty in action.
• Just like last week, the words I say while teaching come out of a place that isn’t connected to the self-conscious, trip-over-my-own-feet daggy part of my nature that gets tongue-tied in the spotlight.
• As I talk everyone through savasana at the beginning of the class I visualise my teachers floating above my head and tears in my eyes, I offer them gratitude and love for the wisdom they’ve passed on to me.
• The teachings of yoga – way beyond descriptions of alignment or form – have their own consciousness. And yes, they are teachings of kindness and honesty, too.

~Svasti

Kick-ass kinesiology ftw

Tags

affirmations, Anger, bush flower essences, cheated, confession, crystals, finger-in-the-pie, Forgiveness, giggles, Kali, Kinesiology, lost years, muscle testing, rape, Shiva, spring clean, tuning forks, unstuck, Zombie

So here’s a confession for you, although not a particularly juicy one: I have no freakin’ idea how kinesiology works. I just know that it does.

Perhaps it functions as a channel to communicate directly with the body, or the higher self, our guides or even the universe. Or perhaps all of those things are really just one and the same and it doesn’t matter what you think you’re communicating with. What matters is that it gets to the heart of things. The truth. The stuff that needs to be heard and dealt with – kinesiology connects with all of that beautifully. Intuitively.

Also, by way of a secondary confession: I giggled heartily throughout of Monday’s kinesiology session, tears seeping from the corners of my eyes! I giggled at myself and at the very, ummm… finger-in-the-pie spot-on-ness of stuff that was coming up. I’m pretty sure I didn’t become hysterical in my laughter (right, Kerry?), but it was probably close.

I knew, totally KNEW without a doubt, there was more to do in my inner world. More to clear out. More to resolve. Because I want to become as functional a human being as I possibly can. I have no idea how much work there is to do still – and of course, that’s not counting any gunk I’d accumulated before the last five years. But hey, if I can even spring clean those last five years from my body, heart and mind then I’ll be an extremely happy lady…

My very first encounter with kinesiology was years back, when I worked for a chiropractor. She’d use it in practical ways to assist her chiropractic treatments, but then she also once used it to help me clear out a really bad dream (that was, if you like, related to a past life). And yep, that’s a story I haven’t written here.

I had a little more kinesiology several years after that to combat yet another traumatic dream memory – but that one was related to experiences from this life time.

Then there was a little kinesiology about four months after I was assaulted – still living in a daze, still thinking that I could wait out all of the nightmarish things that made life so unbearable… The treatments I had at that time, however, were about just getting me to a somewhat functional state. The months preceding that, I was little more than a zombie. Floating through my days, and trying not to feel. Trying to ignore the photo negative imprint of his eyes seared onto my retinas… trying to sleep my days away as obliviously as I could. Wishing for all the world that I’d just stop existing.

My kinesiologist at that point related her own horror story: being raped by someone who’d become infatuated with her. Raped at knife point, over and over. I remember being amazed that she could speak so calmly about it. It’s only been in the last year that I’ve been able to talk about my own experiences without completely losing my shit.

It was through the lovely Nadine that I learned of Kerry. I went to Kerry and Nadine’s first Unstuck workshop (which was awesome, by the way) and through the synchronicity of these experiences, I knew I’d end up going to see Kerry at some stage. I just wasn’t sure when.

Well, the ‘when‘ is right now. So turn up the heat, baby!

Monday night included much head nodding, many ‘doh’ moments, and the aforementioned hilarity. Kerry would do her thing with the muscle testing and speak words that couldn’t have been more spot on if she’d been inside my head. Lots of my ‘stuff’ was demanding to be heard and in no uncertain terms. Very blunt, it was.

We’d talked about what I wanted to do with these sessions, and Kerry wrote a series of affirmations for us to work with. I think the list went something like this:

• I trust myself
• I trust my decisions
• I trust that I’m headed in the right direction
• I find my perfect weight
• I forgive myself
• I can forgive the past

Uhhh… say WHAT?

I. Can. Forgive. The. Past?!?!?!?!

Ermmm, well not really, actually. Not right now.

I could barely get the words out of my mouth when Kerry asked me to say them. And right then I wasn’t laughing any more. In fact I was choking a little, the way I used to in therapy when working on something really difficult.

Oh. Apparently, forgiving the past wasn’t okay with me. And perhaps for the first time, I explained it out loud and in fully formed sentences…

I feel that in some really important ways, the last five years were stolen. Wasted. Despite what I’ve learned and how much I’ve grown and had to come to terms with myself, there’s a part of me that would trade ALL of that to get those years back. To be as fit and healthy as I was then. To still possess the same level of happiness and confidence. To have been in a position to date and/or be in a relationship. To have possibly met someone I wanted to have kids with.

That last one is HUGE. I’ve been grieving for those lost years.

And I love kids, really, really, really. I wanted and STILL want the opportunity to be a mother. Like a lot of women, and I know I’m far from alone in that. I’m thirty-eight, and in December I’ll be thirty-nine. While I know that some women are fortunate enough to meet their partner and have babies at this age and later, I feel… good god but I feel so ANGRY and CHEATED out of those years! Prime years, where the chances of me being able to get pregnant were better than they are now. Better than they’ll ever be again.

Those years are gone and I can not get them back. There’s nothing I can do about it. And the person I’m angry at of course, is me. Kali and Shiva help me!

And so we worked those affirmations, and a whole bunch of other stuff I probably can’t remember correctly. In addition to muscle testing, kinesiology uses some awesome tools – like bush flower essences, tuning forks, crystals (apparently I need to acquire a blue lace agate) and prayer cards (cheeky things!). And there’s a bunch of stuff associated with the results of whatever comes up and those words as I mentioned were cutting right through. No messing about!

But we weren’t done yet. There was another message for me – seems I’m not doing enough to satisfy my creativity. Apparently the blogging and the yoga teaching are good, but my body/higher self/guides/the universe wants more. Wants me to write more!

Say what?!!

Which is, y’know, terrifying. I like my little blog here, and the idea of drawing more attention to myself by getting stuff published makes my mind turn to mush. In fact, I don’t have the faintest idea how I’d go about getting published! Or what I’d write or for what sort of publications.

Kerry did suggest perhaps writing more about what I know – perhaps stuff that would’ve been helpful to me five years ago if I’d come across it… and that’s a great idea because back then, it wasn’t easy to find support groups or even websites that were specific to people in my shoes.

For now, I’m just putting it out there that I plan to make inquiries, see what I can find out and perhaps even plan a few pieces. Which still sounds scary but actually, somewhat manageable.

So Monday was AMAZING (and that’s not even counting the two calls I had about upcoming yoga teaching work!). We shifted a lot of energy and made a good start on the spring cleaning. Even if I looked and felt a little fried when we were done!

There’s more to do though, but that’s for next month…

~Svasti

P.S. ftw = for the win

Stuff not written in your fortune cookie

Tags

Anger, bad boyfriends, Catholicism, Dragon Boat Restaurant, energy vampire, full moon, harm’s way, Irish, Old ladies on motorised wheelchairs, Sunday musings, yum cha

• While Dragon Boat Restaurant has been renovated and looks much awesomer than it used to, it’s no longer the best Yum Cha in Melbourne’s CBD.
• It is entirely possible to be friends with people who look, sound, act just like you – only to discover they have vastly different customs and values.
• Which can be both interesting and horrifying.
• Like… an Irish friend who’s been living half a world away from her family for many years. But she’ll probably give in to her mother, getting married in her home town in a Catholic church (even though she’s very lapsed), and tolerate an enormous frou-frou reception, because anything less would reflect badly on her mother with the neighbours…
• Further, while they don’t have a wedding date yet, she already knows her unborn children will be baptised and have a Catholic education. “They can choose to lapse on their own”…
• Old ladies on motorised wheelchairs have no patience and will mow down both you and your bicycle, with nary a backwards glance rather than wait two seconds for you to move out of the way. [No cyclists or push bikes were injured. This time. Except for minor bruising.]
• It’s incredibly frustrating to realise that another friend, aged 40, can still abandon her female friends for a new relationship, just like we did in high school. Man = new focus + other friends jettisoned to the periphery.
• No matter how old you get, you/your friends can still spectacularly choose the wrong boyfriend. It is also possible to break up with that boyfriend and take him back for no good reason.
• Said boyfriend can be a total energy vampire, really immature and completely wrong for your pal… and somehow this otherwise sane person will still go out with him.
• Everyone seems really angry today. Tomorrow is a full moon. Go figure.
• It’s probably another good day to stay home out of harm’s way, drink pots of tea and just shut the hell up…

~Svasti

P.S. Shiv finally wrote about his Aussie Birthday Bonaza Spectacular – check it out!

Judith’s story

Tags

Abuse, Anger, Assault, Depression, Fear, Healing, Judith's story, Netherlands, Post-traumatic stress, Proposition 8, PTSD, Rage, Recovery, Trauma, Trust, Violence

I’m both in awe and kinda in mourning after reading Judith’s story.

**Note: If you’re in any way feeling fragile or likely to be triggered by reading of extreme violence and/or viewing VERY graphic photos, it’s best not to click on the above link**

Judith recently left a comment on one of my earlier posts so I checked out the Willothewisp blog that she and her wife run, (Prop 8 supporters take note: gay marriage has been legal in the Netherlands for years!) and from there found the link to her horrific, utterly terrifying story of sexual and physical assault.

As if the assault wasn’t bad enough, Judith went through months and months of recovery, surgery and rehabilitation that sounds like ongoing torture. Add living with post-traumatic stress, depression and the inability to move or talk for the longest time… and we’re talking about a truly serious survivor.

It’s a rough read, very emotional and heartbreaking. Once again – don’t read her story unless you’re in a stable frame of mind.

There’s ten chapters to date, and the story isn’t fully told yet. And it’s taken me a while to make my way through each one.

Judith’s lucky to be alive, although given what she went through I’m sure she didn’t feel lucky for the longest time. Her body is scarred, she lost her hearing, and she had to learn to speak and walk again.

Any one of these issues would be tough enough to handle. But Judith has triumphed through them all.

More than that – she’s married and she and her wife have three children. She has made a life despite what she’s been through. Through her words, I sense a very determined lady!

I can’t wait to read more and see how it was she made it to the life she now leads. I’m sure the past is still not 100% buried, but she is not cowering in the corner away from the world.

She’s a mother and a writer and living her life bravely.

So Judith, here’s to you. Much respect.

~Svasti

Response to BlissChick – part 2

Tags

abuse-o-meter, Anger, Anxiety, Assault, Depression, Family, Fear, in-utero, Internalising pain, Post-traumatic stress, PTSD, Recovery, Relationships, Repression, sex trade, Trust, Truth, Violence

After my rather long comment on BlissChick’s post, I wrote up part 1’s post (which was kinda hard to write)… but she also emailed me some other (rather confronting) questions:

In psychological circles it is said that abusers are not born but MADE. So I wonder (not knowing anything about your home life as a child) what kind of environment your parents created in order to turn your brother into an abuser?

I don’t remember much of my early years, just tiny splotches. But I do remember my brother never liking me. It seemed to start when we were fairly young (he’s only two years older than me).

Perhaps this will sound new age-y, but I have this theory:

My brother was the next little being to inhabit my mother’s womb after the grief, illness, anger, sadness, stress and loss she experienced in giving up her first son. Never having had permission to deal with it openly, I believe much of her pain was simply absorbed.

I’ve had my own experiences with the body internalising pain… I know this is what happens.

So, in-utero my brother imbibed suffering as he grew. Marinated in it, really.

And what must it have been like, for my mother? Being pregnant again after that first time? She once said when we were little, she was always afraid someone would come and take us away… this fear must have affected each of the three kids that followed, right?

Also, my brother was part of a soccer club from a very young age, and in the 70’s/early 80’s, Australian soccer clubs were dominated by masochistic men and boys. He grew up as part of that culture, every weekend for years.

My parents I believe were just… too involved in their own lives and pain. They didn’t see what was happening in front of them. They weren’t equipped to handle it. They’d never been given the appropriate tools themselves.

Do you have to experience such things for yourself in order to recognise what’s going on?

I don’t know if something else happened to my brother or not. If it did, I don’t believe it happened in my parents’ home.

I also wonder why they enabled his abuse of you? That is what they did — they enabled.

These two sentences were very difficult for me to read. I truly believe they were unaware.

When I’d go to my parents and say ‘my brother hit me’, how could they work out how bad it was? That it wasn’t the usual sibling rough-housing (it never happened with them in sight)?

How could I understand what to tell them? What could I measure it against to give them some context?

People will claim they had no idea what was going on under their own roofs, but 99% of the time, they are lying (perhaps not even consciously so). The other 1% you have to ask HOW and WHY they did not know? WHY were they so utterly self-involved that they did not see your pain?

Because it was their job to love and protect you.

A little voice I don’t want to know about whispers in my ear… it was ongoing, though. It wasn’t infrequent. So why didn’t they stop him?

My dad was the youngest child with two older sisters and I don’t believe he’s ever hit a woman. My mum has a younger brother and I don’t believe he hit her either. Why then, was my brother allowed to continue to target and bully me?

I don’t know! It’s a question that pains my heart, and I have no answers. It makes a part of me feel raw and hungry and empty… it makes my lips purse up and I want to just stop thinking for a while.

How could they put up with my complaints of constantly being used as a pummelling bag? Then, it’s not just that he was physically abusive. But verbally too, and viciously cruel at every opportunity.

But, I was off with the pixies a lot. Did I just withdraw? Did I make it harder for them to know the truth? Should they have known anyway?

Thinking about this stuff, it makes me squirm. Does it matter if I ever know, or not? I kinda think right now it doesn’t matter any more… as long as I’m not pretending, and as long as I’m admitting to myself, that it wasn’t okay.

Whenever I see or hear about a woman who has chosen a partner who is or becomes abusive of her, I know (know know deep in my heart) that she came out of her childhood deeply wounded. Women who are raised in healthy households with healthy self esteem do not pick bad partners. They have an innate radar and can sense abusiveness in even the most charming people.

Today I read a post by a blogger I don’t know, via one of my blogger friends. And it really made me think. How do children get to the point where they taunt another person so mercilessly? She makes a good point – it’s because nobody stops them. They get away with it because they can.

And yes, I know my self-esteem was in tatters by the time I left home, aged nineteen. Through my own actions as well as those of others. But I think you’re right – had I been given a stronger sense of self-worth and self-love, I don’t think I would have let my first boyfriend treat me as he did. Nor do I think I would have ended up working in the sex trade.

Or, allowing myself, as you say, to pick bad partners. One after the other. To this day, I still can’t sense abusiveness in others. But those who are weird and wounded like me, sure, I can pick them a mile off…

Then again, my sister didn’t go through any of this. What was it in me that meant this was my path? My sister saw how our brother treated me and although he was mean to her, he never hit her. Just teased her all the time about her weight, resulting in a wounded self-esteem. But then, that’s bad enough, isn’t it?

Eventually wounded women who struggle and fight and put themselves back together again have even better radar. So do not fear. The work you do now most assuredly will lead you to a loving relationship some day.

I really, truly hope you’re right. I do. I get it when you say this is going to take a while. So far, it’s taken all of my life. If ever I can repair that abuse-o-meter radar, I know it’ll be good!

Of course, until then I know I need to keep moving. Like my therapist said, I can’t let the habits of my PTSD and depression, continue to lead the way.

So I have to try and reach out, to trust. And accept I guess, I might still get it wrong for some time to come.

~Svasti

Response to BlissChick – part 1

Tags

Abuse, Anger, Anxiety, Assault, Confusion, Depression, Family, Fear, Rant, Relationships, Surrender, Trust

In case you missed it, my world was well and truly rocked by BlissChick’s incredible post on depression, and some of her subsequent posts…

So here’s sort of an abridged version of her post (in italics), and my replies…

…People on anti-depressants are, from my own experience of them, still sad. Why? …Because they are putting a band aid on a broken limb…

I’ve never considered medication seriously, and the question has only been put to me once.

I understand there may be short term relief, but like you, I think it’s not something that ever fixes anything. So, I’m not interested in that path. Sure, it means things might be a little rougher for me, but I’m willing to tough it out.

…our souls are made of stories… They must be integrated into your essence or they will always be there. No amount of positive thinking will get rid of them. No amount of medication, eating “right,” supplements, herbals, or exercise… you will react because of them; you will be their slave…

I can see the truth this statement. Oh yes.

When I started writing my blog, I thought I was just writing about being assaulted. But what I learned along the way is, I’m actually writing about everything in my life that led up to that one fateful night.

Fateful, because it was a turning point, even if I didn’t start doing anything about it for almost three years.

…( (Honesty + Witness) + (Compassion + Patience) ) x Commitment

The hardest part of this formula is the first variable: Honesty about our stories.

We do everything we can to avoid this. We try to gloss over our stories… The first question to ask yourself is this: Who are you trying to protect by not being honest and why are you going to such lengths to protect them?

I was protecting both my parents, trying so hard to be who they needed me to be …a parent or both parents are exactly who most people are trying to protect…

I’ve really, really shied away from looking at my parents as neglectful. The physical abuse came from my brother, but it was ignored. And my parents were, and remain busy with their own emotional issues. It’s been that way for pretty much my whole life.

I haven’t wanted to admit these things so openly. I’ve wanted to accept them as they are and do what I can to compensate, because it’s cleaner, simpler. Because I know they won’t change. And because there’s nothing to be gained from blaming them for how they are.

…Regardless of someone else’s past, they were cruel to you. YOU were the child. YOU had the right to be the child. Your parents were not and are not your responsibility…

The crucial part, the part I’ve protected the most, has been to avoid admitting my parents were kind of shitty at their parenting job. I still have trouble with that.

I feel like, as a grown up, I should just take responsibility for myself and be done with it.

But perhaps that’s the point – how can the adult truly take responsibility when their inner child is having trouble being heard?

…Trying to understand your abuser is a classic psychological survival method… Your mind has to try to understand why this person is treating you this way, so you start to feel badly for them…

I recognise this. I do. My brother. My mother. My father. I never understood. I still don’t. And I feel bad I can’t be part of the “let’s all be close and loving” fantasy family relationship. I can’t be the “friend” my mother wants, either, especially considering she’s still self-centred and not interested in whatever I might be going through…

Every time my dad loudly has a conversation in front of me with my brother-in-law, about the importance of family (the same one on repeat), I want to be sick. Because he says those things and I KNOW he’s really chastising me indirectly for not being in touch a lot.

But heck, here I am on the brink of bankruptcy and where are they? NOWHERE.

When I was assaulted and hurting and hiding for years… THEY DID NOTHING.

What did they do when I complained again and again and again about my brother hitting me? MADE HIM APOLOGISE EACH TIME BUT NEVER STOPPED IT.

There’s more, much more. YES, they were neglectful and unsupportive parents. YES THEY WERE!!

And YES! I DO feel badly for them. I know they both had unhappy childhoods. I know my mother’s father was an alcoholic and her mother was controlling and manipulative. And that my father’s mother was the most self-centred person I’ve ever met. And my father’s father was adopted and emotionally vacant.

I expect less from them as a result. And yet, if ever I am blessed with children, I know I’d do whatever I can to make sure they feel loved and adored.

…You must be heard and seen… As an adult going through your stories and trying to order them and integrate them, a witness is the person who will give you that “real” feeling…

My witness, of course, has been Marcy. But I have also been graced with others…

Unfortunately I don’t have a ‘Marcy’ in my life. Instead, I write. And write, and write, so I can breathe.

But, those stories are slowly coming out on my blog. Which makes my blog readers my witnesses, I guess (hope you folks don’t mind!).

So witness this: I feel crappy about writing this stuff, like I’m betraying my family. Making a mountain out of a mole hill. It feels wrong and childish to sit here and write about things that have hurt my feelings over so many years and that, truth be told, still hurts my feelings.

And I’m not even half-way done yet! Not even close… however, I don’t know if it’s all for public consumption. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps…

Read part 2…

~Svasti

Mutant zombie people

Tags

146 Acland Street St Kilda, 217 Glen Huntly Rd Elsternwick, A Film With Me In It, Anger, Angry lady with Chihuahuas, Arch Demoness, Arch Demoness of Eyebrows, Awful bosses, bad customer service, Bad day, Bad eyebrow wax, Cocktails, day spa australia, day spa australia bad customer service, dayspa australia, dayspa australia bad customer service, Dylan Moran, Eyebrow waxing, Freaking out, Freaks, Freaky weekend, Kicked out of a day spa, Lotus Day Spa, lotus day spa st kilda, Lotus Health Spa, lotus health spa st kilda, lotushealthspa.com.au, Mangled, Mark Doherty, Meat market, Mutant zombie people, Orange fuzzy hair, People talking during movies, Pheremones, Swine flu, Waxed, www.lotushealthspa.com.au, Yoga

Ever have one of those days weekends where you realise it’d be better if you never left the house? Or if you do go out, you should just shut the hell up?

Perhaps there was a small outbreak of swine flu in the local area or some other disease temporarily rendering people quite mad? Myself included?

It all started out well enough. Yoga studies as per usual on a Saturday. We finished early, so I chose to cycle home the long way by the beaches and stopped for a late lunch at this gorgeous little cafe right on the cycle path.

The day had turned into one of those warm and sunny autumnal days, increasingly rare as we head into a bitterly cold and early on-set winter.

So far, it’s all good.

With a little more free time than I was expecting, I decided to do something about my rather shaggy looking eyebrows with a long overdue and much needed waxing.

Went to the place I usually go to if in St Kilda, only to find there was an hour wait. So fatefully, I decided to try another place. Hrmmmm.

What began as a pleasant encounter in a visually appealing environment, ended with my eyebrows being mangled and the owner of the business totally losing her cool, and yelling at me to leave her premises. Not because of anything I’d done, I promise! I certainly didn’t raise my voice to her or anything of the sort!

I’m gonna expand on that incident in a separate post (see Nightmare on Acland Street). But, I’ve never experienced such poor behaviour from a so-called professional business in my life!

I was somewhat bemused and freaked out by it all, and horrified at the state of my eyebrows, which were mercifully fixed at another salon. Thank goodness!

That wasn’t, however, the end of the day’s bad experiences. It was all so weird; I kinda wondered if I’d been inadvertently sprayed with a pheremone causing people to have bad reactions to me…

Almost home, I directed my bike to the footpath of a busy intersection (always a safer way to cross some roads). There were people at the crossing, so I slowed my bike to almost a stand-still. Yet, the woman with two Chihuahua-type dogs and a mass of orange fuzzy hair glared at me and muttered under her breath. Sorry, I’ve slowed as much as I can I say, and she tells me off, You’re not supposed to be on the footpath!!

That did it – the poor woman was the unlucky recipient of my anger at the salon owner. Fuck off, bitch! I yelled aggressively… which she totally didn’t deserve. But hell, cyclists are allowed on the footpath if required!!

Okay, so now I was upset at being yelled at, having my eyebrows mangled, and losing my cool at the frizzy-haired lady with annoying dogs… still, I didn’t see the writing on the wall, and kept my plans to meet up with L anyway.

We were going to see A Film With Me In It (hilarious dark farce from Dylan Moran & Mark Doherty) in which a series of very unfortunate accidents keep occuring. Kinda like my day…

Ended up sitting next to a woman who talked incessantly (a pet hate of mine) to her husband, including stating really obvious things like, Oh no, she’s dead!! Just as they happen.

I turn to her and (tempting fate, clearly) politely ask… Could you please stop talking throughout the movie?

What?? She half-turns her body in her seat and leers at me aggressively.

Can you please stop talking; I’m trying to watch the movie.

Really? she growls, Well, I have to listen to you laugh!

I didn’t respond any further, thinking, Yeah, everyone is laughing BECAUSE IT’S A FUCKING COMEDY!! But her husband then turns in his seat aggressively and starts mumbling. With a puerile gesture, I stare straight at the screen while flipping him the bird til he backs off. Sooo mature of me!

They both backed down, thankfully. Managed to enjoy the rest of the movie, but I was still marvelling at my (seeming) ability to bring out the worst in people that day.

I mean, it’s not like I was pissed off or unhappy – it’d been a good day to begin with! If anything, I was still feeling a little fragile, but doing okay.

Later, L and I have a cocktail at one of Melbourne’s many laneway bars, and decided to stop off at a dodgy pub on the way home for one last drink…

For someone teetering on the edge of depression, freaked out about their self-image and generally dealing with anxiety, a meat-market pub full of young people and lecherous older men is not the ideal place to hang out. To make matters worse, L is immediately approached by some guy, hoping to get lucky. In a loud environment, I can’t hear their conversation to join in, so stand there feeling very uncomfortable instead.

As much as being in nature soothes me right now, this artificial booze-fuelled bar completely unsettles me. I’m freaking out for no good reason. But then, given the day I’ve had, can you really blame me?

So the night didn’t end well. L couldn’t understand why I was freaking out and I really couldn’t and can’t explain why I did either. Just… I wasn’t up to being in a place where everyone was trying to pick up a cheap date.

Sunday I didn’t leave the house, but not because I couldn’t. Just… wanted to make sure the ‘curse’ had lifted before I came in contact with other people again.

But under the cover of darkness I went out… deciding to grab a Sunday paper coz it comes with my weekly TV Guide (not that I watch that much TV). Had to go to four shops, though, before I found one. The milk bar in my street had ‘sent them back’, the Seven Eleven had one left and the guy who walked in just before me grabbed it… the service station was out, too. So I had to walk to the freaking supermarket to finally get a paper.

Just not my weekend, really… though, I managed to get home without abusing or being abused by anyone, so I think I’m safe now!

~Svasti

***********************

UPDATE: A possible explanation in a post by Josh… if you’re into that sorta thing! 😉

P.S. Yes, I am laughing at myself very much, don’t worry!