The Liberation of NO!

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

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

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

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

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

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

Grandad’s Kit Kat

Back in 2004, my dear old Grandad’s health began to fail a little, as he approached his 90th Birthday. He felt off colour, he became a little vague and ate even less than his normal frugal diet.

The medical staff really looked after him, he was admitted to hospital for tests and the Doctors and Nurses took a real shine to him. He was a cheerful, gentle and kind man whom everyone took to.

His initial tests were inconclusive and he was booked in for an MRI scan. Mum went along to help him prepare and be there when he got back. When the results came back, they told my Mum and Grandad that they’d discovered a mass in his bowel. They had a talk and a think and Mum left. I visited later and we talked about the news. They said they could treat it, but weren’t sure as to how successful they’d be. My Grandad confided that he really didn’t want to bother, he was tired and ready to accept his lot but didn’t want to worry my Mum. So when the Doctors came to discuss the next bit, I stayed alongside him as his support, helped discuss with the Doctor and they laid on all sorts of support, a specialist Macmillan Nurse and various other people to help him through his illness. The Doctor said he’d return in a couple of days. In the meantime, I sat with my Mum and explained for Grandad how he felt and what he wanted. We all prepared ourselves for what might, and would, come.

When the Doctor returned, he was somewhat perplexed. He’d become uneasy about the pictures captured during the MRI Scan and had got the Consultant and some other experts to have a look. He asked ‘Mr Charles. Did you have anything to eat before you went for your scan’? Grandad sat and thought for a second. Then his face lit up. ‘YES! I did. I had a Kit Kat’. My Mum said ‘WHAT?! Dad. I TOLD you not to eat anything, just like what the Nurse said’! ‘Well’ he replied, getting a bit put out ‘I was bloody hungry’!

So we all got to breath a sigh of relief. That malignant mass of death that had threatened my hero, the man I most looked up to in the world, was actually the remains of chocolate and wafer. All that soul searching and heartfelt emotion was thankfully for nothing. When Mum told me, I laughed. Good old Grandad, not a bad bone in his body and totally oblivious to what had happened.

Grandad passed away the following year, he came to his natural end and there was no Kit Kat involved.

I’m night shift as I write this, and when I came in was a bit hungry. The ‘office snack shop’ has been replenished today and there were a pile of Kit Kats there. I grinned and felt the usual love and sadness, the yearning for one last hug, and saw Grandad’s face standing there with me as I remembered this story. Bloody hungry indeed, you old sod. Miss you forever x

The job is never done

We all seem to think that when we’ve done something, it’s done. It could be a simple short term thing like making a coffee, a medium term thing like paying a 6 monthly bill, or a long term thing like falling in love or teaching your children to cross the road.

But think about it. Nothing’s ever really ‘done’ is it?

You drink that lovely coffee and it meets it’s need for a while – takes away your thirst, gives you that caffeine shot, sharpens you up. And sooner or later, you feel thirsty again, feel fatigued and you…. well what do you do? Have another coffee? Trouble with that is that coffee doesn’t really slake your thirst as by it’s nature it makes you more thirsty, quicker. And the comedown from the caffeine high usually makes you feel lower than the initial fatigue that you tried to stave off. Maybe it’s time to try a different approach. Drink water to rehydrate your body (I also find it fills me up more and I eat less rubbish!) and get a bit of fresh air to sharpen you up. (Don’t have a smoke whilst you’re getting that fresh air….!)

Bills…. a nemesis to us all. Even as you pay, you know that sooner or later you’ll have to pay again. There’s a job that’s never done. Like an endless landscape of hungry hippos opening and shutting their mouths, gobbling up your hard earned cash with the odd unwelcome surprise expense like a new tyre for the car or yet another pair of shoes as your Batman or Wonderwoman grows at a seemingly inordinate and ever increasing rate.

Which then brings me onto long term things. I don’t know about you, but I have often made the mistake of thinking that once I’ve done or said something, it’s done and I can move on. Something simple like explaining to Batman that, once he’s finished his ice lolly after dinner, to take his plate to the kitchen and put it in the sink. There are two pitfalls here. Firstly, there are a million other more interesting things to be thinking about. Like going back to his Lego, watching Scooby Doo or poking his lolly stick up Baskerville’s bum. Secondly, he didn’t listen in the first place, no matter how carefully I calmly explained what to do and asked him if he understood, and saw him nod, so there’s no chance of him remembering tomorrow. I put adult logic to it – I can follow and remember simple instructions. Why doesn’t he? Of course I am forgetting that I was once his age and almost certainly did the same thing, and the times when I don’t hear Jenny’s voice through the white noise and don’t follow and remember her simple instructions. You should always remember that you are by no means anywhere near perfection yourself! (He said to himself.) So tomorrow, I will say it all again.

That, of course is long term Parenting, and has more of a bearing on Batman’s future than my own. But consider yourself, your relationship, how you look after yourself, and how you live your life in general.

We all have important aspects of the above and more that we should order and prioritise as we live. Try and keep focused and look at your priorities every day. It’s so very hard at times to keep those balls in the air. But take some time each day to treat yourself and those around you like plants. See if any water or feed is needed. Sometimes a bit of pruning, cutting and shaping will be required. It will hurt, perhaps, but it encourages new growth and more flowers to light up and fragrance your life.

When we hurt, we think it will stop hurting one day, that one day we’ll wake up and feel different. You hear of people who have suffered huge loss that wake up one morning and start their lives again. Ding. And off we go. But what went before never really leaves you. It’s always there and you mustn’t lose sight of it’s presence. Deal with it and face it – accept that it’s there and probably always will be.

A little bit every day will mean that a build up and backlog of ‘things’ and feelings is less likely. It all sounds like hard work, but if you kid yourself that doing one small thing will last forever, you will wake one day and feel snowed under – or continue to do so. That feeling will only grow and bring you down.

Don’t be afraid to ask for help.

Be real and truthful to yourself. As you do things to help life tick over, so over time, they do become easier. But keep your eyes open on the big picture. The job is never done.


Richard Hawley

Music has always been an important influence on me. I was given an old record player and some singles when I was really little and I used to run my own chart show on a Sunday night. No.1 was always ‘Little Arrows’ by Leapy Lee, from 1968. I don’t know why. Perhaps I’ll post it here one day, but in the meantime, it’s on YouTube 😊. I’ve settled, really, on folk and rock now, but I’ll give anything a listen. You never know what you might be missing out on. Although I steer clear of songs about stabbing or ‘hoes’! Not really my bag.

I was introduced to Richard Hawley by a friend of mine back in 2011. Since then I’ve seen him live at Brixton Academy and The Roundhouse at Chalk Farm. Nowhere near enough but the kids put paid to any plans of becoming any more of a faithful follower. One day, I hope to go to Sheffield though, and see him in his natural habitat.

Richard Hawley was born in Sheffield in 1968, into a musical family who worked in the steel industry, which was Sheffield’s raison d’etre at the time. As he grew, he saw his family play in pubs and social clubs and in time joined them. He’s developed a style of guitar inspired in the days of Duane Eddy, and indeed has worked and played with him, Nancy Sinatra and other famous names. He’s a friend of and has played alongside that other Sheffield leg-end Jarvis Cocker – who I will love always for disrupting Michael Jackson’s Earth Song at the Brits in 1996!

Richard’s a great chap, when you go to see him you don’t just get music. He’s a brilliant raconteur and very funny. His songs are long and eloquent and he quite obviously pours his heart and soul into his lyrics. What I wouldn’t give for an evening in the pub with him!

I’ve shared a couple of songs already and I have a notion that you will be hearing quite a lot from him in this blog. Enjoy.

It’s ok to take control

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

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

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

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

Thursday. Head Day.

Thursday is the day I go to Counselling. When I visited my Doctor last year, and self referred to Occupational Health at work, I was given six free sessions with a Counsellor. I have a good and supportive employer. I was lucky enough to be able to carry on with my Counsellor (Xena, Warrior Princess) privately after those sessions. It all went on hold when I fell ill in France and was stuck there (yeah right, what a lovely place to get stuck!) but I started again in November and over time, we’ve built up quite a lot of momentum. Once or twice at the beginning it was like waiting at the Dentist. I knew I should go, I knew it wouldn’t really hurt but part of me waited outside, not wanting to be there. But I went in and started getting to the heart of ‘me’.

I have actually come to love Thursdays. I try and get the day off, so take Batman and Wonderwoman to school in the morning, have a gentle morning catching up with stuff at home or relaxing, and then get the train into London. After my session I get some fish and chips on the way back, and sometimes have a glass of wine in the evening. It’s all part of giving myself a break, taking a bit of time for me, and learning to live and get to know myself. I’m lucky to have the luxury, some people don’t get the time or the opportunity for all this.

Sometimes I’ve walked out of there and been almost silent for a week or more. Like an out of body experience, living in a bubble with everyone and everything going on around me but not really being there, or seen. Like a ghost. I’ve had to be really careful crossing the road, there’s a limit to what you can glide through and 40 ton lorries are not that! During these times, I’ve sat and considered and turned over in my mind what that Thursday meant. I’ve been able to take time to feel…. grief for the loss of my sister, the loss of the girl I grew up with when she became brain damaged, and the loss of her again when she died. I can feel love for her again, and listen to music that she would have loved, and smile, with happy tears, or sometimes no tears at all. The job’s not done, but things are better. And that’s just a little of what the last ten or so months has brought me.

I won’t do this every Thursday, but I talked about something very powerful today, which I will share with you. I remembered being shouted at by someone, red in the face, a high pitched scream, when I was little. I remembered being told by someone else that I was a swine, that I would not amount to anything, that I was not good enough. That I was bad, evil. I was told I was mental. Weirdly, it jumped into my head at the mention of the name of Hitler. It was in my head, and believe me, I can’t work that one out!

Sadly when adults you trust and love tell you these things, you believe them when you’re a child. And by and large they follow you into adulthood. If this poison has been planted in your head, then stop. See the trouble is, if it’s all you’ve known, you think it’s normal not to like yourself, and to think there’s something wrong with you. But that’s not the case. You only feel that because someone couldn’t hold their patience with you, had a bad day, had their own issues, and ultimately gave you a kicking with it. Or maybe you were an inconvenience in their lives or they just didn’t like you. Whatever the reason – it’s their problem, not yours and you deserve to seek healing and the chance to live gently and kindly within yourself.

Give it a go.

Cautionary Signals

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Upside Down Day

Tonight I am working my first night shift in 11 months. It was a real wrench to leave home, Wonderwoman was crying and didn’t want to sleep and I couldn’t get away. Nor did I want to. But Mrs Fog our childminder stepped in, and within seconds my little insomniac was snuggled into her bosom and completely serene. A lovely picture with which to throw myself together and leave the house.

I felt really low as I drove. Don’t get me wrong, I love my job, but the 9 months I have been away from it have given me the chance to consider other things in life.

I started work at 16 and swapped my awkward gangly lack of confidence and insecurity for the identity of ‘Railwayman’, which I maintained all the way until last April when I first took sick leave with Anxiety and Depression. I returned for 3 days in July, and then left for a family holiday abroad, where I promptly fell ill with a ruptured bowel and almost died. Well that gave me even more time to think.

It has felt along the way that my life has been building up towards a series of pivot points that have happened in quick succession this year.

I am no longer principally a Railwayman. I am me, a Husband and Father, with a dog who is my best friend, and my dream is to teach myself to make great cakes and coffee and for these last two (now three!) lines to be my cornerstone.

God it’s so scary. I lasted until I was 49 hiding that awkwardness, that lack of confidence, behind a uniform, behind function, behind my geeky obsession with railways. And now, with thanks to that comfortable and warm cloak that protected me all those years, I have cast it off and walk forward into myself, into an entirely new life. It’s fantastic, I feel lucky, and the journey is sometimes incredibly exhilarating. But sometimes, when I want to carry on my journey, I have to dip back into the past and I don’t want to do that any more. But the future needs to be paid for, so hey ho, 10 night shifts it is!

I put the radio on in the car, and this came on, as if to spur me on. I felt a lot better as I listened to it and wanted to share it with you, as we all plod along, or slide down the helter skelter, into our lives and dreams.

What do you feed roses with?

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

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

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

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

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

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

frA44se+RfuhiL5jU2wn4w

Shock

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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