The Turning of the Page

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So here I am, the other side of that painful story.

It has taken almost a year to write so very little and yet such a massive part of my personal history and now I need a break from the deep and painfully bleak writing.

IT’S NOT WHO I AM.

MY STORY DOES NOT DEFINE ME.

I AM SO MUCH MORE THAN THAT.

And, there is so much more to the story.

So who am I?

I have a name, but that’s not who I am.

I have a beating heart, but that’s not who I am either.

I wear many hats-wife, mother, daughter, sister, aunt, friend and so on…

I have often questioned myself about why I am here?

What is my purpose?

What is life all about?

I feel so deeply and am forever questioning the world around me. I don’t see life as black and white and I believe that we are all connected on some level.

In 1986 having just turned 18, I qualified as a Nursery Nurse (NNEB) and then travelled to Chicago to become a live in Nanny which only lasted 4 months. That’s a story for another day!

I worked as a Nanny for several different families whilst starting out on my career path and then progressed to supporting young single Mother’s with children and often times, children at risk.

Over the years, I have worked within a specific needs capacity, intensive behaviour support and learning support.

I have also run three small businesses part time whilst being a stay at home mum and not forgetting all the extra jobs to earn money whilst caring for my young family-working in a shop, taking in foreign students, cleaning, care in the community and ‘out work’ which consisted of putting screws in to tiny plastic bags.

I have certainly have had a ‘varied’ working life.

Continuous personal development has always been a fundamental part of my growing and evolving and for many year’s I have continued to attend training courses and study many different schools of thought.

In 1999, I was so blessed to have been given the opportunity to travel to the USA and complete my Practitioner training in Humanistic Neuro-Linguistic Programming (HNLP) and then the following year, my Master Practitioner.

https://johnoverdurf.com/training.php

https://www.gwiznlp.com/

What I learned blew my mind away and challenged my core beliefs and values.

I literally felt like I had woken up and my thinking changed phenomenally. I began to see everyone and everything around me, from a completely different view point and this led to my ability to have a greater understanding of who you are and why you do the things you do.

The difficulty for me was that I had made such a significant change and was ready to take on the world but the world (the tiny Island I live on) wasn’t ready for me and I was often met with hostility and sometimes humour when in conversation with others about this modern and new way of thinking.

When I look back now, it was never really a modern way at all… I believe that the world just needed to catch up and wake up.

Over the past 20 year’s I have worked independently 1-1 with adults and young people in a therapeutic, support and mentoring role. Awareness about the possibilities for change for each and everyone of us is crucial if we are going to thrive and maintain a happy, healthy life.

My passion for my work is insurmountable.

My commitment to lead my client to a greater resolve has always been and will always be a humbling and profound experience.

I am full of gratitude to be able to serve.

My commitment to myself remains to be chaotic and I don’t use that word lightly. I am fully aware of the difficult path that I am choosing right now.

There are many lessons that I still have to learn…

Everyday is a new day which is met with new learning curves for me and that’s okay. I know that when I fully commit to myself, allowing my life to unfold gently without my pushing my past in front of me, then I will serve an even greater purpose to others.

For that… I am excited.

With studies of human potential and the mind body connection, we are beginning to reawaken and remember what we have always known…

 © All Rights Reserved – The boy in the chip shop 2019-2020

They Hung Him Out to Dry

Moving back home after my Father died, was extremely difficult for me.

I lived in fear before he died and now I was afraid he would appear as a ghost and having worked with children for many years, I now know and understand, that it really wasn’t necessary to be told that he died in my bed.

Some details are better left unsaid until a vulnerable mind is able to process it.

I was unable to enter the bedroom alone and refused to sleep in there too, so continued to share my Mother’s room for a further year.

Feelings of anxiety was rife and I can not say that anybody really understood how I felt-how could they? We are all individuals and make sense of our world differently and all those years ago, access to grief counselling or therapeutic help, wasn’t readily available.

Thank goodness things have advanced somewhat today.

There are three things in particular(apart from the obvious) that stand out for me that happened over the weeks that passed after his death.

At night my Mother would take me up to bed and say goodnight. She would then go downstairs to watch television. I’m sure, it was a much needed escape from the situation she found herself in and from a grieving teenager. I laid in what would have been my father’s bed and for as long as I possible, I managed the overwhelming fear that engulfed me.

All of a sudden the panic would take over and I’d rush down the stairs sobbing.

It felt impossible to contain the fear and anxiety.

My brothers were never really home at this point and my mother was trying to bring some normality back into our live’s. Bedtime for me, mean’t time out for her etc… I know that I would have felt safe, if the boys were upstairs nearby but instead I was alone in a room that was jammed packed with trauma, next to a room that felt full of loss and ultimately death.

My running downstairs went on for sometime and in the end my mother lost her patients with me and began to offer punishments as a threat if I didn’t stay in bed.

I just couldn’t do it.

She just couldn’t handle it… or me.

I remember clearly getting to the point where I would grab my bed pillow, creep down the staircase quietly and sit on the bottom step of the stairwell. I sat awkwardly on the step so that I could continuously turn my head upwards, in the direction of the landing, where my father may show himself.

I felt sure he would.

I was consumed with fear.

Eventually as I recall, one of my brothers found me sat upright, with my head in my lap on my pillow, asleep. On waking me, I cried telling him how afraid I was and that I was being told off for not staying in bed to which he reprimanded our Mother for not understanding.

Put simply, she didn’t have the energy or emotional understanding and was wrapped up in her own grief.

The second memory that is poignant, is when my big brother surprised me with a kitten one evening. Something of my own to love and nurture. He was living and working at a holiday camp at the time and a stray cat had given birth to a litter of kittens. My brother and his then girlfriend whose nickname was Tiggy, placed this tiny little tabby bundle of joy, into my arms whilst I was laying in bed, unable to sleep. My Mother knew nothing about it but my brother knew only too well, that she wouldn’t have the heart to take the kitten away from me.

I fell in love instantly and named the kitten Tiggy too.

My brother knew and understood how much I was struggling and I wanted so badly to go and live with him.

I hated it every time he left me.

At some stage I had to return to school and this is where the third most significant memory comes from. The day I went back, I remember walking up the main school pathway with my friend and people were staring at me. There was one particular group of girls stood to the side and one said very loudly;

“That’s the girl whose Dad just hung himself on the gas pipe out side of her house!”

The story that was spreading quickly around the school was that my father had hung himself on the gas pipe that lead from above the back door, to the shed, as a result of my mother failing to pay the bills.

©All Rights Reserved – The boy in the chip shop 2019/2020

My Wall

I stare at this wall 
with crumbling stone
the hard texture stares back at me
I can not see a way through
it seems impossible

A crack appears
a tiny space of light and
if I pull each side
the stone may fall
or at least loosen
It seems a mammoth task
albeit the strength
I think I have
my arms are weak
my body is tired
my mind consumed
I close my eyes

and imagine
a mighty gust
a powerful force
rising up from the earth
and with one fair bash

the wall is loosened

if I dare to dream

the wall may fall

© Al Rights Reserved – The boy in the chip shop 2019

If I Could Be

If I could be
anything but me
I’d be a butterfly
and welcome
the nakedness
of my chrysalis


honoring
re-birth


I crave the gentleness
and serenity
of such an exquisite
creature
so beautifully
enchanting


delighting
my soul


The joyous dance
the fluttering
of life
gracefully

seeking the
silence

a butterfly
I'd be

   ©  All Rights Reserved – The boy in the chip shop 2019

A Beautiful Interruption

Born with the freedom to dream
your innocence was given

in natural gesture
and stolen by a devil’s hand


So damaged was that hand and oblivious
to the mighty force

that left trails
of significant wounds

An inner world so barren
a desolate place to be and
yet in that world no-one
could interrupt

and freedom could prevail
if only fleetingly

My brother and I.

 

©All Rights Reserved – The boy in the chip 2019

TRUSTING THE PROCESS

I haven’t written for a few days.

I read on another blog that people aren’t really interested in reading your story unless you are giving them something back and I have been throwing myself the ‘what the fuck am I doing?’ line – (that’s an old pattern)

I’ve given back my entire life.

It has taken me years, literally years to do this and yes, I would be lying if I said I wasn’t looking for any feedback, acknowledgement, healing – of course I am. Isn’t everyone who chooses to open themselves up when writing a personal blog? I have also read numerous times that there is a book in everyone and yes, I want to write a book. Will this be the content? Who know’s… but for me it’s a start in my writing something down even if this get’s lost in a sea of a million other personal, painful life experiences.

I’m writing.

I can offer so much.

I can and will teach other’s how to change their live’s through writing and speaking – it’s my life’s work my purpose for being and right now I am allowing my inner children to speak freely without judgement (from me) for they have been suffocating slowly, for many years.

Blogging is very new to me and I find WordPress quite difficult. I am still learning about tags and categories and some would say that it should be self explanatory but it’s not for me! I know that I also need to learn about copyrights and quoting others – what I can and can’t do.

This is my journey.

I am grateful for this space and I am grateful for anyone who read’s my story so I will ride the waves of not feeling good enough and see where it takes me…

Namaste

To be more childlike, you don't have to give up being an adult. The fully integrated person is capable of being both an adult and a child simultaneously. Recapture the childlike feelings of wide-eyed excitement, spontaneous appreciation, cutting loose, and being full of awe and wonder at this magnificent universe. - Dr Wayne Dyer
Ryde Carnival – Little Red Riding Hood 1972

All Rights Reserved – The boy in the chip shop 2019

The Prayer

There doesn’t seem to be a beginning for me, just a mixture of memories, some more powerful than others and in no particular order, allowing them to rise and fall .

My Father died when I was aged of 13.

My belief is that he had to die, in order for me to live and somewhere within his soul, he knew that. Its a struggle to remember him without the overwhelming feelings of fear and pain. Everything about him seems tainted with those two powerful emotions and I feel sad that I can’t find a single memory that is full of laughter or joy. Sorry Dad… My hope is that by writing my story down, it may evoke some happy memories that are stored somewhere within me.

It wasn’t until I discovered NLP and whilst on my training in the USA, that I realised I had emotional ‘stuff’ that needed dealing with. I have to add, that a NLP practitioner training is not the place for personal therapy in any event. During learning the processes, I experienced some emotional releases that were extraordinary and quite profound and my passion for helping others to do the same began. That was over 21 years ago.

https://johnoverdurf.com/training.php

The events leading up to my father’s death were extremely traumatic.

I remember one day when he was lying in bed in a drugged up stupor, slurring his words, telling me to write down his life story. In more coherent days he would say that the world needs to know the truth about his traumatic experience of being a child prisoner of war. He suffered mentally and physically for the entire 13 years of having him in my life and as a family, my mother and two older brothers, were marred by his suffering too. Even as a little girl I could feel the intense sorrow that seeped out from him and it was confusing. I’ve in turn carried his pain deep within me maybe to acknowledge him in some way. I loved my father so much but was terrified of him too. The double edge sword.

On the night before my father was found dead, I knelt down, sobbing, resting my elbows on the bed, placed my hands together and I prayed;

Dear Lord
Please forgive me for the sins that I have committed.
Please make my Dad die and take him to Heaven to be with you because if you don’t he will kill my Mum.
Please Lord keep us safe, I’m so scared.
Please forgive me.
Amen

© All Rights Reserved – The boy in the chip shop 2019