My revelation came on the back of a beautiful little Mexican Blue ~ if you know, you know ? ~ on a walk that felt more like a pilgrimage along a deserted Paternoster Beach. 

I’ve done a lot of work on myself over the years in my quest for peace and happiness. You name it, I’ve probably done it. From meditation, to plant medicine, to healers, to coaches, to Reiki, to sound therapy, to psychotherapists… the list goes on. I have a voluminous directory of names and numbers at my fingertips (hit me up if you need someone ?).  

By now you would have thought I would have found it, right? Mais non… The disquiet in my soul has been a constant companion – like an unshakeable shadow (apt choice of word). 

On one particular Saturday morning in early January, I woke with a sense of such utter discomfort in my own skin (yes, even on holiday!), coupled with a near desperate frustration. 

WHY AM I NOT HAPPY? WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME?

I decided to go to Paternoster with a wise friend, and to solicit the help of a sacred little plant’s medicine to try to understand why I keep on defaulting to this same state of petrified inertia, over and over again. I got what I asked for… 

Who would have thought that the enemy was ME this whole time? 

Indulge me as I meander down memory lane…

My childhood was not a happy one. If I were to sum up the primary experiences from years 6 to 14, they would be:

Shock. Humiliation. Disappointment. Hurt

These combined over time to create a state of being of avoidance, hopelessness, dread, and self loathing on another level.

Why, you may ask? 

I had an alcoholic father who abandoned me in the most terrible way. He was my first teacher in the shock, humiliation, hurt and disappointment medley. Shock at the rejection – he used to love and adore me completely. Then he didn’t. Just like that. He went from being my God to not even seeing me. Humiliation came in consistent waves (like falling OUT of a pool at a schwanky year end office Christmas party – him being the ONLY one in the pool AND in a speedo – DURING his boss’ speech, and cutting open his leg so badly that the bone was exposed. Yep, he was that guy…). That was really the only consistency in my life. Repeated cycles of drunkenness, embarrassing behavior, shame, and the pity in other peoples’ eyes. It was too terrible. He missed every single concert, was never present at parents’ evenings, or at any of my childhood milestones. He choose J & B over me every single day.  

Disclaimer: I am in awe of my mother for being able to acknowledge my painful experiences, and for having done the deep personal work on herself since then. I know she did the best she could considering her own emotional scars and conditioning. Mom, you are such an inspiration in my eyes, and I am so grateful for you…!

My mother’s language of love was discipline, coupled with very exacting standards. She was a really harsh critic. There was always an extra percent to be given and earned. I was destined for greatness, but never felt good enough in the moment. Everything had to be just perfect. My body image was built on the belief that extra kilos were repulsive, and hair out of place was unkempt. She didn’t seem to see that I was so acutely uncomfortable in my skin, and never created the soft space to just let me express myself and cry. I don’t ever remember expressing emotion. Ever. Where did all those feelings go? 

I was bullied relentlessly – most acutely by my mother’s best friend’s daughter. For years and years. And no one did anything about it. We were forced into the lion’s den day after day, and subjected to the most terrible abuse. Mocked, ridiculed, teased and rejected. Every weekend, holiday and many ‘normal’ afternoons were spent being the target of absolute hell. And every plea to be saved was met with; 

“One more cup of coffee. One more cigarette. Go play…“

That was one bottomless cup of coffee…

Look, truth be told, I was a bit of a walking target for ALL bullies. They sniffed me out like bloodhounds. I had the most terrible teeth (I had damaged my front tooth in an accident when I was 18 months old. It only grew out half way, and had no enamel). Cosmetic dentistry was not a thing back then, so I hardly ever smiled. My mother used to dress my sister and I in identical clothes, many of which she made. There were no tracksuits, shorts or bare feet here… Think slacks, polo necks, socks and leather buccaneers (and matching ribbons in our braided ‘piepielankous’ hair). My vision was also shocking, so I sported a pair of thick glasses. 

The final nail in the proverbial coffin was when – in Standard  9 (grade 7) – a popular boy from our brother school (I was in a convent) started to pay attention to me. He was 2 or 3 years older. I was so excited, as this had never happened before.
This heady attention turned out to be the ultimate humiliation when my best friend’s brother, in the same grade as this boy, came clean to tell me that I was the butt of a very cruel joke. I was the appointed ‘Hunt the Grunt’. I think that was when I lost all faith in what people say and do.

Before I could make any real sense of this world, I learned that I was unsafe, unseen, unimportant – nothing better than the subject of ridicule. Having been rejected over and over again, I felt abominable. I was completely trapped in utter discomfort (put mildly) and could never express it.

That state of being was hardly BEing at all – rather just enduring and existing. Waiting for tomorrow – which was just the same as today. After a while, all those todays and tomorrows become life.

I compared myself to everyone – always looking at others and seeing their lives as perfect and ‘normal’. I was envious, and pledged to myself to always strive for whatever those other ‘normals’ were. What I didn’t appreciate was that I was not running towards an aspiration, I was instead running from something else. Me.

The external messages I had perceived up to that point: 

“You are unlovable”
“You are ugly”
“You are stupid”
“You are incapable”
“You are not enough”

My inner voice took over with:

“People are ugly”
“You cannot trust anyone”
“Life is dangerous”
“You will always be disappointed”
“You are hopeless”
“You don’t belong anywhere”

So I learned how to dream and how to escape. In romance stories of beautiful knights in shining armor rescuing the ugly duckling that turned into a swan – those were my favourite. I held on to that dream, and have spent my entire life waiting to be saved. 

Everything changed at around 14/15. When my glasses came off and braces came off, and my body started to develop, people started to treat me differently. It was like a miracle had happened. I was noticed, and I was liked. People listened when I talked, and laughed at my humor (that was a surprise – who would have thought that I was actually funny!) My entire sense of adolescent self became whatever others deemed likeable or fit. I grew my wings and I flew, and the relief was profound. It was a feeling I had NEVER had before. I belonged. I was worthy. 

I left the reject behind, and moved on… I didn’t look back. What I did not appreciate was how much I hated my younger self for the pain she had drawn to herself in the early years. 

I tried so hard to be perfect. Career, mother, wife, friend, body, mind – always aiming for that destined greatness, and the fairytale. Always just trying, trying, trying. That eventually exhausted me to the point of mental breakdown. 

Fast forward to that Paternoster Beach – age 49 – when I found myself tapping into the mind of the child.

She is still me, and I am still her. But the post-15 me has been abusing her and rejecting her every single day. I’ve been my own ‘mean girl’, expressed through my incessant self talk through my thoughts.

And the child within me still believes, You are not good enough. You are ugly. You are destined to fail. Life is not safe. You will be disappointed. You will be let down. You are alone.

The duel between my two senses of self has been a never ending cycle. Exhausting. Round and round in circles. And no matter the success or achievement, always defaulting back to this place of being frozen in a state of inertia – held back by the suppressed shock – disappointment – shame – hurt. It all got locked away and buried, and it has governed every part of me since. I literally became my own enemy, and have been rejecting myself every moment of every day. 

It’s time to put down my weapons. 

To the little 8 year old girl with sad, sad eyes, I now say this:

“I SEE you. Finally. I am so deeply sorry. I am sorry for picking up the whips of all the flawed people you encountered as a child, and for continuing to abuse you. I believed that you were repulsive and shameful, and not worthy of a good life. I ran from you. I hated you. I hated looking at you. I hated feeling you. I hated the feeling of being you. And I have done everything I can to not be you at all. I have self medicated, avoided and detached. BUT – You were always perfect. You were always loved by ridiculously human parents who were doing the best that they could, with their own wounds and misguided beliefs. It was never your fault. You had a dysfunctional family, and you internalized what was not yours to take. You felt alone, and you were scared. But life IS beautiful, and you ARE safe. You are so worthy of a beautiful life. I love you. I’ve got you…”

My journey now is on releasing all of this suppressed and blocked emotion, and conditioned, outdated and untrue beliefs that come from a very long time ago.

Trauma is not what happens to you, but rather what happens WITHIN you as a result of situations that cause you pain.

Dr. Gabor Maté

How many wounds do you carry, and how many invalid beliefs do you hold that still rule your life to this day? Have you fully integrated your inner child? 

I know that this will be my most important work to date in my almost 50 years… And I know this – Every single thing that has happened to (and within) me has brought me to this exact point in place and time. 

Precisely where I am meant to be…  

Watch this space!