Doubt…

This morning, I sat down to write but instead have been reading other blogs, poetry online, watching YouTube videos, in general procrastinating rather than doing what I set out to do.

When I think about why I do this the answer is obvious. I want to write. I have written quite a few poems over the last few days, none of them are in a finished state yet, but they are there in black and white waiting for me to go back to edit or discard.

I attended my first ever poetry workshop on Saturday, and began the day feeling like a fraud. I felt that I was not familiar enough with language and its nuances, that I don’t have enough knowledge of poetry, either modern or classic. I love poetry and read as much of it as I can. My reading tends to be limited as finances do not allow me to spend huge amounts on books, so I read what I find online and in the library.

The workshop started off with the usual getting to know each other chat. I was the only one there that had not studied English or writing in some form at higher level. Most had either a degree in creative writing or were studying for their Masters in the subject. My feelings of inadequacy doubled at this point. I felt perhaps it might be best to sneak out and never come back.

There was not an option for that though, as we moved on quickly to some  drama games to help us when reading/performing poetry. We then sat down to write and were given several prompts and three minutes in which to write about each. Not being used to this, my mind blanked for a few seconds, but then I remembered that I had come to learn and began to write.

We were then divided into groups of four to look through our writing and put together a reading or performance from what we had written. I did a double take when I realised the two well established poets at the workshop were in my group. They shared their very beautiful writing, then came my turn. Reluctantly, I read out what I had written, my voice shaking as I did so. I came to the end and sat back with a sigh of relief, thinking that would be it, my piece wouldn’t be used, I could just sit back and listen to the others reading theirs to the whole group.

It came as a surprise when I was asked to read it through again, which I managed with slightly less quivering this time. The others in my group then started to discuss what I had written, lines they particularly liked. words that stood out. They praised it as a whole and said while in ordinary circumstances it would of course need editing it “spoke” to them and for today I was to read it as it stood.

We put the four pieces together as one and read, nervously on my part. Our performance was greeted with enthusiasm, and all said they had enjoyed it.

I went home on a high and was able to sit and write with renewed vigour over the last few days. Maybe I wasn’t quite as bad as I thought I was.

I then sent a poem I had high hopes for to someone who occasionally reads my poetry and gives me feedback. This time they were not as gentle as they have been in the past. The poem was roundly lambasted. Too many mixed metaphors, a weak ending, too many of these types of poems around, this one doesn’t stand out from the crowd.

So, here I am again, wondering if I am any good at all. That I cannot even recognise when something is good or even worthwhile. I doubt not just my writing but my reading, is the poetry I like to read no good then?

And with the doubts, fear kicks in and paralyses me. When I fear the outcome will be no good, that I can’t d o it, then I lose that creative urge. The sneaky little voice inside tells me there is no point in wasting time writing rubbish. So, I procrastinate.

 

Broken record

Most of the time I just do what I do and don’t tend to analyse or even think much about it. I plan meals, shop and cook, do the housework, get children to and from school and their activities complete with packed lunches, football kits, dancing shoes etc.and because it is what I do I guess I as much as the rest of the family just take it for granted. I do on occasion forget things or book an appointment for the children when they have a club because I forget or haven’t written it on the calendar. I have missed appointments in the past too, again because I either forgot to write it down or because I just had too many things to remember and too many places to be. I usually berate myself dreadfully when these things happen. After all, for years I held down a full-time job outside the home as well all the things I do now, and rarely forgot things. Somehow it seems that the busier I was the easier it was to schedule things and remember them, and now to forget something makes me feel angry with myself as I have less pressure and stress, fewer things to remember therefore it should be easier.

I know that this is just that critical voice talking, the one that is like a broken record and has been with me since childhood, it sounds at times just like my mother or my teachers. The repetitive strain of “why can’t you be like your sisters”, or “you are  useless, lazy, good for nothing”, or “no point in asking you to do it, you will only do it wrong” and so on the chorus that accompanied my growing up. No matter how hard I tried nothing I did lived up to the expectations of the adults in my world, and soon I began to repeat that pattern, putting more and more pressure on myself to be perfect, to take on everything, yet somewhere deep inside always expecting to fail, to fall at the last hurdle, trying to prove to everyone else that they were wrong but always ending proving to myself just how useless I really was.

The more I learn recognise these thoughts the better I am at ignoring them, refusing to engage them, to give the light of day. I know better now, but it has taken years to realise what I was doing to myself, the damage that negative voice does is not irreparable but the hurt takes a long time to heal and a lot of effort and I am not there yet. I find it difficult to accept praise, to acknowledge the good things I do, I dismiss them as just part of normal everyday life, the things that everyone else does that we all take for granted.

Yesterday however, I was brought up short. I took the children to the opticians where we all had consecutive appointments. The children were all seen first, I then went in to the optician who asked me how I was and then told me that she found it amazing that I had managed to get all three children there on time from three different places. As this was normal to me I just shrugged, she repeated that she found it amazing, that she had one son and found it incredibly difficult to get him anywhere on time yet I had managed to organise the children to all come at the same time, one from home with me, the other two from school. Again I just sort of dismissed what she had said and thought no more of it until this morning when I happened to mention to someone at yoga class that I had taken all the children to the opticians yesterday and had an appointment myself. She also expressed surprise that I could organise this, she has two children and makes separate appointments for them. Maybe it is some kind of major organisational feat to get us all to some place at the same time, I don’t know, again it is just what I do. I find it easier to get it all done and dusted in one go rather than have to remember several appointments and make more trips.

We are all different, we all work differently and one of the most important lessons I have learned over the last few  years is to try to stop comparing what I do to what others do. To just accept who I am and what I do as unique and to celebrate my uniqueness rather than berating myself for it.

 

The black dog…

It waits, teeth bared, ears flattened, crouched before me,

a great black dog strongly muscled ready to pounce,

I stand my ground, terrified of being once again in its grip

but with insomnia and the never-ending critical voice

in cohort I had no choice. I was not strong enough

to withstand the force, the anger, the betrayal,

that grabbed me by the throat forced me down,

snarling, clawing, biting, ripping out my very core.

It is stronger than I and holds me down. Down

in a deep dark well of despair, a bottomless pit,

of pity and sorrow, rage and blame, feelings

with no name. No colour, no light, no joy.

Ferocious and brutal it tries to claim my soul,

to overwhelm me with darkness and make me

wish I was no more. I find a weak spot, a chink,

in its armour, the light of love, it does not see

this black dog, that love holds the key

as long as I love and someone loves me then

I have always the power to break free.

© Searching for the Light            23/02/2012

 

Unheard…

Like a gentle breeze on a summer’s day, or the silken cobwebs that stretch across the porch on an autumn morning you feel my presence. To you it is a mild irritant, easily brushed away, forgotten in a moment. I enter your thoughts, your world for seconds but I am quickly forgotten as you move through your life doing what you want with little thought for anyone beyond yourself.

Though our lives are intertwined in so many ways, through our children, our shared living space, you give little of yourself. Generous with money, presents and material things you guard your emotions as a jailer guards his prisoners. You let no one in and are careful to not to let others know how you feel. You permit yourself short bursts of anger, you shout and mutter but do not reveal the source of the emotion.

This was once my way too, but as I grow and learn I find that I cannot live in an emotional vacuum, repressing my feelings,  but you refuse to listen to or acknowledge how I feel. You tell me all the things that are good in my life and that I have no right to feel as I do. For too long now I have suppressed my feelings, the hurt, the anger, the resentment, emotions that bottled up have led me to a dark, dark place, a place I never want to visit again.

I want to be truly alive, to be able to experience my emotions fully, to express them and in doing so to learn who I truly am. To you showing emotion is showing weakness, you are embarrassed by emotional displays whether they be of anger or affection.

It takes strength and courage to allow others to see your vulnerability, it allows them to know you, who you are and what you are. You are willing to discuss your hopes and dreams, your passions in life but have neither the time nor the patience to listen to mine, and I wonder why this is so. What are you afraid of?

I am reluctant to share my thoughts with you because time and time again you have told me I am wrong to feel how I do, that I know nothing of life and loss, and because you do not listen you do not understand. You think you are the only one to experience loss and that loss comes only through death, I have experienced loss through death too but you dismiss it as I was young.(http://wp.me/p1GBe4-2m)

I have not lost my parents as you have therefore according to you I have not truly experienced the loss of a loved one. But we are all individual and the experiences we have are what make us but you want to mould me to make me what you wish me to be, to be subservient to you. I feel that to you I am not important, just a small cog in the machinery that makes your life work smoothly, here to keep your house clean and bring up your children. My opinions are dismissed or rubbished if they do not coincide with yours. My feelings do not matter to you and as I sit and write this I question not only why I am here but why you asked me to be. For if I am not allowed to be who I am in your presence why would you want me in your life?

Maybe it is because you have a need to control others, by making them feel insecure, unwanted, unloved, occasionally deigning to let them know they exist thus ensuring they come back for more. Of course this is a guess on my part and you will not tell me what you feel so I am left with only my intuition and hints from your behaviour.

All I know is I cannot go on like this, if we are to share our lives then we need to be prepared to share everything from our material goods to our emotions, the good times and the bad. To be prepared to listen to one another and to accept each other’s faults and rejoice in our strengths. If you are not willing or able to do this maybe we should not be together.

Though I know you will not read this, and I cannot tell you as I feel you will dismiss my feelings I am writing this as I need to. I hope one day I will have the strength and courage to either speak these words to your face or to finally make the break.

 

The Question

You do not answer me,

perhaps you did not hear,

the question, the query

in my voice.

 

I suspect you do not

listen, you do not want

to hear the questions

I ask of you.

 

To answer me would

require you to look

deep inside, to uncover

what I ask of you.

 

In your arrogance

you believe no one

could find you wanting

or at fault.

 

And you are afraid

of that my questions

may reveal, the truth,

that the essence of you

is not what you would

have others believe.

 

You do not answer

the questions nor hear

the query in my voice

because you are scared

of what you will find

what I already know.

 

Continue to ignore me

at your peril

for I will no longer lie

quietly at your feet.

 

Today I demand that

at very least my

voice be heard,

my questions may go

unanswered, scorned,

but my actions will not.

 

I know what is in your

heart and soul,

I know you do not love me

that you strive always

for control.

 

Evading me is but one way

of avoiding the question,

of seeking the answers

but I will be here

to remind you day

after day that you

are not the answer

merely another question.

 

A question to which,

I will seek the answers

in doing so my power

will grow and I will free

my soul and myself

from you.

 

 

© Searching for the Light 31.12.2011

 

Don’t speak to me like that!

Today I found myself berating myself over some little thing I hadn’t done. It wasn’t the end of the world but made me feel pretty useless, especially as it was pointed out by someone else. None of us like to have our mistakes or failures pointed out to us and being in a particularly fragile state of mind over the last few days I really took it to heart.

Later in the day I was watching, listening to or reading something that really struck a chord with me. I wish I could remember what exactly it was, however the words that stuck and resonated were something like this:

“the way we talk to ourselves, our internal voice, mirrors the way the adults in our lives spoke to us as a child, our parents, our teachers perhaps our grandparents. As children we learn from and mimic adults so we learn to speak to ourselves as we have been spoken to, so if you hear constant criticism from the adults in your world then that is how you learn to talk to yourself.”

When I looked at my Facebook page this evening I found a post from Cheryl Richardson which said : “Find a sweet photo of yourself as a child and keep it with you. Then, look at it every time you catch yourself being mean to yourself and say, “Whoa! I’d never talk to you that way. Let’s find a better plan.” Trust me, you’ll feel so much safer with yourself and your whole world will change.”

So that is what I have done. I found a really cute picture of me at about two, I have printed two copies, one for the wall in my study and one to keep in my wallet. I am going to try from now on to follow Cheryl’s advice to stem the negative self talk, the criticism, to cherish the little child within, to help her feel loved and appreciated and in doing so to learn to love me as I am for who I am.

 

The Voice

Today, I cannot silence the voice,

Nor the constant drumbeat

that accompanies it,

that beats out relentlessly

the same old track.

The voice that tells me

I am no good,

That constant beat,

You are useless, useless, useless

Reverberates in every bone in my body.

The voice will not be quelled,

Silence increases its volume,

I cannot outrun it,

for the beat

matches each and every step.

The voice will not be drowned

out by music though

I turn the volume up

’til my ears bleed

it cannot override the beat.

The voice accompanies me

night and day,

even as I sleep

and the drumbeat

is relentless in it desire

to destroy.

 

© Searching for the Light

 

What I am there for!

Grumpily, I reach out and hit the snooze button on the alarm clock, hoping futilely to catch another few minutes sleep. Once again sleep has eluded me for much of the night, dreams and thoughts chasing through my brain, confused and muddled never sure which is which, unable to decide if I am fully awake or still asleep. Several times I turn over shivering for the change in weather has meant cooler nights, not yet cold enough to put on the winter bedding yet too cool for just lightweight bedding and so much of the night is spent huddling into the duvet in an effort to get warm or tossing aside the covers to cool down.

How can I greet the day with joy and gratitude when all I feel is the need to roll over and go back to sleep. I am supposed to leap cheerfully out of bed and lovingly make packed lunches, welcome my family with smiles and open arms, serve breakfast and see them off for the day, but in  reality I want to roar at them all to leave me alone, to get their own lunches and breakfasts, I want to stay in bed. But something in me tells me I must get up and do my duties. I have always had an iron will and a strong sense of self-discipline, so I grouchily I shove back the covers, grope my way from one room to another waking everyone. I am not gentle about this this morning as I realise it is already late. I try to stop the critical voice that tells me I should have made the effort to get up earlier, as now everyone is going to be late and it is my fault. I tell myself instead that I am doing the best I can, that everyone else in the house has alarm clocks, they are old enough to know what time they need to get up at, but they prefer me to wake them up, they do not like the intrusive nature of the alarm clock, and so if I am tardy then they must learn to put up with that and organise themselves better so that they are on time.

I ignore the complaints as I wake each one of them up, I already know it is late, I know I they needed to be up fifteen minutes ago. I tell them that is not really my problem, I have woken them up now, they know it is late it is now up to them to get themselves ready on time. For my part I will have the lunches ready to go, breakfast will ready, there is not much more I can do. As it happens all are organised and ready to leave on time, no one misses their bus or is late today.

So why do I feel so guilty about grabbing an extra ten minutes in bed after a relatively sleepless night? I don’t need the extra time, I had plenty of time to do all I needed to do to ensure everyone had everything required for their day, and yet I feel that I am letting them down because they had to rush this morning, they did not have time to eat in leisure nor watch the news, they had to forgo a cup of tea as that would have made them late. Is it my fault? Do I need to be responsible for the actions of others as well as my own? Should I, as my daughter told me in a tone used only by teenagers, be prepared to put my family and their needs before my own, because that in her words is what I am there for?

 

Freshly Pressed?

No, I haven’t made it to the Freshly Pressed page, or a t least not yet, but was browsing this morning when it hit me that actually at the moment that describes quite accurately how I feel.

After months of being in despair, wondering if I would ever see the light or any joy again, when even getting up in the morning was a task that was arduous beyond belief I seem to have turned a corner. I am no longer questioning my validity, nor berating myself for the things I do, have done or have not done. I no longer need to be perfect. I no longer measure myself by others’ reactions to me, or seek approval. I have decided that I am who I am, if they don’t like me then they can choose not to be with me (o.k. I am going admit here to a little fragility, I do hope not too many people drop me I am not sure I can cope with that yet, so please just pretend for a little longer!).

Yes, I have made mistakes in my life, find me someone who hasn’t, and I am learning to accept those mistakes, I have already learnt from them because if I had not made the most major mistake of my life I would not be where I am today, nor would I have met one of the most important people in my life. Due to one mistake I have been on a journey that at times has taken me to hell and back, left me feeling useless and that life was pointless but also allowed me to see that I was my own worst critic, that I expected myself to always be perfect and was extremely hard on myself when I failed to meet the exacting standards I had set.

While I am the first to admit that everything is still not as rosy as perhaps I would like, I still have not managed to overcome my fear of returning to work, I am gentler with myself, trying to recognise the things I do and to allow myself if not praise exactly then acknowledgement that I have achieved something however small and menial that task may seem, I have done it and done it well..

I am beginning to know that I am good enough, I am just as good as anyone else. That today I feel new, renewed,  as if a new page has turned, not just a new day begun but  a new chapter in my book, I am so to speak Freshly Pressed.

“I will not criticise myself today. I am neither too little nor too much and I do not have to prove myself to anyone.” – Affirmations by  Louise L Hay

 

Imagination to Reality??

Can we really use our imagination to manifest what we want from life? I know there are plenty of spiritual speakers out there who claim we can, that if we need to lose weight we just imagine ourselves at our ideal weight, affirm it every day in present tense and positively and it will happen, and they also claim it has worked for them.

I have always had a vivid imagination and so can dream up all sorts of scenarios in my life, good and bad, not that I necessarily want them to all come true, but some of them give me comfort when I need it, but the ones I really do want, my dreams, aspirations, ambitions, call them what you will even when I do realise them seem somehow to go wrong, either not what I expected or ending up in a dramatic fall from grace. I feel I must be doing something wrong, either that I or what I dream is not my true path or dharma in life. I have struggled and struggled to find my purpose in life, moving from one thing to another to find that it either does not satisfy or causes me so much stress that I fail.

As I work on once again finding my purpose, hopefully one that also brings financial reward, I wonder is it because I have always wanted to please others that I fail. Is it because what I do is not just for me and about me but also doing what I feel others want of me, seeking their validation before embarking on a new path, expecting praise when a job is done well, to be acknowledged and noticed for what I do and who I am.

I realise that until I can accept myself and not just my limitations but also my strengths and can see that what I do is good enough I will continue to fight an uphill battle. That is the hard part, silencing the critical voice that has been with me for so long, the voice that tells me I am not good enough, there is nothing special about me, what I do everyone else can do (and usually better!).

I strive now every day to counteract that voice, to if not silence it completely then at least temporarily; to use positive affirmations in its place. While I am still afraid to imagine my dreams unfolding fully I can now at least give some thought to them, I hope, I pray that maybe this one will come true, but I endeavour to conquer the fear of failure that grips me every time I think of it. There is nothing more I can do, it is out of my hands now.

I will not criticise myself today. I am neither too little nor too much and I do not have to prove myself to anyone. – Louise L Hay