Uncategorized

Visa Anxiety

Honestly, there are a million and one things to be fucked up about and I really think that we need to be far more accepting of this. More than this I wish people would fuck off with their breathing exercises from time to time. Sometimes we really do have a million and one reasons why we feel stuck or brain dead and out of it or my personal favourite brain fog. If there is anything that the last few years has taught me is that my mind is in full working order. All that overthinking must demonstrate something. Except of course the mind, the brain and the body hold some very different properties. In Today one of my more recent blog posts I talked about being a COVID refugee. I literally ended up hanging out in Namibia for nine months. In case you didn’t know already nine months is three months short of a year. It’s really long time to end up somewhere that you didn’t expect, writing a master’s, watching the death toll rise and trying not to figure out what to do next; other than stay sane. It’s a funny thing all those insidious thoughts that turn into a backdrop of feeling. It’s quite a thing really the backdrop of feeling that makes up our emotional landscapes and how sometimes they seem to entrap us. When really it’s just a pushed down unspoken about thoughts that seem to be controlling our world. Needless to say, I’ve added COVID Refugee to the list of books that I need to write.

It was an intense yet homely time in the desert. That played out like a beautiful groundhog day tapestry that you really had to live through. You see life in many ways could not have been more simple, more straightforward or even better catered for, it’s just that for obvious reasons I was stressed under pressure and to my realisation now, quite freaked out. It turns out much to my surprise that certainty offers quite a remarkable toolset for wellbeing. One that I wasn’t sure that I needed until now. It will come as no surprise to many of you that I live with quite high levels of uncertainty and have done for years. At least now my work is legally allowed. You think I’m kidding when I say that. What if I told you I am not. What if you have been working covertly for years? Few people get to truly understand what it is to be an immigrant and even worse a refugee. Someone with no connections and nowhere else to be. And what do we do we put out big girl panties on and do our best to full adult. It’s nothing less than terrifying to live such precarious situations where just one thing has to go wrong and your whole way of life is under threat. More than this that your life is under threat.

We live in interesting times. A pandemic, The fall of occupied Afghanistan and now this whole thing with Russia. Borders are very important things for reasons that few people want to talk about. Borders are about control and thus adversely about certainty. You see I see the world differently. I see the world through the lens of trauma. There were no fences in Southern Africa before Jan Van Riebeek arrived. That’s what the oral history says. Yet modern humans spend their time policing and creating borders, boundary lines and systems of control. Systems of control that have nothing to do with nature. Systems that are alien. I wonder sometimes what have we learned? What is the climate emergency here to teach us? As I watched South African sand become Nambian sand through a wire border fence. Who gets to decide who it belongs to or indeed why it has to belong to anybody at all? It gets me to thinking about territories. How far we can walk? How far do we need to travel in order to survive? It feels like we should be thinking about land very differently. I’m feeling about land very differently and why we need those one hundred and ninety-five stamps in our passport. What is that separates us other than an arbitrary colonialist line drawn straight across the desert?

This article was written by a dyslexic with a punk attitude.

Process, Uncategorized

I’m Traumatised

There is nothing quite like a confessional to get everybodies ears to prick up. In fact my attachment to the idea of being traumatised was only this week pointed out to me as being trauma bonded to trauma. I can totally take that on. The things (and there are many) that we tell ourselves in order to justify, defend and deny our position. If we argue for our limitation they undoubtedly become ours and yet at the same time, your limitations  all depend on how we view trauma. Whether it is a blessing or a curse. I consider trauma to be an immense gift along with Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder

It has certainly given me some remarkable insights and character traits. The ability to hold deep compassion as well as deep listening.

It takes me back to a time many years ago when I used to scoff at the idea of depression. I couldn’t understand what it meant to have depression and why that might prevent you from functioning in the world. What was there to be sad about? Of course at this point in time I was in very deep denial of my own trauma. When I look at it now my very own brand of bad attitude. I was going solo. I literally had no friends. Didn’t see the point of them and was truly hooked on a consumptive experience of life. Yet the hole I was trying to fill was vapid. As I clung to co-dependent relationships and the healthiest relationship that I had was with the teddy bear I had had since I was eight.

I knew nothing about codependency, trauma bonding. Though someone I had once worked with had incessantly banged on about the book Women That Love to Much. It didn’t apply to a young women with Catholic upbringing. Love was unconditional. To love someone was to embrace the destructive force that they may or may not have in your  life as a dedication and embodiment of christian values. Romantic relationship and marriage were to be taken on as a form of spiritual battlefield where your needs never get met by an addicted and emotionally unavailable partner who’s only real interest in you was sexual.

Yes these were the subconscious beliefs that I was carrying around with me. That I was embodying in my choices. That my needs were inconsequential in the unrelenting service of love. Love was entirely sacrificial. Love endured abuse, betrayal, abandonment, shaming and silencing. This was the love I knew. Twenty years on my love programming although highly illuminated is still very much confused by the idea that my needs might be met. That I can ask for help, be heard and have someone respond appropriately. That the love I receive is not conditional on me servicing somebody else’s needs.

That I can talk about trauma. That trauma can be related to my relationship with other people and I don’t have to apologise for that. That it’s uncomfortable to talk about abuse. That abuse results in trauma. That it’s a dialogue that we should all be aware of. That we all live in an anti-human system. We are all being abused, gaslight, undermined and controlled one way or another. For the most part it is adversely impacting us and if not us directly, those who are disproportionately impacted by the disparity of the system. Yes Black Live Matter, yes systemic racism exists. You see if you don’t feel oppressed. You are probably an oppressor. So I am traumatised and yes I have transferred my trauma. Does that make it easier for you too examine?

Process, Uncategorized

Post-Wedding Anxiety

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Post-Wedding Anxiety, who the fuck knew that was a thing? Apparently it is and everyone who has been married has now told me so. Since I’ve got married I’ve been doing re-runs in my head and wondering what the photographer is going to come up with.

I can honestly say I don’t think I have ever experienced anything like it. The only thing that I can imagine that it might be like is an athlete at the Olympics, all that training all that investment, one chance, one winner and then massive anti-climax. Winner or not. It’s what all the great stories tell us isn’t it? That the goal was not really the goal, the growth is in the journey and what did the surprising twist at the end tell us?

Every since I trained as a life coach I’ve consider working specifically with brides. Really? Yes really. Now I am absolutely sure that that is not as frou-frou as it might initially appear. Being a Bride is challenging to say the least of it. People you have never met, never spoken to you, that don’t even know you, take an opinion on how to do your nails, how to do your hair, who should be your dressmaker. There are even points in the process where you might be discussing how exactly it is that you want your genitalia to appear. No jokes. I’d hate to imagine the day when a beauty therapist decides how to decorate your pubic area rather than doing exactly what you want. Brides are under a lot of pressure.

To be beautiful, look perfect, to be thin, to not swear, ‘act’ dignified, the perfect host, the perfect venue, the perfect setting for the venue, perfect perfect, perfect. And there is only one day in your life to glide elegantly like a swan through it all. Not saying a word, only smiling, happy and delighted at how wonderful it is. Whether we pull off perfect or not, the come down is dramatic and intense. In the blink of an eye it is all over……the happily ever after has begun.

The quest for authenticity is epic, wild and surprising. There are so many things that we hold onto because of societal programming. Even though we know they are there and that they act somehow as false prophesy, we can’t help but believe in the fairy tale.

That is if we work hard we will end up rich, that if we love deeply love will come, if we dare greatly surprising rewards will follow. That their is a predictable cause and effect with regards to the universe. There isn’t. All we can do is deeper our understanding and adapt our approaches, which is both liberating and terrifying. Which is exactly where the magic happens in this brilliant journey called life.