Emotions and Health

The Agony and the Ecstasy of Change

The Inner Journey

I had, for a long while, been addicted to self development. It was like peeling onion layers; more were always waiting for you to deal with. But I was determined to recover from the effects of crippling emotional baggage I’d carried since childhood.

I’d felt an outsider most of my life, especially at school, even though there were times when I was popular. I rarely felt happy inside, even though I had a smile on my face much of the time. It started in early childhood. I wasn’t as bright as my older brother and younger sister; I wasn’t as pretty as my two younger sisters. Mum didn’t actually say the words, but when she talked, and she talked a lot, I read between the lines: ‘He’s a genius… she’s pretty…’ etc etc.

There was more to it than that, there always is… But I grew up believing I was unworthy: stupid, ugly. It was all untrue and I couldn’t shake it off as I grew. I believed it at my core.

The change in me started around the time leading up to, and immediately after, my father’s stroke.

It would take a long time, and much inner work on my part, to rid me of the bad feelings I carried about myself.

August 22, 2016 13 comments

Emotions and Health Writing

Fear of Death/ Fear of Life

Are you afraid of Death?

When I was sixteen, a boyfriend said during one of our many debates on the existence or not of God: “What if we decide not to believe, and wake up one day to realise we were wrong all along. Maybe we should hedge our bets just in case.” I tried to do that, but I was the original “Doubting Thomas“. I went through periods of believing in a higher being; then sometimes my belief would evaporate like the morning dew, just as quickly as it had appeared. Now I realise that “the truth” might be outside of our limited human understanding. I like the introduction to the following trailer, but would take issue with it as it progresses. The conclusions are very depressing. It speaks to the head, and not to the heart, as it draws to its dark conclusions. It is not recommended that you watch the complete video, unless, of course, that you agree with its premises.

August 21, 2016 4 comments

Emotions and Health Writing

Things I Fear … but am not afraid to mention

Most people don’t admit to being afraid, especially men. This is one of the reasons for denial and stigmatising of mental illness. Showing vulnerable feelings is shameful in many people’s eyes. But everyone is fearful at certain times in life.

Someone once said to me: “Tell me what you are afraid of, and I will tell you who you are.” He was very good at knowing, being a psychic.

Fear of Birds

white-birds-air-and-water One of my school friends was afraid of birds, for example, which, according to my psychic, is a sign of fearing “the other side”. This accords well with the arbitary nature of many phobias, which are not linked to actual events in a person’s current or early life. Some of the members of my original family were extremely afraid of frogs. These harmless creatures were all around us on the farm, and they evoked extreme fear in the female members of the extended family, in spite of never being known to hurt anyone.

For a long time I was afraid to show my writing to others. Like a lot of writers, who tend to be sensitive souls, I preferred to immerse myself in the written word, rather than “leading from the mouth”. One or two rejections or unkind words, were enough to stop me from trying to get published. Joining a writing group marked my first breakthrough moment. Members of this group—part of the Fellowship of Australian Writers—gave me the ability to give and receive feedback in a safe and supportive setting.

Fear of Getting Rejected

hand-on-window-pane

One day I asked how many of my group were writing in order to be published. I was surprised to learn that they all, without exception, wanted to be published.

They all agreed, of course, that the basic impetus for good writing is passion. That is, you write because you really want to, and love to, not because you want to get published. Otherwise, your writing will probably not be good enough to be published in any case.

And trying to be published has not always been easy for many of us. In order to get published you needed an agent, and in order to find an agent, you needed to be published in some form or other! It was a case of the ubiquitous vicious circle. That is why it’s an exciting time for writers today. A Strategic Book Publisher sums it up: “With ebooks and Kindle and m-books for mobile phones around the world, it’s a great time to be an author and a publisher. We hope to convey that enthusiasm to the world.”

Of course, quality needs to be maintained as well as publishing facility, and that’s where editors and reviewers come into the picture.

Early Genesis of Some Fears

babies-cradle

Where does my extreme fear of rejection come from? I know I’m a good writer, so why have I not put myself out there in book published form? It is easier to avoid the discomfort of pushing through the fear, rather than to face up to it and expose yourself to rejection.

I think the answer to feelings of shame and fear of rejection, lies in past events, so long ago that many of us prefer to ignore them and to not go there.

Finding Surrogate Nurturers

I am reading a book now about mothers and daughters: the ubiquitous story of fraught mother/daughter relationships. We all need to feel that sense of being loved, and of being valued for who we are.

However, surely this security can come from surrogates, or even from oneself, if you have missed out on it a long way back.

baby-chimp-with-mother

In any case, somewhere therein lies my own story, and I owe it to myself, and to my writing, to find the strength to overcome this fear.

August 20, 2016 0 comment

Emotions and Health Writing

Fear of Flying

Mountains out of Molehills

mole-dirt-digging

I’ve often had a tendency, from childhood onwards, to be overly dramatic and magnify things. It’s part of the empathic temperament. Mum used to say: “You catastrophise everything”.

It’s also one of the symptoms of suffering from anxiety. And I now know that this goes hand-in-hand with the Black Dog (depression). I suffered from both of these problems for a long time. Psychologists in this country use cognitive behaviour techniques (CBT) on people like me. This involves teaching you how to change thoughts, to over-ride fearful feelings and alter behaviour. It’s a re-education process. Therapists also encourage strategies, such as meditation, in tandem with gentle exposure to the fearful situation. Examples of things that trigger fear in people are making a speech in public, meeting new people, thinking about dying, or coming in close contact with frogs, snakes or spiders.

Fear of Flying

What led me to this particular psychologist was an extreme fear of flying. My new boyfriend at the time was an international traveller. It was part of his work, as a “sommelier”, and he wanted me to visit all these amazing places with him.

My therapist said: “Why are you afraid of going in a plane? What is it that scares you about it?”

“The plane might crash,” I said. He told me the statistics, and how it was much safer than walking the streets or driving in a car. “These jets don’t just fall out of the sky, you know.” girl-window-plane-scared

I gave him my Don’t be ridiculous look and said: “But what if it did?” My teeth began to chatter at the thought of the plane tumbling down through the ether.

“Well, you’d die quickly, I suppose,” he said, and gave a shrug. “But it’s as rare as winning the lottery or hitting the jackpot on the pokies.”

“But, I can’t stand the thought of the terrible fear, just as the plane begins its descent, and I know …”. I couldn’t finish the sentence; I was hyperventilating.

“I have spoken to crash survivors,” he said, and paused for great effect, “who say that a deep calm came over them, when they thought that they were going to die.”

“Well, I don’t like the idea of knowing I’m about to die,” I said. “It’s my greatest fear.”

“Would you like to get over your fear?” he asked. “If I could help you?”

“Yes, yes,” I cried, my eyes shining. “My boyfriend wants me to travel with him around the world. It’s the chance of a lifetime.”

The Getting of Wisdom/What’s the worst thing…?

Therapists down under love this little CBT game. It involves them asking fear victims about worst case scenarios:

“What’s the worst thing that could happen if you took a short trip in an aeroplane?” he asked. “Apart from crashing, that is?”

“I might hyperventilate, vomit,” I stammered, “or have a panic attack, shake all over with fear and … feel like I’m dying.”

“What’s the worst thing that could happen if you did all of those things, one after the other or all together?” he asked.

“I might feel sick.”

“Is that a big problem?”

“No.” wise-owl

“What else?”

“People might laugh at me.”

“And what would be the consequence of that?”

“I’d feel bad,” I said.

“Is that all?”

“And sick.”

“Anything else?”

“Just death.”

To Leap or not to Leap

After many sessions like this, my therapist invited me to accompany him on a short plane trip. It was part of the package deal that I was paying for.

By the fifth trip with this kindly mentor, I’d learnt how to go up into the skies in a plane without hyperventilating, without vomiting or having a panic attack. I was proud of myself. Overjoyed. I’d be globe-trotting soon, for sure.

But then…

paragliding

My boyfriend asked me, one fine weekend, to go skydiving with him. I couldn’t believe he’d want me to do this. Had I teamed up with a sadist? Was this his idea of a bad joke?

As we zoomed up into the ether in the small plane, I imagined I’d soon be toppling off the edge of the world and into the void. Matt was calm. He held me close from behind, as we edged towards the open door of the aircraft. My teeth were chattering, and it wasn’t from the cold. I closed my eyes. That helped. The last thing I wanted to see was the void below the open hatch, like a giant mouth sneering up at me.

Matt was standing behind me, hugging me into his body. “Our parachute will open up,” he said calmly into my ear. “I will keep you safe.” I was still closing my eyes tightly to block out the view of the gaping emptiness about to swallow me up. It’s do or die, I thought. Either way was bad.

“Just peer over the edge before taking the leap” he said, “and if it’s all clear, jump, and we’ll go together.”

I did what he said. I opened my eyes wide. My heart went up into my mouth and I couldn’t even scream. But I did it, and we soared together: he the carapace of a large flying tortoise, I the soft underbelly.

And my fear suddenly left me, as we sailed down through the sky, my boyfriend on top of me and the parachute opened above both us like a smiling promise.

I jumped because, after all, not leaping seemed to be a much bigger risk, at least to my love life.

Editor’s Note: This is a fictional piece of writing, partly tongue-in-cheek. If you have a real problem with Flight Phobia you might need to try a different approach than the one suggested above.

soar-the-book

Captain Bunn founded SOAR to develop effective methods for dealing with flight anxiety.

Therapists who have found this phobia difficult to treat will find here everything they need to give their clients success.

Anxious flyers who have “tried everything” to no avail can look forward to joining the nearly 10,000 graduates of the SOAR program who now have the whole world open to them as they fly anxiety free wherever they want. See his book on Amazon:

August 19, 2016 13 comments

Childhood Emotions and Health Writing

Looking for Kitty Walker

waverley-cemetery-graves I’m lying in bed feeling sorry for myself when I receive the message from Kitty’s granddaughter. It’s ten days since I caught this virus from, guess who? my significant other. The first flu I’ve had for years and, guess what? It went straight to my newly 20/20 vision eyes… Just after having cataracts removed. Yes, nowhere else but there! Until today, when I felt nauseous and knew it wasn’t from “you know what”… Perhaps the tummy ache is a good sign, the last kick of the virus before it leaves for good…

A Photo of my Great-Aunt, Kitty Walker in 1910

Positive—bitter/sweet—things have been happening, too. A granddaughter of a long deceased relative has got in touch with my sister and me to find out about her ancestors, especially her grandmother, my great-aunt, Kitty Walker. The photo above is of Kitty performing in a musical The Absent-Minded Beggar from my brother’s genealogy book A Little Bit of Irish (William Skyvington).

This person who got in touch via my brother in France, I’ll call “Catherine”. She is the daughter of Kitty’s daughter—Kitty’s granddaughter. Let’s call Kitty’s daughter “Meg”: she was brought up in a Catholic orphanage in Sydney. Meg died quite young, after getting married and having a family, including Catherine.

Dad, Mum and Aunty Nancy

The photo of Mum and Dad with Nancy was taken at about the time poor little Meg was being put into the orphanage at age seven or so. She became a “work horse” for the nuns, according to Catherine. The child in the photo is my mother’s younger sister. She would have been about the same age as Meg at the time. Kitty was Mum’s aunt, the younger sister of my grandfather, Charles Walker, both of whom I never knew.

Kitty must have had the child Meg late in life, possibly in her forties.

No one in the extended family seemed to know about this at the time I was growing up in South Grafton.

It’s great when you feel a past hurt is able to be soothed a little by your actions. What hurt, you might ask? Some people in my extended childhood family refused to give answers when the adult woman, Meg, came begging: not for money, but for information about her family tree.

“This Kitty ended up in the gutter!” was, I imagine, the gruff utterance from the dairyfarming uncle, and “the daughter’s no doubt from the same litter, only wants a handout from us.”

It all boils down to ignorance and to shame. This withholding of information leads to more ignorance and false assumptions further down the track. Yes, there was alcoholism in our family tree, but the shame was so much greater in this case, because the sufferer was female. Thank goodness I experienced the coming of the Women’s Liberation movement!

Emotional problems and alcoholism, are often linked, being signs of an amazing gene—or a cluster of genes—shared by many creative people like Kitty Walker: the artistic ones!

So it’s back to Ancestry searches and telephone calls for us, to try to fill in some missing gaps. What we know so far:

Kitty Walker, born 1886 in Grafton NSW, Australia, was artistic and a singer, and helped the campaign to get Sir Earle Page elected into parliament. She had a vibrant social life before, perhaps, becoming addicted to alcohol at the hotel where she lived. She was brought up by her aunt, who ran the Walker’s Hotel in South Grafton. Kitty worked there as a barmaid for some time. That is where she met her future husband, the father of the child, Meg. Only recently have my newfound cousin, Catherine and I, discovered where Kitty Walker lies buried in an unmarked grave at Matraville Cemetery.

The Walkers’ Hotel in South Grafton

Catherine has since visited Walkers’ Hotel where her grandmother lived and worked. She had a sense of Kitty’s presence when she stayed there, and was able to glean some more information about her ancestor from staff.

The widowed publican, Kitty’s aunt, used to send men home to their wives if they had drunk too much.

We visited the cemetery where Kitty was buried, when Catherine came to Sydney, and we laid flowers on the grave.

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.
by Mary Elizabeth Frye

August 11, 2016 0 comment