Lovefraud: "I Won't Let You Fall" - Five Words And The Hand Of Friendship

First of all I would like to say a big hello to all of you here on Lovefraud. This site has been a huge help to me over the past two years. The two years since I discovered that my marriage to a man I had freely referred to as my soul mate had in actual fact been a decade of manipulation and deception at the hands of a man I now believe to be a sociopath. Reading experiences and stories from other people here on this site, I came to recognize that my situation was far from unique. I was both appalled and also relieved to find that I was not alone. That there are thousands of people (mainly women, like me) who have been duped and betrayed in the cruelest of ways.

I have been working on healing myself since I discovered the truth about my own situation, and I recently contacted Donna to offer my voice to the crusade against these abusers. Like so many of us, I have fought hard to make sense of what had happened, to regain my shattered confidence and ultimately to reclaim my life. It has been a difficult journey – and I am still learning and growing through the experience. Not long after my discovery I started writing a blog. Initially it was just for my own healing, but as time went on I made it public and it has gradually attracted readers from around the world, many of whom have told me that my stories have helped them in their own healing. I am delighted to have the opportunity to share some of my stories and musings here on this site – the very place that played such a major role in my own recovery.

I consider myself one of the lucky ones. I escaped, and I have come out the other side. Wiser, stronger and more determined than ever to help others do the same. I tell myself (and anyone who cares to listen) that if I can do it, then so can other people! I am an ordinary woman who was thrown in to an extraordinary set of circumstances. I will be sharing some of my blog posts on this site, together with specific accounts just for the Lovefraud audience. Thank you for having me here on this site – I am very excited to be part of the team and I hope that my experiences are useful to others.

For my first post I would like to share a little more about my history – starting with excerpts from a blog I wrote just a couple of months after finding out the truth about my husband. It was the start of my self-exploration as to how I had allowed myself to be duped and then betrayed on so many levels. At that time I did not yet know about sociopaths. Thank you again, and I hope you enjoy it.

I am an English woman who has lived in France since 2003. My home is an old stone farmhouse, nestled in the beautiful countryside next to the River Charente. It was June 2009, just a couple of months since ‘the discovery’ and I was sitting outside working on my laptop when I was visited by one of the village locals who had been kindly looking out for me over recent weeks. A weather-beaten farmer in his late sixties, he speaks no English (fine for me as my French is pretty good) and uses a broad local Charentais dialect. His family has been in the commune for countless generations, and they’ve dedicated their lives to tending the fields, planting and harvesting the crops, and organising the regular communal gatherings. He is well past retirement age and, as with so many of the locals, still works day and night on his beloved land.

Since being left alone with my young son, I had regularly returned home to find a gift on my table just by the kitchen door – a bucketful of freshly cut daffodils, bags of fresh cherries and vegetables picked from neighbouring gardens, and plants for my own garden wrapped in newspaper to keep the roots moist until they can be dug in to the ground.

The locals, of course, knew what had happened, and on this particular day, Berber shuffled up to sit at the table where I was working. He doesn’t speak very much, and often leaves awkward silences between the gruff and clumsy words he uses. It’s clear he struggles to say what he means, and he frequently resorts to grunts, harumphs, and the typical Charantaise shrugging of the shoulders peppered with regular outbursts of “bah, eh oui!” which is a great substitute for many words.

But this particular morning he sat down and asked me how I was getting on. He asked whether I’d found any work and how my son and I were settling in to the changes. I carried on typing and explained that I’d been throwing out new seeds everyday in to the field of employment, and that one day something must surely take root and bring the results I need. I kept the smile on my face, and the strength in my voice that I’d learned to perfect over so many tough times. But he must have noticed something. He stared at me with his deep brown soulful eyes, and wriggled in his seat, pulling himself up taller and clearing his throat. It clearly took a great deal of effort to find the words, but eventually he simply said “Je ne te laisserai pas tomber” which means “I will not let you fall”

I lost my composure at that point, and my mask of courage slipped. Despite myself, I felt my eyes welling up as tears of gratitude started trickling down my cheeks. I had no words. I just became aware of tiny cracks appearing in the brittle shield of strength that had been protecting my heart from pain. Berber said no more, asked me no more questions. He just nodded, got up from his seat, squeezed my shoulder and quietly wished me “bonne journee” or “good day”.

Since then I’ve thought about the power that a hand of friendship can have – and questioned whether, perhaps, on previous occasions I’ve been so concerned about staying strong (typical British ‘stiff upper lip’ and all that) that I’ve overlooked support that could have been available to me all along?

I’ve had to face a number of ‘challenges’ throughout my life (and realised how I’ve come to dislike the glib over-use of that word to describe problems or even traumas – under the ‘keep positive’ mantra of well-meaning but sometimes deluded modern-day motivators) so now is probably a good time to explain a few of them.

For me, it seems, change has been a constant in my life since my earliest memories. Not for me the slow, gentle undulating waves of change to which one can gently acclimatise, but instead a mighty tsunami that arrives without warning and washes away everything in it’s path in just a blink of an eye.

The first was the death of my father when I was just 4 years old.

I absolutely adored and worshipped my ‘Daddy’ in the way, I suppose, that only a daughter can. To me he was my hero, my saviour, and I knew that however much love and adoration I gave him, he returned it ten-fold. My mum was pregnant with my little sister at the time, so dad had taken it upon himself to be the ‘clown’ and ‘entertainer’ to me as mum was understandably less energetic than usual! He would frequently return home from work with special treats for me – small things, sometimes a paper airplane, other times bubble gum that he and I would sneak behind the sofa to eat, pretending to hide from mum because she didn’t approve of any kind of gum (all part of the game, of course!)

He’d often scoop me up above his head, put me on his shoulders, and tell me “Boo” (my nickname) “just look at the world – it’s all there waiting for you!” and I truly believed I could do anything. We were all very excited about my sister’s imminent arrival, and would sit for hours discussing names and what games we were going to share with her. I remember his friendly easy smile, one that spread right across his face and lit up his eyes – a warmth that couldn’t fail to touch anyone else who was around him. I was so very proud of my Daddy.

That fateful day, he’d decided to return to his office in the evening to finish off some work. It was way after I’d gone up to bed, and I remember hearing the door shut behind him, as he shouted out “see you soon!” before the familiar sound of his car engine disappeared off down the lane. I snuggled deeper under my covers and settled down to a comfortable sleep. That was the very last time I’d know that feeling.

He died that evening in his office – a mixture of the prescription drugs he was taking to shake off a cold, together with the glass of wine he’d had at home with my mum had, apparently, left him slightly drowsy. The heater in his office was new and, unbeknown to anyone, was leaking lethal carbon monoxide fumes in to the air. My Daddy’s lifeless body, slumped across his desk with pen still in hand, was discovered by his brother when he arrived for work the next morning.

I wasn’t told about his death until after my sister was born, 10 days later. I can only now begin to imagine the torment my dear mother must have endured through this time – she was only 32 years old, facing life as a widow and about to give birth. All I remember from my point of view was that I was to go and stay with my best friend in the village ‘until after the baby arrives’. And I really don’t remember much else. Until I was home. I’d met my gorgeous new little sister, and then mum sat me gently next to her in her bed to tell me the news.

And from that moment on I knew that life would never be the same. The funeral had been and gone, I had a new sister to ‘look after’ (for that was how I saw my role at that point – because Daddy was no longer there to fulfill it) and a new school to start. We went down to the coast for a few months to stay with Nan and Gand, my mum’s parents, and I remember developing scarletina, eczema, and all manner of other minor ailments for which I was given gallons of potions and mixtures to combat. I remember playing in the park with my Nan, I remember long walks along the seafront, I remember sitting on a huge model elephant on the pier…. but I do not remember crying.

The next tsunami was to hit 12 years later.

Towards the end of 1980, not long before my 16th birthday, I had developed a nasty bout of pneumonia. Weeks and weeks at home meant that I had missed a great deal of schooling for my all-important O Levels the following summer. By the beginning of the New Year I had recovered sufficiently to return to school, and we all trotted along to the doctors to get a certificate proving that I had missed a chunk of last term through illness. It was to be sent in to the examining board in the hope they would view my papers with compassion when the time came.

It was a Monday, 12th January 1981, and after the doctor had signed the certificate, mum asked him if he wouldn’t mind just taking a look at something for her? So she laid down on the couch and the doctor bent over her. He touched her and then looked at my sister and me and asked us to go in to the waiting room. He didn’t need to say anything. There was something in his eyes that turned my blood to ice and I felt the familiar feeling of dread rising up through my body.

My heart was pumping as my little sister and I went through to the waiting room, and I just couldn’t keep the words inside me. I turned to her, and said as gently as I could “Mummy’s got cancer”. I didn’t understand where this “knowing” came from, I just knew with every nerve cell and fiber of my being that it was true.

We both waited anxiously, and watched for the doctor’s door to open. Like my dad, mum also had this most incredible energy about her – people have often said that she lit up a room. And as she came out of the surgery, she was still wearing her biggest smile, and gave a jolly laugh and nod to the doctor as she closed the door behind her. But it was no good. I wasn’t fooled. I knew there was something wrong.

We all got to the car, and strapped ourselves in – I was in the front seat next to mum, who was still wearing her famous “come along gals!” sort of smile I was so familiar with. I waited a few moments until we were out of the car park, then I turned to her and asked gently “Are you going to tell us then?” She faced my questioning stare, her smile not quite as convincing as she countered “Tell you what darling?” And I had to say it. “You’ve got cancer, haven’t you?”

And with that, with those five small words, the truth was out and I knew that life, once again, would never be the same.

The three of us spent that evening at our dining room table, talking, crying, hugging and trying to understand what it all meant. It turned out that she had found a lump in her breast a few months earlier, but had been told by her brother that it was nothing she should be worried about, so she had ignored it (and that’s another story for another time). Now it had spread and the doctor had told her that they had to operate immediately to find out just how bad it was.

She went in to hospital just over a week later, cheerily telling people she was going in for a hysterectomy. Why? Well, she explained that she wanted to keep strong within herself, and that this would help her so that she didn’t have to explain the scary truth to others. So we went along with it, and were forbidden to tell friends or family what was really happening.

I realize now that this was just about the worst thing any of us could have done, as we had to keep up the pretense that everything was ok, while struggling with the inner turmoil and fear of the truth. But my sister and I stayed true to mum’s wishes. We stayed strong, and during the first few days I only told one very close friend what was really happening – and felt wracked with guilt in the process. The truth came out pretty quickly, though, as it became clear just how far the cancer had spread, and mum simply couldn’t hide it anymore.

The illness didn’t last very long. My sister and I visited her no more than 4 times in hospital. By Wednesday 4th February, we were told she was too ill for us to see her – and she died at 21.50 on Friday 6th February less than a month after we had first discovered she was ill.

I didn’t go to her funeral. Mum always said she didn’t want a funeral – too much fuss, too much sadness and such a waste of flowers she used to tell me. So, again, I followed her wishes and opted instead to go to school that morning – utter craziness as I look back on those times, but I honestly thought I was doing the best thing, and that she’d have been proud.

We went to live with our guardians – an old friend of the family, his wife and their young son, and another baby on the way. And we did our best to fit in, to be ‘good girls’ and to help out and stay happy – we were conscious to not become a burden, and although our entire existence had changed, we did a pretty good job at keeping up the façade.

The next tsunami happened on Sunday 9th January 1983.

Just a couple of weeks earlier we’d celebrated my 18th birthday with a huge party at the house. I was in my final year of A Levels and things were pretty good. My sister and I had arrived home late from a weekend visit with our paternal grandparents in Lincolnshire. We had made the five-hour coach ride down from Peterborough to Eastburne, and then took a taxi home just before midnight. We’d been laughing together the entire journey, and giggling at some of the things our grandparent had been saying and doing over the weekend. The house was in darkness when we got home and everyone was already in bed. So we said good night to each other and crept quietly to our bedrooms. Mine was right at the top of the house, and directly above the bedroom of my guardians. I reached behind the door to turn the light on, and went in to my room.

I couldn’t believe my eyes. There, strewn across the floor and my bed, were my mother’s clothes…! I stared in disbelief as two familiar demons, shock and horror, wrapped their icy arms around me. It could only have been my guardians who would have done this – but I reasoned that there was nothing I could do at that point. So I carefully picked up the clothes, folded them up, and got myself ready for bed. Once again, that well-known feeling of dread was gnawing away at the pit of my stomach. My heart pounded and my head swam with unanswerable questions that seemed to taunt me. I knew for certain that my life was once again about to change forever.

The following morning we got up and went down stairs for breakfast – I don’t remember whether or not I told my sister what had happened, but I do remember than neither of our guardians was at the breakfast table. Their small son toddled in, and we busied ourselves with getting him fed and watered, as was our usual routine. My guardian came down just a minute before we were due to leave, and I asked where his wife, Gilly was. He just brushed me off saying “she’s too tired this morning” and rushed us in to the car. The car stereo was at full blast, and nothing was said. So I steeled myself to ask that same question I had asked my mother when she came out from the doctor’s surgery “Well, are you going to tell us then?”

My inquiry was met with coldness. Not the love and concern that mum had shown when I had asked her the same question. No, this time it was a sneer. “You’re going to stay with your grandmother. You’re to pack your bags tonight and you’re leaving tomorrow morning. You’re not coming back.” And that was that.

I felt a failure. I hadn’t managed to safeguard our new home, or protect my little sister. Once again I pulled myself up to stay strong and ‘grown up’ in a situation where I was still not much more than a child myself.

Many years have passed since then, and there are many more stories to tell – but they are for another time.

For now, suffice it to say that the most recent tsunami hit on 21st April 2009 when I discovered the truth about my husband. And it’s been the most devastating shock I have yet had to deal with – it is also the one that has hit me the hardest. Because this time I was an adult. This time I had chosen my situation. And the betrayal crashed down on every single level of my heart, body and soul. Everything that I’d trusted, everything that I’d loved and put my faith in was suddenly swept away in a heartbeat.

Is it a coincidence that it happened on the very day when I officially outlived my mother – and, therefore both my parents? I don’t know – I’m still working on that one.

I’ve decided that I must have been born with a strong soul to endure such things – but I’m beginning to wonder just what lessons I’m meant to be learning. Lessons that perhaps I’ve just been too darned stubborn or stupid to learn!

This time, I decided that perhaps I’d stop being so strong. Perhaps I’ll stop believing that I have to be super human and carry the weight of responsibility on my own.

This time, perhaps I’ll be able to accept the healing waves of unconditional love and support that surround me – often showing themselves in the most unexpected of ways and from the most unexpected of people. Just like the innocent visit from Berber – a local farmer who knows nothing of my earlier past.

This time, perhaps I WILL let myself fall – and learn to trust that I’ll be caught, supported and carried to safety by the hands of friendship that are reaching out to me every day. Perhaps I’ll be the soft human being that I really am, and perhaps in the process I can also heal the little girl who, somewhere deep inside of me is still waiting for her hero to come home.

Since writing that particular post I have come a long way. Over the coming weeks I will be sharing stories with you about the things I learned along the way, together with some of the methods I used that helped me to survive and ultimately reclaim my life. I hope you will find them useful!

Original link to story on Lovefraud here

Lovefraud: Introducing A New Lovefraud Author, Mel Carnegie

“There are thousands if not millions of people out there who have been targeted by sociopaths — and I intend to do all I can to help them!”

That’s what Mel (short for Melanie) Carnegie wrote when she first contacted me not long ago. She, like many of us, had unknowingly married a sociopath back in 1998. It’s a classic sociopathic seduction story — they met, he swept her off her feet, they exchanged vows six days later. “I had never felt so loved, so safe, so special,” she wrote. “Of course, I now know it was all a sham.”

Mel and her husband started a business coaching company in the United Kingdom — that’s where she’s from — and attracted many blue chip clients. They prospered, with a beautiful home in the French countryside and investment properties in the UK.

At the beginning of 2009, Mel’s husband astarted spending more time in the UK, saying that he needed time to himself. The early part of that year was tortuous – Mel didn’t understand what was happening and her husband wasn’t able to give any useful or specific answers. Thinking that perhaps he was ill, she asked her company IT people for the password to her husband’s business account. Even though this was a perfectly normal request, she was filled with guilt about mistrusting him.

Her mistrust was well placed. To her horror, Mel uncovered an e-mail trail that indicated not illness, but massive betrayal. She wrote:

I discovered pages of hard cold evidence that showed he had been living a double life behind my back. Plundering our successful business to fund a high-flying lifestyle, running up debts, indulging in countless affairs and interacting on sordid internet sex-sites, I was hit with the hard cold realization that our idyllic life together had been nothing but a sham. We were even about to have our UK property repossessed because the mortgage had not been paid for over six months.

The moment the truth was out, I froze our business account and called in the liquidators to close the company. It was the only thing I could do.  He was in the UK at the time and I have neither seen nor spoken with him since the night I found him out. Abandoned, penniless and with a 13-year old son to support, I was catapulted in to a living nightmare.

As time went on, the extent of the debts came out of the woodwork – all of them in my name – amounting to tens of thousands of pounds. Nothing, of course, was in his name.

Dealing with the finance problems was, of course, monumental. But embarking on a journey of emotional and spiritual healing was even bigger. Like most of us, Mel realized that the betrayal by her husband was not the only wound that needed to be addressed. She wrote about her journey in her blog called, Life’s Little Lettuces.She’ll be telling you more about it here on Lovefraud.

Mel restarted her company, called The Top Banana Bunch, and it’s now a successful UK-based leadership development company, again with blue chip clients. She managed to save her home. Her husband is now her ex—the decree nisi for her divorce was granted last June, and the final divorce is coming soon.

I think Mel Carnegie will be a wonderful voice here on Lovefraud. She is a neuro-linguistic programming practitioner, an advanced Louise Hay trainer and a Firewalk instructor. She has also studied Reiki, hypnosis, transformational breathwork and other self-development tools.

Since Mel discovered the truth about the man she was married to, she has used all of her personal and professional skills to survive, re-build and ultimately break free of the living nightmare. Mel has come through, emerging wiser, stronger and more determined than ever to help others do the same.

Read Mel Carnegie’s first post tomorrow.

New Beginnings

Yup, I know I said in my last post that I'd finished this blog, but things have changed... and I'm very excited!

Over the two years that I've been writing, I've received countless messages of support that have kept me going along the way. As well as support, though, people have also emailed to thank me for sharing my experiences. It appears that my stories have provided help to others who have had their own challenges - some related to mine, others completely different. It has been those messages that have made me realise that perhaps I have more I can offer. Over recent months, what started as a smouldering curiosity has grown in to a burning determination to help others find their inner strength - after all, if I can do it then so can anyone else.

Having had more time to myself while work has quietened down, I've been thinking about ways to get my message out to a larger audience. A few weeks ago I parted company with my literary agent (while some may say that was foolish, I believe it was the right thing to do since, in the end, we just didn't properly 'get' where each other was coming from) and since then have been searching for alternatives. I've been researching various options that might be available - agents, publishing houses, e-books and self-publishing... and then all of a sudden the perfect opportunity turned up. Right there in front of my face - it had been there all the time (fitting perfectly with my constant mantra "All I need is within me - it's already here") just waiting for the right opportunity to arise.

During the early months after April 2009, I spent many hours going through Lovefraud.com a website dedicated to help those who have been targeted by a sociopath. It provides useful information as well as education on a subject about which surprisingly little is known. As well as that it has a thriving community who share stories and give each other support. For me, I was both appalled and relieved to discover that I was not alone in my experiences - in fact, as Donna Andersen explains on the home page:

"Experts estimate that 1% to 4% of the population are sociopaths, depending upon whom you ask. That means there may be 3 million to 12 million sociopaths in the United States, and 68 million to 272 million sociopaths worldwide" (you can click on the picture top right to buy her book)

So I decided that now would be the right time to make contact with Donna and offer my voice to her crusade. I was surprised and delighted to receive a positive response within a couple of days, and now I am very excited to announce that as from this week I am to join Lovefraud's team of authors! Tomorrow, Monday, Donna will be introducing me to the community, and Tuesday will be my first post.

Because of that, I have decided to re-open this blog and continue adding stories as things progress. I have just been chatting with one of my oldest friends who asked whether it all feels a bit surreal. To which my response was "no, it feels like I'm coming home" Because this is what I was born to do.

Of course, I am yet to see how my stories will be received - but I hope that this forum will help me to get my message out to more people. If some have already benefited from entries on this blog, then perhaps now I can reach many more. I am quite sure that I will not be to everybody's taste - but if I can help just one more person to escape the shackles of pain and destruction, well then it will all have been worthwhile.

Once more I find myself giving thanks to my ex (and others) because their actions have taught me to find myself. To bring forth the inner strength to reclaim my life and enjoy love and happiness - on my terms. As the title says, these are new beginnings - and boy am I ready... Bring it on!

Spa, Sea And Signatures - The War Is Over

It's been an astonishing roller-coaster of a ride - and the past couple of weeks have been no less exciting as I come to the end of an era. This, for the time being, is the final post for Life's Little Lettuces - because the war has been won. I have come through, and as I said recently, there is no longer any need for me to fight or 'survive'. Because I've done it. All the things that two short years ago seemed impossible have been achieved. Mind you, had I realised at the time just how tricky it would be to navigate my pathway to freedom through such a cruel and unrelenting jungle of circumstances, I'm not sure that I'd have had the courage to continue. It is said that ignorance is bliss - and in this respect, I totally agree!

But enough of that - my battles are well documented in this blog. So now I'd like to update you on the quite extraordinary twists that have happened over recent weeks. All of which have brought me to the conclusion that yes, I HAVE won. I CAN move forward - and for the first time in my life I can move with neither baggage nor the need to prove myself. Instead, just to enjoy who I am and embark on wonderful new adventures - just for me.

A couple of weeks ago I secured all the signatures from my ex that have been necessary for me to get closure on the mess that was left for me to deal with. As you know, I have had no contact with him since the day I discovered the truth - and he has steadfastly refused to respond to any number of solicitors letters. Yet on 20th April he came to his senses and agreed to put his signature to every piece of paper that was put in front of him. No mean feat - but mission accomplished. And two days before the two year anniversary of my discovery as well. Full cycle. Job done. The relief was indescribable - when I received the call to say it was done I dissolved in to a heap of grateful tears, having been told by numerous ill-informed professionals that this would be an impossible route, with no hope of achievement - Pah!

That evening I collected Dylan from Angouleme train station (he'd been at a friend's house for a long weekend) and told him what had happened. Tears rolling down both our faces, we hugged each other and he asked "so is it really over now mum?" Nodding, and holding him closer, I managed a quiet "yes, my darling. It's over. We can move on now" before we headed off to the local supermarket to choose some suitably expensive champagne and a delicious supper of baked fish, salad, and asparagus.

That night will stay in my memory of one of the best nights of my life. He and I spend the evening sipping champagne, listening to music, eating some of our favourite foods, and chatting - about everything. We shared secrets, we laughed, we cried, we told jokes and - most importantly - we were just 'us' together, finding out so much more about each other and both thoroughly enjoying each other's company. My beautiful son is still only 15 years old, yet he is wise beyond his years and fantastic company to boot! Quick witted, mature, and growing in to such an amazing young man in front of my very eyes, I am so very proud to call him not only my son, but my friend as well. Thank you, Dylan, I love you beyond any words I can find to explain.

The next morning I dropped him back at Angouleme train station, since he was staying with his father in London over Easter – a journey that takes him north to Lille where he changes and gets the Eurostar over to England. It’s only the second time he’s done it on his own, so I was a little nervous. Leaving with plenty of time to spare, our journey had been hijacked by unexpected roadworks and an interminable queue of cars in front of us. Patience doesn’t seem to be a word or attitude known to the French, and there was much tooting of horns and revving of engines, accompanied by shouting and waving of fists out of car windows as many decided to turn around and find an alternative route. There was no alternative route for our destination, as we were literally a couple of kilometres from the station – so we had no option but to sit tight and trust that we’d find a solution. Warning his dad that we may miss the train, we battled on through and finally arrived at the station ten minutes after the train had been due to depart. Chucking open the doors and urging Dylan to “run for it!” I went to park the car while he scurried off to his platform, in the thin hope that perhaps the train was late. Just as I was locking the car, Dylan called me to say he was the luckiest boy in the world because his train had indeed been delayed, and he was just boarding now. Phew – what a relief!

But my relief it had been short lived. Because less than 5 minutes later he called me back. The tone of his voice said it all, before he even explained what had happened. He was on the wrong train and was now hurtling towards Paris, rather than Lille, his intended destination. My stomach on the floor and panic coursing sharply through my veins, I reassured him that all would be well, that his father and I would get on the case, instructing him meanwhile to stay calm and find the on-board attendant and explain what had happened. Flurries of texts and phonecalls followed, until finally we found a solution. Dylan was to get off the train at Poitiers and re-join another one that would take him to Lille. As it happened, timing must have been with us, because he ended up on the original train he had been due to board at Angouleme. Phew again. All’s well that ends well – and some useful extra information learned as well. We now know that there is more than one way to get to Lille should we be faced with similar challenges in the future. Good.

That afternoon, bags packed, I set off for Jonzac, to the Thermal Spa where my friend Anna had started the first of her three weeks of treatments. Covered by the French equivalent of the NHS, this is a place where people of a certain age come - often on a yearly pilgrimage - to relax in the natural healing 'thermes' and receive treatments for their aches and pains, bronchial disorders, arthritis and general aches and pains. It's an amazing place, and a wonderful service. No wonder all the residents looked so perky!

Anna had suggested a while ago that it would be good if I could join her for a few days. I wasn’t completely sold at first, it must be said, as I wondered what it might entail – and part of me was also nervous at the thought of going to a spa. At the time, my internal policeman wagged his finger and admonished me for even considering such a thing “What? Who do you think you are? You’re thinking of going off and spending valuable time being pampered? Don’t be so ridiculous – there is work to be done! Mustn’t take your eye off the ball!”

As luck would have it, it turned out that I was to be on my own at Easter, what with it being so late this year the normal village visitors would not be here, and Dylan was away in London. Since it is also a Bank Holiday – both in France and the UK – my policeman was at least quitened by the fact that there would be no pressing business calls or emails to deal with. After all, I was either going to be sitting at home or sitting at the spa – and perhaps with a bit of physical rest and care I was more likely to come back to work with a renewed sense of energy and determination. “Alright ma’am, I’ll let you off this time. You can go. But don’t get yourself too comfortable there, I’ve got my eye on you!” and with that he marched off in to the distance, tutting and writing in his notebook. I had no doubt he’d be back later to check that I was towing the line.

So I turned up on Thursday afternoon to be greeted by a beaming Anna who already looked as though the years were falling from her – and she’d only had two sessions! Her accommodation was a small but perfectly formed little bungalow that was to be her home for the next three weeks. It has a reasonably sized white-tiled kitchen and living room, double bedroom, bathroom and terraces at the front and back. There is a click-clack sofa-bed in the front room, and a welcome note that encourages all visitors to help themselves to the array of herbs that are growing in the surrounding grassed gardens – where there are small tables and chairs dotted around among the trees and shrubs. Immediately there was a sense of peace and tranquillity that welcomed my weary body and soul, whispering a promise that this was only the beginning.

My sessions were due to start at 11.30 the next morning, and Judi filled me in on what was to be expected. I simply turn up – with my costume, rubber flip-flops and the obligatory ‘bonnet’ (swimming cap) that can only be described as a religion at French swimming baths. I count myself lucky that I'm female, as the men have to wear not only the bonnets, but also the nations favourite swimming attire, the Speedo trunks. Practically antiques in the UK, these tight underpants are less than flattering to even the most finely honed physique. To people of a certain age, I would call them torture! 

Once inside, I was given a swimming bag, together with a pink dressing gown, towel and hanger to leave my clothes. Duly changed in to my costume and flip-flops, I was ushered in to speak to one of the medical professionals to discuss my treatment. I noticed that all the other people milling around at reception were dressed in biscuit-brown gowns, and I was conscious that I stood out from the crowd. I wondered whether it was because it was my first day. “Oh no, Madame. You see these people are all here for health reasons – they have been sent by their doctors. You are here by choice – to give yourself some personal care.”

We went through the options available on my package – a choice of four sessions from their regular menu, and two additional sessions from the a la carte. After answering some simple health questions (Any allergies? Medication? Pregnant – “at your age I would highly doubt that!” she answered for me, crossing through the possibility before I’d even opened my mouth) we opted for a river of jets for my legs, an aromatherapy spray treatment for my body, a water-jet session for my back, a steam-room for my lungs (all from the regular menu) and a kaolin bath soak for muscle relaxation plus a 45-minute aromatherapy all-over body massage from the a la carte. “You’ll see Madame” she chirped “you’ll come out feeling en pleine forme!”

She accompanied me to my first session – the bain de boue – a kaolin and sulphur bath where up to 12 people float around in weightless silence. Waiting our turn, the crew of people on the benches seemed curious about my pink bath-robe. One gentleman plucked up the courage to ask why I was wearning a different colour, so I explained what I had been told "Wait til you get to our age" they chorused "it's free, and you can come every year!" their bright eyes twinkling as they nudged each other with knowing smiles. The treatment was amazing. Hollowed in to the caves, with low lighting and white-coated assistants at every corner, this warm bath is like walking in to a pool of double cream. For the next 15 minutes, we all floated off into our own worlds before gently climbing out to shower ourselves free of the creamy residue that seems to get everywhere. I smiled at my new friends in agreement - "isn't this wonderful?"

I had two more treatments (water jets massaging my back, a river filled with jets that massage legs) before heading off to a treatment in a private room where you stand naked while aromatherapy jets squirt  over your back and sides. Waiting on the benches I bumped in to the same gentleman who had questioned me about the colour of my gown “Ah – la madame en rose, tres jolie!” he beamed “oui, la vie en rose et vraiment belle eh?” I smiled, as the rest of the brown-robed residents winked and nodded their agreement.

I finished off with a 45 minute aromatherapy full-body massage, and then a session in the steam room, where I contemplated the experiences. I remembered the conversation I'd had earlier that week with my friend who told me about his pendulum theory, and I burst out laughing (luckily I was the only person in the steam room!) It suddenly occurred to me that the French instructions to "soignez-vous" (care for yourself) doesn't mean emergency sticking plaster! It means taking the time to give yourself recognition and appreciation - at any time, and ALL the time. In that moment, I suddenly realised that I could care for myself - with these wonderful treatments, for example, just for the heck of it! Why wait until I'm sick or tired! No wonder those biscuit-gowned oldies had such twinkling eyes and a spring in their step!

I had three days of these wonderful treatments, broken up only by the Sunday when the spa is closed. So that day Anna and I decided to take a trip to the seaside. I adore being by the sea - having been brought up on the south coast, I know the ocean to be a place that always brings me a sense of peace and calm. So, off we trotted to find ourselves some sea, and a dish of the French coastal speciality, fruits de mer.

It was a wonderful day. Filled with laughter, chattering, exploration and eating. The fruits de mer was absolutely delicious - clearly fresh from the sea that day, and served in such a simple manner, it was one of the best meals I've ever had. 

By the time I had completed my sessions, and was packing to come back home on Tuesday morning, I knew that something had fundamentally shifted inside me. I have been losing weight (13lbs already melted away as I write this, only another 7lbs to go to hit my target) - but I am lighter in every way, not just physically. Because gone too at last are the cares and worries that I’ve been fighting to overcome for so long. Those cares and worries that, in essence, had kept me going for more years than I care to remember. The same cares and worries that made me resilient, that gave me the determination to overcome every new challenge - no matter the enormity - so that I could finally set myself free. It's true that the resulting battles of recent years had left me broken and weary, sinking even in to depression over the past few weeks as I struggled to find peace and a new way forward as more and more battles were won. Because for decades, 'survival' had become a part of my being. I’d become so adept at handling any kind of adversity that, once the war was well on the way to being won, I simply didn’t know who I was anymore.

But now, as a result of the spa, the seaside, the signatures - and so much more - I DO know who I am. The healing is complete, and the recognition of what my life can now become is profound and exciting. I am calm. Clear. Clean and washed free of past struggles. Reborn, if you like, to thrive... My burdens are finally gone. I am light, wide eyed and full of wonderment. Oh, and as for that pesky internal policeman? He's on long-term gardening leave - a one-way ticket.

Don't get me wrong, I am still grateful for the gifts that my struggles have brought me. I've learned many things about myself and about others. I've learned that not all people are 'good' - at least not all the time. I've learned to steer clear of anyone who drains my energy - or who doesn't respect me for who I am. I've learned that I love to write. I've learned that I can create a successful and worthwhile business on my own merits. I've learned that I am loved and supported... That friendship and connection is the most important thing in the world.. And I've learned that I am rich indeed. I've learned that I enjoy my own company, and trust that no matter what happens everything always works out.  I've learned that I'm a loving soul who has worked long and hard... And also that the work has been a gift. Because now I appreciate myself... And if I was to meet 'me' in person, I'd shake my hand and say something like "bloody well done old girl... You've exceeded expectations" and I'd ask myself to be my friend. Because I like me... Very much indeed. So now I'm going to spend time developing my friendship with myself. I'm going to play and have fun. Lighten up, shine, and relish the freedom and beauty that is here for me to enjoy.

I am the key to my own happiness... No-body and no-thing else.

So I'm off to create magical experiences from choice, not necessity. I already have plans for a whole new set of adventures... I'm in no rush. I have all the time in the world. 

For now, I'm signing off from this particular blog and phase of my life. Instead I'm off on my own adventures - who knows where they may lead me, but rest assured I'll continue writing. It will be in a different format, and I will let you know when there is more to read.

So, til we meet again, thank you all for your support, your feedback and most importantly your love. I wouldn't be where I am today without you. In deepest gratitude, and from the core of my being, the very essence of who I am, I salute you and I thank you all.

Toodle-oo and pip pip for now... Look out for the postcards!

Mel xxx

Forget The Cabaret - Life Is A Pendulum Old Chums

Today has been one of those weird ones - you know the times where you actually know what's about to happen (what needsto happen) yet when it does it still takes you by surprise, and you find yourself dealing with waves of emotions to be digested, reflected upon and made sense of? I guess it could be likened to a school exam, where you know in your heart of hearts that you've done really badly and yet are still shocked to receive the official confirmation in the form of a bad result?

The funny thing for me is that before today day had even started, I was already in the place of knowing and choosing this particular outcome - so the news was no surprise. No, the news was just the natural tidy up of lose ends, burnt and beaded threads that had been flapping in the wind, slapping frantically against my bare skin, urging me to wake from a dream that had turned in to a nightmare.

Like I said - a weird one. The signs are always here. There's always something going on. Always a truth that rumbles gently - or finally crashes around using every available method - until it's noticed, and actioned. Co-incidence and serendipity - being in the flow - allowing and enjoying - when those are the kind sensations and experiences that fill my time, then I know I'm acting from my own inner wisdom. When there are struggles and difficulties, that's when I know there's a lesson to be learned - but it can sometimes take a while for me to heed the lesson, however good the outcome will be! Change, you see - even the good stuff can be daunting!

On Saturday I enjoyed a particularly helpful Skype conversation with a friend of mine (thanks, Grasshopper, you know who you are!) - one of those so called happy co-incidences, because we hadn't spoken for ages and yet he'd popped in to my head just half an hour or so before I received his call. Concerned that I appeared somewhat troubled, he offered to take me through a new coaching process he'd been learning. Of course I agreed - I love this stuff, and was also keen to quieten the inner battles that had been tiring me. So, with his help, and with him acting as my guide and my witness, we walked through some of my core beliefs. To my surprise, it turned out that I still had the last vestiges of an old and deeply engrained parasitic belief that for years had been burrowed tick-like in to my being. The old and worn-out song that I'm not good enough. Small - tiny, in fact - but there none the less. So through our honest conversation, and following this new process, he helped me to at last release myself from the remaining defiant pincers that had, until that point, still kept a part of themselves embedded in to my flesh. Gotcha you sneaky, slippery little sucker! Phew. That feels better!

And, out of the blue, another co-incidental bit of help came my way this afternoon when I dropped in to see another friend on my way back from town. I'd expected to share a coffee and the usual welcoming, questioning female chats I enjoy so much with his wife - but she was out. So instead he and I sat in the sunshine discussing life, the universe and all that is - or was, or could be, or might still be. It was a delicious and most unforeseen pleasure I was least expecting - perhaps we drank too much of that really strong coffee - or perhaps it really was serendipity. I don't know for sure. But the resulting free-flow of conversation was both surprising and enlightening - and a most unexpected gift.

He spoke to me, quite candidly, about the 'inferno' that he (and others) recognise burns within me - insistent, voracious, and on occasions somewhat threatening to others. He spoke about my constant drive to search, adventure, test, push, overcome and bloody well 'do' more than is necessary. He pointed out that (my nature being as it is) I am likely to always continue along that path in one way or another. I spoke about the concept that we all seek 'witnesses' in our life - people who can share our experiences, people who validate our opinions through agreement or variation. We both explored the idea that without feedback and conversation (listening, speaking, sharing, comparing) we confine ourselves to a grey, one-dimentional palette that limits our experiences. He also threw me some facts and posed me some questions, likening the human journey to the swinging of a pendulum.

Enjoying the coffee and sunshine, together we discussed the notion that, like a pendulum, when we surge in positivity (or negativity) the natural course of nature's law is that we'll experience the same in the alternate spectrum - the equal and opposite natural swing and balance of life. Indeed, a notion that for years I've shared with those who care to listen - and also with those who (in my younger years when all this inner-game stuff was a new obsession) I would corner and pester until either they understood the point I was making or would simply walk away. Yup, I guess you could say I've always been a little intense!

My friend gave me some wise and honest advice, based on his observations of me over the eight years that I've lived here in France and had the honour to call him my friend. Not usually one for speaking out, it came as a welcome surprise to hear his well thought out opinion. He suggested that my challenge is to find the normality within the wild swinging of the pendulum that has, until now, been the blueprint of my existence. To seek the normality as the pendulum speeds over it again and again. To notice exactly what normality is, and to enjoy it. The wry and knowing smile spoke volumes"those who find it say it's much closer than most people think... isn't that the stuff you study and teach Mel?"

His advice beautifully mirrors that of a conscious and very personal intention I made public a short while ago - my decision, my choice, my declaration to now live my life for me - for Mel Carnegie, age 46 and a quarter. To find out, from a place of safety, who I really am. To put myself first and to heed my inner self. To let my intuition grow, thrive, and guide me. Because, no longer willing to play "the fighter" or "the survivor"... I've realised that I've finally "done it". I've made it through. I AM enough (I always was - doh! - don't you hate it when that happens?) and now my  conscious focus is to enjoy my life. To appreciate the here and now. To wake up and smell the coffee, or slow down and admire the roses - whatever phrase we choose... whatever pace we enjoy.

My friend, today, was advising me just to be me - to enjoy the 'normality' that is actually what life is about. I shared with him my understanding of who I think I really am, how I really choose to enjoy my live - which is to live a simple life, to love and to be loved. My friend smiled.

And guess what, as I'm typing these words, the track that's just started playing in the background right now (as if by coincidence?) is one of my all time favourite tracks that alway signals forward movement for me - Eddie Reader's "I'm In The Right Place Now"... as I said at the beginning, funny ain't it?

I have a feeling that I'll always be an adventurer. I'll always seek more from life. I'll question, I'll analyse, I'll push, I'll prod, I'll poke... I'll piss people off - and help others to find their pathway... and you know what? I'll always keep finding more to excite and engage me. I already have the best memory albums of life's travels - and there's plenty more space to fill. Bring it on - gently and steadily from now on please.

The news I started this post with, is that the Journeyman I spoke of in a previous post has gone his own way. It's certainly true that he has taught me much - mainly that I'm worth so much more than I was once willing to settle for. So, to you, Journeyman, I thank you. Class complete. See you in another lifetime my friend - our work here together this time around is done.

Broken...?

Yup... because broken, bust, wiped out, knackered are all certainly all words I'd use to describe the way I'm feeling right now. Others may well choose to use other adjectives - prickly, unreasonable, bad-tempered and generally difficult would be some of my guesses based on reactions and expressions I've witnessed in response to my behaviour over the past few days!

The first three months of this year have already proven to be one heck of a ride - in so very many ways. At the time, though, I knew exactly what I was signing up for - and it certainly has over-delivered on the results I was expecting. More than just a means to an end, I've achieved more than I thought could be expected in such a short space of time - and I've done it by asking more of myself than I would have asked even of the strongest mental or physical athlete. And yes, my friends, I've done it. Yes, I knew I'd hit some kind of meltdown once I had the chance to stop and let go, that was inevitable, part of nature's way... but this? This level of fatigue, exhaustion, aching and what can only be described as mental and physical wipeout? No, I must admit that I certainly was not expecting quite such a spectacular collapse. Even by my own measurements, this is really quite a big one!

And I KNOW it's a good thing - because I've been here before. Although this time I'm not in the middle of a struggle, nor am I 'fighting' for or against anything or anybody. There are no battles to be won, there are no more legal or emotional mazes to be worked through. Nobody and nothing is threatening me. I am under no pressure. Everything is, in fact, under control and running its own natural course. Yes, ok, there are still some tweaks needed along the way - but in the grand scheme of things the war has been won. It's just a matter of bringing home the last remaining troops.

And yet... and yet... I am totally and utterly depleted. I am inexplicably teary, and unable to focus on anything for more than a few minutes before my head starts pounding and I lose concentration. Nothing left. All gone. Finished.  Over and out. And at the very same time I know that all of this simply heralds more positive growth for me. It's another invitation to let go of the old - to break through to more than I've been before by allowing my self to be broken. Because broken I am.

Just yesterday, for example, I received some news that I wasn't expecting. No great shakes, just another wall of bureaucracy that I'll need to jump over before this divorce can be finalised. It's a paperwork trail that requires me to hire yet another professional to complete this specific process because, as I was told by a sympathetic but powerless representative of the company "that's just the way we do it here". Do-able and, in a way understandable, it still sent me in to a tailspin and I simply couldn't muster the energy to get up, get going and get on with it. So instead I moved in to the kitchen and made myself a cup of mint tea.

And here is where I'm realising that 'broken' may well actually mean 'breakthrough'. Because just a few months ago, I would not have let any such reaction stop me or even break my stride. I'd have pushed on through regardless, drawing on my seemingly endless reserves of energy, digging deeper and pulling on whatever resources I could find (personal or external) to get me through. Now, however, because I'm feeling so very broken (for want of a better word) I am instead allowing myself to feel the blow and instead do something to sooth myself. I have quietly walked away from the situation, knowing that it will all work out. Knowing also that I'm much better off looking after myself in the moment rather than pushing harder still to solve something that, quite frankly, can wait just a little while longer. A few hours or days - even weeks - are going to make no difference whatsoever when all is said and done.

Speaking with my very wise friend Anna last night, she instructed me to take my own medicine and spend the next 48 hours only doing things that I know are good for me. Reminding me to listen to myself, to tune in, and to be who I really choose to be. I nodded sagely, smiling all the while she was telling me this, as her words were pretty much exactly the same instructions I had given to a dear friend only a couple of days earlier. She, like me, is in the middle of a change point. A period in her life when, for the first time ever, she has the opportunity to indulge herself, to discover who she is and what brings her happiness. And she's been surprised to discover that she actually doesn't know the answer... yet.

Me? Do I know the answers? Well, to be honest, sometimes I think I do... most of the time, though, I'm very happy to say that I don't - because that way, in my map of the world at least, it means I'm open to learning and growing. Having said that, I am perfectly aware that I can be particularly stubborn when it comes to getting my point across. I also know that I will resolutely stick on a mission if I believe I can help or add value... sometimes when, in hindsight, it may have been wiser to let go more quickly. But hey, with hindsight we're all experts eh?

I do believe though, right from the core of my being, that what may well feel to me is 'a broken Mel' is in actual fact just another set of walls and barriers crumbling down. In my last post I said I'd finished with being the survivor, the victor in any challenge. I said that now I choose to live my life in peace and joy. Well, I've learned along the way that the power of intention is not something to be messed with. I've realised that when I speak of a desire or choice something from a soul-level, it invariably happens - and inevitably brings along with it the bulldozers and demolition crews necessary to batter through my stubborn resistance to making whatever adjustments are necessary.

So now, this time, I'm going along with the ride and enjoying the scenery. This time I have the opportunity to watch what's happening along the way. I can take in the sights, enjoy the atmosphere and yes, smell the coffee as my wishes come true. As the walls crumble down, so a new door is revealed. A door that had been hidden before. A door to another place - to more of my soul - to an even deeper authentic sense of who I really am.

So yes, I am broken. But I think rather that this is finally the end of an automatic survival and fighting habit that I've fine tuned over the years. Don't get me wrong, that habit has served me very well - exceptionally well in actual fact. And those warrior skills are ones I know I can call on at any time. Now, though, the battle is done. I'm giving up the fight, and I'm learning to live with me - just as I am.

OK, then who am I exactly? Well... I am that little girl, no more than four years old, who loves to fly her kite on the beach. The little girl who roars with laughter as the wind whips at her clothes and hair, while the sea applauds with its rhythmic smacking, chuntering and pulling of the pebbles as wave after wave hits the shore. I'm singing in to the wind, imagining wild stories of mythical creatures and magical people, dancing and twirling over the pebbles, swept along by the thrill of it all and the joy of the moment. I know how to ask for more of the things I like, and for less of the things I don't like. Because I'm safe to do that, and I know my requests are heard - and heeded. There may be times I stamp my foot in frustration or fury - but I'm easily soothed and always willing to learn a better way to understand as well as to be understood.

That was me. And now this IS me. All that is left is to continue accepting more and more of who I am - because you know what? I may be frustrating. I may be demanding. I may at times be too loud, and at others too quiet. No, I'm far from being perfect - but fundamentally, underneath it all, I reckon I'm a pretty good egg! And, as everyone knows, you can't make an omelette without breaking an egg :-))