30 Years Ago Today

Today marks an anniversary. On this day, thirty years ago, my mother lost her fight against breast cancer. The disease took her quickly, as we had only known about it for less than a month before, although she had had her suspicions for a long time previously - fear had stopped her from taking action. 

My sister called this morning and asked how I was - and I asked the same of her. We talked for a while, as we always do on this anniversary, and as I put the phone down I began to think. And I began to cry - silent emotions filling my heart, misting my vision until the warm wet tears spilled gently down my cheeks. And I wondered who or what the tears were for... so, as is now my way, I decided to write it through... to put it down in words and make sense of the feelings that are rumbling inside me. For this is a definite rumble - none of the crashing, churning bone-breaking stuff of the past two years. No, this is something that deserves appreciation and gentle attention - so that is what I'm doing. Paying attention to whatever is going on for me, and doing my best to appreciate with gratitude the gift that's behind it - for there is always always a gift.

Today I am one more year further on from that day. One more year older (though not necessarily wiser) and one more year along the roller-coaster journey that is my life. And I am lucky. For already, at 46, I have lived two years longer than my mother (and nine years longer than my father). I know all the good things that I am and that I have today - and I am lucky enough to have learned to appreciate life with more senses, colours, sounds and feelings than ever before. It is vibrant. Exhilarating. Intoxicating. And I am learning to ride with the twists and turns that continue to show themselves. So I don't think the rumbles are anything to do with 'today' - no, I think they're something to do with an older place, perhaps even primal.

Hearing my sister brought it home I think. You see, as she was talking, and as we acknowledged how many years had passed since that life-shattering day, I was suddenly transported back to the senses and feelings of that time. You may remember from previous posts that we had both learned to keep our emotions controlled. How to maintain a strong exterior in the hope it would hold everything together. We learned to move along with swan-like grace while our legs and feet paddled like fury below the surface, not just to keep us afloat but also to kick at the monsters that were lurking beneath and threatening to engulf us at any moment. Our hearts were constantly pounding, thumping at our chests from the terror and exhaustion of the situation - but nobody knew.

When mum had first gone in to hospital, just ten days earlier, my sister and I were the only two people who knew what was wrong with her. Nobody was to know - and, had I not confronted her with my own intuition, I suspect that we would not have known either. So we kept this dreadful secret. We smiled at our grandmother who had come to look after us, we carried on as usual at school, and we said nothing to our friends. We believed that if we stayed strong and brave, that this unimaginable nightmare would pass and that everything would return to normal. But of course it didn't. And when she died, I think it was just too much to comprehend. We both just went in to shock and literally shut down.

My sister was 11 years old and I had just turned 16 - and as I look back now at those two little girls who were so suddenly orphaned, both so lost and frightened, stuck in a reality from which there was no escape, my heart bursts with sadness and also with pride. We were so very vulnerable, yet somehow managing to keep ourselves together (at least on the outside) little realising the years of misery that were to follow as we trapped and at the mercy of adults who clearly had no comprehension or interest in our welfare. Our lives were, quite literally, turned upside down. We had to leave our home and our friends, moving to a new town to live with people we hardly knew - and where we never felt welcomed or at home. For the first few weeks of our new life I was on a camp-bed in the dining room...

In those dark days, months and years that followed on from 6th February 1981, I am pretty sure that I would not have had the strength to carry on had it not been for my little sister. Yes, of course I felt responsible to look out for her - and I'm sure that was a huge part of what kept me going. But more than that, it was the love and support that she showed me in return - that was the most important thing. That was what kept me strong and determined, even in the face of relentless and unimaginable horrors. We both passed all our school exams with flying colours, both went to university (although I dropped out) and in the years that followed have both become successful professional people with great reputations in our own fields. Quite an achievement I'd say!

And so now I turn my attention to my son, Dylan, who is today only a few months younger than I was when my life changed for ever. And it really brings everything home to me with a bang. People often tell me that my son is mature beyond his years - although some say it as though it's a bad thing, that he's left his childhood too quickly. I can understand their point of view, and I can also appreciate why some may feel he's becoming a young man too fast for his years. But, then again, they don't see the child-like behaviour that comes out when he and I are alone and watching a DVD in front of the fire, or the silly playground face-pulling games we still play when nobody's around. These are the private codes we share between us, and one of the many connections that make me so proud to have him as my son.

Yes, I accept it's true, I'm sure I've played a part in speeding up his development - and you know what? I wouldn't have it any other way. Mum always spoke to me as an adult, and I'm certain that was one of the many things that helped me get through the tough times. So I have always done the same with Dylan. And, because of my own experiences, and because he has no siblings, I am also very conscious that he has as many life tools at his disposal as early as possible. I fully understand that fate and fortune can turn on a sixpence, so I am keen for my son to be well equipped for any eventuality.

And the past couple of years have proven to me that indeed he is. Because he has already gone through his own tsunami with the shock and aftermath of Cam's disappearance. And he's shone through all of this as a strong, wise, beautiful human being. Because of him I stayed strong, knowing I had to be here for him - much like I felt about my sister after mum's death. And, like the experience with my sister, I realise that what helped me even more was the unconditional love and support that my son gave to me at the same time. That was what really got me through.

So where is the gift? Well, I have already been inundated with countless blessings as a result of difficult circumstances. Today, though, I think the gift I've found through those rumbling emotions is this. It's gratitude for the love and connection I share with my sister and my son - my cherished family. Two people who've been through the storms and have survived. Two people who I know I can count on and who can count on me. To Dylan and to Abigail - I love you.

And bringing that sense of love and gratitude to the surface has just made my day more radiant than it was before I started writing - so thank you for reading!

And to mum? Thank you for making me the person that I am. I hope I'm doing you proud, and I know that one day we'll all be together again - not too soon though, eh? There's a fair few more decades and plenty of adventuring left in me yet - bring it on!

The Journeyman's Code

I have always believed in the term soul mate - for various reasons it has a strong meaning for me. To me, a soul mate is somebody you're destined to be with. Somebody you've known for many lifetimes. Somebody who you reconnect with in order to grow and develop together. Soul mates are normally loving and caring, and when they come together the result is usually explosive.

I freely referred to Cam as my soul mate - in many ways I still believe that to be the case. Yes, it was explosive when we came together, and yes for me it was an immensely loving experience. And through everything that has happened in the meantime, I have most certainly grown and developed within my soul and as a human being. So, at this moment in time, I'm still of the belief that perhaps he was my soul mate - of sorts.

This week I've learned a new terminology that I hadn't heard of before. It was explained to me by a wise friend of mine I hold very dear. For now I'll call him Patrick. Over the past couple of years I have been impressed by the kindness and support he has offered me - persistent when I didn't want to listen, and consistent in his gentle but firm approach with me - to the point where a few days ago I said it felt as though he was a soul mate to me. I was surprised by his response. He rebuffed the term because he didn't like it - not because he didn't hold with the meaning behind it, but because he wasn't happy to go by a meaningful name that had previously been given to other people in my life. I could understand his point and, to be fair, he is quite unlike anybody I have known before! He went on to explain that rather than a soulmate, he saw himself as a Journeyman. Somebody who was first and foremost my friend. Somebody who's energy had been connected with me for hundreds of years. Somebody who was destined to turn up in my life to guide and support me. Somebody to challenge me and help me develop as a soul and as a human being. And you know what? I totally agree - he has done, and continues to do all of those things. And I love his definition.

So, as is the way, I felt compelled to write about what I am learning to be The Journeyman's Code. From the few words I've shared to explain the way Patrick describes a Journeyman, you could well imagine him to be one of those incense burning, purple-clad dreadlocked hippy spiritual types who follow the stars and talk about energies, rebirths and reincarnation as though they were all perfectly normal daily occurances. Now, don't get me wrong, I have huge respect for those people and have known many as friends and colleagues. It's just that Patrick, you see, is (in his words) a hairy arsed bloke's bloke - loud and large, and someone you just wouldn't mess with. Since the first time I met him, some six or seven years ago, I called him an enigma. Working in the hospitality industry at the time, he and I would lock horns and butt heads - both stubborn and passionate about our beliefs. He was a person who could rile me - because although it was fun to debate, I could never win an argument with him. He'd put on his thick skin, dig his heels in, and maintain his steely-eyed smile no matter which way I turned. It was infuriating!

After the whole Cam fiasco, he called me on numerous occasions - but I didn't trust him. I didn't understand why he would be concerned about me, and my general paranoia was digging at my reasoning mind, whispering the accusations that perhaps he was just trying to glean information to feed back to my estranged husband. He knew us both, you see, and I had understood him to be a good friend with my husband "We look similar and we've got the same ideas about life - it's as though we're brothers!" Cam would enthuse, both in private and in front of Patrick - which, I suppose, was why I would find my frustrations rising when I felt I couldn't quite connect with him, because no matter the subject, we'd always find something on which to disagree.

I already knew Patrick to be a caring soul - one of those who will stop whatever he's doing in order to help somebody else, no matter what. So I suppose I shouldn't really have been so surprised at his persistent phone calls, just checking up on how I was doing and what was happening. Never intrusive, always calm and strong, he just kept on calling with his consistent message - concern about how I was looking after myself and constant offers of help and advice. And that's how, over time, Patrick and I have become such firm and loyal friends. And that's also how, over recent times, he's shown himself to be so much more than I had ever recognised before. He's taken his time. He's demonstrated his loyalty. He's proven his worth. And on top of that he's helped me in more ways than I can explain. Patrick is one of the people I talked about in the Listen Up post of 13th December. Knowing that I love surprises - and understanding my struggle to accept kindness - he had found a way to celebrate my birthday in style. A birthday cake with candles, and banners strung around the ceiling, this was a thoughtful, striking and special experience that will stay with me for ever. It has been since that time that our conversations have developed as we've explored the more spiritual connection that defines our friendship. This is how the term Journeyman has come in to existence - and now, this is how I refer to him. Because that is what he is.

The Journeyman's Code, I am finding, is very straight forward. It's a challenge, yes, and it surely brings home the saying to never judge a book by it's cover! As I said, I used to call him an enigma - well, as the weeks go on, that is proving to be a ridiculous understatement. It would be like calling Facebook's Mark Zuckerburg "fairly well-off" or Princess Diana "relatively well known". I have come to understand that, when the time is right, a Journeyman will show himself to you. Until you are ready to receive his wisdom, he will stay in the shadows - a part of your life, but keeping his true purpose undercover until the time is right.

A Journeyman will always tell it like it is. He will disregard a flippant answer and will gently cajole for the truth in every situation. Non-judgemental, he will not be hurried or rushed. He understands our deepest fears, and sympathises with the confusions of past experiences. He will listen. He will advise. He will ask the questions that help us find our own solutions. He is filled with energy and determination - he has the strength to stop a rhino in it's tracks, and also the gentleness to cradle a butterfly in his hands. His role cannot be easy - it must be frustrating knowing he can help but having to bide his time. And by the same token, since he IS so driven to help others, I would hope that once his student is willing to learn, his mission becomes one of joy and enrichment.

I hope so. Because I am now a very willing student, and I am learning so much from this remarkable man. He pushes me when I need a shove, he congratulates me when I've achieved a new goal, his work ethic is second to none and he keeps my feet on the ground and my focus clear. He constantly surprises me with his insights, which seem to come out of nowhere. He talks in metaphors that paint such beautiful pictures anyone can understand. He makes me laugh with his stories - and at the same time, you know what? He's always spot on.

I feel honoured that he's decided to show me who he is - it must have taken a huge amount of trust. Because he has a soft underbelly that goes along with his tough gruff exterior - and I don't know how many people understand that. I know that I certainly had no appreciation of the hidden depths that lie within this extraordinary man, and I'd like to think that I'm a pretty good reader of people! No, for whatever reason he's decided to show himself to me - and for that I will always hold him in the highest respect, no matter where this journey takes us.

My Journeyman, for me, is the strongest ally I could ever have asked for right now - so I feel safe but at the same time scared, because now when we talk, it's exactly like talking to myself. I guess the truth must be that, since I'm only now finding my true self, he has only recently been able to show himself to me.

Hmmm... now there's a thought... perhaps I'm here to help him too...?

A Good Year

I've learned so much over this past year that I know now, even against the odds, 2010 has actually been a very good year. Not one I care to repeat, thank you very much, but the good times and psychological shifts I've made surely mean that this year goes down in my memory, at least, as a good year. It's been a year of relentless challenges and frightening lows. There have been times when I've thought I wouldn't ever be able to come through. Times when I've even considered the worst - yes, I can say it now - and now, as I've just celebrated my 46th birthday I can look back and appreciate just how far I've come.

This time last year, you may remember, I'd just been advised that the only option available to me was to sell my home in France, giving half the proceeds to my estranged husband, the rest to the Scottish debt agency who were advising me, and take out a loan to repay the remainder of my creditors. So, had I taken their advice, my son and I would have been left homeless and in debt, while 'he' would still be free to continue living in our Edinburgh flat (for which he had not been paying the mortgage) and would also have had a lump sum of money. Pah!

Boy have I moved on from there! It's been tough and the challenges have been relentless. Yet at every step of the way I have absolutely refused to take no for an answer. I've learned that 'professionals' all have their own opinion - and that those opinions can vary tremendously. It would seem that there is no such thing as 'the' law, there is just 'a' law, which can be flexible to the extreme depending on who I'm talking to and how I phrase the questions. And let me tell you, some of the so-called professional advice I've received this year has been utterly laughable - shameful, really, when I think that there must be many people in a similar situation to me who would not have known how to fight. Many times as a child I was chastised for being stubborn or pig-headed... but you know what? Those qualities have served me well throughout these times.

I'm glad that I'm stubborn, and I've also learned to love so many other aspects of my personality that I'm finally getting to know and understand. When I qualified as a Louise Hay trainer in 1997, we were taught to accept ourselves and others exactly as we are - and since that time, I've done my level best to do exactly that. And the thing is, whilst I've been good at spotting hidden treasures in others, I simply hadn't realised what else had been buried beneath my own shell. The soft, squishy parts of me, the little me, that had hidden away for so long!

Yes, this year has taught me to fight. I've learned how to make £10 last for two weeks. I've learned how to turn up at business meetings with a confident smile on my face, not knowing how I would even find the train fare back to my sister's place. I've learned to keep my head held high and my principles strong, fighting for justice against a stream of legal and financial obstacles. I've learned how to create a new business from scratch - and with nothing - and secure a wonderful range of clients doing the work I love. I've learned how to listen to other people's problems, even while feeling overcome by my own situation. I've learned humility and gratitude for the smallest acts of kindness that people have shown me - anonymous deliveries of vegetables, fruit and flowers from surrounding gardens, invitations to dinner, introductions to new friends and colleagues, shoulders to cry on, forgiveness for some of my more outrageous antics. I've learned that even though there were times I may not have been able to buy a loaf of bread, that I'm always safe and rich beyond any 'outside' measure. For I am surrounded by a host of people I'm lucky enough to call my friends. People who care for me, and who will never let me fall - or fail.

So that, my friends, is why this year has been a good year. Perhaps the best. Because the lessons I've learned about myself and others are absolutely beyond measure. And I am grateful. And happy.

As this year draws to a close, I am excited and clear about my future. Next year is going to be an extraordinary year for me - I know it in my bones. Will it be as extraordinary as the previous year? Yes, I'm confident that it will - this time, though, it will be much more joyful because I am already starting it from a place of safety and happiness. Yes, finally I am content and secure - finally ready to accept all the good that life has to offer me, leaping in to life with my arms and my heart wide open. If I achieved so much from a position of hopelessness and fear, well, who knows what endless possibilities are in store for me now.

Thank you, life, this has been a good year indeed!

The Legacy

It's interesting, don't you think, the legacy that remains way after an experience has been and gone? The imprint that is left on our soul and that permeates through to our thoughts, feelings and behaviours? I was chatting with a wonderful friend of mine about this just the other day. I had said to her, in all innocence - "Oh, there's something I meant to tell you!" and her response had been "why, what have I done?"

She has recently left a long term relationship in which she'd been unhappy for a long time. Living her life treading on eggshells, afraid of her partner's unpredictable and often abusive reactions, for years she was expecting to be chastised or criticised for something she had or hadn't done. The way in which she might say something, or even the way in which she might approach him. Her automatic fall-back position had been to check what she was doing wrong - because, of course, whatever the issue had been when she was with him, it would always have been her fault.

She's free, now, and is building her own life. Reclaiming her independence and finally starting to believe herself to be the stunningly beautiful, loving, brave and accomplished woman all her friends and family have always known her to be. For years she just thought she was to blame, and did everything she could to appease her partner and keep the peace. Making excuses for his repeated bad behaviour in company, covering over the cracks that the rest of us could see as clear as daylight. These days she looks back at those times and asks herself incredulously "what on earth was I thinking!" shaking her head in disbelief now that she can see so clearly just how damaging many aspects of the relationship had been.

Yes, she's free now. Yes, like any of us who have escaped from similar situations, she can now appreciate the truth of the situation. And yes, also like so many of us, she's still left with the legacy of those many years keeping herself squashed and quiet. Shrinking away from the harsh light of truth, ignoring the signs that things are seriously wrong. Staying silent in order to keep the peace. Appeasing and cajolling, believing that if only you love the other person enough, then everything would be OK. That when things weren't OK, then you blame yourself for not being good enough, or loving enough, or deserving enough. The questions continue - what am I missing? What am I doing wrong? How can I make things better?

Just a few days earlier, during my conversation with Beatrix, we'd had a similar conversation. She had received an entirely inappropriate email from somebody she hardly knew. Vexed and embarrassed by the message, her automatic response was to go back to the person in question and try to understand what must be going on for him in order to prompt such an improper communication. She is a psychologist, and we both share some similar experiences. So I pointed out to her that here she was demonstrating the living legacy of a lifetime spent in an emotionally abusive relationship. Rather than tell the person exactly what she thought, she was intending to put her own feelings to one side and instead do her best to understand where he was coming from - and she'd wanted to do this without appearing offensive in any way shape or form. And yet the message the other person had sent had been both offensive and disrespectful!

This, for me, is a huge legacy - or perhaps a burden - left to many women who have suffered any kind of abuse. Nurturing by nature, we are inherently adept at understanding situations from the other person's point of view. It's a great skill, and is very useful. It's also a great danger when exploited by people who's intention is less than supportive. To those who are lacking in empathy, they know that the target of their unjustified fury will do their level best to understand where they're coming from. That she will bob and weave, listen and learn, do everything within her power to make the other person feel better!

And so we become trapped in a vicious cycle of abuse and blame. The bully's continuing abuse and blame of the victim, and the victim in turn blaming themselves for their inability to make things right. Taking responsibility for situations that were none of their doing in the first place.

When everything was happening to me, I lost track of the number of times I was urged by my friends to not become bitter. To keep open and trusting, and know that what I had experienced was the exception and not the rule. And, whilst my conscious intention was to maintain my unwavering faith in the goodness of human nature, I confess it's been a struggle to stay as willing to accept people as I did before. I've become more selective with people I choose to share my time with. I'm less forgiving of behaviours I would previously have put down to just an intriguing foible or a simple misunderstanding.

For a while I thought that perhaps I was closing down to others. That perhaps I'd become exactly the kind of person I'd been warned by my friends to not be - but now I believe that actually I've become the opposite. Somebody who is exceptionally open and trusting. Somebody who still cares tremendously about the fate of other people. The difference now, though, is that my trust is directed at myself. Now I know my personal boundaries and I know if somebody has crossed the line. And now I won't stand for it anymore. I won't make excuses, I won't shut up and put up - because it doesn't help the other person, and it certainly doesn't help me! And if I can't be honest, open and true to myself, then how on earth can I expect to behave that way with others?

One of my favourite stories that I first heard many years ago puts this beautifully in to perspective. The story exists in many formats, and this is the gist of it. A motivational speaker was busy one weekend working on an important after-dinner speech he was due to deliver the following day. But he was gettting frustrated because the words weren't flowing, and his thoughts were muddled. He was also torn because his small son was nagging him, quite rightly, to come and play with him. He decided that perhaps if he could give his son something to play with for an hour or so, then he could finish writing his speech in peace, and then he could dedicate time with his boy. In one of the Sunday magazines, he'd found a page that depicted the map of the world. So he decided to cut it in to small pieces and give it to his son to put back together again, with the promise that once he'd done that, they could both go out to the park to play. Confident that this task would take his son some time, he settled back in to his writing. He was astounded when, less than ten minutes later, the boy came back to him smiling from ear to ear. The map had been stuck together and the map was perfect. Astonished, the father asked his son how on earth he'd managed to finish such a complex task so quickly? "Easy" replied the boy "on the other side was the picture of a man's face. So I followed that and of course it meant that the map was right as well - now can we go and play?" Laughing, the speaker put down his pen, grateful to his son for not only being so clever but also for giving him the inspiration he'd failed to find by himself. The next day he delivered his best ever motivational speech entitled "When the man is right, his world is right too"

Too often we fall in to the trap of giving our love, trust and openness to others, hoping to make things right, whilst completely ignoring ourselves in the process. It's taken me a long time to truly understand this for myself - and I believe that's why, now, my world is certainly shaping in to a more wonderful place than I've ever experienced before.

Beatrix laughed during our conversation as she realised the habit she'd unwittingly fallen into - needless to say her response to this person turned out to be short, sharp and to the point. He hasn't responded.

Listen Up I've Got Something To Say...

And that something is thank you - yes you. Thank you to all of my wonderful friends and family who have supported and loved me over the past 20 months of roller-coaster fortunes and emotions. I'm perfectly sure there have been many times I've been difficult to cope with - and let me say that I'm now more acutely aware of my character flaws than I was before! But then again, I'm more acutely aware of just about everything that's within me and around me than I've ever been before. I feel alive. Shiny and new. Colourful. Expressive. Expansive. Renewed and yes a little raw, but yet exceptionally peaceful. 

These days I snuggle down to sleep every night blanketed by a beautifully warm and cuddly feeling of contentment - and deep gratitude for who I am and where I am. For what I'm doing and for how my life is shaping up. Every morning I wake up with a smile on my face, and a thrumming sense of excitement for what new surprises the day may bring. And all around me, all I see is good. All the time I'm growing and learning - and now I'm finally loving being a student of life. Because I know that whatever happens, everything is working out for my highest good. Gone is the fear. Gone is the sense that at any moment I may fall - or even that I might not make it. Because no matter what happens now, I know I'm fully alive - and still learning and growing along the way.

There are so many 'ah-ha' moments happening on a regular basis - and each time this happens I now greet the experience with an inner chuckle. No more the "I should have known that!" type of response that I now realise was a constant fall-back. Nope, now my constant mantra is"thank you for helping me to accept this new thing" - whatever it is.

Last week provided me with a series of opportunities to realise something quite profound about how I'd been filtering opportunities. Last week, you see, I was shown immense kindness and love in some very different ways. And it suddenly dawned on me just how much of an issue it's been for me to accept this sort of kindness. I know, I know - it sounds a bit daft - but actually, despite all my best intentions, I've been utterly rubbish at letting people in. At allowing people to take care of me. At actually giving in and giving up to people who's only intention is to make me happy. I must have been a right royal pain in the backside to many who have tried to support and guide me over the years!

Because I suddenly realised that, whilst I honestly believed I had been happy and content with Cam, in actual fact I was never once shown anywhere near the kindness and attention that I experienced from three very different friends just last week. For years I had accepted my relationship as something special. I had accepted the way we were as being the norm. I thought I was lucky, and despite what I now know was coldness, I believed I was happy, loved, and  in love. Pah! What did I know? As I look back now I begin to wonder what on earth I thought I was doing during those years. The Pollyanna approach that I adopted so thoroughly had in fact blinded me to so much more. How could I not have known that the 'love' I was being shown was nothing but a figment of my imagination? And yet I truly thought I was happy - and I am still utterly certain that I experienced true love. But I now know it came from within me and was never reciprocated.

There's a great quote that says "We accept the love we think we deserve" and you know what? I've learned that on a subconscious level I clearly didn't think I deserved very much. I thought I had it all you see - whereas in fact I was squashed and misshapen. But I'd become very used to my prison, not knowing that there was so much more that was out there waiting for me!

No wonder the lesson had to be so shocking! No wonder my whole world had to crumble away in order for me to break free. One of my French friends says I'm "têtu comme un âne" (stubborn as a mule) and you know what? He's right. I held on stubbornly to my ideal that I was living the perfect life, refusing to consider that there could be something better. OK, I guess it's kind of understandable given my less than healthy experiences of 'love' during my formative years - but I had no comprehension that I had been actually denying myself so much for so long!

Which is why last week was such an eye-opener. Small things, but each one gently pushing the lessons home. On Sunday I was collected from the airport and treated to a home-made roast dinner. And I felt really uncomfortable that I was doing nothing to help - nope, my job was just to enjoy and accept. Hmmm... tricky that one... and my friend giggled at my clear discomfort at being looked after. Then on Tuesday I spent the day with another friend who insisted we ate at a top restaurant in Covent Garden, and then went on to enjoy a musical - it was magic, and we laughed and cried together in equal measures! And again I felt uncomfortable - surely I'm meant to reciprocate? Surely I'm the one who looks after other people? How weird did it feel actually being spoiled in such a way? Thursday night I was treated to an early surprise birthday by another friend. He'd bought Happy Birthday banners, and a birthday cake with candles stating I was 21 years old (bless him!) and again I felt embarrassed by the attention. And at the same time I absolutely loved it - all three of my dear friends were gently teaching me to accept kindness and love, with none of them expecting anything in return. Weird. Uncomfortable. New. And... you know what? I love it!

And the chuckles started and wouldn't stop - I've always sought love and affection, and yet I suddenly realised that I hadn't actually known how to accept it. But because these were three trusted friends, they refused to take no for an answer, and just laid it on me. Exactly in the way that so many of my friends have shown me love and support over these past few months at the time I've needed it most. In those times, I guess, I learned to accept because I had no option - I was in a horrid mess, and without their determined interventions, I may not have made it through.

But now, now that I've made it, I'm learning to accept unconditional love and support through the good times - and this, this my friends is a whole new experience. It seems to me that the snuggly warm feeling I finally have within me is now being reflected back to me by other people. And mark my words, I'm now open and receptive to all of it - although I may still struggle at times until I get used to it!

So thank you. Thank you to everyone who continues to be gracious to me, even when I'm being a bit defensive. I'm learning, you see, and as I said earlier on, I'm loving these lessons. THANK YOU!

Breaking The Silence

It's late, and I've just put the phone down after chatting with one of my longest-standing friends. A wonderful lady I have known for years. Our children grew up together. We share similar professional interests. We also share a particular bond that came to light last year. She was also married to a charming sociopath - for 20 years, so double my own sentence. In fact our husbands got to know each other and did their level best to break our strong bond of friendship. They succeeded for a while, but now we are closer than ever. Ironically it is the behaviour of our respective husbands that have made it possible. Since last year we have been able to share our stories. Compare our experiences. Help each other through the dark days. Encourage each other to notice some of the deeply ingrained responses we sometimes fall back in to as a habit, following years of deliberate conditioning. We know what it's like you see. We understand the pain and indignity. We can identify on levels that people who haven't been through such an experience couldn't possibly understand. We share this common bond of survivors of abuse - and at first, we thought that very few people would ever be able to empathise. We were wrong - and I'd like to explain what I mean. To respect her privacy, I'll call my friend Beatrix.

Towards the end of last year I read a powerful book called The Bigamist, written by best-selling author Mary Turner Thomson. Taken aback by the punch of her story about her marriage to a sociopath, together with the striking similarities in our backgrounds, I decided to introduce myself by email. She called me on my home phone less than three days later, and straight away we chatted with the ease of old friends, as though we'd known each other for years. Right from that very moment I felt the unspoken connection of recognition with her - she knew what it was like. She'd been there. I didn't have to explain. She instinctively knew, and though we didn't say it at the time, there was an instant bond created between us. Highly intelligent, sassy, accomplished, strong and certainly nobody's fool, Mary and I have since become firm friends - soul sisters who know what it's like to be deliberately targeted, deceived, manipulated and controlled. Soul sisters who knows how it feels to realise that what you thought was true and lasting love was nothing more than a sham. Soul sisters who understands the shame and indignity of having to face the truth - and convince friends and family that you haven't lost the plot.

Make no bones about it - escaping from a controlling or abusive relationship is difficult enough. Accepting the truth that you've been treated so badly is even harder. But having to explain what happened to other people is excruciatingly humiliating. Particularly when they will often need to question since, to all intent and purposes "he/she has always been such a lovely person! Surely there's some mistake!" Then there's the underlying implication that you must have been very gullible - stupid even - not to notice the signs. "If what you're telling me is true, then they must surely have been so obvious - how could you possibly not have known? Surely you must have realised something was wrong?" And so it goes on... It's exhausting, and each time becomes a public tar and feathering, as you are forced over and over again to explain exactly how you were so stupid to let somebody else put you in this position.

This is why there is an unspoken code of silence among the vast majority of people who have suffered through any kind of abusive relationship. Partners, parents, siblings, friends, bosses, colleagues - the list is endless, as are the stories and perceived seriousness of the abusers misdemeanors. But the pervasive feelings of disgust and self-hatred lodged deep within the victims is absolutely universal. Beatrix and I talk about this regularly - as do Mary and I, together with many other survivors I've met over the past twenty months. And it IS a code of silence. And along with the silence is the instinctive yet unspoken code of recognition whenever one survivor meets another. After just a few words, the nod of acknowledgement passes between us - sometimes without the need for any further discussion or admittance. We just know. And judging by the number of survivors I've met in my daily life since I became free, there must be millions of people who walk around in silent pain still bound by chains of humiliation and self-loathing.

Control and manipulation tactics are common strategies employed by abusers. Basic yet exceptionally powerful, this form of power play isolates people from the people who support them and undermines their confidence to the point where they can no longer think or act effectively. Believing they are the under-dog, the target is then no longer in control of their own life. The tactics used by abusers will vary depending on their experiences, their level of skill, their targets, and their focus. A corporate sociopath, for example, will typically be exceptionally well-versed in smooth language, subtle body gestures, and impeccable manners. A street thug is much more likely to use physical violence. Encounters with one may well leave you with bruises and perhaps broken bones. Encounters with either of them will leave you with a broken spirit and emotional scars that may never heal again.

When I was working as a Louise L Hay trainer in 1997/1998 I was always deeply touched by the expressions of guilt and shame that people would demonstrate as they bravely shared their stories of mistreatment, usually at the hands of another. Stories that, in some cases, had been kept hidden and secret for decades. And yet, finally telling the truth of what had happened was the easy bit - the hard bit was gently helping them to accept and forgive themselves for what had happened. Yes, you read right - the most difficult part would be helping them to find a way to forgive themselves. Not the other person or people, or even the situation - but themselves. To rid themselves of the shame and self-loathing for allowing such a thing to happen to them in the first place.

From my own experience, my first feelings of shame were when my sister and I were thrown out from our guardians when I was 18 and she was just 13. His treatment of us was absolutely appalling - but I felt that I'd somehow failed. To make matters worse, because my guardian was a well-respected, charming, highly intelligent and very successful professional man, nobody wanted to believe my account of events during the 22 months we lived there. It didn't matter that we'd done nothing wrong - far from it in fact. But, as with so many 'victims' I turned the anger and hatred in on myself. It took me many years to come to terms with what had happened and to finally forgive myself. This experience, as it turned out, has proved to be one of the most useful lessons I could ever have learned. Not only has it helped me to move others through these destructive patterns, it also helped me to explore my own deepest held beliefs and to heal fast and fully following the discovery of my husband's betrayals.

Back to my friend Beatrix, where I started this post. She is now reclaiming her life - but it's a long road. This is her first Christmas of freedom from a man who, to the outside world appeared charming, charismatic and witty - the life and soul of the party. You get the picture? Since escaping, Beatrix has forfeited a number of her friends who simply refuse to believe that this charming man could possibly be guilty of the monstrous things she has accused him of doing. These abusers can be very skilled you see, and though there may be no visible external injuries, the damage to self-esteem and self-belief can be severe and even life threatening - or worse in some cases. She told me what an important time Christmas has always been for her. How for more than 20 years she'd religiously do everything within her power to make the most of the festive season - and how, every year, her husband would religiously take great delight in destroying her. He'd criticise her for spending too much or too little. Complain about the tree being too big or too small. Whine about the fact that there were too many or too few parties and house visits organised that year. Constant verbal abuse, coupled with a Judas kiss or squeeze on the shoulder and the words"But you know I love you!"

This is why now, I'm so passionate about speaking out. Abuse of any kind is a killer. The silence is also a killer. It strangles people. Self-loathing eats away at confidence. It is malignant, oppressive and relentless - and in some cases it claims lives.

Don't get me wrong - I'm not asking people to speak out or share their stories in such a public arena as the manner I am choosing. I'm simply inviting those of you who have been there too - or who are still there - to know that you are not alone. You may be surprised by the number of people who are out here and who truly understand what you've been through. Like you, they may choose to stay silent. And that's ok. As I said earlier, the code of recognition is often a silent one - but at the very least it's a recognition. It's the knowledge and relief that at least one other person understands. And if you've kept it to yourself until then, well you'll have doubled your team in one fell swoop.

One small step, that's all it takes. One by one we'll find each other. One by one we can join hands until we reach around the world - maybe further. Together we can stand strong, and put an end to this destructive cycle of abuse and shame. I, for one, am determined to keep banging my drum and inviting others to join the band - because I know that together we can make the sweetest soul music as our voices sing out around the world!

The Night I Made A Deal With Dr Hannibal Lecter

It was nearing midnight on Thursday 9^th July 2009. It was a typically warm summer’s night that found me in my bed at home in France, distractedly checking through my emails on the iPhone for the umpteenth time. Anything to try and quieten my mind and bring me back to normality. I was mentally and physically exhausted but my tortured mind and aching soul refused to let me sleep.  No matter how much I tried to rationalize the past ten weekss, or how much I attempted to make sense of the situation, I simply couldn’t find any answers. Peace seemed a very distant memory as I continued to search for clues. What had happened? Where had I gone so wrong? What had prompted my beloved husband of 10 years to lie to me for so long? Why did he need to create so many other lives? What had I done to make him stop loving me? How had I missed the signs? What could I have done differently? The questions circled, round and round my head like the mythological embittered Harpies – snatching at my rising fears, cackling at my confusion, their cruel wings fanning the flames of despair that threatened to engulf my soul.

I am a motivational coach and leadership trainer, was the co-founder of a successful and well-respected training consultancy, and over the past decade I have been lucky enough to work with leaders from some of the UK’s best-known companies. I am known for my ability to quickly get to the heart of the issue, employed for my skills in reading and understanding people, and constantly requested to come in and ‘fix’ problem teams. So how had I been so blind to my husband? We were a team, we worked together, lived together, loved together and had spent nearly every day and night in each other’s company since the day we met – and I loved him totally; heart, body and soul. Only last year we had celebrated our 10-year anniversary together, and just a couple of months later spent his 40^th birthday together on the beaches of a beautiful Caribbean health spa. Our life together, as I thought, was perfect!

And yet now, here I am, alone with my son in the beautiful French farmhouse we had lovingly restored over the past 6 years, betrayed and deserted by the person I truly believed was my soul mate, left alone to deal with the enormity of the emotional and financial wreckage caused by my husband’s double life. It had all happened so suddenly – the chance email just three months earlier that led me on a trail of discovery to uncover the horrifying truth that I was married to a stranger. Cold, hard, black and white proof that my idyllic life was in fact a total sham – and the equally cold hard fact that my husband had simply vanished out of our lives the second he knew he’d been rumbled, leaving my son and I to deal with the fall-out. Disappeared without a trace just as quickly as he’d arrived in our lives more than ten years earlier. 

Around and around the questions turned in my head. The Harpies I had named “Who” “What” “Where” “When” and “How” mocking my stupidity, berating my gullibility, and piercing ever more deeply in to my already broken heart.

And then I saw it. It was an email from my dear friend Mary, which pricked my interest. It was a kind and thoughtful message of support, the contents of which seemed harmless – but it was this very email that had me shaking to the core just a short while later.

“…Interestingly, you may or may not know that I am doing my masters degree in forensic psychology at the moment, and recently have done loads of work on sociopaths.  Lets put it this way - Cam shows all the signs - in retrospect of course!  So in fairness, he was highly skilled at fooling everyone.  In fact, not just skilled - it was natural to him.  Therefore, who would have known?  He has no conscience.  And before long, he will find another place for himself, and will never feel any remorse, because he doesn’t know how to…”

Sociopath was a term I had not come across before and so, after a quick scan for more information on the internet, I discovered that a sociopath is also known as a psychopath. My brows furrowed as disbelief and comprehension entered my head at the same time. So I asked the question out loud to see if it made a difference: “You mean to tell me that my husband, my Cam, is actually a PSYCHOPATH?” Chills ran through my body, my mouth went dry, and the Harpies were suddenly very still and very quiet.

Random images of famous psychopaths came flooding in to my head – Norman Bates from Psycho, Peter Sutcliffe the Yorkshire Ripper, America’s Ted Bundy and Heath Ledger as The Joker – the absurdity of the idea prompting nervous laughter to erupt from deep within me. And then silence again as I truly began to consider the enormity of this new information. The room was still. My mind was quiet. My heart started thumping loudly in my chest. Holding the iPhone in my left hand, cradling my mouth and chin with my right hand, I read yet another ‘checklist’ for sociopathy and realized with absolute clarity that Cam’s behaviours actually ticked each and every one of the boxes – to a tee. I shuddered, forcing myself to breathe, and blinking wildly, hoping that I had somehow misinterpreted the information.

And that was the precise moment when the archetypal psychopath, Dr Hannibal Lecter made his sudden and unwelcome appearance in my mind – crystal clear and standing just a few feet away from me in the corner of my bedroom. Sucking air through his teeth and smacking his lips, he held me hypnotized with his ice-cold beguiling stare, clearly enjoying my confusion as I quietly considered the overwhelming evidence that my estranged husband, the man I had loved with all my heart and soul, was in fact a text-book psychopath.

“But surely I’d know if I was in the company of someone like that?” I reasoned to myself, the dank smell of Hannibal’s cell now beginning to permeate my senses, his chains rattling my imagination. “But I’m an executive business coach! I’ve been working in the field of personal development for over 13 years! I’m wise to the ways of different personalities and what makes people tick!” I tried to rationalise, becoming more aware that my bewilderment was arousing the curiosity of my uninvited guest.

I was hooked. And as I read further, uncovering facts, examples of typical traits, and stories from other victims of a sociopathic relationship, I was gradually coming to the horrifying comprehension that my friend’s prognosis was correct – and the fact that I was not alone. There were literally thousands of women with stories just like mine. I allowed the weirdly reassuring feeling that I was not the only one to grow within me, gratefully confirming to myself that there were hundreds, thousands – perhaps millions – of other people just like me. Intelligent, professional, and successful women who had willingly succumbed, fallen in love, followed their dreams and been thwarted by the malevolent charms of the skilled and charismatic sociopath. Chillingly, as I now know, as much as 4% of the population (allegedly 1% of females and 3% of males) are afflicted, yet remain undiagnosed, with what mental health officials refer to as “antisocial personality disorder” – or, to you and me, these are psychopaths who live, breath and feed among us. If you think (as I did) that this kind of thing could never happen to you, then think again.

These people are charming, witty and attentive – the life and soul of the party. There are countless stories from women who have fallen for the charms of such charismatic men. Men who can sweep you off your feet, make you believe that you are the most precious person in the world. Men who let you dare to dream that all your dreams have come true and convince you that you’ve found your true soul mate. Men who make you feel that anything is possible, and encourage you to live life to the full. Men who slowly and deliberately bleed you dry, suck out your soul and leave you for dead, without even a backwards glance – but by the time you realize this, of course, it’s too late. Much too late.

Suddenly I began to see things from a different angle. Suddenly things started to make sense. Dr Lecter, for now, faded safely back in to the darkness of my imagination, as I began to replace his image with strangely comforting feelings of relief. The deeper truth was dawning that the experience I was living, my own personal living nightmare, was not something I could have foretold. So I was not to blame for what had happened – there was nothing more I could have done. In fact, I’d had a lucky escape.

This was the beginning of my understanding about what had happened to me. How I’d found myself in such a horrific and unimaginable mess. After three long months, the hurricane of discovery that had all but broken me in its relentless force to destroy all that I had believed in was gradually beginning to loosen its grip in light of this new information. 

I realized, with frightening clarity, that in order to truly understand what had happened, to come to terms with how I had come to find myself in such a nightmare situation, I was going to have to embark on a journey of self-discovery. I would need to find out more about what had happened to other people. Understand the true meaning behind the word sociopath, or psychopath. Recognise the traits within myself that allowed me to be the perfect target – dig deeply in to my own psyche and explore my own choices in life.  Examine how I’d got here, what I’d believed about myself and others and my own deeply held personal values. And, most importantly, to find my strength and finally heal. 

My years of experience in personal development told me it was not going to be an easy journey. Some of the deeply buried feelings and experiences of my past would need to be re-examined. I would need to dredge through parts of my life I thought I’d already dealt with. Old scars I thought I’d healed would need to be re-opened and treated anew. It would be painful. It would mean re-visiting old chapters of my life. Re-living the hurts of the past in order to truly understand what was going on. And I would also need to venture in to the depths of this new murky world I was beginning to discover. Stand in the shoes of these soulless people I now knew existed for real, and who live and work among us. People who have no conscience. Sham human beings who exist purely to win, who see other people merely as tools to be used and abused – and discarded once they are no longer of any value. 

I was alerted to the sounds of Dr Lecter shuffling around in the back of my mind, his interest clearly intensified by my growing fear at what lay ahead. And I heard a barely perceptible laugh – or was it a cackle – coming from the darkest corners of my imagination. The unpalatable solution hit me like a steam train, and I understood at that moment that he would need to become an ally in my journey; for who better than the archetypal sociopath, Dr Hannibal Lecter himself to help me understand the twisted workings in the mind of a psychopath?

“If I help you, Melanie, it will be "turns" with us too. Quid pro quo. I tell you things, you tell me things. About yourself. Quid pro quo. Yes or no?”  his perfect and calculated logic slithered towards me, the words and the consequences of what I was about to do sending shivers through my body. I would need to let Hannibal Lecter inside my head if ever I was going to become free. 

This was my invitation. To myself, and within the safety of my own imagination – at least for the moment. It was the only way to regain my sanity and claim my life back. And, surely, this couldn’t be any worse than the real life experiences I had already survived? And so I nodded my silent agreement and the deal was done. I would allow the specter of Hannibal to steer me as I unravel the past and make sense of my pain. A smug sneer crept across Dr Lecter’s face, as he pulled himself upright and acknowledged my consent “Brave Melanie. You will tell me when those lambs stop screaming, won’t you?” 

So this was the beginning of my recovery. I started preparing for my own personal voyage of soul-searching, education, self-questioning and personal discoveries right through to the eventual victory I knew was waiting for me. I’d have to return to the innocence I once knew, and in returning there I knew I’d have to face some ugly and painful memories. Rearrange them to make sense of what had happened, and to ensure that I would never again be taken in by anyone whose sole intention was to hurt me.

Hannibal fixed me with his steely eyes and held tightly to the bars in his cell “Clearly this new assignment is not your choice” he hissed “rather I suppose it is a part of the bargain but you accepted it Melanie. Your job is ultimately to craft my doom. So I am not sure how well I should wish you but I'm sure we'll have a lot of fun. So let’s start at the beginning – tell me everything you know”

With that his image once again faded away, and I truly felt that I had just made a deal with the devil. But at the same time, I knew that my journey to freedom had begun.