Falling into Love - my journey home

This blog. This beautiful platform. It's been a lifesaver for me, on so many occasions, through so many years, over so many lifetimes. Recently it's been calling to me again... the whisper has been growing... and I've been blocking it. Until now.

"Write Mel, write it all out. Hear the call. Pay attention. Claim your voice. Write it all out, so others may one day hear it too..."

I'm a stubborn so-and-so, as everyone who knows me will confirm. And the funny thing is (yep, funny peculiar as well as funny ha-ha) that the one I tend to be most stubborn with...is... myself. 

Growing up in an era of "stiff upper lip" and "carry on regardless" my earlier years were spent fighting. Fighting against a world that couldn't see me, wouldn't hear me, and certainly didn't encourage me to explore my deepest fear that somehow I didn't fit in. I interpreted it as "there's something wrong with me" rather than hearing the truth that was screaming from inside... "there's something wrong with the system"

An hour or so before I started writing this piece, I was curled up under my duvet in floods of tears. Exhausted. Bewildered. Overwhelmed with grief (for myself and the world around me) and fear (for what I've known all my life, and for what I now witness playing out around me) - that I'm alone. That I've always been alone. That nobody is coming to save me or do it for me.

Boom. There it is, right there, the whole point - the deepest fear and the key to salvation. Here, most probably, is the reason I'm feeling what I'm feeling, so very deeply right now. Those same feelings I've held for over half a century... The grief and aloneness in recognising again that this is all part of the conditioning. 

This is part of the system that has been tearing me apart since my earliest childhood. I feel it as clearly today as I did when I was tiny. The way I see it? We've been trained to look outside of ourselves for salvation. We've been persuaded that we're sinners. We've been encouraged to foster an unquestioning belief in authority... be that family members, teachers, bosses, experts, scientists, government or any other 'higher power'... the now ridiculous notion that others know what's best for me. And yet, in my experience, there is nothing and nobody outside of us that can truly understand, hear, or honour our deepest yearning - other than ourselves. 

Mine is to love and be loved. And I've spent most of my fifty-plus years looking for other people to fulfil it. Feeling that 'hole' within me again today has sent me back inside. Falling into the place I have come to know and love over the years. And in falling in, listening, paying attention... I came back out again, clearer, lighter, and brighter.

Shame is a killer. And in the 'carry on regardless' regime that I had followed so willingly, any acknowledgement of feeling alone was a weakness. The knowing that I yearned so deeply for love, for acceptance, for sharing, for connection? Well, that meant that I was being selfish and self-centred. Who am I to feel so empty, when there are so many people in the world who struggle to provide food or shelter for their children. Who am I to say I feel alone? I should be counting my blessings, and sharing what I have freely with others... even when I'm empty. Shame. Yep, shame. And guilt. Those two sneering masters of torture, who keep us from connecting with our deepest truth.

Well, shame on you. Shame on you, the system that claims to know what's best for us, yet that's taught us to forget our yearning and look outside for salvation. To constantly seek for what more we can give (all in the name of being a good human being) rather than to ask from ourselves what we require right now, in this moment. Shame on you.

I'm here to dissolve all the conditioning that's preyed on our kindness and innocence to keep us prisoner. I'm here to call it out for what it is. I'm here to honour what I knew, deep down, from earliest childhood. And the place to start? Is with me. Is within. I'd like to share here a reflection on the start of my conscious journeying with my soul. It's the place deep within all of us. The place of knowing. Some call it intuition. Mine has a name. And a shape. And a voice. She's a bright white star, and she's called Love. This was the conversation way back in 2009:

“I can’t even look at you today. You disgust me. I’m ashamed of you, you’re so pathetic. You’ve let yourself down again. Why didn’t you see? How could you be so bloody stupid? You idiot. I hate you.”

This is a pretty tame version of the many one-way conversations I had with my reflection after my world collapsed around me. The pain and self-hatred was unbearable as I slowly woke up to the fact that I’d been lied to for so many years by someone I had willingly entrusted with my heart and soul. I felt dirty and ashamed in realising that far from the resilient loving woman I’d believed I was being, I’d actually been the innocent victim of systematic abuse. 

My goodness, the shame. The guilt. The hatred. I couldn’t bear to look at myself. You see, I’d always believed myself to be a strong person. I’d been learning since early childhood how to fight and survive, no matter what. Sassy and business savvy to boot, I was a warrior. An expert in this arena for goodness sakes. So, how could I have been so blind? 

Each day had become a living nightmare as I fought for my son, my home and my sanity. There was nothing left. Everything I’d believed in had either crumbled, dissolved or in some cases, exploded in my face.  

This was back in 2009. With a successful career as a leadership coach behind me and a great reputation to boot, I was meant to know all this stuff and yet… all the development training I’d relied on flew back in my face, mocking me as I sank deeper into despair. In my head, the sneering taunts of circling harpies grew louder as the empty silence echoed deeper inside.  

Emotions stripped to the bone and fingernails ripped to shreds from desperately grasping at the reality that was relentlessly crumbling around me, eventually I had nowhere left to turn. I gave up and sank into the exhaustion.  Finally, I gave up, let go and allowed myself to fall inside… and it changed my life for ever.  

This was the start of my reconnection. This was the beginning of a whole new conversation. Opening my eyes and ears, I paid attention in a different way and started listening to my reflection.  

 

“Hello beloved, I’ve been waiting for you. I’m so sorry it took so much pain for you to finally come inside. I’ve always been with you, guiding you from within, waiting for you to come home to who you are. The world is changing, we have much to share. Now it’s time for us to shine bright together. So, allow me to introduce myself. I’m your intuition. My name is Love. Welcome home”

Those tears earlier? The very best thing I could've done. I will see the darkness. I will go into the shame. I will listen. I will hold. And in doing so, it will transform. By honouring my tears and witnessing my fears, I've once again cleared the way. I am the one I've been searching for. I am the one who's been here all the time. And as god is my witness, I am the one who continues to shine. 

And as I continue to shine, any darkness within me shows itself so that I can hold it, acknowledge it, and wash it away with love. I am a cleaner. And in sharing my darkness, and constantly (stubbornly) shining my own light, I can gently become a beacon for others. We all can.

Yep, let there be peace in our world... and let it start with me.

The Power Of Love

This just came up yesterday as a memory on my Facebook feed… and it made me cry.

Ten years can feel like many lifetimes.

I look so young in that picture, and so weary from the relentless battles. I was still right in the middle of it…. Fighting to keep a home for me and my son, fighting to come to terms with multiple levels of duplicity and chaos, fighting with debt and seemingly insurmountable financial pressures… and oh so much more.

I’d already overcome countless battles. And still had so many ahead - many of which I had absolutely no idea about at the time.

I remember using laughter and loudness as my go-to shields, they worked very well for me. I remember rising like a mumma-bear to stand up for anyone who was being hurt. I remember calling on the spirit of William Wallace to lead me forward as each new challenge arose.

This blog was the main thing that had kept me going. I found that writing out 'the crazy' had helped to give me a voice… helped me to see in black and white what was happening around me. It helped me to find the strength to carry on, even though god knows there were times it was hard to even know where the next breath was coming from.

I’d also discovered Light Up, although at that time I had no conscious understanding of what had happened, and certainly no idea of where it would all lead me…

I remember those times as an incredibly uncomfortable yet intensive training school. I remember building in strength, determination and fire. I remember learning how to say 'no' to authorities who didn't have my best interests at heart. I learned to spot the lies, and stand strong for truth. I learned to fight like an alley cat, how to twist and turn on a sixpence, and how to live on fresh air...

If someone had asked me yesterday about those times, I would’ve said I was a warrior.

Today I’ve seen something else. And it isn't 'warrior'...

Today I see a young woman, tired and bewildered from fighting against the odds for her son and her sanity. I see innocence. I see fear. And I see the crushing weight of shame. I see gentleness. Shyness and sensitivity. And awkwardness. I also see that smile, the one that always appeared so effortlessly through the fears. Yes, I was afraid. And lost. And oh so very alone.

That’s why I have tears today. Tears of love and recognition for the innocence of my younger self. Today I’m reaching to that young woman and I holding her so close and tight. I’m letting her know how amazing she was/is, what she’s achieved, how far she’s come. I’m reassuring her that the darkness passes. Reminding her that the light will always lead us home.

And that’s why my heart, right now, bursts with love and joy. Because I can see it in that photograph. Even though I didn’t know it at the time, it wasn’t the ‘fighting’ that was keeping me going, it was something else much more profound… because this photograph confirms what I know for certain now. Somewhere deep inside I knew. Somehow Love knew, and I was learning how to trust her.

 

Relaunch, reboot, reignite

I'm Still Standing is available on Amazon

I started this blog way back in 2009, when my whole world was in crisis. Everything I had believed to be true was crumbling around me, and the blows kept coming, day by day, one after another. It was my dear friend Judi (named Anna in the book) who recommended me to "simply write it all out" without edits or judgment. Write it out and get clarity. Yep, so that's exactly what I did. Familiar with the notion of keeping a diary, I decided typing was now faster than writing with a pen. After a few hesitant posts, I started sharing them privately with friends. Who shared them on. Who encouraged me to share more... so I did. 

The blog was the start. Then came the book. My autobiography came to life as I gained clarity on my situation, and confidence in my writing. It was published in 2012, on my birthday, 18th December. After that my life changed again. I started to connect with others who'd also been in relationships with pathological individuals. I began to understand more and more. And then one day, I understood the key that had so beautifully and profoundly presented itself to me during one of my darkest days. So simple. So natural. So profound... I hadn't even noticed what had happened, until I looked back years later at the results. Boom. The work was born.

That work is now called DNA Light Up, and I've spent the past few years building, testing, checking, refining, developing and testing it again (together with an astonishing team of extraordinary people who are now all on this same mission with me) to the point where it is today. The point where we are able to guide people to find their own key to freedom - in three simple steps. And that is just the beginning!

With people all around the world facing daily uncertainty, this is why I have chosen to relaunch my story. With a few updates. Firstly reclaiming my birth name (no more pen names for me), secondly (and most importantly) linking to the extraordinary work that was born out of my experiences. 

The time is right. And as I've learned over the years, when the time is right, ain't nothing stopping progress! So you'll understand that, when I say this time last week I had absolutely no notion that all this was going to happen. If I explain that the whole thing came about during a chance call with my old friend Mary Turner Thomson (best-selling author of The Bigamist, who appeared in my first book as one of the first people who was able to help me make sense of the craziness that swamped me) for the very first time in many years. And if I go on to say that the kindle version of my new book actually went live today (extraordinarily fast turnaround, highly unusual) and the print version soon to follow... well then you'll understand me when I say the time is right. And it's right now. 

You'll see I haven't posted on the blog for a couple of years. It's kind of been here as a support if you like. A place I sometimes visit to remind myself how far I've come. These days I spend most of my online life and run the business through Facebook and LinkedIn. It felt only right and proper though, that the very first public announcement of the book going live today, happened here. Right here where it all began...

Facebook Page: I adopted the name Carnegie (my grandmother's maiden name) and changed lots of details when my book was first published (names, locations, relationships) in order to "protect the privacy of those I was writing about" - yep, that's libel laws for you.

Well, my birth name is Melanie Pledger. I refuse to hide any more, in any way shape or form. This is who I am. My story is MY story. I wrote the truth. If 'they' needed protecting, then perhaps 'they' should have chosen to behave kindly towards me instead of... Hmmm... well, instead of something that certainly wasn't kindness and certainly wasn't love!

Incidentally... in the book, my son's name is Dylan. It's his real name. He was 16 years old at the time it was published. And 14 at the time of writing it. When I asked him if he'd too like to choose a different name for the book, he replied "no way mum! I'm Dylan. I'm proud of you. I'm proud of our story and what we've achieved together. And I'm not changing my name for anyone, no matter what advice we've been given! My name is Dylan. And I'm staying Dylan. Tell them I'm keeping my name"

You see why I love him so much?

So, like my son, I am who I am. I survived my story. I reclaimed myself, and my life. And I'm thriving on every level. The work I now do is about showing others how they can do the same (in much less time than it took me I might add!)

My name is Melanie Pledger. I'm standing strong. And I'm on a mission to ensure more of us do the same.

Thank you ❤️

Find out why so many of us are proudly using the word BOLLOCKS

On 17th June 2019, we published our book "B.O.L.L.O.C.K.S. To That, I Choose To Shine!" and it went straight in as a best seller. It's a collection of deeply personal and wonderfully inspirational stories from people who've all faced their own adversity and come through shining. Each of them has also experienced DNA Light Up.

You can watch more short videos and read a synopsis of all the stories in the book on our website. Available on Amazon, print and Kindle, it truly is an uplifting and heart warming read.

Calling out BOLLOCKS: "Women are perfectly capable of defending themselves, so why play victim to abuse?"

OH FFS, SHUT THE FRONT DOOR!!!!!!!!!!! 


This, believe it or not, was the BOLLOCKS I faced during a lunchtime conversation this weekend. The comment (and more) came from an otherwise intelligent, kind and caring man in his fifties, married for thirty years to a wife who had been sexually abused as a child, and who himself had been adopted. 

Referring to a recent survey that reported over 80% of women have been sexually harassed or assaulted, he became more and more agitated and upset. Repeating time after time that "women are women, men are men, it's natural to have an attraction isn't it? Surely this is life!" he demonstrated his argument by lightly touching me on the shoulder and asking, "so now even a greeting among friends could be counted as assault?"

I truly believe that this man meant no harm in what he was saying, and that he was actually trying to understand. Emotions were running high - and a large quantity of wine had also been flowing freely in his direction. With intimate experience of the aftermath of sexual abuse, I was certain he would never belittle the damage it creates! So the way I chose to take his words, rightly or wrongly, was this: 

He knows for a fact that these horrors happen. 

Perhaps he couldn't bring himself to comprehend the enormity of the problem. 

And perhaps rather than go there, instead it was easier to assume that women (and men) are perfectly capable of defending themselves... and that therefore many of the abuse claims must be nonsense. 

Labelling the whole thing as another big brother government attempt at control and separation, and bewailing the growing fears that are being encouraged between men and women. 

Ignoring much of his less concrete and wine-fuelled arguments, I told him calmly that I had experienced abuse, without specifying any details. This came directly after his observation that he sees me as a strong, grounded, intelligent and independent women. The immediate silence was deafening, and we agreed to revisit the whole subject - including how my work helps women and men to overcome these kind of experiences - at another time.

Still, for me, even years after I have freed myself from my own prison, his words irritated me. From somewhere deep within I remembered again the helplessness and exasperation I felt at that time, trying to explain the inexplicable, even to trusted friends who loved and cared for me. Questions like "did he hit you? Did he threaten you?" and all kinds of other enquiries that stemmed from the well meaning innocence of ignorance, simply resulted in triggering my shame and self-doubt.

No, it wasn't easy to speak about what happened. It was soul-shattering to realise and accept that the strong person I believed myself to be had become a victim of systematic abuse. My own healing took years of hard work to overcome - and still to this day, as shown this weekend, even innocent words can sting. Today though, I know who I am and I understand what happened. So it was only a little prick (no pun intended). Nothing more. And my work today helps others to understand and free themselves so much more quickly than I did myself!  This is why my work has become my life's mission.

This is also why I am 100% in favour of the #metoo movement, and every other body that supports men, women and children to speak out, stand up and reclaim their peace. I am constantly horrified at the continued ignorance (at best) and refusal to accept ("it's not my business" an often quoted excuse) or (at worst) the deliberate ploys to belittle and silence those who've experienced abuse at any level. 

It doesn't matter whether we have physical scars or bruises to show for what happened. It doesn't matter that we may not be able to put into words exactly how we came to be in the situations we found ourselves - and frankly, why should it be deemed necessary to justify pain? Hurt is hurt. Bullying is bullying. Abuse is abuse. End of. And the more people who are speaking out, each with their own unique voice, the more others will finally be able to hear. Then more people can start to accept the facts, even without experiencing the horrors themselves. And then we can all do something to change it. 

Years ago, when I was doing my best to make sense of my own situation, I came to the conclusion that it is our kindness and compassion - coupled with the BOLLOCKS misguided teachings that encourage us to aways put others first, to put our feelings aside and understand the other person better, to walk a mile in their shoes before making judgement - that unwittingly allow manipulators to live, breathe and thrive among us. Here's an excerpt from the blog I wrote as a result, entitled "Pain, Shame and the Winning Game - a Shark's Tale", published in August 2010:

It's these very same attitudes of optimism, self-exploration and personal responsibility that made people perfect bait for the coldest most ruthless of sharks. Sharks who sneer at the pain of another and who thrive on confusion as they deliberately muddy the waters to disorientate their target even more. Pain and shame is what allows these sharks to win - and that's all they want to do. It's the only thing they know how to do. Anything else they pretend to be, is just that. Pretence. But for the rest of us, the 96% of the population who have a code of ethics, an emotional response, a conscience, we simply cannot comprehend that this kind of creature can exist among us. It simply will not sit in our frame of reference - even once pointed out. For even once the truth is laid bare, we will still struggle to come to terms with the fact that the person we thought of as being like this or like that is actually no more than a hollow shell. Automatically we will still revert back to our own feelings of guilt for some imaginary support we failed to provide. And that's what can make recovery such a slow and painful process.

Now is the time to listen to what's happening inside. It's time for us to go within, to reclaim our own light first - and then shine brightly so others can do the same. I believe we are rising. Men, women and children. I believe our collective cries of "what the f**k!" are gathering volume, pace and power. The times they are a-changing. Our voices may be small. For now we may be few. And yet, just like David and Goliath, the bullying giants are finally starting to fall. 

Calling out BOLLOCKS

Oh my goodness me, and oh my goodness me again!!!! What a load of old nonsense there is 'out there'... what a crock of poppycock and twaddle we have been taught to believe... what a bag of balderdash... in short, BOLLOCKS!

Now, those of you who know me can vouch for the fact that I'm prone to be outspoken with my opinions - particularly when faced with by ridiculousness or injustice. I spent so many years trying to fit in, to be the good girl, to be what I thought people wanted me to be, just so I could be accepted. And in doing so, I darned nearly lost myself.

These days I spend my life sharing what I've learned from bitter experience, so that others can also be freed from the bollocks that keeps us small, or believing that we're not good enough. What a load of rubbish that is! We are all magnificent, limitless beings. So let's stop squashing ourselves in an attempt to fit into a reality that simply doesn't serve us.

One of the BOLLOCKS subjects that really gets my goat, is this misguided belief that in order to be a loving person, we are required to be gentle, sweet and nice all the time. A couple of days ago I felt compelled to join in a conversation that was discussing just that. And to my surprise, my comment has been shared across Facebook! Over the next few posts I'll be sharing more of my myth-busting soap-box worthy opinions on life. For right now though, here's my take on 'love and light' that seems to have struck a chord with others:

"True 'love and light' is far from the fluffy wafty bollocks that many believe it to be. On the contrary. It's laser sharp. Determined in its passion to grow and shine... and rights in ensuring pure true love in our life - nothing else cuts the mustard.

No excuses. No sugar coating. Love and light. Simples.

This is what causes the darkness to tremble. This is what causes it to pull grotesque faces, to postulate and to shout. It is afraid that we're waking up to its lies.

Because for too long we've been told that being loving means being passive and weak. Now we're seeing things in other ways, and recognising love as a powerful strength and truth that throws light into every corner and banishes darkness...

'When the sun's at its highest the shadows show most clear'... that seems to me a pretty true reflection of what's happening now. I believe our light is collectively rising. And I'm in. Bring it on"

Oh, and by the way - I loved the acronym that makes up the word BOLLOCKS so much that I applied to get it trademarked. To my utter astonishment it was accepted. Hilarious! So put that in your pipe and smoke it, I've started now ;-) 

Chicken Shit for the Soul - an Absurd Awakening

To give some background to this post, it is intended as the prologue to my next book, which will explain my full journey since "I'm Still Standing" was published back in December 2012. I've decided to share it here now as my first post in a long time, to set the scene for further insights, stories and discoveries that have happened since then. Rollercoaster? Oh yes, you could say that... and more! Worth it? Oh yes yes yes yes yes, with whistles bells and knobs on! So... without further ado... my first post in a long long time ;-) 

Lying in my darkened hospital bed, a flurry of night staff rustling and shuffling their way through the corridors, I remain wired up to machines that pump me full of post-surgery drugs, my shattered right shoulder now held together with an array of freshly inserted ironmongery. Out of nowhere I suddenly start giggling to myself. The giggles that are bubbling up from deep within quickly turn into snortles that threaten to become uncontrollable. 

This in itself is not unusual. I have a tendency to do that - to find the absurd in traumatic situations. It's a survival technique for me, fine-tuned over 45 years of practical and very personal experience. Whilst it's become second nature to me now, I've learned that these somewhat inappropriate outbursts can shock people around me, which is why I stifled the giggling as best I could. No point disturbing the silent healing of other patients occupying the other beds. And certainly no point in attracting the attention of the night nurse. How on earth would I be able to explain myself? So I stuffed down the spluttering giggles, and satisfied myself instead with a stupid grin.

It was the beginning of December 2017. I had dislocated and broken my shoulder a few days earlier in a ridiculous accident. Aren't they usually that way? Ridiculous I mean. 

Accidents. One split second of bad timing, misjudgment, over confidence. And bang! It's happened. Ridiculous. 

Mine has been particularly ridiculous.  Caused by creeping quietly back to the main house after a lovely evening of (relatively) well-behaved singing, chatting and tomfoolery in the summerhouse with my newly re-discovered childhood friend... I say relatively, because whilst it was already past midnight, we'd actually stopped drinking wine a short time earlier. Plenty of previous evenings had seen us carrying on in to the wee small hours and beyond, such was the excitement about rekindling our friendship and catching up on the four decades that had passed since we'd last seen each other! Anyway, so there we both were, stealthily tip-toeing back across the garden towards the main house so we wouldn't wake the rest of the family, when I slipped on the wet grass, lost my balance on the tiny incline around the house, and smashed straight in to the outside wall. My friend smashed straight on top of me. He's always had an uncanny knack of somehow finding soft landings, no matter what life threw at him. This time it was me.

I didn't hear the crunch. I didn't feel the pain. I didn't know what had hit me, or who had hit what as I was squashed awkwardly between the wall and my friend. I do vividly remember (ridiculously) that my main concern was to not make a fuss. Not to draw attention to myself. Not complaining. And certainly not causing a disturbance that could have woken the rest of the household! I can assure you that all of those misguided intentions shot straight out of the window once an ambulance was called and the shock kicked in - hollering like a banshee and crying like a baby, my pain and excruciating shame exaggerated by the inquisitive audience that had gathered. Body shivering and teeth chattering wildly as I wailed, largely incoherently, for "anything, anything to just make it all go away!"

So how come then, some ten days later, after major surgery and the grim prognosis that I would never again have full upper body mobility, was I now giggling like a toddler?

I'd been replaying the accident, and remembering the fact that my friend had chickens in his garden. Fat, plump, well-fed birds that produced the most deliciously tasty golden yellow eggs. Plump, oversized, contented birds... who therefore produced equally plump oversized waste deposits. Particularly near the house, where they would gather expectantly each morning, waiting for the daily offering of tasty morsels.

"Chicken shit!" the ridiculous thought had announced itself. "I bloody slipped on chicken shit! And thanks to the surgery, I've also been right royally screwed!"

Chuckling at the absurdity, I gently settled in to the calm certainty that this was the heralding for a deeper awakening of my ever curious soul...