Certainty

While talking about uncertainty, I've noticed that there are a few things in life I'm certain about.

• I'm a good person. I try to live my life right, do the right thing for myself and other people and do good deeds. I'm generous with my attention, time and effort and love to make people smile.
  
• I'm a good dad. I care so much for my daughter, provide for her, support her and surprise her. I'm aware I'm a pain in the arse sometimes but I think if I didn't get on her case occasionally I wouldn't keep things balanced.
  
• I do truly have the best daughter in the world. I know people say this about their kids all the time, and I always think, sure, they're wonderful, but if you knew my daughter's background and how she's emerged from it like a butterfly from a chrysalis, beautiful, happy, bright, sociable and funny... having her full-time as she turns from girl to woman has helped me appreciate her infinitely more than simple weekend access could ever have done. Seeing her for a few minutes in the morning, then anything between a few minutes to an entire evening every day is a heavenly experience.
  
• I'm a capable adult. I've run an efficient household and been a full-time, single parent for the past eighteen months and bar a few hiccups I think I've done pretty bloody well. I've kept my bank account in the black, managed some savings until recently when we moved house and I spanked it all on frivolous stuff like carpet and a fridge. I've paid a couple of old debts that cropped up and want to clear a couple more too. All this is pretty new for me; I used to be terrible with money and had no foresight in how I used it. Much like the rest of my life during my depression, I spent money in the moment and didn't really plan how far it'd go or learn from how much I struggled at the end of each month. Now, I simply won't live like that and will make sacrifices to ensure we always have money available.
  
• I have brilliant friends and family. Every time I reflect on this it fills me with enormous self-esteem: I know these people love me because of who I am. It took me many long years to realise this, and now my friends and family are probably the most important thing in my life, not just because of their esteem-building properties but mainly because they are incredible individuals, man, woman and child.
  
• I'm attractive to the opposite sex. Various things have pointed to this recently and I've had to sit up and take note: I'm a catch. Let's hope Miss Right comes along sometime soon and notices this too.

There we go then. Uncertainty seems to revert me back to old behaviour, but there's plenty of modern action that counters it. It's been a few days since I started writing this post and I've already felt the benefits of making the association between that old behaviour and my new skills that balance it out. Exploring all this has been very helpful and I know I'll come back and reflect on this down the line. Having this record of the realisations and processes involved in coming to terms with particular feelings will seriously help that reflection, and I think I'll schedule writing about this again in future to see what progress I've made.

Uncertainty

After my ex and I separated, I went round to her new house to see my daughter and try to keep things cordial. During a casual chat she told me something which I remember clearly to this day:

I really enjoy arguing, it gives me a buzz

What? You enjoy arguing? All this time I thought I was a bastard, I had done you wrong or annoyed you in some way, but really you started all those fights to get yourself a fix? You fucking freak. Do you have any idea what all this arguing has done to me? I split us up because I didn't want our daughter growing up like I did, in a house where their parents argued angrily all the time. I suffered horrendous depression and a deep attraction to weed and alcohol, an obsession with internet chat, to escape all the shit we went through together, all the manipulation and aggression after we split up and all the times you threatened to withhold access to our daughter if I didn't pay you more child support.

I really was, and still am, astonished by all this, but it does remind me of the comment my friend made in this post:

"It's perfectly natural and understandable, your ex's actions and behaviour manipulated you so totally that you had zero control of the situation, it's become almost an intrinsic part of your nature to compensate for that now. Could it also be a security/safety thing? In order to feel safe inside yourself, you need things to go to an organised plan... when that doesn't pan out, it freaks you more than it should? Takes you back to how you felt 12 years ago?"

When uncertainty arises it transports me back to being a small boy, frightened that the world is going to shatter around him. It changes my "mode" into that of a fearful man confused by his girlfriend's mood swings and unfounded aggression.

So, uncertainty equals fear. This leads to something I've been telling myself since I realised uncertainty was causing me emotional grief: It generally works out in the end. Life's been going pretty well recently. We've had some brilliant luck with our new flat and some wonderful help from friends and family alike.

I'm on the case, I'm in control and I'm tougher than I thought I was. For example, I've had some financial worry over the past few days because benefits screwed up my change of circumstances assessment. I noticed it, contacted them, they told me a payment would be made on Monday and I made arrangements based on that. A few days later, when their payment hadn't come through as discussed, I panicked and phoned them, sorted it and made up the difference by borrowing a little cash to make sure my rent went out and I didn't get any bounced payments. Result. I even asked my account manager for a small temporary overdraft to cover the outgoings without success, but I tried. The payment actually came in on time and everything's gone out smoothly so, despite my worry and stress about it, everything worked out in the end, thanks to me.

Thanks to me and my wonderful new proactive get-it-all-sorted attitude. I'm not burying my head in the sand any more, I'm making this work. Uncertainty may breed fear, but I feel the fear and do it anyway. I started reading a book called "Feel the fear and do it anyway" before the summer but got distracted by shiny things. I put it on my new bookshelf in my new flat yesterday and thought "I really should read that properly" so I'll dig it out tonight and put it by my bed.

Everything works out in the end, so accept the uncertainty, feel the fear and do it anyway. Sounds perfect. Now to help myself believe it.

Goddamn, I hate fighting.

I sincerely dislike how fights affect me, how they make me feel, how they ruin my day, give me the shakes, fill me with fear for my life and my body. Today, at work, an altercation broke out between four people - two at the top of the company, one ex-employee and his employee brother. Pushing, shoving, shouting, death threats, slagging-off of wives, me on the phone to 999 while all this is going on around me and the boss's son, a young boy of 7 or 8 seemingly oblivious to all the aggression going on around him.

I'm writing because I'm interested in how this confrontation severely affected my mood. I felt variously like crying, running away, hiding, fighting, exploding and taking the whole area down with me. It's the fear and escape I'm interested in, simply because they definitely feel like they hark back to when my ex and I argued.

I often tried to get away when we fought. I'd try to leave, to give us both a chance to calm down, to escape the nightmare and get away from all this unneeded aggression. I often wondered why the hell we were fighting; did I do something wrong, some unknown provocation that caused her to flare up? Two times, when I tried to leave, she stopped me. The situations got out of hand and ended up getting physical as described a few paragraphs down here. I think part of my reaction to modern aggression is tied to these two events, to my desire to run away. Even deeper, I think it's tied to growing up seeing my dad often very angry, angry enough to shout, to make my mum cringe and cry, to cause tension and...

God. I can feel it now, that tension, adrenaline on the cusp of release, the flight instinct a hair-trigger away. I can put myself back in that place; young, maybe five or six, hearing my dad shouting and screaming at my mum, feeling the fear that maybe I'd be struck, maybe the family would break apart again, a lot of uncertainty...

Oooh, uncertainty. That sounds strikingly familiar. I haven't got time to explore this now, but that link is important, certainly a discovery that links to many other things and worth looking into in depth soon.

I asked for further questions

from my friend to help me explore these issues around uncertainty and lack of control, and she was wonderfully forthcoming, with some proper counselling-style questions to help me focus.

In recent posts I described physical symptoms associated with strong emotions. Can I isolate a single emotion or is it a combination?

A quick-fire list: fear disappointment rejection uncertainty anger. The uncertainty makes me angry and scared, disappointment's definitely there, and I feel rejected by the person or event/universe that drops the changes on me.

Rejection stands out from that list as being somewhat out of place. I kind of understand where the other emotions are generated - I'd like to explore them in more detail - but rejection doesn't seem to fit with the rest of them and I'm wondering where that comes from.

Rejection 
See Also: ABANDONMENT
Cast away [anger] like spoiled milk —Marge Piercy
Discarded like outmoded customs —Elyse Sommer
Discarded (me) like yesterday's underpants —Sue Grafton
Dropped … like a dead fish —T. Glen Coughlin
Dropped [from a list] … like a hot rivet —Loren D. Estleman
He shook them [young women] off his back like a young stallion shaking off an unskilled rider —Russell Banks
Keep at a distance, like someone with an infectious disease —Anon

Discarded, dropped, cast away, abandoned... For some reason these all sound like they don't belong in this post but they all feel right. I just can't see the link between uncertainty and feeling rejected.

Is it about consideration? You're keeping me hanging, making me uneasy, changing plans on me because you don't care how it effects me. You haven't considered how it'll impact me. I think the point here is that it shouldn't effect me, there should be no impact. I'm an adaptable guy and I should be able to react to uncertainty without resorting to confusing emotions such as these.

I'm confused and quite possibly too tired to give this my full attention, so I'll have to try again another day. But try again I will, as I'm intrigued about the root of all this.

Ups and downs

recently, mostly peaks but a couple of heavy troughs. I honestly thought I'd breeze through this house move; my confidence in my mental strength was mostly justified, but eventually I found myself right at the bottom of my comfort zone after getting a stupidly-inflated quote for putting carpet down.

At this point we'd moved most of our stuff between houses but still had a final spick-and-span and key handover to do at the old place that evening. I was pushing someone to quote me a price for carpeting the flat and trying to pin someone else down for collection of a fridge. Neither person understood how stressful it was not knowing when these two important factors of the move were happening, and they don't know about my issues with uncertainty, so they weren't to know. But the fact that I didn't know what was happening with these two essential tasks was sincerely bugging me and I found it difficult to think about anything else.

It came to a head when I contacted both parties and pushed them for a response. Eventually I got a price back for the carpetting - £1,700! I cried. I sat at my desk and I felt like the world was crashing down around me. There was simply no way I could afford that, not even if I put everything else on hold in the meantime. It was more than double what I'd anticipated and it felt like a punch in the stomach when it came through.

I got a stroke of luck when a colleague saw how down I was - he suggested I talk to my boss, whose brother-in-law fits carpet, and get his to quote the job. He gave me a straight-up no-nonsense quote of £575 all-in and I almost ripped his arm off with my enthusiasm. Moments later, I got confirmation from the other person I was chasing and once everything had slotted into place I felt much better.

I've just realised how this is less about how the move has stressed me out, and more an example of how uncertainty makes me feel uneasy. A useful anecdote because it just reinforces the view that when things don't go to plan I revert to old, out-of-date behaviour.

A micro-breakdown led to some useful insight

from someone who read my last post, and I'd like to explore the issue here. Their suggestion that my need for control and order may stem from my ex's manipulation rang true in my mind and made me feel quite emotional when I first read it. Here's a paraphrase:

"It's perfectly natural and understandable, your ex's actions and behaviour manipulated you so totally that you had zero control of the situation, it's become almost an intrinsic part of your nature to compensate for that now.  Could it also be a security/safety thing?  In order to feel safe inside yourself, you need things to go to an organised plan... when that doesn't pan out, it freaks you more than it should? Takes you back to how you felt 12 years ago?"

Yes! Very helpful insights here, making me think how it does feel to have plans changed. I get tetchy, a bit shitty, distracted and generally somewhat all over the place until plans are fixed and I know what's going to happen. In fact, I often say to daughter "you know I like to know what's happening", a phrase which raises a wry smile right now.

So I like things planned out and when plans are disrupted I feel incredibly uncomfortable and sometimes act that out in irritability or general malaise. If I focus on the feelings now it's like a drop in my stomach, a lowering of the head and gentle anger or emotion bubbling up in my throat; all very physical sensations which not only indicate the strength of the feelings involved but that I may be suppressing some emotion too.

Someone recently asked me what the trigger for my depression was, and I told them the story of when my ex told me she was pregnant with our daughter. That was the day it all changed from relative normality to relative chaos, the day I knew she was completely mental but stuck by her because she was carrying our child. The reason I mention this is that when I thought of plans going awry, the image of that moment when she said 'I've lost the twins, but don't worry, I'm pregnant again" flashed through my mind. One moment I'm the proud (if somewhat confused and suspicious) father-to-be of twins, the next I'm told of a miscarriage and new pregnancy and I'm reeling.

Jesus. Writing that out now, it's a wonder I ever got better. I can't believe the strength of that moment, the power she had to take my feelings and emotions, my love and my DNA, and twist and turn them to meet her needs without considering mine. It really makes me bite, I can feel the anger behind it bubbling like a cauldren at the top of my neck.

Ever since, she had control. During the relationship she controlled me on a daily basis with anger and sex, even using our daughter as a tool in her games. After the relationship, our daughter became her only bargaining chip and she used it to full effect, regularly threatening to withhold access and contact if I didn't bow to her whim. Looking back, I'm not surprised I turned to weed and alcohol to escape this; in my mind it sounds like a living nightmare.

So my fixation with plans not being disrupted, and being very uneasy if they are, could stem from the above. That very moment, where plans were in place and suddenly changed, confused and dismayed me, taking my planned future away, replacing it with someone else's. It definitely feels right that modern disruption causes me to revert to that mode.

Another image just flashed through my mind, one I'm sure I've blogged about but can't find right now - the image of my mother in tears, taking me and my brother away because she was leaving our father, for good this time of course, comforting us that everything will be ok now. This happened a few times and I can see how this would shape an attitude to change for the future. Going from a stable and relatively secure home to being displaced half-way across the country with all the uncertainty that involves must've been terrifying. Will I ever see my home again? What'll happen to my dad? I've left all my toys at this house. Why is this happening again? Will it end like it always does, or will we be gone for good?

There it is: it's the uncertainty, the unanswered questions, the inability to shape the present to follow a coherent direction for the foreseeable future. These disruptive trips, and subsequent manipulation by my ex, have shaped a modern man who turns into a frightened boy whenever plans are disrupted.

I want to examine this further but I'm finding it quite heavy going. I'm tired and although work is quiet I'm struggling to find the space to explore the feelings involved in all this, so I'll try again later. For now, it's comforting to have discovered some of the underlying reasons behind something that's been on my mind for a while.

I've been waiting for the excitement to kick in

but it seems so far off at the moment.

To tell the truth I'm starting to struggle a bit with things not being in order, having a bedroom full of boxes of STUFF, and other people's very relaxed attitudes to communication and timekeeping. Do people not realise they're causing me stress when they don't call me back, or do things when they said they would? Grrrr. I'm trying to get carpet fitted as we currently have just dusty, cold concrete floor and until the carpet goes down I don't want to put everything in its place, set my pc up, desk, bed, cabinets, go out and buy wardrobes and storage because it'll all just have to be moved, dismantled and distrupted when it comes to lay the carpet.

Ack, I guess people just don't realise I like to know exactly what's going on, and when. Since I severely cut back on weed and alcohol I prefer order and control to chaos and freewheeling. When plans change I adapt quickly and move on, but if there aren't plans in place I find it very hard to settle. I am aware this is an issue and I'd like to work through it at some point because I remember using the word 'control' a lot during my therapy and noticing it's not always constructive to need control over the details.

I just had a price back for the carpetting. OMFG. I think I'm starting to struggle a bit now, maybe it's time to call for help.

I still haven't found my release

and the emotion behind it is building day by day, but in a really positive way.

Good news everyone! Sophie and I have got a new two-bedroom flat. We're housing-trust tenants on the top floor of a small block of beautiful new-build flats. It's all happened so stunningly quickly that my feet haven't touched the ground for almost a week.

I got a note through the door saying someone visited to verify our housing application. This was unexpected, although they did try to do it when we were put on the register but we couldn't find a mutually suitable appointment so they didn't get round to it. I called them and we made an appointment; when I asked what it was regarding she was quite coy and uninformative. Curious, I checked the most recent round of applications online and one of the flats I'd flagged had our band, our application date, and 'Offered' next to it. My heart jumped into my throat... Surely not? It can't be! We can't have been offered a flat already, can we?

I tried hard not to get excited because I really had nothing to go on, but I couldn't resist telling Sophie there was a small possibility we'd be offered somewhere. Two days later I got a call from the housing trust saying we'd come up first for a flat, and I felt like crying as I hung up the phone. We had a viewing on Thursday and accepted it on the spot. Friday, I woke up at 5am with my head fizzing, worked a busy shift at work then missed the bus to Aylesbury and ended up catching an expensive cab to sign the lease and pick up the keys. I didn't get back into town until after 7pm - a long day for me - followed by three pints with my good friends who, coincidentally, offered us a bunch of furniture and kitchenware.

On Saturday, I walked seven lovely hilly miles with my parents in the autumnal cloud, with a couple of huge views over Aylesbury Vale and two really challenging hills which had me puffing away. I used the day for some head-space and it really helped me stay sane.

Sunday came and we moved a whole bunch of stuff out of my friend's house and into the flat. We have *takes deep breath* two TVs, two DVD players, a Freeview box, a couple of cabinets, a single bed and mattress, a double bed, double mattress, king-size winter duvet and a bunch of bed linen, towels, a little bookshelf, a table and four chairs, lamp, enough (matching!) cutlery and crockery to feed eight people, mugs, glasses, baking dishes, pans, pasta and rice jars, a small sofa with a sofa-bed to follow, computer desk and chair, a couple of small tables and even some stylish pictures daughter's claimed to hang on her wall. And, most importantly, something I'd tagged-on to the mental list of Very Important Items for the New Flat: salt and pepper grinders.

Bloody hell, that's a lot of stuff to cross off the list. We moved it all into the flat over Sunday lunchtime and I treated the group to a pub lunch before heading home for a couple of hours to drink beer and watch the grand prix. Sunday evening, we went off to Oxford to see a comedian called Andrew Lawrence who was right up my street. Very good! I got home last night around eleven and almost instantly passed out into a solid slumber until my alarm went off this morning. Now I've come to work and despite a couple of mental hours at the start of the day it's now pretty quiet, giving me time for some much-needed reflection on what's happened over the past few days.

I feel rather detached from this whole experience. I feel almost like I've won the lottery and the size of the prize is struggling to settle into my brain. Everyone around us is so excited and pleased for us, and I'm having real trouble letting that happiness and excitement in because I'm stressed.

Why I'm stressed, I'm unsure. It feels a bit forced, to be honest, so maybe I just need to chill the fuck out. I guess I have caused to be stressed, just because on the surface this is all so uncertain and I have increased responsibility in ensuring everything goes smoothly for my daughter. Despite uncertainty in terms of things falling into place, moving our life out of our current place, carpets going down and us finding important things like a cooker, fridge and washing machine, under the surface much of the support is in place for it all to happen. I can borrow the money, we may qualify for a start-up grant, I have someone to supply and fit the carpet if he's not extortionately expensive, and all the other stuff I can find online and in the local papers. My head is certainly fizzing at everything yet to achieve, but I'm doing it, steadily and surely.

I'm just about finding room to start feeling happy.

Believing the hype

The weekend before last saw me take the afternoon off work and catch a train to London to meet up with some message-board friends. The train journey itself was wonderful and I spotted a few places I've walked with my parents as the train headed south. I'm trying to remember the last time I went on a train and I'm struggling... Oh! I took a short train journey from Hebden Bridge to Todmorden in the summer, and from Amersham to Hammersmith on the underground a few weeks ago, the the latter was dark so doesn't tick my boxes.

I always find the whole act of travelling by train quite exciting. The approach to the station is filled with anticipation. Getting onto the platform and seeing the huge engines fills me with a childish wonder. The electricity lines, the rails, the whole infrastructure really intrigues me. With my earphones in the gentle rocking of the carriage as we swept across the countryside was comforting. I always get a thrill from the graffiti as I approach Euston, the colours and creative forms inspiring me to doodle more often.

Euston Station was heaving with commuters and travellers, not surprising at 5.30pm on a Friday. The walk past St Pancras and King's Cross to my friend's hotel was hectic, with hundreds of people, cars, bikes and buses to avoid. The striking spires and adornments of St Pancras station are etched into my visual memory. The soundtrack to my fifteen-minute walk was Telefon Tel Aviv with some wonderful relaxing glitchy chill which contrasted perfectly with the city life bustling around me.

I found the hotel and dropped my stuff off in the room before we headed back towards Euston to meet up with the gang. The pub was buzzing with the week-end crowd as we entered and met up with some new and some familiar faces. We started in one corner of the building and gradually spread out along it as our numbers increased. At the peak, I think we numbered approaching forty people, probably half of whom I'd met previously. I made a point of wandering around and meeting the people I didn't recognise which made for a really nice evening of smalltalk, laughs and chatter. I got a zillion hugs and a collection of really lovely compliments, including my favourite: "People think you're lovely because you are lovely, and quite hot. You bastard." This from one girl I'm positive wants to get in my underwear. Woo!

So, this leads me to the point of this post. During the evening I garnered a whole bunch of compliments and subsequently on the message board saw many more. Some girls who I respect and are positively gorgeous said I am hot! Wowzers! I was mostly confident during the evening, only stumbling once or twice while talking to a girl who I find strikingly attractive. I came away from the night full of love and appreciation, and had my ego boosted by the subsequent compliments online.

What this boils down to is that I'm starting to believe the hype. I won't allow it to over-inflate my ego or make me arrogant, but if these bright, attractive women say I'm good-looking, who am I to argue? It definitely fills me with confidence that I am attractive to the opposite sex and ties-in quite nicely with my letting go of past demons and getting myself back in the relationship business. Also, I think we're on track for a new two-bedroom flat in town which will make the whole idea of getting to know someone a much easier prospect.

Now I just need to get out there and meet new people, so I'm going to get myself along to all these things I keep wanting to do but put off, like local wildlife projects and social nights out. I need to get myself around and let the women around here notice how beautiful I am :)

I'm still weighed down

by the burden of the emotion I've stored for so long. Yesterday, at work, I was so close to finding that release, to draining it all out, but the timing was poor. I began to cry, to feel the pain seep out of me, and I felt a glimmer of what it feels like to let go, a hint of the catharsis due to me. It llasted merely thirty seconds before a colleague came in and interrupted my flow. I'd hoped to revisit the feeling later in the evening but didn't get a chance, other than some interesting imagery as I fell asleep.

I imagined my body was a vessel, a container holding this warm, strong liquid, a representation of the pain and discomfort of the past fourteen years. It wasn't foul or putrid as I'd expect in wakefullness, but fragrant, thick and a translucent red. I lay on my back in my remote country creek and let it carry me downstream while this liquid slowly drained from my body into the water. I held the image and the feelings surrounding it for a minute or two until I fell asleep.

This whole moment in my life feels important. I am cleansing myself, clearing out the old, defunct emotions and making way for love and appreciation. For example, tonight I get to spend time with some wonderful people, people I adore and admire, even idolise in some respects. They are so lovely, so appreciative and honest, and I want to let that fill me up today. Last time I saw them I had such an awesome time and, again, their acceptance was obvious. It gave me a warm, wholesome glow for some time afterwards, but I'm not sure I let it in. Now, I'm creating space for that acceptance, that glow, and I'll allow it to help build me.

I need to have that outburst of emotion, whether it's tears or anger or whatever. I know that letting it drain slowly won't be a complete process because I don't work like that. I'll get distracted, or the part of me that doesn't want to let go will work to stop it happening. I crave the release, the processing of the emotion, even though facing that hurt scares me terribly.

But yes, I deserve to be free.

Ah christ, it's almost comically simple.

I DESERVE TO FORGIVE HER.

She doesn't deserve my forgiveness because she's never earned my respect, never shown an ounce of remorse for what she did. But I deserve to let it all go. If I offer up my forgiveness to the universe, if I let all the strong emotions follow it and free myself of them, I deserve it. I finally deserve to be free of all the heartache, regret, blame, horror, uncertainty, all the ups and downs and stomach-twisting emotions that have haunted me since we met.

I feel like crying. This feels big. I almost want to give myself time to think it over, but part of me is saying "just do it!" What, here? At work. I don't know if I can give it my full attention. Ugh, I feel dizzy and confused now. A part of me doesn't want to let it go, finds it a comfort, an integral part of me. Well fuck you, part of me, I want rid of it. Get it the hell out of me, by whatever means necessary. It's been poisoning me for so long, holding me back and stopping me being the man I'm meant to be.

OK, I'm crying.

So, to the issues.

Further to this post about how daughter was conceived, I want to explore the root of certain issues I have with trust and sex. As such, this post contains adult themes.

When I was talking to my friend about these issues, I had a total crash in mood. I felt like crap. I went from happy and conversational to low and introvert in a flash. I said:

"I guess I had my paternity taken from me and used against me."
"I've considered getting a vasectomy. I figure it's the only way I could be 100% sure it wouldn't happen again."
"I guess I need to get over what she did and learn to trust..."
"I have real insecurities about having children in the future."

I've just had a revelation, while writing that last quote. Maybe I've been keeping myself out of relationships for the past *counts* my god, it's got to be approaching ten years! Jeez, I didn't realise it'd been so long. A decade without love. Shit. That's gotta change.

Sorry, my point. The reason I've used for not being attached in the past is that I've been off the shelf, not ready, too depressed, I've needed to work on me and be comfortable with myself before I can expect people to be comfortable with me. All well and good, I guess, but I fear it's been a smokescreen, an easy excuse hiding the real fear underneath. The thing is, I've been fixed for a couple of years now; I continue to work hard every day to further understand and develop myself, but fundamentally I'm a whole person again.

So, I have trust issues, and I also have difficulty finishing during sex, which I think is quite understandable given the circumstances laid out in my last post. I can illustrate my thoughts on this with another quote from the chat with my friend:

"Who wants a sexual project? I've had so little sex since this all happened I feel like I'm a few grades behind. I think the lack of physical experience and limitations of psychological issues are holding me back in even beginning to look."

I guess I'm not as complete as I thought I was. The betrayal, the hijacking of my kindness, good nature and fertility is still holding me back and stopping me enjoying life totally. The thought occurs that I may need to forgive daughter's mother for what she did if I'm to have any chance of moving past it, but shit that's going to be hard. I also need to accept some of the blame, come to terms with how I feel about what happened and look at how I dealt with it and what procedures I put in place to stop it happening again. This should be fun.

To forgive her. I honestly don't know if I can. But for a minute, I'll put myself in her shoes: sixteen, wayward, already drinking and smoking, sexually active since she was twelve, kicked out of home having seriously fallen out with her father and she's without her family and home comforts for the first time in her life. She's desperate for some affection, some love, someone to look after her and spoil her like she's used to. She finds a man, a kind and sweet man, and sees him as her opportunity to be stable. Maybe she loves him eventually, but probably not. He provides for her, ignores that she's missed her exams and disregards her occasional lies. Whether she's pregnant when she meets him is unclear - she has had quite a few 'phantom' pregnancies and 'miscarriages' in the past twelve years, at least one of which was proven to be complete bullshit - but she gets pregnant to keep the roof over her head, the food and the affection coming her way.

I'm astounded, looking at it this way, that she could be so utterly callous and carefree with creating human life, not least that she could so happily manipulate a nice person into creating it with her. She appears to have lived purely moment to moment and not stopped to think about the consequences of her actions, and it just amazes me. I've told parts of this story to people over the years and they've been shocked; having been through them personally I've never truly felt shocked by it all before, but I feel shocked now.

It occurs to me that she may not have been pregnant when she met me, but soon after we met she told me she was so I'd stay with her, then spent the first couple of months trying to conceive so that the dates wouldn't look crazy when she finally did give birth. I guess I'll never know the truth, and I could speculate about it forever and a day and not reach any firm conclusions, so I should accept this as in the past and move on.

---

Anyway, back to the point. I can understand the hows and whys of what she did, but I don't know if I can forgive her. I'm so angry with her. I'm utterly furious, in fact. How DARE she use me like that? What gave her the right to take my seed, my soul, my very being and use it to her advantage in that way? The bitch. Two fucking years of my life being ripped to sheds by deceit and manipulation. Another ten years of control and guilt and depression. Fuck her. What a terrible, horrible cunt. I wish she'd just disappear. Fuck off to the other side of the world and never come back, get struck down by some horrendous debilitating disease and never bother us again.

And relax. I don't get angry at her very often. We used to fight a lot and I hated it. She'd start a fight for no apparent reason and push and push. Once, after a night out and with two friends downstairs, we had lots of drunken shouting and aggression and she wouldn't let me out of the bedroom to go for a walk and calm down. More shouting and arguing, I shouted for someone to call the police. Frustration mounting, she punched the side of my head, knocking my glasses flying, so I punched her twice in the face. Still she wouldn't let me leave, so I jumped out of the bedroom window, from the first floor of the house, landing flat on my arse on the ground outside. Another time we fought, I went to the front door to leave and calm down but she blocked my way, refusing my exit. We shouted and screamed and she still wouldn't let me leave, so I nutted her. Her head flew back from the impact of my strike and shattered a small glass panel on the front door. These were the two most violent episodes of our relationship, but there were many dozens more screamy, shouty fights. It was these fights that suppressed my anger when we split up, and that suppression is why I don't get angry at her very often. It occurs to me that there is a pattern in both those instances, and that she seemed to stop me leaving so that I'd get more and more angry and ultimately lash out. She told me after we split up that she actually enjoys arguing, it gives her a buzz. The fucking freak.

I've spent a lot more time with my parents recently and I've come to realise how much their fighting effects my mood and instantly takes me back to being a little boy, maybe five or six, scared shitless by his father's shouting. I think my fights with daughter's mother brought some of that back, and one of the main reasons I called time on the relationship is because I didn't want daughter growing up with parents who fought like mine did during my childhood.

Another reason we separated is because she'd started to talk about having another child. I'd explicitly said that I wanted to wait a year or two before to achieve stability before we had another baby. Honestly, I probably knew then we'd separate eventually but I was trying to keep things together for the sake of our daughter. She kept pushing the issue, trying to change my mind, and I thought it was only a matter of time before she 'accidentally' got pregnant again, so that definitely contributed towards my decision to end it.

By ending the relationship, I ended any possibility that this person could do that to me again. But what of others doing it to me? I realise now that it's unlikely; I've put a lot of work into me, my self-awareness and self-esteem, and I don't think I'd get myself into that position again. I'm also unsure whether I'll ever encounter someone so fundamentally nasty again, so maybe I just need to take that to heart and open myself up to Miss Right.

But to forgive her? Do I have to? I quite like this hatred. It's comforting and it's been part of me for so long it feels as if it's twisted around my being like poison ivy.

I've asked google how to forgive. I often ask google these things and it throws up interesting articles which are occasionally helpful. So let's see this one at stress.about.com

Express yourself - tell the other party how you feel, or write a letter and tear it up.
I think I've covered that above, although it may help further to write her a letter and not send it. I might just do that.

Look for the positive - find the silver lining
What better positive than the most wonderful person in the world, the person we created? My god, she's awesome. Such a beautiful girl with a good heart, bright and studious and attentive. She's funny and cheeky and mature and immature and lots of other things. She reminds me of her mother sometimes, in good ways. She often reminds me why I fell for her mum, which isn't really a bad thing. She's definitely the best thing to come out of the relationship.

Cultivate empathy - put yourself in their shoes
Hmmmm. I did that above and it just astounded me and made me angry that someone could be so devoid of conscience. However, when I was writing the first half - kicked out of home, looking for attention and affection, I did feel a pang of sympathy for her. It must've been a real shock when she was out on her ear. Within a couple of years she went from big house, pony, dad running a successful business to a tiny bungalow, no pony and dad scraping a living together. Shame for her, and her family. I can see why she'd find someone like me appealing, I just can't understand where this inherent disregard for others' feelings comes in. It just doesn't make sense. Was her need for love and security so great that she was willing to get pregnant by someone just to keep food on the table and a roof over her head? I guess I should be flattered that I appeared a good enough person for her to choose to do that to, even if it did tear me apart. The thought occurs that she hasn't really deviated from that pattern much since we split up, that she hasn't really grown up and taken responsibility for her personality issues. I don't believe she's ever sought counselling or help with any of her problems, and I pity her for that. Perhaps she's perpetually that twelve- or thirteen-year old girl that lost her riches, that blamed her dad for taking all her wonderful toys and house and ballet classes away. Maybe her treatment of others is just a reflection of that scared and deprived little girl.

Here I go, psychoanalysing this woman I've hardly spoken to in five years. But I think empathising has helped a little - I know she's a fundamentally nasty person but it's nice to see that it wasn't just aimed at me, and understanding the root causes of it makes it somewhat easier to deal with.

Protect yourself and move on - first time, shame on you. Second time, shame on me
I've protected myself, but too well. I've just avoided relationships completely instead of being open to them and guarding against being manipulated. I hadn't really seen that before last week but it's so clear now. I kept telling myself "When I'm fixed, I'll find someone" but now I've been fixed for a while and I'm still holding myself back. It's right, I do need to move on, I must open myself up to relationships else they'll just never happen. Move on.

"It's important to remember that forgiveness is not the same as condoning the offending action."

Interesting. How about, I understand the reasons why she did what she did, I don't have to like them, but I understand her motivations. Can I forgive her? Probably not, at least not yet. I may need some help with that. And that leads me to:

Get help if you need it
Which I may just do. I have a good friend I can talk this through with, and I know they'll be able to help me focus and work it out.

This has been an interesting exercise, for me anyhow. If you've read this far and don't feel like someone's punched you in the stomach, well done. I'm a bit dizzy, but I'll be fine. I certainly feel a lot better about all this than when I started, and that's no bad thing. I do feel a step closer to moving on from this... Just a little more work to do.

A recent conversation brought a crash in mood

and I thought it was important that I explore the reasons why, so I can accept and move past the events that hurt me. Having searched back through my blog, I realise I haven't documented the circumstances of my daughter's conception. I'm not going to go into graphic detail, but the events leading up to a baby being made are important and have a relevant bearing on why I crashed, but first a warning:

Daughter, if you're reading this, stop. You need to ask yourself two questions before you decide to continue: Do you really want to know the details of how you came to be, and are you strong enough to deal with the emotions that will definitely be aroused if you read this post? For example, how do you feel when I say that your mother and I had lots and lots of sex? If that makes you feel even slightly uncomfortable, go and do something else instead. If you're hoping for a story of love and tenderness and hope, this isn't it. While ultimately a beautiful, happy, spritely, witty and creative person was brought into the world, knowledge of the events surrounding your creation could have devastating consequences for your mind. I urge you, daughter: come and ask me for permission to read this post, or ask me for the truth and I'll tell you. This post also details some emotional and sexual issues I've developed because of these events, and I'm quite sure you don't want to read about those! Finally, it also contains some opinions about your mother which I don't say to your face, but are based on years of experience and observation. I don't want to slag your mum off to you - you already know who she is - but I wanted to warn you that my opinions are not at all positive.

It all begins in 1996 when I was twenty. I met a girl of sixteen, she was attached and nothing happened. A few weeks later, we met again and she'd broken up with her boyfriend. We ended up in the park kissing. Another few weeks pass and I get a phone call saying her dad had kicked her out and she was sleeping rough at the football ground. Me, being me, suggested she could stay at mine for a couple of days until she found something else.

She was funny, a bit mental, somewhat sexy and we got on well. One thing led to another and we struck up a friendship and relationship, and she stayed with me at my house. In hindsight, I was a naïave young man with low self-esteem, seduced by attention and sex, by the fact that someone was interested in me. We had fun, she and I, and after a few days of attention and sex and naked cuddles I could feel myself falling for her, I could see my brain changing, feel it swim in the happy, blinding chemicals that washed through my bloodstream. There it was. "Love".

Part of me revelled in the love, the sex, the attention - let's call this my Need. Another part of me screamed it wasn't right, pointed out discrepancies in her truths and her unwillingness to complete her exams or get a job, wanted to run and run - my Sense. My Need gagged my Sense; shush, someone loves you, it'll be fine.

Another few weeks pass. A bombshell is dropped: Pregnant. My Sense explodes, but my Need shields me from the effects while it blows itself out. Could she even be pregnant already? How long have we been together? A short time later, she goes for a scan while I'm at work and comes back with a little photograph which was evidence for bombshell two: Twins. Sense waves a big white flag, shines lasers into my eyes and fires cannon into the sky to attract my attention, but Need was getting adept at blocking its cries, doubtlessly helped along by Morals. My Morals told me I should stay with my baby's mother, be a man, marry and and provide for the woman I'd got pregnant. That's a powerful combination right there, and I'm not surprised Need and Morals managed to suppress Sense so effectively.

The relationship continued and we progressively got into a rut, as relationships of this nature tend to do. Things she said and did triggered Sense occasionally, but by now it was apathetic and unable to escape the bindings that Need and Morals had built. For example, she said she received threats from her ex-boyfriend, told me she'd seen him near the house one day while I was at work. She insisted I keep a baseball bat by the bed, once even getting me up in the middle of the night to go and check around the house because she heard a noise; with hindsight this was just a form of control, a way to keep me on edge and make me feel valued. She'd make mistakes in her lies, and I became practised at spotting them, even better at ignoring them when I did. My number one concern wasn't for me, or for her, but for that tiny new person growing inside her. I had to stick it out, for them.

Time passed. We continued our relationship, the sex, the rut, with occasional disagreements and tension creeping in. We'd fall asleep at night, spooning, my hand on her tummy, dreaming of baby. One such night there were strange questions, such as "Would you leave me if I lost the baby?" and "Would you want more kids?" I answered truthfully: "If you lost the baby I'd be sad but we could carry on" and "I'd rather wait until we're financially and socially stable before we tried again." 

A couple more weeks down the line and we met for lunch at the pub where we played pool for an hour, a regular occurrence. She took me outside and put on her puppy-dog eyes and said she had something to tell me, but she was afraid of my reaction. Just tell me. But you'll go mad. I won't, just tell me and it'll be fine.

"I've miscarried the twins. But it's ok, I'm pregnant again!"

So she'd lost the twins and not told me. We kept on having sex and she got pregnant again, without giving me a choice despite making my feelings clear when she'd asked me all those questions. Sense made a desperate, howling scramble to get my attention, but as hard as it tried, it was silenced again by Need and Morals. I truly wanted to run away, to get as far from this manipulation as possible, but I stayed.

The rest is history, and much happened afterwards, but this episode in particular left me with some very noticeable mental scars. 

I had my sperm hijacked. If I'd had a choice, I'd have made us wait a couple of years to get settled and enjoy each other as a couple before we tried again to have a child, but chances are she knew that Sense would probably win out over Need and I'd leave her, so she got pregnant to tie me down and keep me looking after her. Even simply writing it makes me angry, properly amazed at her gall and astounded that anyone would use human life in such a manipulative and self-serving way. In the intervening years she's proven herself to be constantly manipulative of everyone around her and purely self-serving at all times.

Anyway, what this has left me with is some emotional and sexual issues which I need to process, accept and move past. I don't know if I can do that here, but I know the first step is recognising and reflecting on the sources of the issues, so that's where I'll begin in the next post.

It was a big hill, bigger than any I'd climbed before.

The barely-trodden path was bordered by thick bracken, with bees lazily zipping between heather flowers. My legs started to ache about halfway up and I was panting like crazy from the adrenaline and exertion. I reached the top and looked out over the view as the cloud shadows raced away and the sun coloured in the landscape. Here, alone, on top of the hill, heart racing and wind whispering in my ears, was a perfect moment.
I walked to the end of the ridge and sat down to look at the panorama through my binoculars. Kites and buzzards circled in the thermals from the lunchtime sun. Harvesters kicked up yellow dust as they reaped, occasional bonfires thrust grey columns into the sky. I drank it all in, as far as the eye could see, sating my thirst for the great outdoors.
So absorbed was I in this visual feast, I hadn't spotted a figure walking up the hill in front of me. As it got nearer I could make out solid boots, a light Tilley and rucksack straps; closer still, near the top when they stopped to rest and turned to take in the view, I could see curves and long dark hair. She nodded and smiled as she approached, passing me to see the sights from the other side of the hill.
I unpacked my lunch and a bottle of ale and began to recharge in the glorious sunshine. After a few minutes I heard a shuffling behind me and a voice piped "Mind if I join you?"
We sat next to each other, the wind toying with her hair while we ate our lunches and enjoyed the sightly view. She gracefully accepted half of my beer and we talked genially about where we'd been that day, our lives, families and friends. From her smiles and open conversation I really felt like we were getting along.
Once fed, we packed and compared maps to see where we were headed. When she abandoned her route and accompanied me on mine, I got an unusual twisting in my stomach, but that didn't stop me from smiling at her as we walked down the side of the hill, together.

Things to do

I just feel like writing and writing today. I think it's something of a distraction and an outlet for all the stuff that's in my head. I'm going to steer clear of the semnantics of what's happened and instead get some things out which are on my mental 'To Do List' to give me a little breathing room, mentally.

For Walking for Wellbeing

Registration
I need to register the charity. I've had some success, some less successul experience, but people constantly tell me it's a good idea and registering as an official charity will give us some credibility and accountability as an organisation.

Affiliation
The charity should be affiliated or accredited by whatever suitable organisations are out there, for the same reasons as registration is required.

Web site update
The web site language needs toning down a little - "feeling low" or "need someone to talk to" instead of "depression" will make it more accessible. It needs updating to show we're up and running and requires interactivity in the form of a blog and messaging facility. It also requires localising because it doesn't mention this town anywhere on it, and it'll make it considerably more friendly and welcoming.

Insurance
I need to get insurance for the charity. There's a requirement for liability insurance because I'm taking people out on walks and falls and injuries may occur. This recent episode has shown me the importance of this; I need to be accountable and responsible in my dealings with clients. Insurance will help cover my back in case of injury or legal action.

Counselling skills and support
I need to get some basic qualifications under my belt to improve my credibility and ability to listen effectively. I also need to ensure I have a responsible and effective support network so I can clear-up any issues that may arise.

List of referral options
I should have a list of services and outlets to refer clients to. Part of the process of referral is for the client to actively own the process from the start, empowering them and giving them the benefit of their own actions. Having a list of services may undermine this slightly, but it might make the process of referral more simple for the client. The list would only be offered when a client has recognised the need for further work and requires simple, low-level care. Of course, my first suggestion would be to talk to a GP were a client clearly suffering from depression or anxiety.

Update info form to include confidentiality and limitations statement
Currently, when meeting new clients I make a couple of statements about confidentiality and my limitations as an unqualified counsellor/amateur listener. I then go through a form collecting some details about their medical situation, wellbeing and exercise levels which is signed by the client. I need to combine the two; while still giving the verbal statements at the initial stage, the client needs to sign-off on the confidentiality and limitations statements so I'll include a copy of those on the form itself. I know this doesn't relieve me of any responsibility - nor do I want it to -but it will prove if needs be that I have declared my amateur status fully at the beginning and the me/client relationship is based on that.

Walk leaflets
I want to produce a few leaflets of my favourite walks around town. I think it'd be a nice learning exercise to put walks to print and I'll be able to give them away to clients and the museum in town, all with the logo and web address on, of course.

Arrange group walk
I'd love to take some of my friends out for a nice walk somewhere brilliant, so I want to arrange a group walk where five or ten or twenty of us go out to some wood or hill or something, somewhere, and stomp around for a few miles in each other's company. Steps Hill, Ivinghoe beacon etc looks like a good bet for this!

Check 100-mile plan
My 100-mile walk plan needs checking, confirming, targeting and planning fully so I can go out and go it next spring, followed a week later by Rutland Water 2010.

Personal

Get Residency Order forms
Screw the solicitors, I can do it myself. Get the forms, fill them in, go to court, done.

Create Residency Order walkthrough
While getting the RO, I'd like to create a walkthrough for other fathers in a similar situation.

Walk more!
Since the summer, especially since I hurt my knee and the weather changed, I've been walking once a week at best. I need to motivate myself to get out for more solo walks, although with the nights drawing-in and only four weeks to go until the clocks change, that motivation is going to be hard to find.

Blog about daylight and seasons
Last year I blogged about spring and autumn, moods and clocks changing. I'd like to revisit those posts and see if my attitude has changed at all.

Keep walk log up-to-date
My walk log is important to keep track of my mileage and where I've been, what I've seen and seasonal observations. I've been rubbish at keeping it up to date so I must get back into the habit now I've got internet at home.

Clean bathroom and tidy house
I need to keep on top of the bathroom cleaning. Definitely.

Last night I downloaded some brilliant software to set up some to-do lists. I'll transfer this list to that later today and set some priorities. If I can chip away at these things, they'll all get done eventually!

Madam,

I am not responsible for your reaction or your apparent pain. I may appear to be the cause of your hurt but it's you reacting this way and you must take responsibility for the way you feel.

I have three regrets: that I took you on in the first place, because it's clear that your mental state is far beyond my capability; that I was backed into a corner and forced to reveal I was withdrawing service by text message instead of doing it face-to-face; and that you've reacted in the way you have.

The first is my fault, and I have learned from it - I won't take on clients who are very depressed or already involved in the mental health system. The second, I let the text conversation go the wrong way. The third is entirely yours and I simply will not take responsibility for your emotions and reactions.

I have been nothing but clear and honest throughout our interaction and I am confident enough in myself to learn lessons from this episode to ensure a similar situation doesn't arise in the future. I wish you all the best with your future treatments and sincerely hope you find what you're looking for in life.

Ok, that's what I'd write if I was being concise and clinical. Not bad, I think. I'd never send it, but it's nice to lay my stall out somewhat. Here's what I'd write if I was just being me:

Madam,

I'm hurt. You've taken my honest and constructive actions to heart, made them personal and you're blaming me for your emotions and actions. I know why you're doing this - you're depressed and unpracticed in the ways of such strong emotions and they have you in a whirling current of negativity, self-doubt and blame.

The last three texts you sent me yesterday were nothing short of aggressive and unfair. When you text 'I hope you know how much you've hurt me' last thing at night, knowing it'll be the first thing I see when I wake up, you're just trying to hurt me and that's plain malicious.

Fortunately I'm strong enough and complete enough as a person not to take the bait. I can see the bigger picture and it has the human race on the outside and you on the inside: wrapped in layer after layer of defence mechanisms and neuroses, a potential ball of anger, frustration and blame. I know how easy it is to blame others when on the inside because I've been there, I've been that person. It'd be so easy to preach from up here, on my supposed pedestal, but that's not my game any more.

It comes down to pity. Perhaps I shouldn't feel pity but I do. I'd never tell you that, but I feel sorry for you. It's something I need to feel and move past because it's not constructive and I'd like to keep it out of the equation in the future. My pity stems from your need to blame, to dismiss your responsibility, to strike out at those you perceive to have wronged you. You did it with your counsellor - albeit behind her back - and you're doing it with me. Until you start taking responsibility for your emotions, you won't give yourself the chance to move past your issues.

My hurt stems from my insecurity, and I'm working on that here, now, with these words. My confidence that I've managed this situation properly is complete, and I wouldn't change anything about our interaction because it's served as a powerful lesson to me, and hopefully, one day, to you too.

I'm more calm today

thanks to some time to reflect and a good chat with my bestest friend.

Bundled-in with yesterday's concerns about justifying myself to a counsellor were more pressing questions about the suitability of my care for the client. I've decided to withdraw service to allow her to focus purely on her group therapy. As even as an amateur, I have a duty to refer a client on to their GP or mental health professional if I am unable to provide the level of care they need. Therefore, I'll meet with her as planned on Thursday and say that if her counsellor has concerns about the suitability of my service, I must listen and decide whether it'd be best if I ended my involvement. I'll ask her to talk the situation through with her counsellor and offer one final session afterward if she feels she wants talk through the end of our work.

This freaks me out a bit, to be honest. I remember saying a couple of weeks ago that I may have bitten off more than I can chew with this client - I will learn to listen to these little signals in the future. Without going into detail, she certainly needs more care than I can provide, a higher level of attention and for much longer than the six or eight walks I'd planned. I'm a little concerned what her reaction will be when I tell her I'm ending my involvement, but hopefully she'll understand if I can describe my reasoning in an effective way.

There's two major lessons I've learned here. The first is that the charity will provide only an exploratory route in to counselling, or a post-counselling support service. This means that we won't take on clients who are already in the system unless they've been referred to us by their current mental health professional. This stops our work being a distraction from proper focussed counselling, and stops me treading on anyone's toes.

The second is that I will try to ensure my care doesn't become too open or encourage possible friendships. It's part of my nature to be supportive and there if someone needs me, and that's been to my detriment with this client in particular. I'm getting too many texts and I'm feeling a little bombarded. In future, all communication will be by phone or email during reasonable hours, I won't be friends with clients on Facebook and I'll discourage communication by text other than confirmation of walks the day before a meeting.

I firmly believe every cloud has a silver lining. I learn something new every time I reflect on the charity and my skills, and that's definitely positive.  I have a feeling, however, this cloud holds a couple more rain showers before it'll let the sun shine through.

I'm shitting myself

- fortunately only figuratively, for now. Today I'll probably have to justify myself to an academically-trained clinical psychologist and counsellor over the phone, and I've got a feeling of dread about it.

I think there's a couple of reasons for this, but first a little background. A client I'm seeing under the charity is involved with the county mental health team and has bounced along a string of referrals before finally being referred for weekly group therapy for two years. Her current counsellor is running the group sessions and she's had three or four individual sessions with her in the past month to do some groundwork.

During one of their recent sessions the did a "family and friends influence" exercise where the client drew-up a representation of important and influential people, positive and negative, and I came up on her radar as quite important. In the client's words, the counsellor seized on this and asked lots of questions about me and the charity, and warned her that because I'm unqualified and a complete stranger she was in danger of harm. The client was very defensive of me, as I think she has been with her husband and other people who've asked about me.

Her counsellor is completely right, of course. I'm an unqualified, inexperienced amateur building his listening skills on-the-fly. While I know I'm not completely useless and I certainly helped my last client to a good extent, this whole situation makes me question my validity as a listener. If I look at the charity and my service from the outside, it's unproven, un-accredited and from a professional standpoint, entirely Mickey Mouse. Damn.

From the inside, though, it's a warm, effective, informal service and I feel I'm making definite headway in improving my skills. I'm trying my hardest to be ethical and responsible and I regularly write notes after each session with a client, detailing themes we discussed and reflecting on what I did right and wrong. I'm determined to better myself and learn from mistakes so I can provide the best service to my clients on an informal basis. As a personal rule I've always been completely clear from the start that I'm not a trained counsellor and there are limits to what I can do, and in a couple of circumstances I've been clear with clients when I feel out of my depth or unable to help. I still get little butterflies in my stomach when going to a session and general elation afterwards, even if it's not been particularly productive. That it helps others feel better and get stuff off their chest is all I ever wished for this service, and I've never claimed to be able to fix all the world's problems from the comfort of my walking boots and rucksack.

I do have my concerns about this current client and our relationship, which I'm due to talk through with my best friend this evening over dinner. I think perhaps I'm insulted that a professional has chosen to undermine me by being so openly negative about me and my service, but I'm working on convincing myself it's not personal. She's just concerned for her client, I guess, and while her concern is somewhat misplaced I understand where it's coming from.

Well, I'm confused, and still a little scared about the possible confrontation. I'll just have to take it as it comes and politely stand up for myself if I have to be defensive. I'm certainly not going to be offensive and I'll answer any questions she has with honesty. Still... *fear*

---

I've had a little time to reflect on this - and a few kind words from someone - since posting and after some thought I've changed my position somewhat. In looking at this person as an academically-qualified and experienced counsellor, I've automatically put her on a pedestal and declared her better than me. I've created a mental divide which is dominating my thinking and putting me, the amateur ear-to-bend, well below her in my reckoning.

The kind words were "...please remember just because this person is 'qualified' doesn't mean she is a better person than you." Wise words indeed, because that's exactly what how I was treating her! My heart is in the right place and, with care and practice, I can provide a positive and helpful service to people who want my help.

I am not blind to the danger that I may make things worse for a client in the future. A mistake could lead to dragging up emotions or focus on something that isn't important. I'm beginning to learn that because counsellors subscribe to a life of continuing professional development, making mistakes is a natural part of the process and should be learned from instead of causing undue regret.

---

I'm grateful for this chance to reflect on my skills, motives and efficiency within the charity. While I've decided - for now - not to follow the path of qualifying as a counsellor, I'm dedicated to developing myself as a listener and provide people with an informal service combined with a lovely walk in the country.

Noel and Terry's Rutland Road Trip part two

After a fitful night's sleep I awoke with the first sliver of daylight filtering through the trees outside the tent. 5.15am. Arse. Terry was out for the count so I tried to get back to sleep but that was it, I was up. I unzipped the tent as quietly as I could and saw a large deer staring at me not fifteen metres distant, matching my gaze as it tip-toed off into the wood. I got up and wandered around the tent looking for something to keep me occupied and decided to investigate the wood with the benefit of daylight.

I've often thought I could spend hours wandering around a wood investigating, and I was right. An hour, anyway. I took a walk up to the main track and noticed we'd pitched right next to a long-deserted track down a straight line of planted trees; two moss-filled tyre ruts marked its boundaries as it ran from the track to the edge of the wood. Knowing this the night before would have made things so much easier! The tent was almost invisible from the main track, so marking a route to the tent is a must in case of future emergency. Lesson learned.

The wood was obviously a good hunting spot for foxes, with occasional feathery carcasses littering the floor. Fungii attached to dead wood everywhere, prospering in the unkempt undergrowth of this wonderful forest. Years-old stumps crumbled under my boot revealing centipedes, wood louse and pill bugs aplenty. Brambles offered tempting but not-quite-ripe blackberries and striking pink foxgloves took advantage of every light position. Eventually my rumbling stomach drew me back to camp and I munched on seeds and nuts while building a miniature woven fence from pine twigs.

I remembered I'd packed my penknife; I found some recently-dead wood and a perfect waste of time was born. I fashioned a small totem peg with a point, a face and woodchip hair and stuck him in the ground near the tent to keep watch, then spent twenty minutes carving a butter-knife for Terry, who'd forgotten to bring one with him. I found the whole process very satisfying and I'll definitely keep carving to kill time. I'll be just like Ray Mears, but without the paunch.

As I chuckled away to an amusing book a squirrel hopped down a tree nearby and looked inquisitive as I prepared a small handful of nuts, seeds and dried fruit from my supplies. I was about to place the food out for the squirrel when ZIIIIP! I jumped, the squirrel fled and Terry peered sleepily from the tent.

"Tea."

"Morning Terry."

Tea was made, the tent and its contents were packed away in under fifteen minutes and we were soon making our way to Oakham: the place of my birth. I have few memories of Oakham as we left when I was three but it's how I know of Rutland Water having visited the town, but not the lake, in 1999. As we approached the town centre I had a sensation of depth of time, a feeling of wonder at being in the area I was born. We approached a roundabout and there in front of us was a sign for the street I first lived in. We parked and wandered around looking for my first house, without luck. We dropped into a couple of newsagents to find breakfast - apparently Oakhamers don't eat fruit - and continued up the road to find another house I lived in with more positive results.

Something we'd noticed is that Rutland is populated by hippos. Occasionally you'll spot one by the roadside, or by a tree, or at a school. They're playfully decorated, part of an art project and a trail of some sort. It's quite amusing to spot the bright little fellas around the place and go "Ooh, another bloody hippo!"

Once we'd had our fill of Oakham we headed off to Whitwell to see if we could camp at the sailing club. The previous night's excitement made it satisfying to pitch our tent by the lake near holiday-makers and windsurfers, with wetsuits drying in the breeze and a social buzz, kids laughing and people milling between tents. Terry cooked up more meaty treats and we relaxed for a while in the windy sun before hiring a bike and setting off for a few miles around the lake.

Noel and Terry's Rutland Road Trip part one

A week previously we decided to grab my new, tiny two-man tent and bugger off somewhere for a couple of days of reflection and blokedom. Our first thought was to climb Snowdon, although it was the last bank holiday weekend of the summer and would have been crawling with people, so we tried to look for something a little less popular. It crept up on me after some thought: Rutland Water is one of Europe's largest reservoirs, just a couple of miles from the town I was born in and surrounded by beautiful countryside, ringed by a 25-mile footpath suitable for cycling, campsites near the water and boating galore. Neither of us had been before, and the promise of camping, cycling and kayaking appealed so we packed tents, clothes, sleeping and cooking gear and set off on the Saturday afternoon.

Although the forecast was for sunshine and cloud, the journey was foreboding with very heavy rain showers and monstrous, swelling storm clouds filling the horizon. A classic car got our behinds twitching by blindly pulling-out of a layby in front of us, causing Terry to jump on the brakes and dance on the horn as we swerved past, shaking our heads and muttering obscenities.

Despite the challenges we got to Rutland in one piece, both of us looking for that first sight of the water like kids on holiday trying to be first to see the sea. Tempting glimpses of lake through hedges were all we got until we passed Oakham. We turned parallel to the north shore and there, like a blue sky revealing itself from behind green clouds, was the lake in all its freshwater splendour.


We took the first opportunity to get down to the water at Barnsdale and paid £3 for the privilege of leaving the car in an open space. We wandered down to the water's edge and took in the windy beauty of the water, the peninsular of Hambleton obscuring our view of the far side of the lake. A few small boats were enjoying the gusty conditions and chipping speedily along the waves. We took a short wander along the shore; I can't speak for Terry but I was elated by the beauty of that fifteen minutes spent by the water, with my friend, in the wind with the sun trying to warm us occasionally. That elation didn't wear off for many days after our return.

We spent a while scouting possible locations for wild camping that night - we were determined to do this whole trip on-the-cheap so we hoped to avoid paying campsite fees. A spot by the lake would have been awesome but with an increased chance of being discovered we decided to take a look at a couple of large woods just north, over the main road from the water. I'd prepared us with digital copies of a good map which we pored over looking for good spots; we decided to head to Whitwell and find out how much bike and kayak hire were. We gave our parking ticket to a couple who were just arriving and made our way back to the road.

As it was around 6pm on a Saturday the cycle hire spot was deserted but we checked pricing and went over the way to investigate the kayaking. We spotted a campsite attached to the boating club and registered that as an emergency backup in case we failed to find a suitable spot in the woods.

We left Whitwell and took a brief stop at The Noel Arms - what a fantastic name for a pub. With lovely old beams and fireplaces complimented with modern lighting and clean edges, friendly staff and an interesting menu, I'd love to go back for an evening meal in the future. I bought a half-pint for an informative old boy who told us the history of the pub and the reasons behind its name - Lord Gainsborough of the family Noel no less - and with Terry's pint and my third Red Bull of the day packing us with vitality, we set off to find a place to sleep.

Our first camping recce took us into a small wood signposted as a falconry centre and was instantly deemed unsuitable by virtue of barking dogs and signs of habitation. We took a wander through anyway, three large deer crossing the path in the distance. We started to feel very much like tresspassers so we made our escape without incident. We knew sunset was approaching and we wanted to try and get the tent up before it got dark, so we returned to the main road to investigate Burley Wood, driving along to try and find a suitable entrance as marked on my map. We ended up parked directly opposite a smashed-up hatchback, wrapped in 'Police aware' tape, on the side of a long stretch of main road. Our car nestled comfortably in a gateway and we jumped over a rusting metal gate to investigate the wood beyond.

It was perfect. After a hundred or so metres on a rarely-used track we wandered off into the trees to find a clearing in a good position between road and track. A spot was found and marked and we went back to the car, gathered our belongings and hurriedly headed back to the clearing to get everything set up before dark. We cleared pine cones and twigs from the mossy floor and the tent went up like a dream. As I DJ'd, unpacked sleeping bags and arranged lighting, Terry prepared burned-sausage sandwiches with lashings of tomato sauce - anyone who knows Terry knows he's a lashings-of-tomato-sauce kind of guy.

Joints were smoked and conversations had, my life and his life laid bare before us, laughs and considerations through a haze of hash. The woods darkened and the trees whistled occasionally with the wind, rare spots of rain willed us into the tent but we resisted. After a while it became cool enough for me to don my hoody and a few minutes later Terry lamented not bringing his coat from the car. I was saying we could go and get it when something odd happened.

Now, I've never seen The Blair Witch Project but I feel I've connected somewhat with the feelings involved in watching it. Half an hour of chat followed our meal, brought to a sudden end by some hefty banging from the direction of the car. Thud, bang, crash, thud. A methodical, almost rhythmic banging which had Terry and I glaring at each other in the twilight. Paranoia and fear kicked in and we decided it could be someone trying to break into the car, parked discretely in the middle of nowhere and a suitable target for passing thieves attracted by the smashed car on the opposite side of the road. We decided to go back to the car and check - Terry wanted his coat anyway and we needed to check the car was ok. We grabbed torches and made our way to the main track.

As we approached the track, a thought hit me. It was dark and our tent was forty or fifty metres back there somewhere, in the trees. Even now, before going a couple of hundred metres down the track to the car, I had no idea how to get back to the tent. I raised this with Terry - if we both went, we didn't have a hope of finding the tent in the dark expanse of trees. I felt guilty sending Terry to the car to face the band of baseball bat-weilding car ransackers on his own, but someone should wait behind and keep a general idea of where the tent is. Off he went to the car while I sat on a log by the side of the track, alone in the dark, dark wood.

Shortly after he left I sent him a text asking him to let me know everything was ok when he got to the car. I took my bike-light torch, switched it to flash and pointed it down the track so he'd have something to aim for on his return. Ten minutes passed, no text message. Fifteen minutes, nothing. I was starting to properly worry now. I'd been breathing quietly, listening into the darkness for raised voices or sounds of a scuffle. Finally, the dim light from Terry's torch came up the hill and toward me from the track.

"Is it ok?" I asked.
"No, man, it's fucked."
"What?!"
"Just kidding, it's fine."
"You fuck."

There followed a confusing and frustrating fifteen minutes wandering around the wood in the dark trying to find our bastard tent. Both convinced it was in different directions, we eventually split up and Terry found it a couple of minutes later. Note to self - a flourescent flag or glow-stick in a prominent position near your tent is a must for future wild camping expiditions.

An hour later I got a text from Terry: "All clear!" Thanks, O2. The stresses and exertions of the day caught-up with us soon after and a smoke and some tea guided us into the tent to sleep... Well, for Terry to pass out and sleep soundly for eight hours; for me to take an hour to get to sleep, wake up numerous times through the night and rise at sunrise at 5.15am on Sunday morning.

To be continued...

I got the twisting in my stomach

I always get when she starts trouble. It was a very noticeable, physical feeling that drew my attention away from the status posts on my screen to ponder it for a moment. How to define it? Dread, fear, almost like panic. That Sophie's mum could so publicly humiliate and harrass her on Facebook isn't surprising in retrospect; with it being the first time I've seen her post on one of Sophie's statuses, the first time she's really made an effort to contact her since March, I was shocked at her reaction to something quite innocent.

I can see what's happened. Sophie posted something entirely unrelated like "What a retard" in her status, and her mother's mistaken it for a post on her wall. She went off at Sophie, how dare you this, who do you think you are that, and Sophie was genuinely upset. Then, something strange and wonderful happened: Sophie's friends and family all posted messages of support, love and amazement on her wall and in her status, a very public display of the appreciation everyone has for this wonderful girl. Sophie was amused that each response to that status will have popped up as a notification in her mother's feed and she'll have probably sat there fuming that all these people - former friends, lovers, even her son - who supported Sophie and not her.

I didn't take part in the public display, simply because I find it all a bit 'ITV1'. I just waited until she got home from youth club and gave her a hug, listened to her for a few minutes while she related what happened - "I was actually shaking" and "I guess she's not really my mum any more, is she?" were particularly strong words - and reassured her that she'd done nothing to deserve all that's happened, and that I know it doesn't make up for mum not being there but there's still dozens of people who really, really care about her. I made her a hot drink and packed her off to bed with a view to talking it through during a catch-up meeting with her friend Jill on Thursday.

I'm really interested in the feelings: the physical manifestations of the fear both daughter and I displayed when her mother was being aggressive and manipulative. With Sophie, the shakes - a symptom of shock and fear. With me, a twisting, turning stomach, a sign of dread and agitation.

For me, that feeling is a conditioned response I've noticed time and again over the past fourteen years. As soon as she starts, it comes. I noticed it yesterday specifically because I've been doing some basic study into physical reactions to emotional responses and I'm intrigued to find out what drives such a strong feeling.

I had some good times with Sophie's mum, I won't deny that, but the overriding memory of our relationship is one of manipulation. This came in many forms, with anger, deceit and underhand corruption top of the pile. I was almost literally driven insane by this woman and her meanderings during the time we were together, and kept right on the edge for a few years after we split up. So tied-up in the whole thing was I that even now, more than twelve years after we separated, I'm still dealing with the emotional impact our relationship had on me. That her interaction with Sophie elicited such strong physical symptoms in me alludes to how much I was affected by her actions.

I've just read that paragraph back and it sounds like a bit of a sob story, and I was tempted to add how I was complicit, how I stayed when I should have gone, how it was partly my fault, but I'll try to resist because I'm coming to realise that I'm not responsible for her personality, her quirks and downfalls. She is her own person. I'm also admitting something I've known for a long time but always hoped would change - she's not like this because of some personality disorder or horrible childhood, because she was mistreated or misunderstood; she's like this because she's just a plain, old-fashioned nasty person.

So, I come to this post now realising that my strong reaction is outdated and too extreme for the current situation. While I find it frustrating that she deems it necessary to upset Sophie once in a while, she doesn't have the hold over me personally she once did. I guess because she has a hold over Sophie it still pains me, and I'm not sure if that'll ever go away. I hope for her sake it does, because I'd hate to think that she'll have to spend the next decade occasionally having her day completely ruined by someone she'd love to hold dear.

Yes, my reaction was driven by the effect her mother's actions were having on Sophie. But it's the same old reaction I've always had when the manipulation starts, and I'm undecided whether I'd like to get rid of it or not.

A revelation: it certainly has its uses - it serves as great big flag that important things are happening and I need to pay attention... Warning: be self-aware and look at the big picture, don't introvert and become defensive, something heavy is going down. I'm proud of the fact I didn't try to counsel Sophie when she came home, although I know having some time to think helped me decide how to handle it. All I did was listen, reassure and provide warm beverages which I think she appreciated and is a technique I should employ in the future. I'm aware I used to press her to talk about stuff when she'd probably rather not, and that's something I've learned to do less since she started growing up. I know that all I can do is be the best dad I can, to be there for her when she needs me and continue to provide the stability we've enjoyed for the past eighteen months.

And, remember to listen to the warning signs and react to them accordingly.

True justice is paying only once for each mistake

When talking about punishing myself earlier today I mentioned that I punish myself and didn't know why. As I was writing it an image flashed through my mind, one that regularly crops up and I've mentioned before in this blog: my daughter's mother walking down the path from our house at the end of our relationship, with daughter over her shoulder looking back at me. The pair of them, leaving me.

I'm not sure if I cried when they left. I do remember thinking the fateful phrase "That's it. I'm never getting angry, ever again" – the foundations for an impenetrable mental wall which contributed so strongly to my mental health issues over the years between then and now. The whole two years previously were so emotionally charged, so impulsively driven that I was left reeling and feeling empty for a long time afterward.

The image flashed through my mind, and an old thought accompanied it, tangible only for a split second, hardly recognisable as a thought but important enough in the context I was writing about to bring about a realisation: I punish myself for being a bad partner and a bad parent.

I know why it was just a flicker, an automatic thought, almost a single neuron firing in my brain: it's so incredibly well-practiced and embedded in my personality that it takes no effort at all for it to manifest, do its damage, place its blame and disappear again. It can do it in the blink of an eye. I don't think I've ever noticed it doing its work in the intervening twelve and a half years but this thought, this idea that I was a bad partner and a bad parent, has been like a single miner with a blunt pick, tenderly but gradually chipping away at my self-esteem and feeding my desire to punish myself.

OK, I don't really hate myself in terms of how I'm going to phrase this… probably* But I hate myself for not making things work with daughter's mother, and I despise myself even more for letting daughter go out of my every-day life in that way. I know it wasn't all my fault, that it takes two to make relationships work and two to break them up, and I know deep down that I'd have gone completely insane if I had to live with daughter's mother any longer, but that doesn't wash away my guilt. I feel terrible that I left daughter with a mother I didn't consider fit to be involved in society, let alone be a parent. I'm blessed that the man her mother ended up with a few months after we separated was a stabling influence in daughter's life, and I take some credit for that too, but christ, it's hard to shake this guilt.
* I definitely hate myself less than I did before I had my therapy, which is a good thing.
After this morning's post I did a little research online, which consisted of typing "How to stop punishing yourself" and clicking on the first link that came up. It hit the spot quite well, actually, and I'd like to base the rest of this post on following its simple 4-step plan to see if I can come to terms with this guilt and perhaps stop punishing myself for something which happened more than four and a half thousand days ago.

1. Acknowledge and own the mistake – if something isn't our fault, how can we take action to correct the situation? By accepting responsibility for the mistake we make ourselves "response able"
   I wish I could say that was corny, but it's fucking inspired. Yes, as much as I blame daughter's mother for a lot of things that happened during our time together and, indeed, to this day, breaking-up with her was my idea, my fault, my cross to bear. I took that action to save us, all three of us, from a future of arguments, deceit and violence. I accept the consequences of that action in respect of how it's affected my mental health and my self-esteem until now.
   
   
2. Identify the mistake – whatever the source of the problem, we need to identify it as clearly and completely as possible
   I could go on for ever, but I'll try to be concise. The problem was, I should have got out a long, long time before I did. Within a few weeks of meeting daughter's mother I knew it was wrong, I knew she wasn't right for me and I knew it would cause me pain in the future if I stuck with her. The thing was, within a few weeks of meeting daughter's mother she was pregnant with daughter, and I let my old-fashioned and "good boy" morals take over and I stuck with her for the child, despite the complete and obvious unsuitability of the relationship. This was entirely my mistake and I've spent more than twelve years learning lessons to stop it happening again.
   
   
3. Correct the problem – make sure that, to the best of our ability, we have implemented a solution that should prevent the same mistake from recurring. Be proud of this accomplishment – it enables us to let go of our disappointment, guilt, frustration, fear, anger, etc
   Well, while writing out the paragraph above I was telling myself "There's absolutely no way in the world I'm letting that happen again" although now I write that statement I see how it could be holding me back, specifically from embarking on relationships again. I must have faith that I've learned my lesson and will simply never let that happen again. I was taken advantage of, deceived, abused, I had my sperm hijacked for personal gain and that will never happen again. I'm stronger than that now, less naïve, much more grown-up and capable as an individual and in relationships. I don't know if there's a substantial system or procedure in place to stop it happening, but my knowledge, barriers and emotional growth should be enough to keep my head above the water should a similar situation present itself in future.
   
   I've just added "Be proud" from the web site, and that statement makes me feel quite emotional. I am so proud of what I've achieved over the past few years, especially in terms of emotional development and my contribution to my daughter's life. As I said above, I am stronger now, I'm more self-aware, more mature and emotionally capable which gives me the confidence to say this will never happen again. I want to give myself the gift of letting go of the blame and recrimination the "bad partner, bad parent" thought brings, and I feel entirely able to do that now.
   

Wow. I want to keep that model for future reference, because it feels pretty powerful. I'll come back to this post in a week or so to review how I feel about what I've said above, but I think the ball's started rolling now. I'm on the road to resolving the cycle of guilt and punishment I get from blaming myself for past mistakes. Awesome.

I left my diet in Woolacombe Bay

- not quite as catchy as Tony Bennett's number but it means something to me. Four weeks ago, almost to the minute, daughter and I left for a five-day excursion along the north Devonshire coast down to her grandparents' place in Cornwall. We spent a perfect summer's day on the huge expanse of sand at Woolacombe, a gusty, grey late-autumn's day on the lovely beaches at Bude and a couple of days in and around Tintagel on the north Cornwall coast. It was brilliant; we had fantastic daddy/daughter time, it was great to spend time with daughter's grandparents and I got my biggest walk ever under my belt.

I'd made a semi-conscious decision to eat what I fancied on the holiday. I'd get my healthy eating back on track when I got home, right?

Wrong. Since that little splurge during our holiday my willpower has deserted me. It wasn't even willpower that kept me going in the first place, more a desire to do the best for my body and lose weight to acquire the body-confidence I've never really had. I got flashes of that during my first stint of healthy eating when I could see the weight dropping off and people were showering me with compliments. Man, that felt amazing. So where did my resolve to lose all my weight go? Why did my strict routine fall apart?

I'm tempted to say that deciding to have a 'holiday' from the diet - and the abstinence from alcohol - was the turning point, but really it started when I came home. I left daughter with her grandparents for a week and had the house all to myself. It was kind of nice, for a change. A little freedom, a bit of Playstation-in-your-pants action. Unfortunately, that freedom helped me move away from positive routine and made me less accountable for my actions, and I ate a bunch of crap that week.

What that boils down to is that I worry about what other people think of me when I eat rubbish. I care what daughter thinks when I stuff my face with crap. The question here is: why don't I care what I think?

I hate the fact that I have a soft spot for huge bags of crisps. I despise the idea of filling myself up with greasy, spicy food because my stomach will be ruined the following day. I beat myself up when I look back and realise I've hoofed a bag of peanuts, 100g of crisps and two litres of cider the previous evening. "Wanker", I called myself, the morning after that. But I don't listen to myself, the little voice that tries to stop me when I'm heading down the crisp aisle, that holds me back when reaching for the cider.

It's like there's three voices: one egging me on to 'treat' myself, one trying to convince me not to, and the other berating me for being a fat bastard. One devil, one angel, one nagger. Me in the middle, feeling all kinds of emotions: a sneaky, childish satisfaction that I'm eating taboo foods or drinking alcohol I'd promised myself I wouldn't; a self-loathing for not having the control to stick to what I know is best; a fear that I'm doing myself harm and slipping into obesity and heart disease... These emotions and more in a boiling mass of positivity and negativity, swirling around my head each time I indulge my inner fatty.

Actually, maybe they're all the same voice, the voice that encourages me to eat crap and berates me for doing so. Here, eat this, it's great, you horrible fatty, it'll burn your insides, it tastes so good, early grave. A cycle of elation and satisfaction coupled with fear, punishment and damage.

Punishment. A strong word, and one I've used many times in the past. Often, when walking and I'm getting twinges in my legs because I've covered twelve miles in four hours, the word 'punishment' pops into my head for no discernable reason. I tell myself it's 'punishing' not 'punishment' but I'm not sure I believe it.

During my therapy a couple of years ago we did a lot of work on building my self-esteem and constructing the belief that I was worthy of praise, love and responsibility. I really felt like it worked, because I care much more for myself than I did then. But I'm coming to realise that there's much more work to be done here, because it certainly feels like I'm punishing myself for something. I've just had an image flick through my mind of what that is, and I'll blog about it later when I've given it some thought. For now, though, I've realised something very important:

I deserve better

As a footnote, and the reason for this post: despite many failures and very little walking over the past three weeks, I weighed myself this morning and I haven't put on any weight! I must be doing something right!