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!