Facing Fear

I sit on the brink of greatness and I feel sick. My unworthiness is coming in waves. After years of this work I feel like I shouldn’t be feeling like this. I’m removing heart walls* every other day but I wake up in a state of heightened anxiety most mornings. I know how to calm my nervous system, but when you’re in a state of high alert, it’s really hard to do, and you don’t want to do it. It’s like someone telling you to calm down after they’ve had a good old rant at you. It’s so clear to me now why that this is why I used to drink, to get rid of this feeling, this feeling I have denied for years.  Now that I’m clear headed and allowing, I’m still not coping with it very well. I know from all the wise books that people drink alcohol because they are hiding from something but I never really understood what I was hiding from, and now I know. This. And it was so present and pervasive and constant in my life, like a distant ringing bell, that I didn’t even know it was there. And now I do and I’m not sure it’s better this way.

It feels so unfair, I’m doing all the right things? I wallow a bit in angry self pity and try to piece together how I actually feel. I had an insight yesterday into a huge unhealed wound. I was talking randomly one of my colleagues when a wave of horror washed over me as I recalled the height of my anxiety over my mother. We knew she had dementia, the doctor had diagnosed it months earlier but the memory clinic, for reasons unknown, dragged their feet for months and refused to give her a formal diagnosis. Every session they gave me a form to fill in about how I was coping and as the months went by I started actually telling them how hard it was. I started writing about how Mum got more and more difficult to control, more and more antagonistic, needed more and more help but became more and more resistant to instruction. I wrote in tiny helpless letters all the way around the edges of the paper. They never asked me once about it.

Looking back, a formal diagnosis might not have made any difference, Mum never believed it anyway, but at the time it felt like a kick in the teeth, a denial of what we were going through trying to cope with her. And then there was dear little Spencer, a little black and white dog that we got for Mum, hoping to bring joy into Mum’s life And he did, he brought huge amounts of joy into our lives, but to me he added another layer of panic. I didn’t trust Mum to take care of him. She loved him and I knew she was feeding him and taking him out, but what she fed him I was never sure, she lied and denied and shouted when I questioned her and counted the pouches I had laid out and the feeding checklists and posters I had stuck above the sink for her to check off. And I would go home hollow-eyed and frightened. I don’t think Spencer really gave a toss about it, he was obviously eating something and he was a happy, loving little dog, but I worried and worried and worried. And looking back I don’t know how I survived that worry. I’ve never, that I can remember, considered suicide, not even on my darkest day, but I realise with fascination that that’s only because unconsciously I believe it would have been selfish and inconvenient. But I don’t know why I didn’t, because there was not a single thing I could think of to live for, except more of the same, never ending torture. The little snippets of joy from people and pets in my life faded into insignificance against the stifling weight of my worry.

These are wounds that don’t heal easily. I know there is still hurt there because it still brings tears to my eyes to think of it. I close my eyes and address the fear. In Matt Kahn’s words I say “I see you fear. I see you and I respect your power”. Matt Kahn has taught me that there is no such things as entities and evil spirits (which the Body Code™ will recognise) but they are in fact just pieces of yourself that have broken off in trauma and stay frozen in that trauma, full of hate and resentment as the rest of you moves on, denying them, ignoring them, abandoning them. So instead of casting out your demons, he offers that you address them with compassion, and ask them if they are ready to come back. To be resurrected into your light, to become one with you again. Like inner children. Angry, resentful inner children that cause chaos if you ignore them. Children that throw tantrums when they are triggered. Children that twist your behaviour into appalling scenarios that you can’t control and can’t logically explain. Hence the words “I respect your power”. Acknowledging, without approving of, their power over you. I address these wounds. “Come on out,” I say, knowing here is always more than one. There is always more than one.

A small steady stream of dirty, ragged children come out of the cave. They look at their feet, shifting and fidgeting. They won’t meet my eye. These tiny, fragile pieces of my soul, lost and abandoned as Kate the Great marches through her adult life, brushing aside her insecurities and hurts and fears, as she strives to survive, to be efficient, to be effective, to be a grown up, to be all the things everyone else wants and expects her to be, casting aside her needs and her feelings as these tiny fragile children that fall by the wayside and are left cold, hungry, unloved and un-nurtured. Of course they are angry and resentful. Acknowledge them, says Matt. You don’t have to agree with them, just meet them where they are. I clear my throat tentatively. “I understand that you are all angry and hurt, and that you think I have abandoned you. I understand and I acknowledge all the fear and hurt we have all experienced, for I was there too.” I wave vaguely to my promised land, where all the reconciled little Kates play in a green and pleasant land, being children and being themselves, with all my passed pets, frolicking in the water, in the sunshine. “We were all there.” I  shift uncomfortably. I don’t like this type of thing, I feel stupid, but I know it works so I continue. “I’m asking you now if you are ready to let go of this anger and pain. I would love for you to join us here, where you can do no wrong, where there are no rules or expectations. Where little Kate can be herself, a sweet and loving child. Where you can’t be misunderstood or shamed or scolded. I would love for you to be resurrected into the light with me”. They look at me doubtfully. Some people talk of their inner children being resistant, angry, but most of mine are sweet, frightened and desperate to be loved. There’s no lingering resentment or anger. As soon as I offer any form of comfort, they are right there, forgiving and gentle, just wanting to be accepted. I open my arms and sure enough, they pile in. We stand in a large untidy group, holding each other, as waves of compassion and love wash over all of us. Soon there is a little giggle and I know it’s going to be OK. I sit them down on the ground and explain the rules. “No rules,” I say. “You can do no wrong here. There are lots of animals there too – look there’s Arthur!” I point to a beautiful chestnut pony in the sunshine. They look at me wide-eyed and eager. They seem to be getting cleaner, fuller, less ragged as they sit there. It doesn’t matter though, in my promised land you can be as dirty as you like.

I watch the children disperse in an excited murmur, as the already resident children (there are a lot of them) take them each by the hand and lead them into my nirvana. I know there are more to find, growth is painful and never ending, but over each hill is a new vista. I listen to the growing shrieks of laughter and know that all this is worth it, this seemingly endless struggle for peace and silently promise myself I will never stop trying. I can’t go back anyway, I can’t unlearn what I’ve learnt, I just need to remember that love and compassion will win every time, and most importantly, that I am the most deserving of my own love and compassion.

*A heartwall is a collection of trapped emotions that build a wall around your heart to protect it. Whilst it protects you, it also stops your heart being open to receive. The Emotion Code®/Body Code™ removes heartwalls.