The Wait is Over... It's Here!!!!!

THE WAIT IS OVER!

I know, it feels like forever... but it's finally here!

THE RAINBOW WAY!!!!! My book baby. The biggest book I've ever written - over 2 1/2 times the pages and almost 4 times the words of Moon Time. The Rainbow Way is 335 pages of life-changing glorious words, ideas, exercises, reflections and support which are about to be let loose on the world and I am so excited I can barely contain myself. I keep reminding myself it's "just" a book. 

But who I am kidding? 

It is SO much more! It's massive in every way! It is pure creative energy, insight and inspiration in page form. It's the book that changed my life in the writing of it. Totally transformed me, from depressed stay at home mama to the rainbow coloured creative entrepreneur you see glowing before you.

I am SO excited that you can finally ORDER YOUR VERY OWN COPY NOW! And then tell me what YOU think about it, and how it's transforming YOUR life. Do leave reviews on Amazon or email them to me! It's available from Amazon.com and Amazon.co.uk too! W

ant to know what glory stuff is packed into it? Check out the list of contents and extracts.

"Is this is the creative rainbow mama book?" people keep asking me - yes, yes, yes it is!

It's the very first book I started writing... and the most recent book I have written. It's been two and a half FULL years. This book has carried me from aspiring writer through self-published to now published author. 

This is the book that when I am skating on the edge of burn out refer myself back too. Or when I am feeling uninspired and all dried up, or frustrated with the creative process. It is my go-to guide... even though I wrote it! How mad is that - to read your own book? 

But don't just take my word for it. Read what some of my biggest creative heroines have said about it - their words of praise for it leave me truly breathless.

Wow, look a nice, shiny BUY NOW button. I dare you to press it... butterflies will fly out of your computer screen... 

Wow! Magic! ... Well not now... but when you open its pages. So say the women who've already gotten their hands on a copy.

Buy one for yourself, for your sister, your best friend, your grown up daughter, put it on your Christmas wishlist!

The first 200 copies are signed and include:

• an inspiring book-mark
• a vibrant greetings card of one of my paintings (you can even put in a request for your favourite!!)
• exclusive access to private Facebook group for creative mothers. 

But even more exciting there is a SPECIAL BONUS GIFT!!!!!!!!!!!! Remember when I was designing covers for it? Well 10 4 lucky customers will receive an original labyrinth mono-print that I made (7x5 inches). Each picture is totally unique, and naturally quite rainbow-ish. (*Orders number 1,12, 25,38, 52, 71, 84 and 99 and the first 2 orders of 2+ copies will all receive a print!)

I'll see you over in our secret hang out on Facebook - there are already nearly 50 women there: it is a supportive place to network, meet other creative mamas, find resources and get inspired. After the busyness of the launch I will be doing some group projects in there too!

And don't forget to join us for the online launch - 4 glorious weeks of creative mothers around the world writing about nurturing creativity, creative heroines, creative inheritance and the creative process, linking up in blog land... starting tomorrow!!! We have over 70 women from around the world signed up already! You can find out more and JOIN US here!

PS. Kindle and paperbacks editions are available from Amazon.co.uk and Amazon.com too - I just don't make much of a living from them. (Please do leave me a review!)

Paperback editions are also stocked by Book Depository, Barnes and Noble...or order it from your local bookshop!

ISBN: 978-1-78279-028-0
ebook ISBN: 978-1-78279-027-3

Not Normal (otherwise known as Mothering with Mental Illness)

I am Not Normal. That’s the truth I’ve been running from for years.

And it hurts.

If I’d known then, what I know now, I wouldn’t have had three children.

There, there’s the rub. Wouldn’t have had those three sweet creatures. Wouldn’t have imposed myself on them as their mother. If I had known that in fact I was Not Normal.

(Woah there, don’t even start with your anodyne “but who is normal?” comments… I am venting, so hear me out! It's kinda fun! No need to make me feel better or sprinkle fairy dust on me here.)

If I’d have known that what I thought were my grumpiness and moodiness and irrational ability to freak out at everything were actually the co-morbid triplets of bipolar, anxiety and migraines, and they were lifelong, I would not have chosen to be a mother.

Truth.

Because motherhood for the normal is hard. It is long. Relentless. It requires energy and patience and the ability to at least try to love unconditionally.

But when you’re Not Normal… it’s one fuck load harder. Promise!

It requires hormonal upheaval which triggers episodes. It causes massive sleep deprivation which trigger episodes. It requires consistency. It requires that you put the care of another at or above the care you give yourself. And when there are three others, and you have a lot of your own needs….

It sucks. And you fuck up a lot.

You know what, I feel angry. And let down. That no doctor, despite me mentioning every time I was asked about family histories, ever picked up on it. Never. That the midwife, when I tried admitting, which took great courage, how shaken I was feeling during pregnancy and after birth, despite knowing my history, told me to pull my golden cloak round me.

MY FUCKING GOLDEN CLOAK WOMAN?! There’s something seriously wrong with me, this is Not Normal and you’re talking about golden fucking cloaks. It took me over a year to get up the courage to tell another medical professional that I really wasn’t coping. A year of serious, serious struggling. And the medicine he gave me took me to a whole other wacky level of Not Normal – so once again I was alone with it. Story. Of. My. Life.

I don’t feel like sharing events. But there were events during pregnancy and post partum that should have been red flags to the medical establishment. Episodes which were Not Normal. They would have been flags to anyone who knows about these things. But I didn’t, and my husband and family didn’t. And so we muddled on. Me, and him in our own secret world. Well my secret world of normal make believe – I’m a trained actress, you know. Occasionally I had to let him into quite how Not Normal things were. I’m sure at times he thought I was nuts… and I was! Its just no one else fucking realised.

I always thought I just needed to cop myself on. To pull myself together. BE NORMAL is my mantra. I study normal people. Do what they do around the edges of my life as a subterfuge. All the time beating myself up internally for not being able to do this Normal thing well enough to make it real for myself, the way everyone else can. I beat myself up for being over-emotional, over-dramatic, feeling too much, being hormonal. In short being overwhelmed, and not coping a lot of the time.

Normal = being able to cope with reality.

Most of the time I can’t….

Though someone fucking clever, and NOT Normal, once said, let me mangle it nicely for you, that “It’s a sign of mental illness, not mental health to be well-adjusted to a sick world.” I agree. But the Men in White Coats and School Teachers and Tax Inspectors do not. They are the Arbiters of Normal – they are not my folk! I hang with the artists, hippies, dreamers, poets, dancers, mad ones and earth mothers. We dig Not Normal in all sorts of funky ways.

Not coping with Normal does my nut. I really want to cope. I want to be stable and Normal and reliable to the rest of the world, but really for my kids. I REALLY hate that I’m not. REALLY. It cuts me up so bad.

And please don’t give me the “but you’re such a good mum, your kids are lucky to have you” bollocks. Yes, I’m better than someone who’s struggling with addiction, someone who’s sexually or physically abusing their kids. But that’s quite a low bar really for a perfectionist. I am irritable, regularly too tired to do anything, get anxious doing the weekly shop, struggle having their friends over for playdates, struggle socialising with all but my immediate close circle, our house is in chaos, I tend to freak out at birthdays and Christmas, I’m always sick, I can shout and scream, am always distracted.  Sure I can be fun, do creative stuff together and am affectionate. But really, they have quite a bum deal. And so do I. It’s hard enough being like this, feeling like this, but then feeling guilty about the impact that this has on others. That triples sucks. Specially when you super love those people. I have experienced this from both sides now. I know how it sucks both ways. Yup, woo-hoo I’d like to receive my Buddha certification, I’ve passed my test in General Compassion and can bugger off to hippie heaven.

But instead I’m still here, making amends for recent crappy behaviour, pulling myself through cups of tea that I’ve been avoiding, trying to focus on school uniforms, and brushing teeth, and stacking dishwashers.

When really I don’t give a flying fuck about any of it and would much prefer to be in my own little bubble with a book, Pinterest, a pen and some paper. All the time.

I struggle with how much they need from me still, and can just see how many more years into the future it stretches. As I said… if I knew then, what I do now I would have made very different decisions. But that’s the thing about having kids. You can’t really make decisions afterwards, except ones that cut like a knife, and so you’re stuck struggling. Knowing you want better for them. Knowing you can’t deliver. Knowing that most of the time your crapness is better than nothing. Yes what a heartening thought – my crap presence is, 95% of the time better than my total absence. Cheering! But I love them and I wish them a perfectly Normal mother. I wish them the mother I wanted to be, I thought I was going to be when I started sprogging.

I feel angry, and sad. Sad for me, for my husband, and most of all for my kids, who really don’t deserve to have to differentiate what is really me and what is my illness. I have tried to explain it in simple terms, what this illness is, what my true feelings for them are. I try regularly. It tends to garner blank looks or be brushed off. My Not Normal is Normal for them! That makes me sad… and happy. But with the added awareness that Not Normal passes down families and a sneaking suspicion of the reality that it has, I try to model openness and honesty in the face of this hugeness within which I live. It comes out as a strange mix of apologies, snot and fake blasé matter-of-factness.

But now at least I know, when I see others enjoying motherhood, blooming during pregnancy, doing OK to keep house, that YES, actually there IS something wrong with me. I’m officially Not Normal. Any of the Arbiters of Normal could prove that to you. I just keep my head down and out of sight so they can’t. Arbiters of Normal can be malicious fuckers to the Not Normalers of this world.

It’s a kind of dance we do. We know we’re Not Normal, and so do they. But as long as our Not Normalness is still within the realms of Normalness they’ll leave us alone. So we learn to do a good show of Normal 101 to avoid detention, drugs, scalpels, shocks and separations.

And meanwhile daily life continues as it always does. Have kids, try to be Normal. Hate being normal. Can’t do Normal. Feel like you're a crap mum. Repeat ad infinitum. Have good day. Believe it is your new Normal. YOU can do... Oh, no. actually you can't.

Meh!

See you in the introverted artist area in the red tent at the hippie festival of dreams, far from the unsuspecting eyes of the Arbiters! I’m the one with the flouncy skirt curled up with a book. Looking most definitely Not Normal – a fact which I’ve always secretly enjoyed about myself!

Looking in the wrong places

For years we have been looking in the wrong places.

Clever scientists in white coats with pens in their top pockets

Promised to save us from our madness if they could just

Hoe our heads, weed our white matter. They’ve been

Looking for the place where all the dark things go

The terrors, the fears, the memories, the madness.

Where does it hide, reside, inside?

Man says the brain, the brain is a pain,

Logico rules so it must be there.

Fix the machine, oil it well,

Stick it back together, the nuts and bolts.

But woman she knows in her blood, in her flow

In the pulses of the womb and her stomach turned to stone

In the clench of a fist and the callousing of a heart

In the terror of a tumour…

The body is her unconscious.

This soft and supple tapestry of miracles

That is where we store our shit

The landfill, dump of our lives

No temple this,  we use our bodies as a dump

No one taught us to empty the trash.

And so it builds up

The shadows, the dark stuff

In our veins and clogging our pores.

When we cross our legs and bite our tongues like we were told

When we turn a cheek and choke back tears

When we swallow the poison spewed by a lover

When we fake an orgasm and our body screams No

But our throat is silent.

And the good girl goes mad.

The body holds the unconscious and nobody knew.

Except us… but they couldn’t hear us.

They just called us mad.

Up...and down...

Everything is sex.

I said as we drove down the mountainside, Prince blaring on the stereo. The forests had a glow about them. The patterns in the foliage jumping out in 3D like one enormous zen tangle. I understood everything suddenly, it seemed. Everything was so clear, so fluid and golden. My body too. Liquid honey. Tastes, sights, feelings brighter and clearer. I squeezed his hand delighted to be here, to be alive. The Universe loved me. I was in love with every atom of life. 

And then two days later as though a pin had burst my bubble. Numb darkness and despair. Except there was no pin. A this and a that, but nothing to justify this complete deflation. All was darkness. I felt detached, alone, despised. Everyone hated me. I hated me even more. Thoughts ran and ran through my head. Bad thoughts. I looked out the window at the breathtaking mountain view, snowcapped in the dazzling July sunshine. Nothing. I felt nothing. It was as though a gauze curtain had been drawn betwen me and the world. Its beauty could not touch me. It was just me and the darkness in my head. Nothing else could find its way in. I slapped myself around the face. Not something I have ever done before. But better than other options. Something, anything to be able to feel again. Come on, snap out of it. Nothing. I cried and cried. Numb darkness.

It became less intense, but lingers on weeks later. Sudden sobs envelop me. A lack of words. Physical tremors. A need to hide. To cower. To run.

This time it was clear to me. All too clear. The high. The low. And no reasons. I had seen it in others, knew all the signs... But just not in myself. Because my highs are never totally off the spectrum. Instead they are like falling in love. Or being inspired with a new project. Racing thoughts... Being full of enthusiasms. Non-stop talking. I'd always written the good bits off as creativity, as a rise in libido, as spiritual epiphanies, as finally fucking feeling good after my general grumpiness and impatience... But now I see... Oh so clearly what this is that I'm dealing with. Many previous events in my life have taken on a totally different colour now. I see them more clearly as the symptoms of an illness, not just feelings, events.... But connected. The up and down of the see saw. Two parts of the same program. If I own one, I must own the other. Or I must surrender them both for a different existence. Which at this point is my last choice.

I feel pretty foolish for not having seen it before. The great thing about us human creatures is our lack of clear seeing of ourselves. So now I see. And if truth be told I'm scared. Scared of the life sentence. Of the endlessness. Of the way it gets exacerbated by stress. Of not knowing how big the swings could get. Of the legacy I pass on through genes and environment. And of what this means for my kids and man. I know from personal experience what it's like to live around. And I feel scared and angry and helpless and ashamed. And maybe it's been obvious to everyone else but me for years. Maybe I was the only one who didn't know.

But now I do. I'm working through it. Getting clear on how best to manage it... To manage stressors in my life. To mediate the seesaw. I haven't told a soul except Mr DA. I want to hold it so close. I don't talk about this with anyone. The D word is something I have previously tended to talk about past tense, when it's over. But with this there is truly no over. Ever. Instead there's a label which feels like a life sentence... I hate both of the terms equally... So I'm chosing not to label it. It's not an event. A one off. It's a cycle. And endless one. That takes me and everyone I love with it. Sure, I know that there's no shame or fault in it. It's quite de rigeur to have a mental illness. But fuck. Fuck it. I feel like I've done my fair share of that sort of thing in this life time...

My first instinct was to keep it from everyone, to hide it, bury it. It's always been my approach when it comes to my adventures with depression. I dont want pity or attention.... But actually I think that openness is probably a better bet. In the long run. Otherwise in every conversation there is this gulf, this inability to broach what is currently the biggest thing in my life. But which I genuinely do not want to talk about. And its not something I relish doing face to face. With any of my peeps. So I'm doing it here. And reserve the right to remove this post at any point. Then those of you who know, know. So when I press the panic button, or wave a red flag you'll know whats up, and can be my angels in shining armour. And when you see a peak or trough you can hold the space with love, and keep a gentle eye on me.

The confessions of a domesticated wild woman

As we head into a New Year, my soul is calling to be free. I am so sick and tired. Literally and metaphorically. Tired, tired, tired of the complications of emotional relationships on every level. Tired of family. This Christmas season has been fraught in just about every family relationship I have, and I am SO done with it. All I want is simple - no feelings, no misinterpretations, no needs made of me, no demands or requirements. I am fit to run from home and hide in a cabin in the wild woods of Alaska.

May I add as a side note that I am not overdoing it with work, nor with house or social commitments. But even the little I am doing is too much. I feel the New Year hovering and with it big new work, new creations to be gestated, others to be delivered. I feel the need to clear and cleanse myself in a way I never have before.

This is not easy as a mama of three little ones. Especially one who wakes throughout the night and does not want to be weaned. And another who demands me to do everything.

It's all just TOO full on in our little world right now - I just need an emotional detox from everything I can and to step back all requirements made on me that I can. I want to dive into my creative life head first.

And so, with those that understand, I am asking for space. Little kiddies do not, it must be said, understand. So I shall have to do my best. Though in reality I despair of the mother I have become to them. I cannot even justify it many days as "doing my best". The truth is that I am here. And that must be enough. I am coming to a rather late conclusion that I am not great long-term mother material. And that does make me feel sad. My creative spirit calls me. I try to keep my heart with my kiddies, not to burn too many bridges. But the call is loud and strong. And I am aware that I am kindling the flames of mother-hate within them, flames that will be fanned by the winds of age and independence.

The voice of the wild calls. I want to be free. The louder it calls, the stronger I feel my weakness as a partner, a mother. My gaping lack of ability. I want to run away, to fly to a far distant land, to be free of my captivity, my drudgery, from this life I have so willingly chosen for myself, from this domestic bliss I have so carefully constructed, piece by piece. It feels like shackles to my soul. It chafes and confines. I long to be free. Just me. Pure, and free. Me and the wind and the moon and the trees, and my trusty pen. Free. How that word sings. I long for freedom. Can taste it like the memory of ice cream eaten on an exotic beach. Everything about my life as a mother is far from free. My day is wound carefully around the needs of others.

I feel like a domesticated wild woman. So often I just want to run. I don't belong here pairing socks and making pancakes, wiping bottoms and lulling fractious children to sleep. I want to be off, wild and free, with  no one to answer to, to be nice, polite to, to make a nutritious meal, carefully cut up for. I wish to wake when I want, and sleep when I want. Alone.

I want to write all day, then to sit and watch the fire and eat chocolate and drink to much wine, then walk in the woods by moonlight, before curling up alone in a warm bed with a book that makes my soul soar before going to sleep for a night full of uninterrupted sleep.

Operation Christmas Spirit

Operation Christmas spirit: this is my last ditch attempt to feel festive, after feeling decidedly meh! after the pottery Christmas party yesterday.

So up with kiddies at 8.30, despite a lousy night, despite it being my writing day. And straight into the kitchen. I unleashed my inner domestic goddess, who has been away these past weeks, perhaps even months, whilst creative rainbow mama has been here writing books. And so in two hours we made:

• clementine jelly
• cranberry sauce
• cranberry, pecan, dark choc and orange cookies
• gingerbread cookies
• mulled apple juice

The house smelt of Christmas. And then breakfast of cookies and mulled juice tasted like Christmas. So I think we can say mission accomplished! Might even head off to see the big red man at the local safari park this afternoon!

After sharing last year's Santa post on my Facebook page (if you're not a friend, make that your Xmas pressie to me...) a good friend emailed me this...

REMEMBER THIS AT CHRISTMAS TIME

According to the Alaska Department of Fish and Game, while both male and female reindeer grow antlers in the summer each year, male reindeer drop their antlers at the beginning of winter, usually late November to mid-December.

Female reindeer retain their antlers till after they give birth in the spring. Therefore, according to EVERY historical rendition depicting Santa's reindeer, EVERY single one of them, from Rudolph to Blitzen, had to be a girl.

We should've known... ONLY women would be able to drag a fat man in a red velvet suit allaround the world in one night and not get lost.  A MERRY CHRISTMAS TO YOU ALL!   

Oh it made me chuckle - thank you Leigh . As did the comment that another reader left at the bottom of my Santa post about collecting kangaroo poo from the Australian bush to act as reindeer poo! Hahaha!

So all it leaves me to say is have a very Merry Christmas, dearest readers. We are set to hit 50,000 page views before Christmas day which is very exciting. Thank you for coming back again and again and sharing the journey. It is all the more rich with you here.

I would love a festive hello from all my readers below. If you've never said hi, take a deep breath and de-lurk yourself (thank you SO much Lucy for your lovely de-lurking email this morning- it made me smile!).

Tell me what you REALLY want this Christmas.

Me? I REALLY want to hold my own book in my hands, and have a "placing it on my own bookshelf ceremony" - which is why I have been working SO hard on it!

That and a night's sleep. But I've been asking for that for 7 years!

Merry Christmas one and all, and to all a good night ('s sleep!)

Myriad ways of coping with blue days

When you feel like you're not yourself anymore.

Dried up, dead inside.

Tired and overwhelmed.

Despondent and blue.

When the voices in your head are raining hell on you.

Here's some suggestions of what to do

My self care 101...
(Do click through the links for more inspiration and soul balm)

Stop.

Right where you are.

Stop and breathe.

Scream out loud or mutter under your breath.

Burst into tears. Yes even at the bank manager. Or your boss. Or on the bus.

It won't kill them!

Let go. Of it all. Just let those plates fall off the sticks...

And commit to self-care for as long as it takes.

It can all wait.

Really.

It can.

Choosing to live

Today is spring equinox which marks the balancing of equal light and darkness.

In the early 20th century, the existentialist Jean Paul Sartre claimed that we only had one authentic choice: to choose to live, or to kill ourselves. He argued, rather bleakly, that suicide was the true expression of man's free will: one that distiguished us from all other animals.

According to the National Office of Suicide Prevention here in Ireland:

• A lifetime history of suicide related thoughts in certain general population groups can be as high as 49% 

• Registered deaths from suicide in 2009 reached a record figure of 527, a 24% increase on the previous year. The first two quarters of 2010 show a small increase in numbers.
• We have 11,000 episodes of deliberate selfharm presenting at hospital A&E departments each year. 
• And levels of depression run at 16% in Ireland, similar to the USA, UK, Australia and Canada. 

Multiply that up... how many thousands of suicides, and millions upon millions of depressed people is that in the world?

In our modern, wealthy western world people who seemingly have everything to live for, are choosing NOT to live, whether by alcoholism, drug addiction, addiction to gambling or video games, eating disorders, through depression, hypochondria and suicide. Of course material wealth is not everything. But when you have everything you need for human life: health, food, a home, family and friends, why are so many in our culture turning to death?

I have been there myself. For short periods, but I have. So I have some personal understanding. But I also understand the frustration of dealing with a depressed person whose dark thoughts dominate not only their lives, but those of their loved ones, spewing blackness everywhere, removing joy, direction, hope and draining energy, resources, sympathy into a seemingly bottomless black hole of need, despair and stultifying inertia. I have one immediate family member in this place right now consumed by depression, suicidal thoughts and anger. Another two have been there in the past couple of years. A friend from my past killed herself a month ago. As have other people in my local area.

Why? Why do people in the prime of life, in the most privileged time in history, in comfortable circumstances find themselves so discontent that the only answer is not to live?

The Buddha taught that life is suffering, and yet we seem believe that we should be happy all the time and that if we're not then we've been cheated and we're not playing anymore. "It's not fair," "I deserve more," "I just can't carry on," it's all too hard, too much," "everyone else is alright and only I am struggling," our mind tells us. We feel alone, angry, isolated.

Depression is a very self-centred illness: it muffles everything else except the voice in our heads. In depression the mind turns against itself, just as in auto-immune disease (also hugely prevalent in our culture now) the physical body turns against itself. 


As a culture we seem to be on self destruct. We have become a cerebral civilisation: a fact which has benefits, and dark costs it seems. Our culture is very good at creating dark "soul food": horror films, fantasy war games, a lack of meaningful interpersonal interactions, incessant bad news, readily available drugs and alcohol, a lack of time in the natural environment, unnourishing food, a lack of work with purpose and meaning...If each is seen as a "poison" it is little wonder so many cannot "see the light", they are consuming darkness, and you are what you eat.

But also we do not teach people about the dark side of the soul. We insist on happiness or nothing, perfection or bust, achieve, achieve, more, more. We do not mention the other side. We do not educate our school children in how to recognise and navigate the dark waters of the soul - we instead label and medicate. The darkness is not perceived as normal or natural: it is a disease, a mental illness, something aberrant, for which the "sufferer" bears little or no responsibility: they are cast as the patient, the victim.

I was watching Comic Relief (a UK charity telethon) on Friday night and I saw the power of the human mind to survive, the will to live despite horrific circumstances: a 16 year old African boy who had lost his parents through murder and was in charge of his household of 4 younger siblings, living in a one room shack next to the slum latrine; a new mother with TB and AIDS who was watching her baby die in front of her because she had no milk to give him and no money; a woman who had lost 7 of her children: a cancer sufferer in England; a girl who is the main carer for her mother. These people are, despite enormous physical and emotional hardship, despite loss, trauma and  poverty, choosing to live...

And it is a choice.

Whatever our circumstances it is a choice to live or to die. For some it might be taken on a minute by minute basis. But if we choose what Sartre refers to as "good faith", we choose to live. And once we make that choice (and it is one we can only make for ourselves, the ultimate act of personal responsibility) why not make it a life well-lived, as full as we can make it of love and gratitude, not negativity, anger and suffering? We each have a choice every moment what to focus our minds on: is it the pain in our heads or the beautiful tree swaying in the wind outside our window? We choose. Now, in this moment. What are you choosing, right now? And now? You can choose again. And again. However if you choose death you can never choose again.

The problem with depression is that we see that life is suffering, and we see nothing else. Life is suffering, but it is also sunshine and flowers, and warm food in our bellies and kisses from loved ones. But depression numbs us to all this to make it invisible to us.

We are both light and dark and need to experience and explore both sides. Existential crises are parts of life as we break out of one ingrained way of being and into another. "I cannot carry on like this" is an important place to get to... but then we must move on, not feed the negative voices in our heads.

Eckhart Tolle in his superbly insightful book A New Earth has a concept he describes as the pain body  

"This accumulated pain is a negative energy field that occupies your body and mind. If you look on it as an invisible entity in its own right, you are getting quite close to the truth. It's the emotional pain body. It has two modes of being: dormant and active.

The pain body wants to survive, just like every other entity in existence, and it can only survive if it gets you to unconsciously identify with it. It can then rise up, take you over, "become you," and live through you. It needs to get its "food" through you. It will feed on any experience that resonates with its own kind of energy, anything that creates further pain in whatever form: anger, destructiveness, hatred, grief, emotional drama, violence, and even illness.

Once the pain body has taken you over, you want more pain. You become a victim or a perpetrator. You want to inflict pain, or you want to suffer pain, or both. There isn't really much difference between the two. You are not conscious of this, of course, and will vehemently claim that you do not want pain. But look closely and you will that your thinking and behavior are designed to keep the pain going, for yourself and others."

I find this an extremely useful way of understanding our suffering and how it develops. Unfortunately becuase it is part of the ego, it is deeply wrapped up with a person's identity and is therefore defended to the hilt.  Trying to tell someone who is suffering from darkness that they are helping to contribute to it and can help to get themselves out of it never makes you popular! For this seems to blame the sufferer for their affliction, which is not the done thing. 

But if we can understand this for ourselves it makes it easier to be aware of how we navigate the darkness, and feed it. If we think of the dark "soul foods" and light "soul foods" that we are absorbing each day. If we can be aware of the pain body and how it works. If we can allow our minds not to run the show, especially when they are  dark - if we can get ourselves out of our heads through connecting with others, with meaningful work, with being outside, with physical activity, with creative expression and with a sense of perspective then we can help to shift the darkness in ourselves. And that means a little less darkness in the world. And a little more light to shine for others. 

“Life is not what it's supposed to be. Its what it is. The way you cope with it is what makes the difference.”

~Virginia Satir

For more read my post: You are not a victim

You are not a victim

A message for those in turmoil or mental crisis

Greetings.

You have been blessed with a journey few are deemed wise enough to take.

A journey to the dark side of the mind.

Treat your opportunity as such...

THIS is the moment you life has been leading to,

Where you see the reality behind all that you have learnt in theory.

This is the dark side of the mind,

The smelting room,

This is the crucible of creativity.

Map it,

Study its terrain,

Mine it in the dark, for it has veins of pure gold.

And bring them back.