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First blog post

This is the post excerpt.

This week I received an advance copy of my book.

For many years now I have wanted to share my story.

The thought that I may be able to help others by sharing my own experiences has been an important factor in my own recovery and healing process. It has given my suffering meaning and with this I am able to rise each morning, count my blessings and, in the words of Henry David Thoreau, ‘live deliberately’.

Well…I try!

Unfortunately this week I have also been plagued with nightmares. It has been exhausting.

Last night I had some particularly disturbing nightmares about the abuse I suffered whilst living at Denver House. After waking for a third time I called for my dog. She knows this routine well now. She dived under the covers, turned herself around and then settled down next to me with her head resting on the opposite pillow.

Having her next to me and listening to her breathing (snoring) helped me to ground myself in the present and go back to sleep.

This time I had a wonderful dream that I would like to share with you.

I dreamt that I was cycling along a winding, cobbled road that climbed a steep hill. I was tired and it was dark. The bike I had was not suited to the road I was riding along which made the journey difficult but I would not allow myself to stop. I had a sense that I was almost where I needed to be although I had no idea where I was or where I was going.

I kept on cycling until I reached a flat surface on the hill. I stopped just as the sun began to rise. As it rose it spilled light over everything below it, revealing a beautiful town just on the other side of the hill. Beyond the town I could see the ocean glistening.

I like the way the light of the sun takes the place of the night’s darkness each morning.

I am grateful that I am enveloped by this light every day no matter how long the night before it.

The sunrise reminds me that light finds it’s way into all places in the same way that our inner light will shine through an open heart and wash over all of the darkness we have known.

Let us promise to keep rising and shining!

Zoe

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Spending Christmas alone

Last year I made the decision to spend Christmas alone and I have to say I had a lovely day. This year, however, I am spending Christmas alone when really there is someone I’d like to be spending it with. Circumstances won’t allow it and so this year I have a heavy heart.

I’ve seen so many social media posts this week wishing people a merry Christmas with loved ones. It seems to be an assumption, so often made, that we all have someone we love to spend Christmas with and that just isn’t the case. There will be many care leavers for example, and in particular, young care leavers, who will be spending Christmas alone this year. We don’t all have families that fit the current society’s definition of “normal” and that can bring about a sense of shame; shame silences us and perpetuates a feeling of disconnection, which brings about more shame and on and on it goes. I’ve certainly felt ashamed and disconnected today. But then I went for a walk and said good morning to a magpie and my perspective shifted.

Saying good morning to that magpie made my heart feel warm in the same way it would had I said good morning to someone I love, so I wished the tress a good morning too! There is a saying that blood is thicker than water. Well I am made of earth, so then, I can consider anything made of earth my blood.

Family is not limited to the human or that which we think of as blood, and I hope this provides some comfort and opportunities for connection for those of us who may be spending Christmas alone when we’d really rather not.

With love and warmest wishes,

-Zoe Patterson

-Fighting Back

An exploration of pain

In counselling, a therapist must show empathy, congruence and unconditional positive regard. The embodiment of these basic core conditions creates an environment capable of facilitating change. The following is an extract from my journal and describes how I explored the physical sensations of grief in the body. My goal was to witness it (feel it) with an open heart and listen to it as I would a dear friend. To put it another way, I guess you could say grief was the client, the body was the counselling environment, and that which I think of as me held space and embodied the core conditions within this environment so grief could express itself fully without fear of judgement or rejection. This is by no means an easy process but it has been instrumental in my own healing journey.

This pain begins in the stomach and churns. It rises up into the chest like smoke, thick and heavy, it burns as it travels. It makes its way to my hands through the veins in my arms and shoulders, it feels like hot tar, thick and sticky as it chugs along – and here it stays churning and chugging along.

Sometimes it collects as a knot in my throat and I want to be physically sick or cry out and scream, the pain is so great. I want to run from it. The mind would have me run, it can take me away from this it says, as it’s done thousands of times before, and I’m reminded of the word avoidance, but I won’t allow it and I start to feel dizzy instead. It is almost debilitating but I take a breath and go back to the body.

It’s still there but now it’s lessened – it’s intensity washes over me like waves now, up the body, down the body, so heavy it is. So sad. It feels like it will last forever. How long can I tolerate sitting with it? There is a struggle. I give it sound, the pressure eases and my eyes water. The feeling of the breath travelling in and out gives the idea that there is space within this sadness, although the mind doesn’t quite believe it. Maybe this pain can travel out with the breath if I direct it to do so. It certainly feels like some of it is leaving as I practice this.

Now I’m left with a feeling in the pit of my stomach – it feels like the opposite of watching a sunflower unfold. Within a sunflower there are many tiny leaves unfolding at the centre as it grows and there’s no telling just where they came from or just how many there are – this twisting in my stomach feels like it’s going inwards though, turning in on itself and there’s no telling how many twists are possible or just how deep it’s going, it’s like there is no end to it. Maybe I am near the end though as it’s only in my stomach now. I want to hide from this even within myself. I push my belly out with the breath to feel an expansion. This feels good. My exploration of this is done for now.

No, not done. I stretch. This allows other parts of the body to come into focus that do not feel affected by this pain. The mind wants no part of any of this but it sees it is no longer in control and it quiets. I witness. It jumps in again – there is something it doesn’t want me to see or understand. It says this pain isn’t necessary. Even the body wants to agree with this. What judgements have I put on myself for feeling pain? I can’t go any further today.

With love and light,

-Zoe Patterson -Fighting Back