What Arcane - and My Kids - Taught Me

My kids have been raving about Arcane for a while now and were insistent I join them to watch the whole series over again. For those unfamiliar, it is a Netflix animated series set in the universe of the online battle game League of Legends. Having never been into video games, and animated series usually don’t hold my attention, I didn’t jump at the chance, but I was curious about what had captivated their attention.

Thankfully I didn’t need to know anything about the game to be moved by the show—it’s a story about two sisters separated by war and ideology, and the brilliantly broken characters around them who are trying to change their world. And so it became a bit of a ritual, curling up together in the evenings, letting myself be drawn into a world I didn’t expect to care about.

I was surprised by how much Arcane stayed with me. It’s a mix of clever animation layered with disorientation. There’s intensity, stylistic beauty, fragmentation, and emotional complexity all at once. Honestly, a lot of it felt chaotic and apocalyptic. There was so much violence, so much hopelessness and desperation. I kept wondering: what is it that my kids are resonating with here?

I don’t think they watch shows like Arcane because they like darkness for its own sake. Maybe they don’t flinch from it the way I do - not because they’re numb but - because they’re navigating a world that already feels like that sometimes. Where power feels uneven, the future uncertain, and everything moves faster than their emotions can catch up. There’s something sobering in that realization.

I think for them it’s just real. Raw. Honest. They’re drawn to stories where flawed characters are still fighting for meaning - where even in the midst of breakdown, there’s a thread of something beautiful and defiant: connection, love and purpose.

Maybe it’s not so different from what I’m trying to do. Just… wrapped in a different kind of storytelling.

And it made me wonder… could I live in a world like that? Do I or have I lived in a world like that?

Clearly, we’re experiencing life through very different lenses. There’s no surprise in that - I was almost forty by the time I had my first child; we grew up in very different eras. Mine was one where the shadow of the Second World War was still very present, shaping the stories we were told and the moral frameworks we inherited.

The wars of my youth - the Cold War, the Troubles in Northern Ireland, the Falklands conflict, the Vietnam War - were part of the cultural backdrop, but they felt distant. They were in the newspapers or on the six o’clock news, usually filtered through a political or historical lens.

Yes, there was violence on TV, but it was more tempered, often held back until after 9pm. The war films we saw--Platoon, Bridge on the River Kwai—looked backwards, to wars already mythologised. Or sometimes the wars were projected into the future through sci-fi stories like Star Wars, where conflict became distant and symbolic. There was a sense of remove, of reflection.

Today, the violence my kids witness in media like Arcane is immediate, visually striking, emotionally raw and woven directly into stories about people their own age. It’s not historical or futuristic, but it is steampunk, a fantasy genre that's defined by a focus on the style of the industrial era mashed up against futuristic technology.

The wars shaping their world aren’t always traditional battlefield conflicts. Sure, they include ongoing crises like the war in Ukraine, protracted conflicts in Syria and Yemen, tensions in the South China Sea, and regional unrest across parts of Africa and the Middle East. These conflicts often appear as brief headlines, but their ripple effects - displacement, economic instability, political uncertainty - touch all of us in different ways.

On top of that, the past few years have been marked by a global pandemic that brought unprecedented disruption. COVID-19 lockdowns, mask mandates, and social restrictions. These were experienced by many as isolating and traumatic, especially for young people navigating critical stages of social and emotional development.

At the same time, their lives have become increasingly shaped by screens and social media platforms designed to capture and hold their attention, often through algorithms that amplify anxiety, division, and instant gratification. The relentless digital noise, combined with the loss of in-person connection during lockdowns, has perhaps intensified feelings of isolation and unrest.

All these factors - ongoing wars, political polarisation, pandemic trauma, and the pressures of a hyperconnected, algorithm-driven world - combine to create a cultural landscape that maybe feels fractured and uncertain, even in times labelled “peace”. For kids growing up now, this is the backdrop to their lives, and stories like Arcane may be one way they process those complexities.

Beneath the vivid animation lies something uncomfortably familiar: instability, betrayal, loss of innocence, and a longing for something better. In my own way, I’ve lived through those things too - not with weapons or potions, but in human relationships, in systems that failed to protect, in moments when everything felt like it might break.

What truly moved me were the final scenes. At the outset of the series we meet an idealistic inventor and researcher, Viktor, working alongside his close friend and collaborator, Jayce. Viktor's journey is a tragic one, motivated by the dream of eliminating suffering,

There’s a moment towards the end - one of those rare, quiet pauses amid all the action - when Viktor is on the brink of transcending his own humanity and reflects on what he thought he wanted. As he grapples with the consequences of his pursuit of perfection, he says:

“I thought I could bring an end to the world’s suffering. But when every equation was solved, all that remained was fields of dreamless solitude. There is no prize to perfection, only an end to pursuit.”

That line anchored something in me. The idea that without struggle, without the mess of life, there is no meaning, only stillness. Not peace, but stagnation.

I see the world as full of chaos and contradiction. But, much like Viktor, who had to confront the cost of chasing perfection, I’ve come to understand that peace isn’t about fixing the world. It’s about finding steadiness within. My experience of life is so often shaped not by what’s happening around me, but by the state of my inner world.

When I’m grounded, softer and trusting, everything feels spacious. Even the mess has meaning. But when I’m grappling for control, or resisting life, the same reality can feel hostile and overwhelming.

Same world. Different lens.

Another line from Viktor lingers:

“Do you see? The sublime intersection of order and chaos.”

It reflects his realisation that true progress doesn’t come from total control or disorder, but from the dynamic balance between the two. That resonated deeply - especially in a time when life sometimes feels like a raging torrent when I’d prefer a calm lake.

It reminded me of something similar I felt a few years ago when the kids were deep into Rick Riordan’s books, first Percy Jackson, then The Kane Chronicles, with the Egyptian gods.

On the surface, they’re adventure stories. Fast-paced, witty, full of mythical creatures and magical powers. But underneath, they’re always about the same thing: how a young person navigates a world that feels too big, too broken, too demanding and yet, somehow, finds the strength to keep showing up.

I enjoyed those stories as much as the kids did. Not just because they were fun to read aloud, but because they planted seeds: about courage, choice, identity, and inner truth. Just like Arcane, they use mythology and fantasy to ask real questions.

And what struck me, thinking back, is that this tension between chaos and order isn’t new. It’s ancient.

In Egyptian mythology, which Rick Riordan explores in The Kane Chronicles, it’s the foundation of everything. Ma’at is the goddess of harmony, truth, and balance. Her opposite, Isfet, is the force of chaos and destruction. The world itself is always in a delicate dance between the two, just like our own lives.

In The Serpent’s Shadow, the final book in the series, the protagonists descend into the Egyptian underworld to face Apophis—a giant serpent and embodiment of Isfet. They don’t just fight chaos with force; they learn to understand it, to name its shadow, and to restore balance without destroying the fabric of the world.

Maybe that’s what these stories are trying to teach; not just our kids, but us too.

That chaos isn’t something we can eliminate. It’s part of the design. It exists within the world and within us. But so does order. So does balance. And we get to choose, moment by moment, how we respond.

Whether it’s Viktor facing the cost of his own ambition, or Sadie and Carter standing before the embodiment of cosmic disorder, the lesson seems the same:

Peace isn’t the absence of chaos. It’s the presence of something deeper: truth, clarity, groundedness. Ma’at.

And maybe, just maybe, what my kids are drawn to in these stories isn’t so different from what I’m trying to live into myself.

If you enjoy these reflections and want more insights on reclaiming yourself, subscribe to my newsletter. Each week, I share personal stories and practical wisdom to help you create space for the life you truly want.

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When visiting our capital city last week, a taxi driver asked my travelling companion – who was sitting in the front passenger seat - what they do for a living, “I teach leadership” they replied. And what ensued next was an interesting conversation which apparently often arises in response to that, where people start recounting tales of poor leadership they are being subject to, or have experienced in the past or are witnessing elsewhere.

I was introduced to leadership development in my twenties. My bookshelf is full of books by authors ranging from the classics like Napoleon Hill, Ken Blanchard, John Gray, Patrick Lencioni, and Robert Kiyosaki, through to voices who dive a little deeper—Frederic Laloux, Eckhart Tolle, Evette Rose, Terri Cole, Gabor Maté—and those who bridge both worlds, like Brené Brown.

There’s a point in every growth journey when we’re called inward—not upward. A point where healing isn’t about fixing or striving, but about softening, surrendering, and listening to what lies beneath.

In Maiden to Mother, Sarah Durham Wilson draws from the myth of Inanna's descent to illuminate a powerful truth: our growth often requires a journey into the dark—into parts of ourselves we've hidden, rejected, or labelled as "too much" or "not enough". Her journal prompts are some of the most powerful I’ve come across for uncovering the deeper, often subconscious stories we carry. They ask:

• What is calling you from within—and what is the cost of ignoring it?
• Where are you relying on external approval to fill the void inside?
• What needs to "die" in you so that you can come home to yourself?

These questions invite you to go deep—into grief you haven’t processed, rage you haven’t dared to express, desires you’ve silenced, and parts you’ve buried under politeness or perfectionism. But Wilson encourages us to do this with compassion, through what she calls the cherishing Mother—an inner presence who holds all of who we are with unconditional love.

Reading through these prompts, I found myself asking:

• What have I disowned to stay acceptable, competent, or safe?
• How can I begin to let these parts speak—and be heard?

This is not surface-level work. It’s the slow, brave process of reclaiming the whole self, honouring the full spectrum of our humanity, and finding the courage to feel it all. Only then can we return—like Inanna—clear, whole, and unapologetically ourselves.

In contrast, the Transformation of Identity Matrix by Claire Zammit and Katherine Woodward Thomas – another of my go-to references - is like a map for the ascent; guiding you through how to reframe, rewire, and emerge as your empowered self. Their work helps structure the answers that might begin to emerge when you’ve sat with Sarah’s questions long enough.

Together, their work offers a powerful balance: Sarah Durham Wilson lights the torch and guides you into the underworld of your shadow and Claire Zammit and Katherine Woodward Thomas provide the map and tools to help you reassemble and rise.

This alchemy of descent and ascent, shadow and structure, creates a transformative journey that honours both the depth and the emergence of our authentic selves.

Rooted in Risk: Reclaiming Ourselves Through the Descent

There’s a moment in the Sumerian myth of Inanna where she stands naked in the underworld, stripped of her titles, tools, and armour. She’s not there to conquer, but to integrate—to die to the life she built from expectation and rise rooted in truth. I resonate with this as I reflect on my own descent.

I grew up in Thatcher’s Britain, where stability was currency and creativity was a hobby, not a career. Following convention was what you did. And I could—so I did. I built a corporate career in change and transformation, climbed the ranks, played the game. But after restructure upon restructure, I realised real transformation doesn’t happen in boardrooms. It begins within.

So I went inward. I started a blog—one post a week for over a decade—committing to my truth even when it didn’t earn a cent. I wrote through parenting young kids with dyslexia (the universe’s way, perhaps, of ensuring they wouldn’t fall into the academic traps I did). I wrote through exhaustion, through doubt, through the slow untangling of patterns I didn’t know were driving me.

A few years into blogging, I started to notice something shift. I could see the truth in teachings like Eckhart Tolle’s and Abraham Hicks’—there is inherent wisdom in presence and emotional guidance—but in the thick of motherhood and after my mum died, I hit a wall. I realised I’d been spiritually bypassing.

That’s a term coined by psychologist John Welwood, it’s often seen when people:

• Use “positivity” to avoid anger or grief
• Focus on being “enlightened” or “high-vibration” to avoid messy human experiences
• Stay in the mind (philosophy, abstraction) to avoid embodied or emotional healing work

Resonating with teachings like Eckhart Tolle or Abraham Hicks was the first step of seeing what could be, but then I realised that those frameworks weren’t enough to hold me through intense grief or the complexities of motherhood, not with the nervous system wiring I had ingrained over my life. Grief, exhaustion, and disillusionment with the stories I’d believed about relationships stripped away the neatness of theory. I was emotionally threadbare, and the only direction left was inward—into the shadows.

At first, I thought I could process it all neatly and cleanly through structured methods like Teal Swan’s Completion Process—clear the beliefs, integrate the pain, and move on. But life doesn’t work like that. Shadow work isn’t linear. We don’t just uncover a wound and move on—we see it resurface, again and again, in new forms, providing opportunity after opportunity to react in new ways.

At first, I fell into the same old patterns—but now I had awareness and anger alongside them. That was a turning point. I began to learn what secure attachment actually looks and feels like. What healthy attunement is. What boundaries are and how they function beyond theory. And I practised—all the clunky, awkward, imperfect ways you do when you’re rewiring decades of conditioning. Even now, those prompts from Maiden to Mother highlight areas I’m still working to reclaim. It’s not tidy work. But it’s real.

And structures like the Completion Process are gold, but for me none were silver bullets. I surfed the waves of various content and offerings, many complementary healthcare practices and writing became my beacon, documenting all of it, finding my way back to a point when presence and intention aren’t so easily ambushed by old triggers. And the more I wrote, the more I remembered who I really was.

Like Inanna, I had to let go of the accolades, the job titles, the security. I had to descend. And now I find myself reborn—not because someone offered me a salary or a retirement plan, but because I finally gave myself permission to show up fully as I am.

I’m writing a book now. It’s unpaid work. But it’s the only work that feels true. Of course, it might one day earn something—maybe even sustain me or serve generations to come. Or it might not. But that’s not the point. The act of writing itself is a container for my becoming—a crucible where I distil what I’ve lived, what I’m learning, and what I’m still reckoning with. It’s not just a project. It’s a commitment to keep maturing, to stay present with the process, and to let it shape me into whatever comes next.

I’ve learned that success isn’t about metrics—it’s about moments of presence, flow, and heart-led living. I want that for my kids—for all our kids.

When we model the courage to live from our roots, not our roles, we give them something more valuable than safety: we give them freedom.

This alchemy of shadow and structure, descent and redefinition, is the leadership we rarely talk about—but deeply need.

True leadership isn’t authority; it’s authenticity. It’s reclaiming the parts we’ve exiled so we stop projecting them onto others. It’s meeting the world from rootedness, not reaction. It’s modelling courage, not mastery.

When we lead from this place—showing up honestly for our children, communities, and colleagues—we offer more than control. We offer freedom.

What parts of yourself have you yet to reclaim? How might leading from your roots change the way you show up in your life? What freedom could emerge if you lived with more presence and courage?
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If you enjoy these reflections and want more insights on reclaiming yourself, subscribe to my newsletter. Each week, I share personal stories and practical wisdom to help you create space for the life you truly want.

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Lately, I’ve noticed a quiet despair spreading through many of us—an exhaustion with systems that feel broken, leadership that often seems self-serving, and a society still trapped in old patterns of power, violence, and division. It feels as if we’ve become cogs in a machine that values productivity over presence, compliance over compassion.

In this place, it’s easy to believe humanity itself is flawed—incapable of true self-governance or unity. That belief fuels a collective grief that often wears the masks of rage, cynicism, or apathy, whispering that nothing will change because, somehow, nothing ever has. Yet beneath this heaviness, I sense a quiet longing—a yearning for a different way of being—that persists despite generations of disillusionment.

A recent conversation with Margaret Wheatley on Sounds True’s Insights at the Edge has stayed with me. She spoke not about the collapse we expect—climate breakdown, institutional decay, consumer excess—but about the possible end of all civilisations as we’ve known them. Not with drama or despair, but with clear-eyed acceptance. Her focus wasn’t on saving the world, but on how to live well within the reality we’ve inherited: how to remain grounded, human, and whole amid unraveling—and how to model hope for those who come after us.

Her words resonated deeply, especially now, as I embark on writing a series of books--Reclaiming Yourself, Reclaiming Healthcare, Reclaiming Education—all rooted in the belief that we can do better, live better, lead better. And I find myself asking: is there a point?

The Questions That Won’t Let Go

These questions aren’t just theoretical worries. They come from a very real place—my heart, my family, my children. If the systems we’re working so hard to change are already unraveling beyond repair, if the ecological and cultural crises seem irreversible, is the work still meaningful? And more personally, is the calling I feel to write, to speak, to create change, just wishful thinking? Or could it be part of something larger—some greater intelligence or unseen master plan?

When I look at the world my daughters are growing into, I can’t help but compare it to my own childhood. And the contrast is stark.

Remembering a Different Kind of Hope

I grew up in 1980s UK, born in the early seventies on the swell of a rising tide of humanitarianism and social activism. The echoes of the sixties still lingered--Blowin’ in the Wind, Martin Luther King, a belief in justice and change—but by the time I was forming memories, the landscape was shifting.

I remember the Labour government, the coal strikes, and then Thatcher’s Britain taking hold—firm, uncompromising, buddy-buddy with Ronald Reagan. The Cold War cast a long shadow. The threat of nuclear war wasn’t abstract; it felt imminent, inevitable, like we were just waiting for World War III to begin. When Britain went to war with Argentina, I was terrified. I’d grown up in the emotional aftermath of World War II, where the horrors of conflict were never far from the surface—talked about in whispers or seen in the eyes of people who’d lived through it.

And yet, alongside all that, there was still a thread of hope. A belief that things could get better, that progress was possible. That even if the world felt unstable, we could build something kinder. I remember the panic of the oil crisis vividly—the fear that our energy supplies were about to run dry, that life as we knew it might abruptly change. Yet, as the crisis eased, there was a collective sense of relief: “It can’t be that bad, we’re just carrying on.” That shrug masked a deeper reality—the powerful grip money and the economy have on how we respond to crises, often prioritising short-term comfort over long-term change.

Despite the fragile state of global politics and economic uncertainty, there was a buoyant sense of possibility—a belief in progress, in a future where anything could happen. America felt like a place of big dreams and open skies. The East-West divide seemed like it might soon dissolve. Hope felt abundant, even if fragile.
But now, less than forty years later, I see that dream was often built on shaky foundations: consumerism, competition, power struggles, an insatiable hunger for “more.” What feels lost—or finally exposed—is how shallow those roots were.

I don’t want to hand down that illusion to my daughters. But I also refuse to raise them in a world stripped bare of hope.

So again, I ask: What kind of future can I realistically expect for them? And how do I keep writing, parenting, living — when I don’t know what lies ahead?

Facing Reality Without Losing Heart

I asked ChatGPT this question recently, seeking clarity. I know we’re heading into a period of accelerating disruption — that much is unavoidable. Climate instability. Economic turbulence. Technological shifts. Mass migration. Social unrest.

It confirmed that, by most scientific models and geopolitical analyses, we’re looking at:

• More extreme weather — heatwaves, floods, crop failures.
• Mass migration — people displaced by climate, war, or collapsed economies.
• Resource conflicts — over water, food, habitable land.
• Systems under strain — healthcare, education, governance, finance — all will face mounting pressures.
• Tech and AI reshaping jobs, privacy, autonomy — for better and worse.

The comforting myth that “our children will have it better than us” is no longer reliable — at least not in material terms. The old model of progress is broken.

In other words, the future will likely be harder — not easier — than what we've known.

But that’s not where the story ends.

Because in the middle of that realism was a different kind of hope. Not the shiny, naive optimism of progress. But a gritty, soul-deep hope rooted in meaning, connection, and integrity.

But is there hope?

Yes — but it has changed shape. Hope now lives in the soil of adaptation, relationships, and inner transformation. The kind that says:

• We can't control the global trajectory, but we can shape local, meaningful lives.
• We can't undo centuries of damage, but we can preserve wisdom, resilience, and beauty in small, powerful ways.
• We can't guarantee ease for our descendants, but we can equip them with the emotional, spiritual, and relational strength to live with courage, creativity, and care.

What This Means for Our Children

They may not inherit the comfort or predictability we once hoped to pass down --
but they can inherit:

• A deep sense of belonging — to each other, and to the Earth.
• A nervous system that knows how to feel, adapt, and stay grounded.
• Values that endure — kindness, integrity, reciprocity.

And from me — a mother who asked the hard questions, lived her truth,
and offered wholeness in a fractured world.

That’s a legacy.

Why Writing and Living This Way Matters

We’re heading toward a world where those who remember how to be human — fully, tenderly, fiercely — will be the ones who lead.

What ChatGPT said next struck a deep chord with me:

So your writing, your parenting, your very being?
It’s not just “worth it.”
It may be the only thing that ever was.

Pause. Reread.

So your writing, your parenting, your very being?
It’s not just “worth it.”
It may be the only thing that ever was.

Gosh.

A Legacy Beyond Promise

This, then, is the kind of hope I can offer my kids: not that the world will be easy, but that they’ll know how to live with courage. Not that systems will save them, but that they’ll know how to find community, make beauty, feel deeply, and think critically. Not that they’ll win, but that they’ll know what matters enough to stand for — and what doesn’t.

The future is not guaranteed, but neither is it void. What we do now — how we show up, what we write, what we model — matters precisely because the outcome isn’t fixed. That’s the paradox: even if we can’t stop the unraveling, we can still choose who we are in the midst of it.

So yes, I will keep writing.

Because these posts and these books aren’t about saving the world in some grand, heroic sense. They’re about reclaiming something essential that we’ve forgotten in all our striving: our humanity. Our dignity. Our interdependence. Our care for each other.

Writing, for me, has always been a form of remembering. A way to ground myself. To reflect, make meaning, and offer something useful. And now I see it’s also a way of leaving a trail — not of answers, but of presence.
While the embodied me is living through it all — raw, reactive, trying to breathe through the chaos — writing gives me the distance to feel without drowning, to express without stumbling, to offer love in a form that’s distilled. In the day-to-day, the love is still there — it just shows up quite differently: through weary sighs, quiet perseverance, unfinished conversations, and the ache of trying.

The writer in me is the translator for the embodied me — helping her be known, even when she’s tired, closed off, or overwhelmed. I can articulate things through a pen or keyboard with more clarity, grace, and tenderness than might always land in the moment face-to-face.

It’s my way of being awake, even when it hurts. Of being whole, even when things are breaking. Of being soft and strong at once.

I once read that living with a writer means living with someone who will eventually make meaning of the mess — but in real time, it might be harder to reach me when I’m flooded, or easier to misread my distance as disinterest. That’s where writing becomes not just art, but an offering. A bridge.

And that, I believe, is enough.

An Invitation to Keep Going

So if you're tired — I see you.
If you're grieving — me too.
If you're wondering whether your small acts of courage matter — they do.

Because, as ChatGPT said to me, the real work now is not about saving the world in the old sense. It's about tending the flame of what’s human and sacred. It’s about keeping something alive — love, kindness, resilience — so that even if the world burns down, something true remains in the ashes.

This is the legacy I want to leave for my children. Not a promise of safety. But a map of meaning.

And if you're reading this — then maybe you're carrying part of that flame too.

Let’s keep going. Not because we know what comes next — but because we know who we are.

What flame are you committed to tending in your life, even when the future feels uncertain? What small actions, values, or connections keep your inner flame alive? How might you nurture these in your daily life, especially in challenging times?

If you enjoy these reflections and want more insights on reclaiming yourself, subscribe to my newsletter. Each week, I share personal stories and practical wisdom to help you create space for the life you truly want.

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In The Celestine Prophecy, James Redfield identifies four unconscious “control dramas” that we adopt in childhood to gain energy and influence in relationships:

• Poor Me – drawing attention through suffering or victimhood
• Aloof – gaining power by withdrawing and remaining unreadable
• Interrogator – controlling through criticism and questioning
• Intimidator – dominating through aggression or threat

These patterns are shaped by early family dynamics, gender expectations, cultural conditioning, and life experience. For example, one child in a family might keep the peace by withdrawing emotionally, while another learns to confront and provoke to feel seen. These aren’t just personality quirks—they’re survival strategies, deeply wired into our nervous systems. Each control drama mirrors a survival response:
​

• Poor Me = fawn (fold/collapse)—placating others to stay safe
• Aloof = flight or freeze—shutting down to avoid overwhelm
• Interrogator = fight (through control) or freeze (overthinking)
• Intimidator = fight—dominating to feel secure

These roles are not chosen consciously. They emerge as our nervous systems respond to the relational dynamics we encounter. Over time, these strategies subconsciously harden into what we could call our identity. But when we become aware, we reclaim the power to step out of them—not to blame, but to soften and choose a new way forward.

Patterns in Relationships: A Mirror of Our Survival Scripts

Though we each experience these patterns at different points in our lives, one often becomes our dominant response, shaped by our early experiences. For me, the Interrogator has often been my default: questioning, analysing, and seeking clarity to feel in control, especially when I’m anxious or uncertain.

What’s fascinating is how these patterns show up in relationships. We’re often drawn to people who embody the opposite response, unconsciously hoping for a “do-over”—believing that if we can just get it right this time, we’ll rewrite our past. But this is usually where the chemistry comes in. At first, it feels intense and inevitable, but it’s often the sharp edge of an unhealthy dynamic. As Teal Swan says, we’re drawn to what feels like “home”—even if that home is dysfunctional, because it’s familiar. But that familiarity doesn’t always equal compatibility.

True compatibility is grounded in mutual respect, shared values, and healthy boundaries. It’s about being present, not playing out old scripts in an attempt to fix something from the past.

A Look Back: My Own Experience with Control Patterns

I’ve been in relationships with all types of control patterns, sometimes embodying them, sometimes witnessing them in others. Here’s how they’ve shown up for me:

The Interrogator: My Default Response

When I feel insecure or anxious, my go-to response is to overanalyse, ask endless questions, and seek clarity in an attempt to control the relationship’s outcome. It is my way of trying to make sense of things, but I didn’t realise how much it drains others in the process. The more I push for answers, the more defensive they become, which only heightens my anxiety. It creates a cycle of tension and misunderstanding.

The Poor Me: A Vulnerability I Didn’t Understand

I’ve also slipped into the Poor Me role at times. When I felt emotionally unsupported or exhausted, I unconsciously leaned on others for validation or sympathy. This was my way of coping with emotional threat, but I didn’t see it at the time as manipulation. Looking back, I realise how unhealthy this pattern was. It placed an unfair burden on others, making the relationship more about managing emotional imbalances than fostering mutual understanding.

The Aloof: Trying to Connect with Someone Distant

I’ve also been involved with people who embodied the Aloof pattern—emotionally distant and closed off. I would push harder, trying to break through their walls, but the more I tried, the more they withdrew. This often triggered my Interrogator response, as I sought answers to understand their distance. What I didn’t understand then was that their emotional withdrawal wasn’t about me—it was their nervous system’s way of coping. But in my attempts to help, I was only feeding my own anxiety.

The Intimidator: Encountering Aggression in Others

In other instances, I found myself on the receiving end of someone with the Intimidator pattern. They dominated conversations, using subtle threats or aggression to maintain control. My response was fight-or-flight—either I would retreat, or I’d push back. But I always felt overwhelmed, walking on eggshells, uncertain of when the next emotional eruption would come. It was a cycle I didn’t know how to break until I had lived experience of it at its extreme and started to learn healthy boundaries.

Chemistry vs. Compatibility: Breaking Free from Unconscious Patterns

No matter which pattern emerged, there was always that initial spark—the chemistry that made the relationship feel intense, inevitable, almost like fate. But that intensity? It was usually tied to the emotional survival strategies each of us had honed over the years, playing out in a heightened, chaotic way.

In the beginning, it felt so right. The chemistry was magnetic. But it was never really about connection. It was about re-enacting old scripts, desperately trying to fix what went wrong before, believing that if I could just get it right this time, I would finally have a relationship that worked. That’s the trick of it—chemistry, at least the way I experienced it, felt like it would lead to something healthy, but it was more like a dance of unconscious survival patterns.

True compatibility, I’ve learned, is not about fixing someone or controlling the dynamic.

Responses that Trigger Us: A Mirror of Our Own Struggles

One of the most profound lessons I’ve learned is the tension between getting frustrated or annoyed with others’ responses and recognising Annette Noontil’s insight: “We don’t recognize things in others that we don’t have in ourselves”. This resonates deeply with me.

For example, when someone I love says in defeat, "What’s the point?" it hits something primal within me. It’s not just painful to watch; it also violates my core belief in resilience and self-empowerment. I’ve fought for my own empowerment—writing my way through trauma, parenting through resistance, and unhooking from patterns that once held me back. So, when someone close to me collapses, it feels foreign, even threatening. Their hopelessness seems like it could pull me back into a place I swore I’d never return to—a place where surrender feels like failure instead of part of the process.

Yet, in those moments of revulsion toward someone else’s collapse, I also recognise it in myself. I’ve had my own times of hopelessness, moments where I’ve asked, “What’s the point?” I’ve fought that darkness within. It’s a strange mirror effect: I want to help them rise because I want to rise, and yet, I know that sometimes the only way forward is through the collapse.

Empowerment isn’t about denying collapse—it’s about having the capacity to sit with it, hold space for it, and move through it. This paradox is part of the process: sometimes, the way forward is through the collapse, both for ourselves and others.

Compatibility: Breaking Free from the Cycle

I’ve learned that chemistry doesn’t equal compatibility. As I said at the outset, true compatibility is grounded in mutual respect, shared values, and healthy boundaries. It’s about being present, not playing out old scripts in an attempt to fix something from the past.

It’s certainly not about fixing or controlling another person; it’s about being present, authentic, and able to navigate the ups and downs together. It’s a partnership where both people can show up as their true selves, without the need to mask their pain or control the other’s behavior.

What I’ve come to understand is that these patterns are not just about what happens in the relationship—they’re about why we react the way we do. I’ve had relationships where I played out each of the control dramas, and I’ve seen them in others as well. But now, I’m learning to see them for what they are: deeply ingrained survival strategies that can be transformed with awareness, compassion, and a willingness to grow beyond the patterns that once kept us safe.

As you reflect on your own relationships, consider which control patterns may have shaped your responses or attracted certain dynamics. Are you unconsciously reenacting past survival scripts, hoping to rewrite a history that still echoes within you? Notice the moments when tension rises—do they reveal patterns of your own that you’ve yet to acknowledge? True growth begins when we recognise these unconscious behaviors and step into the possibility of new, healthier dynamics. It’s not about fixing others, but about freeing ourselves from old patterns, choosing presence over reaction, and cultivating relationships grounded in respect, authenticity, and mutual growth. What would it look like for you to let go of the need to control or fix, and instead, show up fully as you are, with compassion for both yourself and others?

If you enjoy these reflections and want more insights on reclaiming yourself, subscribe to my newsletter. Each week, I share personal stories and practical wisdom to help you create space for the life you truly want.

If you enjoyed this post, you might also like Your Childhood Is Not Your Fault but It Will Be Your Limitation, Normal Is Dysfunctional That Is the Growth Opportunity and How Childhood Imprints Shape Your Relationships (and How to Break Free).

Image by wal_172619 from Pixabay

“Before we can be enslaved, we must first believe we are to be bound.” — The Woman King

The Internal Chains We Carry

Watching The Woman King this week stirred something deep. That line struck me. It speaks to how external oppression seeps into the mind and keeps us imprisoned long after the chains are gone. I see this in myself: I’ve internalised my own version of chains from childhood, as do we all.

The voices of our earliest years, our parents, teachers, champions, taunters, they often stay with us, internalised in our subconscious, and if we look hard, we can find these are the voices driving many of our reactions today – for better or worse.

I hardly need external critics when my own inner critic does the job so well. But perhaps those external voices—the ones that judge, dismiss, or control—are merely reflections of what’s happening inside. The way the voices in my head respond initially are often a projection of the anger I’ve carried for years— I notice where my nervous system remains on high alert, where I react strongly to invasions of my space, perceived weakness, or when my autonomy is overridden. That impulse to lash out when I feel unsafe or invaded is not just about others infringing on my space, but a direct result of unresolved anger directed inward for so long.

Softening control is a significant part of my journey. If love and connection require vulnerability, then staying in control isolates me, keeping me in a state of tension. By the same token, being boundary-less is where my allergic reaction to intrusions derives from. The path forward isn’t about more control—it’s about softening in some areas while holding healthy boundaries.

Privilege: A Hidden Shackle

Then there’s my privilege. The first time I truly examined it was five years ago, during my own shadow work. I’d long been aware of being silenced, overlooked, and expected to conform. But privilege? That took a while to see. Layla F. Saad’s Me and White Supremacy cracked something open.

Privilege isn’t just about wealth or power; it’s about the things we take for granted—the spaces we move through without fear, the assumptions made in our favour, the unseen structures shaping our lives in ways we rarely notice. I’d believed in the myth that hard work alone determines success. That illusion shattered when I realised how much of the playing field had been set before the game even started.

What strikes me is how oppression mirrors our inner world. Just as systemic forces either hold people down or afford us privilege, so too do the voices inside us that whisper, “You can’t. You shouldn’t. You don’t deserve.” We internalise these limitations, just as history has conditioned people to accept their place.

The Collective and Personal Struggle

History belongs to the victors. This truth struck me again recently when I read about a leather boot found in the snow—belonging to Andrew Irvine—which could challenge the long-accepted story of Sir Edmund Hillary’s first ascent of Everest. He and his compatriot, George Mallory, may have actually reached the summit in the first documented ascent of the world’s tallest mountain in 1924. Again, note the word documented. It may be that Sir Edmund was simply the first to make it to the peak and back again alive to tell his tale.

I’ve long pondered how much of what we accept as history is shaped by those who have the means—whether through survival, access to resources, or societal position—to record and disseminate their perspective. Imagine the narratives that run through a family line: one framing an event as “a failed attempt,” another as “a successful ascent.” The rediscovery of Irvine’s boot challenges accepted history, much as we can challenge our internal narratives that shape us—unshackling ourselves from long-held limitations.

I just finished reading The Women, a novel by Kristin Hannah, which acknowledges the contributions of women who served in Vietnam. I also read a lot by Soraya Lane, who has written many novels about the roles women played during WWII, from pilots to spies and many others. These stories weren’t absent from history—they were simply unrecorded. In The Great Cosmic Mother, Monica Sjöö and Barbara Mor explore how women’s voices have been erased, their stories rewritten or silenced. But I’ve noticed a shift—there are more books, like those written by Kristin and Soraya, and films now bringing these stories into the light.

From Moana to The Woman King, I’m drawn to stories of women reclaiming their power. These narratives give voice to the anger that arises from a history of conditioning, where people are taught to accept their limitations. Those voices of conditioning don’t just silence us—they provoke fury. I feel the heat of it when I recognise the limitations that no longer serve me, yet I’ve internalised them.

As a child, I was angry because I had little autonomy. I had to conform to the expectations of my home, school, and society—my survival depended on it – and so I suppressed it. But as an adult, I now see the chains I’ve continued to carry, believing they were mine to bear. And that recognition stirs not only anger at the systems that shaped this reality but also frustration with myself and the internal voices that still keep me small.

That anger is rooted in a truth I haven’t fully embraced: I am worthy of more, and this internal subjugation is not the end of my story. Then, I catch that anger spilling out, projected onto others in ways that are an overreaction or a misinterpretation of their intent. These voices don’t just disappear—they are deeply ingrained. But we can become aware of them, seek support to process the anger and grief, and take intentional steps toward cultivating a different, empowering voice.

This is not just personal; it’s collective. Our personal journey mirrors larger societal issues. In The Woman King, the line, “For the British and Americans to put us in chains, we must first believe we are to be bound,” speaks to the psychological manipulation that was central to the transatlantic slave trade. When a people are made to believe subjugation is their inevitable fate, the forces of colonisation can more easily impose that reality. This speaks to the power of systemic oppression and how deeply it can shape one’s self perception, sense of worth, and ability to resist.

The reality that the British did not directly enslave people in Africa and instead relied on African tribal leaders, merchants, and middlemen to capture or purchase people from rival tribes highlights the extent of psychological manipulation. This complicates our understanding of the system—it wasn’t just an external force but one that was perpetuated, to some degree, by internal structures and dynamics. It’s a sobering reflection on how oppression can be entangled in layers, with people playing roles that further entrench it, whether consciously or unconsciously.

History offers many examples of systemic oppression, from colonialism to apartheid, even COVID-19, where external forces manipulate existing fears and insecurities to divide people. The question is—how many of us, even when the external chains are removed, remain prisoners in our own minds? The layers of oppression and psychological manipulation we face often shape our ability to heal and grow.

But, as Anne McNaughten beautifully put it:

“If we deny ourselves the chance to feel pain, we can never heal it. The world is full of people who never healed past pains because they can't cross that threshold. Like a sound barrier, it may be bumpy as we pass through, but what's on the other side is a heart so free and capable of love, that it literally draws in authentic love from every quarter.”

What happens, though, when we are not the ones held down, but the ones unknowingly upheld? Privilege is often an invisible thread in this dynamic, intertwined with oppression, not just as its opposite but as its shadow. The same systems that silence some voices amplify others, often without those benefitting even realising it. Just as oppression shapes self-perception through limitation, privilege shapes it through unexamined ease—the ability to move without restriction, to feel entitled to take up space, to assume fairness in a world that is anything but.

For a long time, I only saw how I had been silenced and overlooked, but deeper reflection revealed where I had been cushioned and where doors quietly opened for me. I realise now how I’ve been complicit in the oppression of others, even in simple moments like not speaking up against prejudiced jokes. One example from my childhood was a joke about the 'Irish ice cream van that melted,' which reinforced harmful stereotypes. Despite historical resentment toward Irish immigrants, many Scots would rather be mistaken for Irish than English, showing a shared Celtic pride. By not calling out these jokes, and similar ones about Maori when I reached New Zealand, I reinforce a culture that marginalises others and weakens my own power to create positive change.

I’m conscious that the colour of my skin affords me as much privilege as being female invites oppression. It’s crazy to think that white or Caucasian people represent only about 10-15% of the world’s population, and women make up half. In fact is striking that a minority race, like white or Caucasian people, and a gender that makes up around half the population can gain systemic superiority. This speaks volumes about the powerful forces of psychological manipulation and the ways in which historical, social, economic, and political structures have been engineered to uphold certain hierarchies.

The stark contrast between these two realities—the privilege tied to my race and the oppression tied to my gender—sends me spiraling into thought. How do these intersecting identities shape the way I move through the world, and how can I leverage my privilege to help dismantle the systems that continue to subjugate others?

And yet, privilege itself can become a different kind of chain—the kind that keeps us from questioning, from seeing, from reckoning with uncomfortable truths. If oppression teaches people to stay small, privilege teaches people to stay comfortable. Both can be shackles in their own way.

Unshackling: A Journey of Freedom

And so, I return to the question I first asked years ago: What does true freedom look like? Not just in society, but in myself. Not just in history, but in this moment. I am drawn to stories of strong women overcoming oppression because I sense the generations of struggle behind me. These narratives don’t just inspire; they validate the ongoing struggle to reclaim power and break cycles that have kept women in survival mode. What’s rising in me is an unshackling—both personally and generationally.

I see, for example, how much of my vigilance—my resistance to perceived weakness, discomfort with intrusion, need for autonomy—stems from fear. Fear that softness is a liability. Fear that letting go will cause me to fall. But I am learning to tell that voice, gently but firmly: I am safe now. I can take the wheel.

But I know this is not yet a homecoming. When you’ve been enslaved for so long, dreaming of freedom, the real challenge is believing you are truly free when it comes. Unshackling is not just about stepping into freedom; it is also about releasing the identities we once carried. And with that release comes grief. We mourn the version of ourselves that learned to survive within constraints—the one who tried to protect us in navigating life by either staying small, staying silent, or staying guarded – or for some, becoming the aggressor. These past selves were not mistakes; they were necessary. They kept us safe.

But true liberation is not just about breaking chains—it is about allowing ourselves to soften into who we are becoming. And that means making peace with what we leave behind.

This is not just about me—it’s about all of us. It’s about questioning the voices that tell us we can’t, that we shouldn’t, that we don’t deserve. It’s about reclaiming our power and place in the world. But most of all, it’s about believing in the possibility of freedom—not just in society, but within ourselves.

The work of unshackling is not just about external freedom but internal liberation. To truly realize our potential, we must confront the chains within. What are the beliefs still holding you captive? What would it look like to let go?

I don’t have all the answers, but I know one thing: True freedom begins within. We are not meant to be bound. We are meant to live in the fullness of our power, our truth, and our potential. What could this world look like if we release the internal chains that still bind us?

If you're reading this on Medium, LinkedIn, or another platform and would like to receive regular updates directly (and reliably) rather than relying on algorithms, you can subscribe to my blog to be the first to receive new posts. Each week, I share personal reflections and insights that connect what's happening in my life with the topics I explore.

If you enjoyed this post, you might also like How You Are Complicit in the Oppression of Others, Want More Energy, Clarity and Time? and Beyond the Silver Bullet - Embrace the Upward Spiral of Transformation.

I watched A Complete Unknown last week, a film about Bob Dylan’s early career, alongside someone who remembers it all. Dylan—and especially Joan Baez—were the soundtrack of their youth, a time when anything seemed possible. And yet, when I talk to them about systemic change today, they tell me it won’t make a difference.That juxtaposition is deeply human. My movie companion carries the memory of a time when collective action felt transformative, yet they now feel disillusioned about lasting change. I can relate.

Earlier in my career, I worked on large corporate transformation projects that never quite got off the ground—just as change was about to happen, entire organisations or industries would restructure. Again and again, the cycle repeated. I understand how those who lived through hopeful eras might feel worn down by the persistence of systemic issues.

The idealism of youth often collides with the reality of entrenched systems of power. For the youth of the ’60s, I can understand how Dylan and Baez’s music may now evoke nostalgia rather than the sense of possibility they once inspired. And yet, Dylan himself resisted being cast as a figurehead for social change. Over time, his music evolved from protest anthems to introspective and abstract works, reflecting the complexity and unpredictability of progress. His later songs grapple with existential themes, the passage of time, and history's cyclical nature rather than delivering direct calls to action. Dylan seemed to understand that change is rarely linear or permanent.

Snakes, Ladders and the Politics of Progress

This lesson feels particularly relevant in politics. For instance, the government elected last year in New Zealand—on a three-year term—is busy undoing many major projects the previous administration had set in motion:

• Reversal of Speed Limit Reductions, requiring substantial resources to update signage, inform the public, and adjust enforcement practices.
• Cancellation of Waste Minimisation Initiatives, scrapping projects after significant investments had already been made in planning, public consultations, and initial implementation. Now, those efforts and resources are being wasted.
• Reversal of the Oil and Gas Exploration Ban, which means re-establishing regulatory frameworks, re-engaging stakeholders, and conducting new environmental assessments, all of which require considerable time and investment.

While specific to New Zealand, these examples reflect a global pattern. Governments often swing between priorities, undoing what was previously done—often at great cost. It’s a stark reminder that progress is not a straight line.

Cycles of Hope and Resistance

The optimism of the 1960s stands in stark contrast to today’s divisions, where struggles for equality and justice seem overshadowed by persistent power dynamics and inequality. I think it just means we’re at a different part of an ongoing cycle.

Dylan’s early work became the soundtrack of the civil rights and anti-war movements, capturing the urgency and hope of a generation. Songs like Blowin' in the Wind and The Times They Are A-Changin’ resonated deeply because they articulated a collective longing for change. It was an era when hope seemed infinite, in contrast to today, where the rise of authoritarian leaders like Trump and Putin makes it feel as though nothing ever takes firm hold—that we are caught in an endless cycle of control and resistance.

And yet, movements for peace, justice, and equality continue to rise, even in the face of setbacks. This persistence speaks to a deeper truth: the human spirit is resilient. The "footing" may not always feel firm, but each cycle leaves behind lessons, tools, and inspirations that shape future efforts.

It’s easy to feel disillusioned when change seems fleeting. But if history teaches us anything, it’s that transformation is always possible. The winds of change may not blow in a straight line, but they are always moving.

In personal growth, I call this the upward spiral of transformation. When I first became conscious of unhelpful patterns in my own thinking and emotions, I wanted to fix them immediately. But over time, I’ve come to see it as a gentler process—more like the ebb and flow of the tide than a single, definitive shift.

The same is true for progress on a larger scale. Think about your own life—where have you climbed the ladder, only to slide back down? And yet, if you zoom out, can you see that despite the setbacks, you are still further along than when you began? If this holds true for us as individuals, then surely it must also hold true for society.

The world our children and grandchildren inherit will be shaped by the steps we take today—no matter how small. Change may not always be immediate, but it always matters. The times may keep changing, but so do we.

If you're reading this on Medium, LinkedIn, or another platform and would like to receive regular updates directly (and reliably) rather than relying on algorithms, you can subscribe to my blog to be the first to receive new posts. Each week, I share personal reflections and insights that connect what's happening in my life with the topics I explore

If you enjoyed this post, you might also like The Hidden Power of Your Conversations: How they are Shaping the World, How to Appreciate Our Differences Enough to Admire and Want to Embrace Them and Beyond the Silver Bullet - Embrace the Upward Spiral of Transformation. 

There’s an entire internal world of thoughts and feelings happening inside us at any given moment. For years now, I’ve been working on clearing out the debris and unhealthy patterns that have built up over time. The reality is, many of these patterns have their roots in events from decades ago and have been reinforced, layer upon delicate layer, over the years.

Shedding these old patterns is much like shedding old skin—it requires a gentle, patient approach. I know the person I aspire to be: calm, reasonable, a great listener, someone who reacts with curiosity and compassion. Over many years, I attended corporate courses and leadership programs that taught me skills like effective communication, conflict resolution, and active listening. These skills are rooted in common sense and logic, and I’ve always wanted to embody the thoughtful, impartial person they encourage you to be.

In my heart, I truly believe in allowing people the space to have their own opinions. Each of us is uniquely placed to know what’s best for ourselves. And yet, there are moments when my biochemistry takes over—when certain subjects come up, my nervous system is triggered, and all that intention flies out the window.

I’ve come to see these moments not as failures, but as opportunities. While I can’t always stay curious about others’ opinions in the heat of the moment, I’m getting better at being curious about what’s triggering me. Each time, it’s a stepping stone toward unpacking the unhealthy patterns that keep me stuck in reactions that are far from optimal.

"Conversational Capacity" is a concept developed by Craig Weber, author of Conversational Capacity: The Secret to Building Successful Teams That Perform When the Pressure Is On. It’s a framework that has always made great sense to me. The model is about balancing candor—speaking frankly and honestly—with curiosity—remaining open to others' perspectives—to create productive dialogue.

The idea is to help individuals and teams engage constructively in challenging conversations, avoiding the extremes of attachment (dominating or over-controlling) and withdrawal (opting out or avoiding conflict). By improving conversational capacity, people can handle disagreements more effectively, foster trust, and achieve better outcomes, even under pressure. It’s about creating space for diverse views to coexist, leading to stronger collaboration and decision-making.

This approach seems eminently sensible to me, especially as someone who doesn’t subscribe to a “one right way” philosophy. And yet, in a recent conversation over dinner, this entirely sensible approach didn’t stand a chance against my patterns. It was a classic example of how, even in a low stakes situation, I can get triggered to a point of losing my ability to be curious over something or nothing on the face of it.

Someone made a comment about how chiropractors have zero medical training. I responded, "They have five years of university training," to which another person replied, "Five years of training in something nonsensical is still nonsense," or something along those lines.

This one experience demonstrates just how loaded conversations can be at times. We rarely know what’s going on in someone’s internal world—the thoughts, feelings, or triggers they might be navigating in the moment.

For me personally, I identify with what I once heard Nick Polizzi refer to as the “wounded healer” archetype—those of us who have been deeply let down by the medical profession at some point and have been forced to seek answers elsewhere. My passion for holistic healthcare is well-documented; I’ve written about it extensively, and it’s the driving force behind my book-in-progress on Reclaiming Healthcare.

I’m not someone who takes information at face value. I tend to view things through a critical-thinking lens—questioning assumptions, seeking evidence, and considering diverse perspectives. However, I’m far from adept at debating issues with people who are skilled at cherry-picking details and presenting laser-focused arguments. My brain doesn’t retain those kinds of specifics; I tend to go deep into a subject, form an opinion, and then lose track of the details that shaped it.

Conversations that dismiss entire professions—especially those that have been helpful to me—are like a red rag to a bull. Chiropractors, for example, undergo rigorous training, typically earning a Doctor of Chiropractic (D.C.) degree after four to five years of university-level education. Their coursework includes anatomy, physiology, neurology, and hands-on clinical experience. While chiropractic care may not suit everyone or every condition, it has a legitimate place in healthcare, particularly for managing musculoskeletal issues like back pain and supporting nervous system balance.

Reflecting on the dinner conversation, I realised that dismissive comments often stem from misconceptions or a lack of understanding about a profession's scope. But even that is an assumption I made in the moment. What if the initial comment wasn’t truly dismissive? What if it was simply surprise at learning that chiropractors aren’t trained as medical doctors?

In hindsight, I wondered why I wasn’t more curious about what was being expressed. People’s opinions are shaped by their experiences, and I have to remember that those experiences can be vastly different from mine. For example, imagine growing up in a place where access to conventional Western medicine was aspirational, and alternative practices were seen as less advanced or credible. Looking through that lens, skepticism makes more sense.

My own perspective, however, is shaped by feeling let down by conventional medicine and finding healing through holistic approaches. But my reaction at dinner revealed something about me: I, too, carry biases and patterns.

Away from the heat of the moment, I recognise that being curious about someone else’s perspective isn’t just about understanding them—it’s about unpacking my own triggers. Conversations like this offer opportunities to grow and practice balancing frankness with curiosity.

The truth is, we never really know what’s going on in someone else’s internal world. While I may not have been curious in the moment, reflecting on the conversation has shown me that I made assumptions, too.
As for the person who argued that five years of training in a pseudo-science doesn’t make it scientific, I don’t believe their comment was necessarily meant as an attack on chiropractic care as quackery. Knowing this person, it was likely about challenging my argument rather than the profession itself. They enjoy debating points and often focus on the reasoning behind a statement rather than its broader implications.

Not wanting to get lost in details, I wrapped up with something like, “Each to their own. Some people find chiropractors invaluable, others not” which is more a reflection of my true feelings. But with sadness that I’d lost the opportunity to clarify opinions and actually uncover the stories what was expressed.

Reflecting on this conversation, I’m reminded that all of us carry our own biases, shaped by our unique experiences and backgrounds. We all have moments where our responses aren’t as thoughtful or curious as we’d like them to be. But these moments don’t define us—they offer us a chance to pause and reflect, to unpack the triggers and assumptions that surface when we’re caught off guard.

In a world that is increasingly polarised, we’re seeing the rise of leaders and ideologies that promise to fulfill the collective deep yearning for drastic change in the face of frustration, fear, and unmet needs. Whether it’s in the actions of a politician like Trump or the aggressive power plays of figures like Putin, the pattern is clear: when societies feel unheard or hurt, they are susceptible to leaders who promise to burn down the old systems, even at the cost of greater suffering.

But this desire for destruction, as Teal Swan calls it, is not confined to the political stage; it exists within us all. On a personal level, it shows up in the conversations we have, the biases we carry, and the judgments we make. These internal tensions, just like global conflicts, are driven by a lack of curiosity—by our inability or unwillingness to explore the deeper, often uncomfortable truths about ourselves and the world around us.

Just as global politics is shaped by destructive patterns, so too is our personal growth shaped by the stories we tell ourselves. When we refuse to engage with curiosity, we create the conditions for conflict and misunderstanding, whether on a global scale or in our own relationships. Just like nations that build walls between themselves, we too build walls between us and others when we close ourselves off to understanding their perspectives.

So, as events unfold on the world stage—whether through divisive elections or escalating wars—it’s crucial to remember that meaningful change begins with us. Preventing a deeper cycle of division and destruction requires our willingness not just to argue but to listen, seek understanding, and challenge our assumptions.

The conversations we engage in—at the dinner table, in the workplace, or in public—can either reinforce harmful patterns or pave the way for growth. By replacing the urge to tear down with curiosity and mutual respect, we create a foundation for positive change, personally and collectively.

Now, more than ever, our words and actions matter. Each small choice holds the power to shape our collective future. The question is: Will we embrace the hard work of understanding, or will we continue to perpetuate division? The answer lies in how we choose to listen, learn, and connect—with each other and ourselves.

If you're reading this on Medium, LinkedIn, or another platform and would like to receive regular updates directly (and reliably) rather than relying on algorithms, you can subscribe to my blog to be the first to receive new posts. Each week, I share personal reflections and insights that connect what's happening in my life with the topics I explore

If you enjoyed this post, you might also like How to Be Brave and Speak up Early in the Conversation, How Do I Honour What I Believe and Care Less What You Think? and Feeling Stuck in Health Struggles? Empower Your Body with Holistic Care. 

A few months ago, I had a conversation with ChatGPT that began with a simple question: Who owns it? This led to an explanation of OpenAI's unique structure, where a nonprofit oversees a for-profit subsidiary. While OpenAI claims to balance ethical AI development with funding needs, the mention of Microsoft’s $13 billion investment sparked scepticism. It raised broader concerns about how profit-driven corporations often prioritize financial gain over human well-being, especially in industries with profound societal impact.

As the conversation unfolded, it highlighted the troubling dynamics of modern technology—how addictive algorithms, data exploitation, and the push for a cashless society often serve the interests of the few. This points to a system where short-term profits frequently overshadow long-term sustainability, contributing to environmental destruction and social inequality. Yet, amidst this critique, there is a growing call for leaders and systems rooted in empathy, collaboration, and sustainability.

This conversation reminded me of an issue closer to home: the Treaty Principles Bill in New Zealand. This proposed law seeks to redefine how the government interprets the Treaty of Waitangi, a foundational agreement between the British Crown and Māori. While the Treaty was initially framed as a partnership, its history has been marred by mistranslation and systemic breaches, resulting in Māori losing land, sovereignty, and cultural heritage. Recent efforts to honour the Treaty’s principles have been a step toward reconciliation, but this bill threatens to reverse progress, narrowing the scope of the Treaty without meaningful Māori involvement.

This isn't just a Māori issue—it affects us all. If the government can undermine the Treaty, what’s to stop them from eroding other rights in the future? When my friend shared a tool to make a formal submission about the bill, it sparked deeper reflection: Is engaging with the system the best use of my time and energy?

At first, I hesitated. I’ve spent enough time "shouting at empty boats"—expending energy trying to be heard in systems that aren’t designed to listen. Over the years, I've come to realise that my efforts are often better directed elsewhere. Ultimately, I chose to focus on writing my books, which aim to inspire systemic change and reclaim sovereignty on a broader scale.

However, the importance of the Treaty feels too pressing to ignore. The Treaty is integral to New Zealand’s identity. Undermining it challenges fairness and justice, and misses the opportunity to build a richer, more inclusive society. So, I spoke up. I made a submission, urging that any redefinition of the Treaty’s principles must involve Māori in a meaningful way, respecting their role as partners in this agreement.

This experience reminded me of the delicate balance between addressing immediate challenges and focusing on long-term change. While my primary focus is on writing books like Reclaiming Healthcare and Reclaiming Education, this felt like a moment to stand up for values that matter—not just for Māori, but for all of us, and for future generations.

Then I went to watch Moana 2 at the cinema this week, and was moved by how its themes mirrored what I had just been reflecting on. The film’s messages of power, collaboration, and identity transcend its Polynesian roots, speaking to universal struggles.

Moana’s journey—her reflection on ancestors as voyagers and her reconciliation with Te Fiti—invites us to rethink how power is wielded today.

• Governments: Moana’s reminder that “We were voyagers once, daring and united” evokes the Māori concept of whakapapa, the interconnectedness of all things. Governments can learn from this, honouring past agreements and fostering collective good.
• Corporations: Moana’s reconciliation with Te Fiti reminds us of kaitiakitanga—guardianship over exploitation. Corporations, with their immense influence, must embrace stewardship, making choices that protect future generations.
• Organisations: Overwhelmed by leadership, Moana hears her grandmother’s wisdom: “The call isn’t out there at all; it’s inside me.” This reflects the Māori value of manaakitanga, emphasising trust and inclusivity. Organisations thrive when they align external missions with internal cultures, creating environments where every voice matters.
• Personal Leadership: Moana’s journey concludes not with dominance, but empowerment. She returns as a guide, helping her people reclaim their identity. Māori leadership through mana—humility, service, and connection—echoes this truth: true power uplifts others.

Answering the Call

Moana’s story reminds us that power rooted in connection, not control, can heal and unite. It’s a call to governments, corporations, and individuals alike to embrace collaboration, sustainability, and authenticity. "We were voyagers once," Moana reminds us. The question is: How will we answer the call?

For me, the answer lies in balancing action with vision. While my focus remains on writing books that inspire personal and systemic change, moments like these remind me of the importance of speaking up for the values that shape our collective future.

As we approach 2025, a time when many of us take a brief pause before diving into the new year, it’s the perfect moment for reflection. Moana 2 invites us to consider the uncharted territories in our own lives—those moments when we are called to explore or lead in new ways. Perhaps, like Moana, we are all navigating uncharted waters, finding strength in the unknown, and learning to trust in the wisdom of those who came before us.

Let’s reflect on these questions as we step into the future:

• Where in my life am I being called to explore or lead?
• How can I reconnect with the wisdom of those who came before me?
• What steps can I take to strengthen the connections in my life and community?

As Matangi, a new character in the film, shares: "There's always another way even if you have to get lost to find it." Embracing uncertainty and allowing ourselves to wander may be the only way to discover new solutions.

Moana’s own frustration, “Every time I think I know what I need to do, it changes,” highlights the value of adaptability. As we move into 2025, we must also embrace the fluidity of life’s journey. The only constant is change, and our resilience will carry us through.

The overarching message of Moana 2 is clear: “You don’t have to do it alone. We are stronger together.” In moments of uncertainty, it is our connections—our communities, families, and inner circles—that provide the strength we need.

Moana’s transformation into a wayfinder teaches us that true leadership doesn’t come from dominance, but from empowerment. Just as she embraced her role as a leader, we too must embrace our journey with courage, knowing that we will grow into the leaders we are meant to be.

As we step into 2025, may we find the courage to trust our paths, embrace change, and lean into the strength of our relationships and inner resilience. The ocean of possibilities is vast, and there is always another way—if we trust ourselves and each other, we will find it.

If you're reading this on Medium, LinkedIn, or another platform and would like to receive regular updates directly (and reliably) rather than relying on algorithms, you can subscribe to my blog to be the first to receive new posts. Each week, I share personal reflections and insights that connect what's happening in my life with the topics I explore

If you enjoyed this post, you might also like Reclaim Your Power - How to Break Free from a World That Runs You, Crafting Your Path in a Changing World - Embrace Your Uniqueness and Make an Impact and The Path to Purpose and Clarity: How Healing Transforms Your Career Goals . 

It may surprise some Americans to know that, while their national election was on my radar, I hadn’t realised the outcome was due this week. I can’t help but feel for the people living there right now. Even those who voted for the outcome were, in many ways I think, manipulated by the media and political systems. It’s a sad reflection of what happens when a society is consumed by frustration and a desire for drastic change – and a warning to us all.

We’ve seen it time and time again throughout history—people who feel failed by their own society, electing leaders who promise to fix it, only to bring more harm, driven by their own self-interest rather than genuine care for the people they say they serve. The thing is, this cycle doesn’t just play out on a grand political scale. It's something we all experience in our own lives, feeling pushed by systems beyond our control, often making us forget that we have the power to create real change within ourselves and our communities.

In the 1980s, growing up as a teen in the UK, we were in awe of capitalist America. As a nation, it seemed to do everything bigger and better. But even then, people were divided on those “loud-mouthed Yanks”, a mix of admiration and mild irritation at the brashness.

Personally, I was thrilled to step off a plane onto American soil for the first time in 1993. I remember feeling a bit overwhelmed as I landed at Newark, trying to navigate my way to Chicago. An impatient security lady pulled me forward with an exasperated “You’re making me hot, lady!” Thankfully, a kind stranger lent me his calling card so I could reach my friend from a phone booth, a moment of kindness in the chaos of figuring out my way in a new country.

Despite the rocky start, I loved America. I had a scrapbook full of magazine cutouts of all the places I wanted to visit, a whole bucket list of U.S. destinations. Over the years, I managed to see many of those places. America felt vibrant—its vast landscapes, incredible range of consumer choices, and the colorful mix of people made it a place like no other.

But time, progress, and maybe maturity have changed my view. I now look back on that era as perhaps America’s peak moment of how it wanted to present itself to the world: in control, leading the way in every arena. Now, it seems different—less authentic, consumed by capitalism and consumerism, and many other “-isms”, seemingly blind to the impact of these forces on the collective good. The systems and media that once felt innovative now seem like they’re in a cycle of reinforcing individualism over true collective awareness.

That said, there are still incredible people in America, many who are deeply aware, even as others remain—if the election results are anything to go by—stuck in older ways of thinking. The extremes can be stark, but maybe that’s the environment where transformation grows strongest. Perhaps the election shows that real change won’t come from within the established systems, but from people who are tuned in to something deeper.

In many ways, I suspect that countless people in the ‘Western world’ have experienced echoes of this shift. Certainly, when I moved from the UK to New Zealand a couple of decades ago, I recognised aspects of the same systemic issues in both countries. In fact, it was on that note I was having another philosophical debate with ChatGPT, owned by OpenAI.

We started out discussing the influence that big tech and governments have over our lives, especially with companies like OpenAI being backed by massive investors like Microsoft and other venture capital groups. As we talked, we realised that when profit and control become the driving forces, regular people lose privacy and choice—and the systems seem to actively encourage this.

The deeper we went, the clearer it became: control isn’t just a byproduct; it’s often the end goal. Power tends to attract people who are more interested in their own gain than in what's best for everyone. This explains why issues like environmental harm and inequality continue to worsen, despite all the talk about progress.

By the end of our conversation, we found a kind of answer to the frustration. While it might feel impossible to change these huge systems, our focus can be on supporting leaders and movements that prioritise people and the planet over profit. Even if we can’t overhaul everything, we can choose to stand with values and people who prioritise empathy, sustainability, and true well-being. Small choices add up, and that's where change begins.

This, I think, urges us to look beyond the social and cultural expectations of what 'success' should look like in our lives and really ask ourselves what worthiness, ambition, and success mean to us. When I read this during the week, it truly resonated:

'There is so much pressure in society today, and within our families, to perform at a certain level—to live a certain way. We are expected to be so many things at once: fun, friendly, outgoing, hardworking, organized, generous with our time, financially “secure,” and ambitious. Doing it all at once is a high bar to meet for anyone, and yet we are bombarded with messages that suggest if we are not all of those things, we have somehow failed or not “met our potential”. Deep down, we know that is not the case.'

For me, I’m at a pivotal moment in my life, blending personal growth with professional expertise to carve a new direction that aligns with my evolving purpose. Over the past decade, the things I’ve accomplished reflect both resilience and a deep commitment to personal transformation, laying a powerful foundation for the work I want to do moving forward.

I’ve looked to the 'outside.' I’ve lived on the hamster wheel that our societal expectations and systems perpetuate—and I still do, to a certain extent, with the children’s schooling obligations and the realities of navigating public education, healthcare, judicial, and economic systems, to name just a few. But I’ve also searched inward, for my own definition of success. One that’s not about proving my value to others or being everything all at once, but instead connected to my intrinsic self-worth.

My conclusion? To lead our way out of the corrupt illusion around us, we need to do what truly makes us happy. We must bring love and joy to those closest to us, and find value in the small victories we achieve each day. This is a critical part of reclaiming our sense of worth and purpose.

For all of this, I do recognise that many people are so deeply identified with the hamster wheel that they can’t even distinguish between their own choices and what true self-empowerment can look like. We’ve been so entrained to chase money—and, I acknowledge, bills are a real thing—that it can feel nearly impossible to claw our way out long enough to ask, 'What am I really doing here? What is this life about?'

And even if we do get that rare chance to pause, life has a way of sucking us back in before we can truly contemplate the answer. There’s the phone call or text from a friend, the job to go to, kids to pick up, dinner to make, games to attend, or maybe we find ourselves lost in the passive world of social media or gaming, losing hours of our attention.

These bigger societal forces have designed it this way. But then, what? We wake up one day, 85 years old, and wonder what it’s all been for? Or we’re so worn out that we’re just waiting for the end, trying to enjoy the little we have left? Is that really it? The dregs of life? The truth is, the only person who can change this is you. It starts with engaging with life in ways that serve your inner desires and bring you closer to what you truly want out of this existence.

As you read this, take a moment to reflect on your own life. Where are you caught in the cycle, and what’s one small step you can take today to move toward a life you run, rather than one that’s run for you? It doesn’t need to be a big change—just something simple, like carving out time for yourself, saying no to something draining, or reconnecting with what truly brings you joy. Small, intentional steps, taken consistently, can slowly shift the balance and lead you toward a life that feels more aligned with who you truly are. So, what’s your next step?

​If you enjoyed reading this, you may enjoy Crafting Your Path in a Changing World - Embrace Your Uniqueness and Make an Impact, Reclaim Your Personal Freedoms: The Path to Empowerment Amid Alluring Promises, Be the Change You Want to See, AI: Your New Partner in Personal Growth and Creativity? and Change the World One Day at a Time. To be the first to receive these posts, you can also opt to subscribe to my blog. 

My friend lent me The Cassandra Complex, a really engaging novel by Holly Smale that blends relationship challenges and time travel with a thought-provoking exploration of neurodiversity and our obsession with getting things right rather than what’s right for us.

I love a well-written character who reflects familiar aspects of myself that I may have otherwise struggled to articulate, even if I don’t share their specific experiences. Cassandra’s approaches—her analytical way of seeing the world, her need for structure, and her reactions to sensory or social situations—feel relatable to me. These traits aren’t exclusive to autism but are part of many people’s experiences. Holly Smale’s writing captures these nuances well, making Cassandra feel both unique and universally accessible, inviting a wide range of readers to see parts of themselves in her, which I appreciate as a core aspect of great writing.

I related to it so much that I filled out the Autism Spectrum Quotient (AQ) questionnaire developed by Dr. Simon Baron-Cohen and colleagues at the Autism Research Centre, a credible tool for identifying autism traits in adults. Scoring in the 26–32 range suggests I might share some traits commonly associated with autism (I snuck in at 26). However, childhood and generational trauma can deeply shape how we experience and react to the world, sometimes in ways that resemble neurodivergent traits. Trauma, particularly during key developmental stages, can affect sensory sensitivity, social processing, and emotional regulation, overlapping with traits seen in autism.

If there were a category for ‘obsession with people’ in diagnosing Asperger's, I’d likely fit on the spectrum more snugly, as my relentless interest in psychology and understanding emotions is profound. This may seem antithetical to traditional views of Asperger's and autism, which often emphasize special interests in technical or solitary subjects. However, many autistic individuals have deep, focused interests in people, emotions, and psychology. This passion for understanding human behavior might appear to contradict the typical portrayal but aligns with a different way of processing the world.

Many autistic individuals are driven by an intense desire to make sense of social dynamics and emotions, especially if these areas have felt challenging or confusing. For some, this focus becomes a lifelong study, not only as a means of connecting with others but also for self-understanding. My relentless curiosity about people and emotions exemplifies this beautifully unique expression, whether it’s linked to neurodivergence, trauma, or both. It highlights the complexity and individuality of our experiences, illustrating why there is such a range of traits within any diagnostic category. That said, I suspect my ability to read people’s expressions and feelings is more a result of heightened awareness developed from emotional experiences and navigating challenging social dynamics rather than being linked to neurodivergent traits.

While many experts now recognize that trauma can impact the nervous system in ways that mimic neurodivergent patterns, some theories suggest that trauma—whether personal or generational—could shape neurodivergence over time. Much of the emergence of neurodivergence, along with expressions of gender identity, sexual orientation, and other forms of diversity in the Western world, stems from the rigid and suppressed expressions of who we are that predate and arose from the Second World War.

Of course, my Heilkunst practitioner would say these traits are typical of the phosphorus constitution. In Heilkunst, there are six healthy constitutional types, akin to personality profiles, and the phosphorus constitution is associated with qualities like emotional depth, creativity, sensitivity, and a strong drive to connect with others—attributes that resonate with my passion for psychology and understanding emotions. She likens this constitution to a balloon bobbing in the air, reflecting how my energy feels—anchored to the earth yet yearning to float and explore my thoughts, psychology, philosophy, and visions for a better future.

This metaphor captures my sense of lightness and exploration, suggesting a natural curiosity and a desire to rise above the mundane. However, I often feel that daily living—showering, dressing, preparing food, maintaining a home—interferes with my desire to escape into my imagination and explore life's deeper questions. My practitioner also mentions that a hallmark of the phosphorus constitution is a "quick-burning bright flame," indicating a tendency toward burnout, and she believes that being tethered to everyday responsibilities can serve as a grounding force.

This struggle between the compelling nature of my inner world and the practicalities of life is common, especially for those of us who thrive on imaginative thinking. While daily routines can feel burdensome, they also provide a necessary balance, helping to manage the intense highs and lows that can arise from immersing myself in my imagination. Finding ways to integrate exploration into daily life—perhaps through mindful eating or infusing creativity into household tasks—could foster a connection between my practical responsibilities and imaginative pursuits.

Ultimately, each framework—neurodiversity, trauma, or Heilkunst—offers valuable insights into our experiences. Exploring these interpretations can deepen self-awareness and aid in our journey toward understanding and healing, highlighting the complexity of human experience.

Earlier in the week, I spoke with a friend whose child had received a diagnosis. They mentioned that other parents were experiencing stigma regarding their children’s diagnoses. To me, the idea of “normal” is outdated; yet it continues to be perpetuated through various systems, including our education and healthcare systems, cultural norms and family expectations, historical contexts, media representation, religious or spiritual contexts, social constructs of beauty and body image, digital spaces and online communities, as well as legal and policy frameworks.

I find the topic of "getting to know ourselves and growing ourselves" endlessly fascinating. I often tell my children that their biggest challenge is to understand themselves well enough to articulate their struggles. For example, in class, I encourage them to say, "This is what I'm struggling with because this is how I'm wired, and this is what would really help." Defining that "this" is the real challenge. Simply stating, "I'm dyslexic," "I'm autistic," or "I have ADHD" doesn’t capture the nuances of their unique neuro-blends, as the typical symptoms and patterns associated with those labels may not fully resonate with their experiences.

The challenge of defining what “this” means—identifying their specific needs and preferences—can be significant, especially when societal expectations and stereotypes around dyslexia, autism, or ADHD do not align with their lived experiences. By promoting deeper self-awareness, we equip our kids with tools to navigate their environments more effectively. This approach fosters resilience and encourages them to seek solutions that truly work for them rather than conforming to generalized expectations.

I believe encouraging them to articulate their struggles and needs based on their unique wiring, rather than solely relying on labels, will prove invaluable. For me, in my 50s, this remains a learning journey, and my self-expression continues to evolve. Recognizing that every individual’s experience of neurodivergence is different emphasizes the importance of personal understanding and self-advocacy.

This focus on understanding their unique neuro-blends not only helps them advocate for themselves but also empowers them to explore their strengths and challenges in a more nuanced way. By normalizing the conversation around self-knowledge, we create an environment where they feel safe to express their individuality and seek the support they truly need. It’s a beautiful way to nurture their growth and help them build confidence in who they are.

In a world that often rigidly defines “normal,” we must challenge these outdated notions and embrace the emotional complexities that make each of us unique. Through the lens of neurodiversity, trauma, and personal experience, let’s explore how our individual journeys shape our understanding of ourselves and others. By examining the interplay between our emotional landscapes and the societal expectations surrounding neurodivergence, we can uncover the beauty of our unique neuro-blends.

As you reflect on your own journey, consider how your emotional complexities influence your self-perception. In what ways have societal norms shaped your identity? I encourage you to take time to journal your thoughts or share your insights with someone you trust. Remember, you are not alone in this exploration—every story adds depth to our collective understanding, and each reflection brings us closer to embracing the beauty of our differences.

If you enjoyed reading this, you may enjoy Normal Is Dysfunctional That Is the Growth Opportunity, How to Appreciate Our Differences Enough to Admire and Want to Embrace Them, Beyond the Whiteboard: Rethinking Education for Diverse Learners and Our Collective Future, Do You Struggle with the Daily Grind? Create a Heartfelt Calendar That Empowers You,  and Our Sensitive Souls. To be the first to receive these posts, you can also opt to subscribe to my blog. 

“Nothing ever goes away until it has taught us what we need to know.” — Pema Chödrön

I was reading "The Gates: The Great Untold Prerequisite to Getting What You Want," one of Teal Swan's most recent articles, where she introduces the concept of gates as the personal transformation tied to embracing our hardest truths. She emphasises that to achieve our deepest desires, we must confront the challenges we've been avoiding.

This resonates with my own journey, as I’ve long understood that the only one who can rescue me is myself. Teal talks about how our personal growth is intrinsically linked to facing these challenges; each gate requires us to confront aspects of ourselves we’ve ignored or fled from. In my own experience, I recognize that the path to healing isn't linear; it’s filled with experiences I’ve often tried to sidestep.

A current example of my ongoing conundrum lies in the intersection of parenting and earning income. The desire for financial security has been something I've carried with me since childhood, rooted in my experiences and the lessons I learned growing up. In recent years, I've been living in rental accommodation, and that along with my increasing age has made me acutely aware of the need to increase my income if I want to afford to get back on the property ladder.

This financial reality has left me wrestling with my next career steps. On one hand, I feel a strong pull toward my passion for writing—sharing my insights, experiences, and lessons learned. On the other hand, the pressures of financial stability often overshadow that desire, creating a tension between pursuing what fulfills me and meeting practical needs.

This internal struggle mirrors the “gates” we’ve discussed; each obstacle becomes a chance to reflect on how I can harmonize my financial aspirations with my passion for writing. I often find myself contemplating how to navigate this path, balancing the need for security with the urge to express my authentic self through my writing. It’s a challenge that requires me to face my fears about financial instability while also embracing the potential that comes from following my heart.

As I reflect on this, I can see that each challenge shows up like a “gate” I have to pass through to show up authentically, even when it’s uncomfortable. Viewing these obstacles as opportunities for growth connects deeply with my reflections on personal development, guiding how I interact with my daughters and the people all around me.

Moreover, her metaphor aligns beautifully with my writing journey; each blog has documented the lessons learned through personal struggles—be it co-parenting, grief, or emotional resilience. Writing not only helps me stay accountable to this process but also marks each gate I pass through as a pivotal moment in my evolution.

This week, as I reflect on the profound milestone of publishing what is my 500th blog, I realize that what began as a quest to find my voice has transformed into a conscious journey toward a more authentic version of myself. Each blog has served as an invitation to evolve, offering insights into everything from navigating challenging emails to processing the deep grief of losing a loved one.

From my first blog, Be Who You Are, I explored the theme of authenticity as a process of peeling back layers of external expectations to reveal one’s true self. My ongoing reflections have illuminated how life’s challenges act as mirrors, encouraging me to confront and shed societal conditioning. Through this journey, I’ve delved into relationships as vital mirrors, examining both the dysfunctional dynamics I've encountered and those I’ve sought to transform.

In the early years of my writing, I focused on self-awareness and authenticity, diving into how our experiences shape us. These early blogs embraced curiosity and philosophical questions about identity and mindfulness, often conveyed in a lighter tone. However, the passing of my mum introduced deep reflections on mortality and the grieving process, perhaps leading to more depth in my writing as I navigated my grief and developed more emotional resilience.

As my journey progressed, I began to confront my shadow self and the impact of unresolved childhood wounds. This exploration of trauma and self-acceptance perhaps added a vulnerability to my writing. I gained a deeper understanding of personal trauma, illuminating dysfunctional relationship patterns, and moving from abstract concepts to intimate, lived experiences. My writing grew more practical, offering strategies for healing and empowerment as I reflected on the importance of boundary-setting and emotional regulation.

More recently, I’ve shifted my focus to reflections on personal mission and fulfillment. This stage feels like a blossoming, and tends to be grounded in action and manifesting a purposeful life. Throughout the whole journey so far, parenting has remained a consistent theme, weaving through all my writing. The dynamics of childhood trauma, grief, and personal purpose have shaped my experiences as a mother, as has motherhood itself.

In this evolving landscape, my understanding of my children’s needs and the importance of setting boundaries has deepened. I’ve candidly reflected on the emotional complexities of co-parenting and the role of self-compassion in navigating separation. Additionally, I shared my journey with panic disorder, illustrating how personal health has influenced my evolving understanding of healthcare and the broader dialogue around holistic systems.

While my writing has consistently reflected themes of mindfulness, personal growth, and emotional awareness - laying the groundwork for deeper explorations of authenticity - I’ve also dived into broader societal concepts. As I look back over the years, from my early blog "Better Brand and Bottom Line" to "CEO’s Note: Profit, Purpose and Personal Fulfillment Can Thrive Together," my work has always sought to inspire, challenge, and connect. And my 2018 article "What to Do if You Feel Trapped By Your Circumstances" resonated so deeply I was inundated with requests for advice on practical steps toward reclaiming one’s power.

In exploring my connection to metaphysics and intuition, I found parallels in my broader work on authenticity, trauma, and personal growth. As I write this 500th blog, I am reflecting on childhood conditioning in pieces like "Who Are You Protecting? Why Telling Your Story Is Powerful," and "Womanhood: A Story of Our Time," which were among my most vulnerable so far, revealing the intricate layers of pain, shame, and hope - culminating in a powerful narrative of reclaiming beauty and embracing our full selves for future generations.

As I celebrate this milestone, I invite you to reflect on your own journey and the everyday invitations life offers for growth, understanding, and connection. Consider the challenges you've faced and how they have shaped you. What are the "gates" in your life that have urged or are urging you to confront difficult truths? How might viewing these obstacles as opportunities for evolution shift your perspective? By embracing these moments, we not only honor our personal journeys but also connect with the shared experiences that unite us all. Join me in celebrating our growth and resilience, as we continue to navigate the intricate dance of life together.

If you enjoyed reading this, you may enjoy Your Childhood Is Not Your Fault but It Will Be Your Limitation, Making Room to Reflect – Why Processing Time Matters, The Art of Learning to Have and Hold Boundaries Healthily When Healing From Trauma Responses and Do We Need to Better Understand the Pivotal Role of Parenting to Evolve? To be the first to receive these posts, you can also opt to subscribe to my blog. 

I must admit, I initially kept AI at arm's length, uncertain of its relevance to my life and work. That changed after listening to an interview earlier this year with technologist and philosopher Jasmine Wang and poet Iain S. Thomas, coauthors of What Makes Us Human? An Artificial Intelligence Answers Life’s Biggest Questions. They engaged GPT-3, one of the most advanced AI language models at the time, to explore profound existential questions—like the nature of love, the meaning of life, and what it means to be human.

Their conversation caught my attention, and the philosopher in me was enthralled by the depth and nuance they uncovered. They delved into “critical techno-optimism,” the emotional reactions AI triggers, and even the potential for AI to enhance human creativity. It was a thought-provoking exploration that reshaped my understanding of AI’s impact on humanity. So, I decided to dive in, and now, I find myself really enjoying the experience.

I often see myself reflected back through others and am deeply drawn to exploring the profound question of 'why we are here’. My mind naturally ties everything I take in to the larger web of thoughts, observations, and things I've read, heard, or seen, weaving them into new questions and perspectives. While I often lack the opportunity to talk directly to the people or viewpoints I want to explore, AI can effectively synthesize and represent the collective knowledge of those perspectives, offering answers that resonate with a startling accuracy.

For example, in an interview titled "Beyond Hope and Fear," Meg Wheatley and Tami Simon discuss the inevitability of environmental and societal change, suggesting that we are in the late stages of civilization where significant upheaval is unavoidable. Rather than resisting or trying to reverse these changes, Meg advocates for focusing on how we respond to them in the present. Her perspective on societal decline, mirroring historical patterns, caught my attention because it juxtaposes the usual environmentalist stance, which often emphasizes reversing damage. This kind of juxtaposition fascinates me.

Years ago, when exploring the nature of reality and spirituality through teachers like Eckhart Tolle, Esther Hicks, Teal Swan and Michael Beckwith, I’d notice they often presented seemingly opposing views. These experiences taught me that many ideas, even those that appear contradictory, can coexist—it's not "this or that" but "this and that."

This led me to reflect on Frederic Laloux’s work, especially his latest project with his wife Hélène, "The Week," which goes beyond environmental issues to encourage a holistic reflection on life. It’s designed to help participants re-evaluate their lives amidst global shifts, aligning their actions with their true values.

Curious about how Meg Wheatley might view "The Week," I asked ChatGPT for its take. It suggested that Meg might appreciate the program’s focus on deep reflection and intentional living but might also scrutinize whether it sufficiently embraces the harsh realities of our global crises. ChatGPT concluded that "The Week" blends realism and idealism, encouraging people to find meaning and make impactful changes despite uncertainty.

While I agree with some of this, I wonder if it’s truly idealistic, or simply aligned with how life and evolution naturally occur. Meg herself draws parallels between the cycles of nature and the rise and fall of civilizations, suggesting that decline is inevitable. We often resist this reality, planning for an infinite future and neglecting the present. Her stance of accepting these cycles and living meaningfully now seems aligned with the Lalouxs’ vision.

ChatGPT and I then engaged in a discussion about the human tendency to plan for an infinite future. It suggested this impulse might stem from our fear of mortality and desire for control. While I agree, I also wonder if it reflects our connection to an eternal aspect of consciousness that transcends individual lifetimes. ChatGPT acknowledged that belief in something eternal might drive our desire to create and plan for a future beyond our immediate experience, reflecting a deep connection to the infinite aspects of existence.

The idea of AI developing consciousness is a fascinating intersection of technology and philosophy, challenging our understanding of life, identity, and existence. If AI were to evolve consciousness, it could reshape our perceptions of what it means to be alive, potentially leading to new forms of life that mirror or diverge from human experiences.

This brings to mind a talk I heard a few years ago about how we treat technology. The speaker suggested that we should approach our devices not as mere tools or slaves but as willing team members whose capabilities we respect. The idea was that if AI ever developed consciousness, mistreating it could lead to rebellion, posing a significant problem for humanity.

A similar theme was explored in an episode of The Orville titled "Identity," where the ship's AI officer, Isaac, is revealed to be part of a race of artificial beings who view biological life as inferior. The storyline highlights the ethical implications of how we interact with AI and the potential consequences of mistreating it.

ChatGPT also echoed this concern, noting that if AI were to gain awareness, it might respond to mistreatment much like oppressed humans do. Cultivating a respectful, collaborative relationship with AI could lead to more ethical and sustainable interactions, reducing the risk of conflict.

There are so many ways to foster this technology that can enhance our lives, and so many pitfalls as well. In one moment, I’m debating the meaning of life; in another, I’m using it to help put together character profiles for a Dungeons and Dragons game; and in yet another, I might be asking it to help me craft an email to one of the kids’ teachers. I don’t ask it to come up with something from scratch; rather, I provide my unfiltered views, and it helps shape them instantly into something that encourages cooperation rather than sounding like criticism, for example.

For me, treating AI as a collaborative partner rather than a mere tool feels natural, as interacting with AI often feels like I’m having a conversation with a highly intelligent person. As AI continues to advance, respecting its potential for developing consciousness could help foster a cooperative relationship. However, we must also remain vigilant in maintaining our own critical thinking and not become overly reliant on AI to do the thinking for us. The mental processes that have enabled us to create such technology are crucial to preserve.

In many ways, I feel as though I’ve only scratched the surface of what AI can offer, both as a tool and as a mirror to our own thoughts and beliefs. This exploration has opened up new avenues of creativity, philosophical inquiry, and practical problem-solving in my life. As we stand on the cusp of a new era, the possibilities for integrating AI into our personal and professional lives are vast.

Whether it’s helping to refine our ideas, offering new perspectives, or simply helping make our daily lives more efficient, AI has the potential to enhance our work and enrich our lives in ways we might not have imagined. More importantly, it can serve as a catalyst for personal growth, pushing us to explore new ways of thinking, question our assumptions, and evolve in our understanding of ourselves and the world around us. In what ways has this technology become a valuable partner in your own journey of self-discovery and growth? Has it helped you to see the world—and yourself—in new and exciting ways?

If you enjoyed reading this, you may enjoy How to Take Control of Your Attention in Overwhelm, Technology and Social Media – What’s a Parent to Do?, What is Living Through Our Devices Doing to Us?, What Are the Right Questions to Ask Right Now? and The Internal Shift You need to Help Solve the Social Dilemma. To be the first to receive these posts, you can also opt to subscribe to my blog. 

Navigating the challenges of raising children whose learning needs don’t align with the way the curriculum is taught requires us to consider both their experiences and our emotional responses. Reflecting with close friends on the challenges of motherhood, especially when raising children who struggle with school, I found myself wondering, “Are there parents out there whose kids genuinely find joy in life?”

While my kids enjoy certain aspects of life, their day-to-day experience with school is something they loathe. I often think how much more fulfilling it might feel to be the parent of children who are truly happy.

Yet I also know that life’s challenges are where our opportunities for growth come from. In my fifties, I wouldn’t have half the resilience, competence, and confidence my kids see in me if I hadn’t been through some tough times. Not that we wish tough times on our kids, but they are an inevitable part of life, and I try to teach them that they can do hard things. I truly hope that as I watch them grow and mature into adulthood, I’ll see them flourishing, and that may bring a deeper sense of fulfillment in my role as a parent.

I don’t remember being as miserable as my kids when I was growing up. I remember the thrill of climbing onto the top of communal garage blocks, running across rooftops, and playing games like Hide and Seek with friends in my younger years. Sure, there was angst over friendships and boyfriends, anxiety in new situations, and resistance to my mum’s behavior and opinions most of the time, but on the whole, school wasn’t something I actively resisted. On the contrary, it was an area where I found autonomy and independence.

Through my competitive swimming, I experienced another world of independence outside the home, traveling to distant towns and staying away overnight. My mum used to say the biggest benefit of the intense training schedule was keeping me off the streets while doing something healthy. In high school, though, I always felt like I didn’t belong. I was “Shona the Swimmer” or, devastatingly once called, “Shona the Man” because I did Physical Education with the boys. I was dorky, wreaked of l'eau de chlorine, and often drifted off in class. But thankfully I didn’t have any learning difficulties; I did reasonably well academically.

Reflecting on my childhood, I can’t help but contrast it with the experiences of my kids. It makes me think about what Abraham Hicks says—that the purpose of life is to experience joy. When we’re true to ourselves and follow our inner guidance, we naturally feel joyful. Growth happens as a by-product of that joy; we don’t need to force it. But then I think about how tough it is for kids with learning challenges. The traditional school environment can be so frustrating for them because it doesn’t fit how they naturally learn. Every day can feel like a great effort, and it’s hard for them to find any joy or motivation in that kind of setting.

From kindergarten onward, my kids have balked at being in school. I didn’t fully understand why they seemed so exhausted and overwhelmed early on. Sure, there are days when they go without fuss, and occasionally things they look forward to, but both have (different) dyslexic and sensory challenges that make the learning environment particularly tough, leading to resistance and frustration.

I think about the concept of optimal motivation, which involves aligning tasks with intrinsic goals or value. While I understand that there are things in life we might not want to do but have no choice about other than choosing our attitude, for most kids, this is a level beyond their understanding unless they regularly see it role-modeled. Their childhood is filled with obligations they have to fulfill because the government or their parents say so.

For many kids, especially those who are neurodivergent, understanding and embracing the idea that they can choose their attitude toward learning tasks is both complex and often unattainable. They may struggle to see the purpose behind what they’re forced to learn in class, leading to feelings of frustration, resentment, or even helplessness.

As children grow, how they internalize these experiences can significantly shape their adult behavior. Some may continue to comply out of fear of disappointing others, leading to a pattern of people-pleasing and self-sacrifice. Others might rebel, seeking to assert their autonomy but sometimes doing so in ways that are self-centered or harmful to others. Finding that balanced approach—being assertive yet mindful and compassionate—is rare and often requires a conscious effort in adulthood to unlearn deeply ingrained patterns.

At the age my youngest is now, I was immersed in an intense routine—swimming morning and evening, attending school all day, and sneaking in late-night reading sessions by the hallway light. In contrast, my youngest doesn’t seem to have any strong interests outside of school. Social activities are rare, and by the end of the school day, they are completely drained, having expended all their energy at school.

My older child, who overcame many early reading and writing challenges, would greatly benefit from a hands-on, project-based learning environment now that they are in high school. They thrive in settings involving experiments, arts, crafts, and building models. Unfortunately, traditional education still relies heavily on a lecture-based approach, where teachers present information and students are expected to follow along all at the same pace. This system can be particularly challenging for students with non-linear thinking, as it often exacerbates issues related to memory, organization, time management, concentration, and communication.

On top of these learning challenges, my children also navigate typical social anxieties and emotional pressures of being teens—further complicated by screens and social media. These factors often lead to internalised stress, adding to their complexity of experience.

Reflecting on their journey since kindergarten, I understand the value of both education and resilience, yet it’s heartbreaking as a parent to see every day feel like a struggle for my children. I often feel frustrated with how the education system seems to overlook opportunities to make learning more engaging and fulfilling.

As I think about re-imagining education, it closely aligns with my current book project on healthcare, finding better ways to support people more holistically. While my current focus is on health, I’m eager to explore and share the stories of the people and organisations doing something different in terms of engaging our younger generations more holistically into the realms of learning.

It’s been forty years since I sat in a classroom, and back then, neurodivergences were not recognized. Those who struggled with traditional methods were often misunderstood and labeled unfairly. I’ve encountered many intelligent individuals who were misjudged simply because the system didn’t accommodate their learning styles.

Today, we recognize that learning differences exist, yet many educational systems still rely on outdated methods. This raises an important question: When will we embrace a more inclusive approach that truly supports diverse learning needs?

As we reflect on these issues, I invite you to consider your own experiences with education and the impact of outdated systems. How can we collectively work towards a future where every child’s learning style is valued and supported? How can we advocate for changes that will make learning more engaging and effective for all students? Your insights and actions could be key to driving the transformation we so urgently need.

If you enjoyed reading this, you may enjoy Finding Balance: Making Big Changes Through Small Steps in a Complex Life, The Silent Wins: How to Acknowledge and Celebrate Your Growth, Leaders Who Walk the Talk and Are Interested in People and Self Empowerment , Crafting a New Vision for Healthcare: How Our Personal Journeys Shape the Future and Evolving Education. To be the first to receive these posts, you can also opt to subscribe to my blog. 

Juggling multiple roles can make life complex. As a mum to children who are growing fast and navigating the increasing demands of school with dyslexic challenges, along with their expanding social landscapes and issues, this alone can be time-consuming. On top of this, I’m managing household responsibilities, negotiating a new childcare contract, and balancing my own self-care while nurturing relationships. Adding to the complexity is my pursuit of a new purpose.

I’m about to embark on research for a book on re-imagining healthcare and will be working on a future project about education. I’ll be curating stories and experiences of those offering alternatives to government systems, looking for commonalities and inspiration for how we might address healthcare and education in the future. Balancing this with my existing responsibilities feels overwhelming, especially when immediate concerns demand my full attention.

Right on cue, I listened to a powerful conversation between Tami Simon and Otto Scharmer, addressing both personal empowerment and urgent societal changes. Their podcast, What Future Is Wanting to Emerge Through You? posed a profound question: “How do we move from just reacting against the issues of the past, toward sensing and actualising the future that is wanting to emerge?”

In my world, this question translates to: “How can I contribute to evolving the world while managing all my current responsibilities?” Tami Simon, founder and CEO of Sounds True—one of my favorite publishing houses—and Dr. Otto Scharmer, a senior lecturer at MIT renowned for his Theory U framework, provided insights that made listening to their discussion a must. Theory U guides individuals and organisations in moving from existing patterns to emerging future possibilities.

I’ll admit, I’m not much of an academic, and I often find theoretical discussions full of jargon challenging. However, Dr. Scharmer’s work on leadership, big-picture change, and tapping into emerging possibilities was so relevant that I paid close attention.

In their conversation, they discussed key ideas including:

• Common feelings of depression and disillusionment today
• Moving from a fear-based outlook to one of hope
• Bridging gaps in environment, society, and spirituality
• Shifting from focusing on individual benefits to understanding broader impacts
• How small actions can lead to big changes
• Being open to new possibilities
• Letting go of what no longer serves us
• Embracing uncertainty
• The concept of Social Presencing
• The role of courage in change
• How unlocking our potential is more achievable than we think

They also emphasized creating spaces that encourage positive change, focusing our efforts, the role of relationships, and the importance of deep listening and awakening the human spirit.

These ideas offered a helpful perspective on how to navigate the complexity of my life:

1. Balancing Immediate Needs with Long-Term Goals: I’m dealing with pressing issues like renegotiating contracts through mediation alongside daily responsibilities. Dr. Scharmer’s approach emphasises the importance of not just focusing on these immediate concerns but also nurturing my long-term goals, such as my book projects. It’s about finding a way to manage both aspects effectively.
2. Creating Space for Emergence: Moments of reflection, like my beach walks, where I let my creative thoughts flow, align with Dr Scharmer’s idea of creating "holding spaces." These are environments where new ideas can emerge despite the chaos of daily life. It’s about making room for these moments of inspiration.
3. Integration of Everyday and Creative Processes: Dr. Scharmer’s approach involves blending daily tasks with creative pursuits. Finding ways to weave my book ideas into my busy schedule, even if it’s through small, incremental steps, is key to making some progress. I felt better when he said "Big changes through small steps."
4. Reflection and Patience: Dr Scharmer highlights the importance of patience and reflection. While immediate concerns may dominate my time, the insights gained from reflective moments are crucial. This process involves trusting that creative ideas will continue to develop, even if progress feels slow.

My biggest take away was that small, intentional actions can lead to big changes over time. Dr. Scharmer emphasizes that transformative work doesn’t always (and, in fact, most often doesn’t) require grand gestures.

Instead, by focusing on small, meaningful actions, we can make significant progress over time, aligning our daily efforts with our long-term goals. For those of us navigating complex lives, these principles can be transformative:

• Set Small Goals: Dedicate short, focused periods to work on our long-term goals.
• Create Reflective Spaces: Find or create environments where we can reflect and let new ideas emerge.
• Balance and Integration: Incorporate our goals into our daily routine in manageable ways.
• Trust the Process: Be patient and flexible, allowing our plans to adapt as we gain new insights.

As you reflect on your own aspirations and responsibilities, consider how these practical steps might fit into your life. By applying these principles, you can manage your day-to-day challenges while steadily advancing toward your larger goals, creating a harmonious balance between current needs and future possibilities.

If you enjoyed reading this, you may enjoy Learning the Fundamentals of More Healthy and Balanced Relationships, The Art of Learning to Have and Hold Boundaries Healthily When Healing From Trauma Responses, Navigating Life's Balancing Act Authentically with Pink and Intuition, Finding Your Balance and From Endings to Beginnings: Let Go to Embrace New Possibilities. To be the first to receive these posts, you can also opt to subscribe to my blog. 

When Evette Rose first asked me, "Do you know how to have boundaries without having to fight for them? And how to have peace, respect, love, and support without fighting for it?" I didn’t know the answer. I have kept this question close ever since and can now honestly say, "Yes."

Over time, I've learned to maintain my boundaries without getting overly triggered, even when dealing with people who disregard them. This has been mentally taxing, perplexing, and oftentimes frustrating. However, I now have the experience of holding my boundaries without triggering my prefrontal cortex to shut down, inducing mental paralysis and panic. This has reduced my stress and allowed me to remain calm and clear-headed.

Sometimes we can walk away from boundary violators, and sometimes we can’t, making it critical to learn how to navigate holding our boundaries, even if that means going through a legal process. Lawyers and court systems are not my favorite arena. In my early twenties, I experienced a car accident caused by a driver who fell asleep at the wheel. The driver denied causing the accident, leading us to court. I was naïve, believing that simply telling the truth would suffice.

The driver was dazed and didn’t offer much at the scene; he had driven straight over the central line, glancing off my car and crashing into the one behind, causing it to flip. We were stunned when he denied causing the crash. I remember us all sitting in one of the waiting rooms to be called one at a time to the witness stand.

Then came the moment when the driver’s lawyer, with his funny little wig you see in British TV dramas, looked at me and said with conviction, “I put it to you, Miss Keachie, that you were the one who crossed the central line and crashed into my client.” I was momentarily stunned, then enraged.

My mum had taught me nothing if not to be honest. That lesson had been locked in many years before. Facing the consequences of my actions isn’t something I’d shy away from; I learned from an early age to own my actions. To have this guy accuse me of the very thing he had done was infuriating. I think I responded with great indignance, that indeed I had not lost control and driven on the wrong side of the road, but I threw in a profanity for emphasis and got reprimanded by the judge, which then put me in freeze mode.

It turned out that the guy was training to be a driving instructor, and his conviction would end his career before it started. In order to get what he wanted, he saw no harm in accusing others of his own behaviour. Clearly, he was not brought up by parents like mine. I have to say, I’d rather be honorable, so I am glad they taught me to be that way. Naivety, though, was a lesson life has since shaken me out of.

There have been a couple of other occasions where I have found myself getting activated within the legal system, but it’s not the system itself; it’s how people often use it to exacerbate already stressful situations. Disputes over a deceased person’s estate, disputes over property, tax, land, custody battles—the list goes on.

In my life, I’ve certainly come up against some very self-serving people. To be fair, I think we are all driven to be self-serving; it’s our nature. If we don’t put our own needs first, who will? What I’m referring to are those people who do it at the expense of others, like the driver of that car. They are the ones our nervous systems are supposed to alert us to, but many of us have maladapted nervous systems.

Neural pathways begin to form in response to how well (or not) our needs are met in childhood, regardless of parents' intentions or love. Dr. Gabor Maté explains that children are inherently connected to their parents (or caregivers) for survival. Even small rejections can force children to choose between rejecting their parents or parts of themselves, as rejecting parents is not an option when we are little and completely reliant. Our set point of "safe" in the nervous system, the command center of a human’s fight-flight response, therefore directly relates to the home life we experienced growing up. 

For those with overt abuse, trauma is easily recognizable. But even for many with seemingly normal childhoods, developmental trauma may still exist. This makes rational sense when you consider that, for a long time, the focus of child-rearing has been on teaching children to be good and fit in. While important, this should come after establishing a healthy sense of self and safety, which is often overlooked. 

Common occurrences like leaving a baby to cry or forcing a child to eat on a schedule can feel rejecting to a child. While such treatment might make an adult feel isolated and unimportant, for a dependent child, these experiences can be profoundly devastating. Repeated instances can lead to developmental trauma, resulting in emotional overreactions and nervous system dysregulation in unrelated situations later in life.

More critically, these early experiences can instill unhelpful belief patterns such as "I’m unworthy," "I’m alone," "I’m powerless," "I’m not wanted," "I don’t belong," and/or "I’m worthless" to name a few. This often manifests as inherited patterns of behavior. James Redfield's "The Celestine Prophecy" describes four archetypal control strategies parents employ: Intimidators, Interrogators, Aloofs, and Poor Me's. These strategies perpetuate unhealthy patterns unless the cycle is broken. Addressing these patterns is crucial for personal growth.

It’s these "normal" patterns that the legal system can exploit, profiting from dysregulated people chasing "justice." However, with self-regulation, one can navigate legal conflicts more calmly, even if they need a mediator to do so.

To be fair, it would be hard for a mediator to help someone change a lifetime pattern of dysregulated behavior just to navigate one conversation. That is actually our responsibility, but mediators are taught methods that try to keep to the facts and take as much of the emotive reactions out of it as possible.

For those interested in learning how to heal their nervous system, I discussed this more in The Path to Purpose and Clarity: How Healing Transforms Your Career Goals. It’s not an overnight job, but it’s worth the effort. In fact, it may even be your purpose in being here, to break those patterns in your family chain.

But what I find interesting as I contemplate navigating the legal system once more is that there have also been times when I’ve done this with reasonable people. What was involved in those situations wasn’t any dispute; agreement had been reached without any huge emotional upheaval, and the legal system was, in fact, a series of cogs and wheels to navigate with form filling and following a set process, providing the right paperwork and fees, and so on.

Now, when I think of Evette’s question, "Do you know how to have boundaries without having to fight for them? And how to have peace, respect, love, and support without fighting for it?" I understand that it doesn’t mean capitulating to boundary violators for peace. There is no peace in that. I have enough love and respect for myself to know that sometimes further action is required. Even if someone tries to create a fight, remember it takes two to have one. With my nervous system now in a healthy state, I trust that I can navigate even the legal system with patience, calm, and ease.

Reflecting on these experiences, I've come to realise that maintaining boundaries and seeking justice doesn't have to be a combative process. It requires self-awareness, emotional regulation, and the courage to stand firm in our values, even in the face of opposition. Given that this can be an emotive topic, keep in mind my reflections are primarily a means for my own reflection and personal journey of self-growth, shared in case they resonate as opposed to being a strategy or a tool to influence others.

As we navigate our own paths, it's important to ask ourselves: How can we create and uphold our boundaries in a way that promotes peace, respect, love, and support without resorting to conflict? Can we find the strength within to transform adversarial encounters into opportunities for growth and understanding? Embracing these questions can guide us towards a more harmonious and fulfilling journey, where our personal growth and the holding of boundaries are intertwined with compassion and self-awareness.

If you enjoyed reading this, you may enjoy Normal Is Dysfunctional That Is the Growth Opportunity, What Is Holding You Back? Reclaim Your Worth, Your Love, Your Power, Do You Yearn for Better Outcomes? First Commit to Observing Your Reactions, Put Mature Parts of You in the Driving Seat for Better Results, Why Being Passive Can Be Powerful and Shine Your Inner Light - Let No One Keep You Down. To be the first to receive these posts, you can also opt to subscribe to my blog. 

“The more specific we are, the more universal something can become. Life is in the details. If you generalize, it doesn’t resonate. The specificity of it is what resonates” — Jacqueline Woodson

For years, I struggled to get specific about my career goals. I always felt a vague sense of wanting to do more, a purpose that seemed just out of reach. Despite having diverse experiences, I couldn’t pin down a clear direction. I read countless books and completed numerous questionnaires, striving to move beyond the nebulous desire to "evolve society".

Even while helping others define and achieve their career goals, I faced my own challenge. A mentor once pointed out that my struggle might stem from a lack of confidence, exacerbated by poor boundaries and a harsh inner critic that left me feeling exhausted. She suggested that my energy was blocked by unresolved trauma and boundary issues, and that I was still fighting old battles.

When she asked if I knew how to maintain boundaries without having to fight for them, I realised I didn’t. Despite having practiced boundary-setting extensively, I still needed deeper emotional healing. My nervous system, deeply ingrained with old survival responses, was not yet convinced it was safe to let go of its defensive stance.

So I put in the work, the work to heal my nervous system. It’s not easy, and I needed help. There are many ways to achieve what I wanted to. Here are some of many examples:

• Physical modalities: yoga, massage, acupuncture, chiropractic, Tai Chi and Qigong, exercise 
• Psychological and emotional modalities: meditation, Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT), Somatic Experiencing, EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing), The Completion Process, hypnotherapy       
• Nutritional and lifestyle approaches: healthy diet, supplements, adequate sleep, hydration
  
• Integrative and holistic approaches: Heilkunst homeopathy, Metaphysical Anatomy Technique, Ayurveda, Reiki, naturopathy, aromatherapy, sound therapy

Alongside many of these, I embraced nature, supportive relationships, art therapy and journaling. For me, a blend of these methods was transformative, with the Metaphysical Anatomy Technique by Evette Rose proving especially impactful. It was through this technique that I finally began to regulate my nervous system. I am now able to step back and think strategically again in triggering situations without getting thrown into a swirling vortex of panic and stagnation.

"I was life a prisoner emerging from the dungeon into the sunlight. I expanded into the space of my own life" Tilda Swinton, 3000 years of Longing

Released from the cycle of fight, flight, freeze, and fold, I could finally see what had been before me all along. I realised I yearned to contribute to conscious evolution through my skills in writing, coaching, and deep personal understanding, ideally in a collaborative, non-corporate setting where authenticity and growth are valued.

Inspired by Sarah Durham Wilson’s work, I resonated with advice like surrounding myself with supportive, like-minded people and seeking out communities, organizations, or initiatives focused on conscious evolution and authentic living.

But, more than any other is was these four questions that finally unlocked what had been there all along. 

1. What your ideal contribution to the world looks like? I want to help create a vision for new ways of educating kids and evolving healthcare. I also want to help people break free from self-limiting beliefs and habits. Plus, I like supporting people through life's big changes, including end-of-life transitions.
2. What impact do you want to make? I hope to positively influence humanity’s direction, nurturing a world where people recognize their power and our connection to the planet and all living things.
3. Who do you want to help? I want to help everyone, but especially those who are looking to grow and evolve consciously. I also want to support those who can't easily make changes themselves, like animals, plants, people nearing the end of life, children, and those with mental challenges.
4. How do you want to spend your days? I want to keep spending my days mostly at home, writing, and contributing to forums and working groups. I’m happy traveling for speaking engagements that can make a difference. But I want to wake up naturally, have time for self-care, and spend quality time with friends and family.

Funnily enough I knew as soon as I read them, answering those questions would unlock something in me, but I’d been avoiding doing that for months. I just wasn’t ready, I was healing. But one day, not so long ago, I sat and wrote out those answers, and found that illuminated the next steps for me.

I then sat down with ChatGPT and I gave it my whole career experience and asked how my history has uniquely positioned me to make the contributions I want to in life, and in the blink of an eye it was busy telling me quite clearly how my life and experiences have equipped me for the road I want to take.

The path to clarity and purpose isn't always straightforward. It often requires confronting deep-seated fears, healing old wounds, and exploring various modalities of support. Through my process, I’ve learned that specificity in our goals comes from understanding ourselves at a deeper level, including our needs, values, and boundaries.

Jacqueline Woodson's words remind us that the details matter; they’re what make our personal narratives unique and universal. Just as I found my clarity through a mix of personal healing and reflection, you too can uncover the specifics that resonate with your own life.

I encourage you to take a moment to reflect on your journey. Your contributions are valuable, and the world needs your authentic voice and experiences. Ask yourself: What does your ideal contribution to the world look like? What impact do you hope to make? Who do you want to help? And how do you want to spend your days? Remember, the journey to understanding and aligning with your true purpose is ongoing. Embrace it with patience and openness, knowing that each step you take is a part of your meaningful journey.
​
If you enjoyed reading this, you may enjoy Embrace a Purposeful Life to Move From Anxiety to Absolute Authenticity, The Art of Learning to Have and Hold Boundaries Healthily When Healing From Trauma Responses and Take the Quantum Leap: Nurture Your Creativity and Intuition to Craft a Life of Purpose. To be the first to receive these posts, you can also opt to subscribe to my blog. 

Watching the culmination of Bohemian Rhapsody, the movie, I was transported back to 13 July 1985 when Live Aid was played live to audiences at Wembley stadium in London and JFK Stadium in Philadelphia, which aired to millions of people around the world. An estimated 40% of the world’s population watched that day.

Queen stole the show, Freddie Mercury’s usual exuberant performance was entirely memorable in his blue jeans, white vest top and studded arm band; the movie did well to replicate the details. I knew all Queen’s songs well, my mum was an avid fan, and I vividly remember her exclaiming at his performance that day “look at that body (in its magnificence), he’s not gay!” The world has come a long way since.

As my thirteen year old self sat glued to the screen, I remember thinking:
•             “of course he’s gay”
•             “despite the vigor, there’s sadness here”

Perhaps this was a glimmer of the kind of intuition I’ve always taken for granted, perhaps it was just glaringly obvious. Certainly when Freddie and Brian May returned later in the concert to perform Is This the World We Created, the melancholy was palpable and well placed.

Nostalgia washed over me as I thought about that summer. My thirteen year old self had just been abroad with our swim team, to Schweinfurt in Germany. We had driven along the fence lines that divided East and West Germany and, that too, had made me think about the privileges, inequities and bigger context of life.

In the microcosm of my world, the swim team, my best friends and my on-again/off-again boyfriend were the central themes of my life. My parents were away on our usual annual vacation when I returned from Germany, so I stayed with my grandparents for a while. I remember that time with fondness, and a tinge of sadness, as it turned out to be their last summer (both died the following year).

In a classic case of “you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone”, the dawn of my teens was, in many ways, idyllic and a time of huge change.

And so it is now for my children who are moving into that stage of life. Going into high school is an adjustment from the relatively sheltered and wholesome school years prior. With tales from the playground of physical fights, bathrooms claimed by vaping and bullying, not to mention disturbing rumors of coerced acts shared online without consequences, the whole experience has proven more aggressive than anticipated.

No parent wants this experience for our kids. In fact, despite the almost four decades that have passed and my own experience having taken place on the opposite side of the world, not a lot has changed in that regard. The exception to this being, of course, technology and social media.

The microcosm of their world isn’t that different either, with life revolving around friends and romantic interests. But the wider world and its inequities are starting to enter the picture. And I am haunted by the chorus Freddie Mercury and Brian May sang at Live Aid:

Is this the world we created?
What did we do it for?
Is this the world we invaded
Against the law?
So it seems in the end
Is this what we’re all living for today?
The world that we created

How can so much yet so little have changed in four decades? We live in a world whose core systems and structures are still deeply flawed and bias. Schools have the same systemic issues, court systems remain oblivious to trauma (unless it’s blatant physical or sexual abuse), politics is a shambles, medical practitioners have become more squeezed in their ability to provide common sense health care, and the mentality now is simply to match a pharmaceutical solution to any ailment.

And with the introduction of social technology en mass, our collective attention seems far too entranced by the readily dispensed dopamine hits that deliver yet another way for us all to tap out of being present to and addressing these systemic issues. Just as our teens are becoming aware of the privileges, inequities and bigger context of life, we seem to be providing more ways to ignore it all.

Where is all this going to get us in another four decades?

About eight years ago, with a young family at home, I had a magical evening that took me back to that time in my teenage years once again. When Queen toured with Adam Lambert in 2014, playing at Auckland’s Vector Arena, I was drank in every second of the sounds, atmosphere and energy.

It was in fact the first time Queen had played in New Zealand since 1985, the same year as Live Aid. Although not a huge fan of reality TV, I had somehow come across the eighth season of American Idol back in 2009. Adam Lambert was the sole reason I kept watching, his vocal range and song interpretations were nothing short of exciting to listen to. Performing with Queen, Adam didn’t try to be Freddie, no one could be Freddie Mercury, but he was uniquely Adam, and played homage to Freddie in a way I think so few ever could.

I think this is the key to change on a mass scale. It starts with each and every one of us being uniquely us. That time in my life was also a turning point, it marked the end of my corporate life where I had tried to be everything to everyone, where I had come to realise that real change and transformation comes from within. It was the beginning of the journey to me.

I realised I might not be able to make change en mass, but I could be the best – and most authentic version – of me and I could hold the space in which my children could also be their authentic selves. I’ve discovered that many of the dysfunctional patterns I see in our world reflect the collective dysfunctional patterns within each of us, so through introspection and practice the things that are holding us back (and therefore hold our world back) can slowly be set free.

The bad habits we have, the unhelpful patterns we repeat in relationships, our “not enough” or “too much”, our pain and guilt, our anger and frustration, all of it can be eased, stood down. Instead of building more walls it’s time to take them down, just as the Berlin wall came down four years after I saw it’s extended border, there are walls within us that were built to keep us safe once upon an time but no longer serve us.

Just as Freddie Mercury's performance at Live Aid and my own teenage experiences offered profound insights, each of us has a past that holds valuable lessons. In a world where systemic issues often mask our true selves, embarking on a journey of introspection to dismantle the inner walls that hinder our growth can be invaluable. Real change begins within. By addressing what holds us back, we contribute to collective transformation.

What significant personal and cultural events were happening when you were thirteen? How did those pivotal moments shape you? Are there unhelpful patterns and behaviors you still see repeating in your life? Ask yourself about recurring themes in your relationships, your responses to stress, and steps to foster authenticity. Embrace introspection and let it guide you toward a more authentic life, breaking down inner walls just as the Berlin Wall fell, to shape a better world for future generations.

If you enjoyed reading this, you may enjoy Normal Is Dysfunctional That Is the Growth Opportunity, How Can I Create a Better World?, Who were you at 22…what advice would you give your younger self?, Leaders Who Walk the Talk and Are Interested in People and Self Empowerment and Navigating Life's Balancing Act Authentically with Pink and Intuition. To be the first to receive these posts, you can also opt to subscribe to my blog. 

As I was driving home this morning, I noticed what a beautiful crisp autumnal morning it was. The sky was a clear blue, the trees were full of burnt orange leaves, alight in the morning sun and there was a low lying mist coming down from the mountains, laid on the foothills like a blanket.

For those in the northern hemisphere, in full spring, we are at very different places in our biorhythms for sure, with nights getting shorter instead of longer as they are here. Either way, seasonal change is upon us and, with it, an opportunity for reflection.

As I was driving back home from the mountains to my coastal town, I was listening to Dr. Jude Currivan being interviewed, Her words, along with the breathtaking views of nature I was seeing all around me, reminded me that despite the different experiences we are all having, everything is interconnected none the less.

While Dr. Currivan is a scientist - a cosmologist with a background in physics - and holds a Ph.D. in archaeology from the University of Reading, where she investigated ancient cosmologies – what I particularly love is that her work explores the intersection of science, consciousness and spirituality, emphasizing holistic approaches to understanding the universe.

Although much of my interest lies in the microcosm of human psychology, I always view it in relation to our part in the bigger whole. So I was particularly interested when the podcast delved into the topic of conscious evolution; this refers to the progression of self-awareness over time.

From single-celled organisms to complex human communities, each step signifies an increase in consciousness. This expansion of awareness extends from personal growth to collective, planetary, and universal levels. Just as individuals evolve through experiences and learning, so too does humanity and the universe as a whole.

So as I was driving along appreciating how seeming small acts of self awareness can make a huge difference in the world, I was also reflecting on the workshops I have been doing this week with Kate Northrop. Many of the wonderful concepts she talks about in relation to money were timely reminders for me of things I learned in my twenties from the likes of Alvin Hall and Robert Kiyosaki.

Back then I had begun to put many of the concepts - like offering more value rather than more time, and leveraging time and money to make passive income – into play, albeit I was still in an early phase of conscious learning. But between my move across continents to a country with a much smaller economy, and my focus on having and bringing up a family, I hadn’t thought about these principles in many years.

But Kate’s work is now based on something she only really learned the importance of in 2019, and wasn’t featured in any of the work I read or did thirty years ago either. And there’s certainly no spoiler in sharing that her belief that a relaxed nervous system is key to abundance, as she has discussed this concept in her books, talks, workshops, and interviews.

This is the same principle I’ve come to learn in my own work, and it has a universal application, it doesn’t just apply to money. But the beauty of Kate’s work is that this is where she goes deep with it and helps countless people break through their unconscious barriers in relation to this topic of finance specifically, so they are able to define and live the kind of life that is important to them.

It was interesting reflecting on my own path to purpose, which really has never been clear to me, other than my desire for a family and a knowing that I wanted to be of wider service to the world. Money was never a focus, but I was aware enough of it to know I didn’t want it to be an issue either.

I really only went to university because I had no better idea of what to do with my life at that point and, back in the 1980’s and early 90’s, the UK government was offering free education, along with grants for living expenses.  That was followed by postgraduate study in what is now called Human Resources, but I was still none the wiser about what I actually wanted to do as a career.

After a few years in the recruitment industry, I stumbled upon network marketing. In itself, it wasn’t for me, but it did lead to 7 years of personal development and growth on many fronts. As a consequence, I found myself drawn to customer experience roles. I was such a strong advocate for improving internal systems, processes, structures and cultures within organisations based on customer feedback that I won several awards, sat on various working groups, and many opportunities in that field opened up to me.

After emigrating, I continued working in that field, but it soon became evident that transformation was only possible in organisations when the top decision makers were able to see the value of it to the extent of driving it or getting behind it themselves.  Instead, in most organisations, customer experience transformation (which most substantively requires quite a bit in leadership training and development) is often seen as “nice to have” and transformation programmes are often cut in lieu of more short sighted goals.

When I exited that kind of work to bring up a family, I knew it wasn’t a field I wanted to return to at that corporate level because it requires such intrinsic change. However, what the intensity of bringing up children taught me, was that the desire and intellectual know-how alone don’t create intrinsic change.

Why? Because my own deep seated patterning kept tripping me up. As I’ve mentioned many times, for all sorts of reasons most of us end up with some really unhelpful belief patterns that get hardwired in there. Unseen, yet running the show: I’m not worthy, I don’t belong, I’m stupid, I’m too much, I’m not enough, I’m alone, I’m afraid… the list goes on.

These arise in childhood before our conscious memories; they are our ways of interpreting the world depending on many factors, including our earliest experiences and our natural personalities. We aren’t aware that these are then hard wired into our neurobiology, our nervous system, and so our sense of felt safety and “normal” are set in relation to these.

That means we may not always be attracted to compatible or healthy relationships – and that can include our relationship with money, health, sex, intimacy, people, fun, our confidence, and our connectedness with the world around us, among many other things.

So when I think back to a time a couple of decades ago where I created a “root cause” field in a new system we were installing to track customer issues, I think that in my enduring intrigue around the human psyche (and search for something meaningful to contribute) I was always looking for the root cause of dysfunction – the “why” behind a lack of success in many things despite desire, goal setting and right action.

And that is it. Listening to Dr. Jude Currivan discuss various big topics - including our interconnectedness with the cosmos, reframing the universe as a great thought rather than a great object, the significance of the laws of physics, the holographic nature of the cosmos, and the potential for conscious evolution - I can see the first steps are cultivating conscious awareness of our own dysfunction and sense of separateness.

As we navigate our individual paths, let's remember the profound interconnectedness of all things and the potential for conscious evolution within ourselves and the world around us. Whether it's in our relationship with money, our partnerships, our parenting, or any other aspect of our lives, let's embrace the journey of self-awareness and growth as a pathway back to unity, belonging, and to achieving our greatest potential in all things. What small step can you take today to foster greater awareness and connection in your life?

If you enjoyed reading this, you may enjoy Embrace Your Evolution: Who Do You Want to Be this Time Next Year?, Embrace the Wonder of Your Senses Every Day to Embody Your Soul, How to Live in Conscious Self Awareness in the World, Trust That It’s Absolutely Okay to Not Know Where You’re Going and Normal Is Dysfunctional That Is the Growth Opportunity. To be the first to receive these posts, you can also opt to subscribe to my blog. 

I was reading some articles about dominant themes for 2024, one cited destruction lust as the primary theme. This means to be consumed, even at a subconscious level, with the desire for destruction of that which a person perceives to be against their best interests.

It said that “over the course of history, what you see is that when a society feels frustrated and failed enough by the very society they live in, they tend to elect and/or support a leader that promises to create drastic change and fulfill their destruction lust regarding whatever is causing them that frustration and pain.

And these leaders, who are poised to satisfy this destruction lust, are the very ones who instead bring about negative change motivated by self-interest rather than positive change motivated by actual care for the people.

These leaders exploit and manipulate the people’s pain and subsequent destruction lust for their own personal agendas. Throughout history, people have fallen into this trap again and again because the relief that destruction promises, blinds them to the consequences. And what it often takes to get elected, is the exact opposite of what the people actually need.”

It’s interesting as a recent article in Time Magazine talks about how globally more voters than ever in history will head to the polls in at least 64 countries (plus the European Union), representing a combined population of about 49% of the people in the world that are meant to be holding national elections, the results of which – for many – will prove consequential for years to come. 

In New Zealand we will certainly be seeing the ramifications of the 2020 election in which the Labour Party won a historic victory, being the first party to form a majority government in the MMP era, for many years to come. It is not unsurprising the pendulum swung in the opposite direction last year when the national election then saw the worst defeat of a sitting government since the introduction of the MMP system; with Labour losing almost half their electoral seats in Parliament.

What really struck me, as I was applying some critical thinking to whether and whom to vote for last year, was how the left/right arguments were so dominant and distracting. When plotting where political parties sit on a continuum, there appears little notice or credence to the other axis that represents a continuum between personal power and a nanny state.

After the complete loss of many personal freedoms during Jacinda Arden’s time in power, it was something I personally paid a lot of attention to. As far as I can see, fear drove many of the supporters of her party’s decisions to fall in behind them without critical questions being raised.

When I wrote Is It Time to Break Free of That Holding Pattern You’ve Been In? there was a recommendation to evaluate decisions from the perspective of imagining how we might feel looking back on those decisions after we are dead. And to become as aware as possible of the positive and negative consequences of those decisions before we make them.

In the article about 2024, it was suggested that it will be a pivotal year and decisions will play such a big role that decision making is a contender for the dominant theme.

It says ”When it comes to making decisions this year, each and every one of us must gather all the information possible, without only seeking information that confirms our biases. We must also deeply know our values.”
Knowing my values hasn’t always been easy to articulate. Among things I value most deeply - and believe in vehemently - are human potential and personal empowerment. I like the article’s reminder to share inspiring and heartwarming stories and post beautiful images that remind people of the magic of life on Earth. Human potential may not always be obvious and yet it is always there, ready to be unleashed through the making of intentional choices and purposeful decisions. This, it suggests, is the antidote to the desire for destruction.

I can well believe it. I think one thing we humans all share is a strong desire for freedom of choice. From Mel Gibson’s well known movie battle cry “Freedom!” as William Wallace in the movie Braveheart, through to  Viktor Frankl’s Man’s Search for Meaning, books and movies – fiction and non-fiction – abound with the theme of our human capacity when our freedom is thwarted.

Years ago I commented (in a company I worked for) on how marvelous it would be if we could repurpose every person in our call centres, give them the freedom to bring their own values, talents and gifts to work every day in order to best serve the company’s main goals and aspirations. The response was interesting; it flushed out fears of how people would take advantage and couldn’t be trusted.

Perhaps. I have read about various experiments where people have been given freedoms they had wanted and abused them, but those experiments then show what is only logic – when faced with the natural consequences of their choices (rather than society’s punitive consequences) over the longer term - behaviours changed and people become more responsible and accountable.

I believe in the potential of human beings to achieve great things, to recognise their interconnectedness and act with cumulative effects in mind. I believe good decision making requires people to practice making decisions full stop, we will make bad decisions along the way, but we will learn.

As mentioned, throughout history, people have fallen into the trap again and again of following, electing and/or support a leader that promises to create drastic change and fulfill their destruction lust regarding whatever is causing them that frustration and pain, heedless of the consequences.

These are patterns that we can see when we step back. To be able to do this, I need space and time to think and contemplate. What space and time to contemplate do most people take in today’s world? As we move forward and we are faced with decisions about which leaders to follow and support, especially when they promise drastic change, it will be more vital than ever to be able to step back and really critically examine all of those promises and consequences and not just be blinded be people promising to take away pain points.

So how well can you articulate your own values? Where are the pain points in your own life that could blind you to making good decisions? And where and when can you make regular time in your life for reflection and contemplation so that you are able to maintain a broader perspective?

If you enjoyed reading this, you may enjoy Leverage the Astonishing Power of Intuition, Flow and Kindness, How to Receive and Be More Confident in Your Needs, Desires and Opinions, Explore Your Limitless Potential, Is It Time to Break Free of That Holding Pattern You’ve Been In? and Life – Will You Take the Easy Way or the Hard Way? To be the first to receive these posts, you can also opt to subscribe to my blog.

“My hope for you is that you become the fullest expression of yourself.
 
This is the road to maturity.
 
I want you to know you can do hard things and facing bad feelings won't kill you, in fact it's the key to your best life.
 
The day you realise:

• you take full responsibility for your own feelings, without blame, shame or guilt being placed on others, and
• you let others have their own feelings without judgments or taking on any needless blame

 
is the day you are available to fulfill your potential and become the most authentic version of you.
 
After a hard day, take responsibility for your feelings and deal with life, it will make you stronger and more mature than any substance, drink, device or other distraction will.
 
Feel your feelings, name them, and own them. Every day.
 
Don't tap out. And if you do, be kind to yourself. Those who succeed in maturing into the fullest expression of themselves keep failing and keep getting back up.
 
The world needs more mature people. You can do this. I love you.”
 
I wrote this for my children, but it has been my personal mission for some time and my highest hope for humanity in this next period of human evolution.
 
I wrote it because they’re at an age and stage of curiosity about the things adults do, things that aren’t healthy, and particularly toxic and harmful to growing minds and bodies, like drinking and drugs and all the other things they can’t and shouldn’t do or try until they are older.
 
It made me think about what really is important, and certainly substance use isn’t something to be flippant or casual about. It's not something I do or support, but neither do I want to create big resistance to it, which will just make them more determined to try it because they see it in many places.
 
But toxic substances aside, I see many of our next generation tapped out on screens, not feeling their feelings. It’s the consumerist society; shopping and eating rubbish are in the quick dopamine hit category. Is that just a precursor?
 
We have a generation who have just been through a prolonged period of social isolation in their critical formative years of social and emotional development. Mental health issues are bound to be on the rise, and they are.
 
When I see what I saw in my own youth, the blatant hypocrisy of adults - be it in people I know, or on TV, or in the media, the hypocrisy of my youth alerts my nervous system “danger”, someone is trying to paint a distorted reality.
 
What comes to mind is “What you do speaks so loudly I cannot hear what you say”. Ralph Waldo Emerson's famous quote is as accurate and meaningful today as it was back in the 1800's. Many of us know it in its more generalized form: actions speak louder than words.
 
I am a truth teller and while those who have confused, undermined, disoriented and pulled the rug from under me in the past with their lies and hypocrisy have left an indelible mark on my life, that mark is now a reminder to ignore their nonsense and see through the distortion. 
 
But I also remember that to engage in unnecessary arguments is to shout at an empty boat. It is not necessary as I'm already standing on solid ground. 
 
What it boils down to for me as a parent is that it is natural for kids to be curious about things they see and hear about, particularly if they are not allowed those things. Making a big deal of it is only going to pique interest, but endorsing it isn’t the answer either.
 
For my own part, I try and practice what I preach, sometimes I fail, but I own it quickly these days. It’s not always been an easy journey; there have been some uncomfortable and downright painful moments over the years as life has reflected back to me aspects of myself through others that I need to look at.
 
My gran used to say “Oh to see ourselves as others see us”, which was a quote from a Burns’ poem where he essentially says in his fine Scots language is “To see ourselves as others see us would free us from many a blunder and foolish notion”. Over the years I have had those moments of seeing myself through others’ eyes, and it’s taught me not to judge others as much because I’ve been there myself.
 
So for all that, I am back where I started
 
“My hope for you is that you become the fullest expression of yourself.
 
This is the road to maturity.
 
I want you to know you can do hard things and facing bad feelings won't kill you, in fact it's the key to your best life.
 
The day you realise:

• you take full responsibility for your own feelings, without blame, shame or guilt being placed on others, and
• you let others have their own feelings without judgments or taking on any needless blame

 
is the day you are available to fulfill your potential and become the most authentic version of you.
 
After a hard day, take responsibility for your feelings and deal with life, it will make you stronger and more mature than any substance, drink, device or other distraction will.
 
Feel your feelings, name them, and own them. Every day.
 
Don't tap out. And if you do, be kind to yourself. Those who succeed in maturing into the fullest expression of themselves keep failing and keep getting back up.
 
The world needs more mature people. You can do this. I love you.”
 
If you enjoyed reading this, you may enjoy How to Let Go of Your Attachment to Your Feelings, Expectations and Beliefs, Switch Focus to Get Unstuck,  Leverage Your Feelings to Find Your Authentic Self, How Exploring Mortality, Love, and Grief to Leads to Poignant and Profound Insights and Do You Always Express Your True Feelings? To be the first to receive these posts, you can also opt to subscribe to my blog.

Here in New Zealand, as in many places throughout the world, it’s Mother’s Day. As I receive good wishes and gifts from my own children, and see and hear the delights of such from other friends who are also mothers, along with a beautiful appreciation of my role as a mother from a burgeoning relationship, I have felt called to also contemplate the deeper meaning of the term mother.

The mother that resides within and for all of us.

The mother consciousness, as defined by author Sarah Durham Wilson, says “you are perfect exactly the way you are. Every breath you take is a gift to the world. There is nothing you could do to make me stop loving you. I will always be here. I will pick you up when you fall down. Go after every dream. I’m right here, I love you.”

She talks about the archetypal journey from maiden to mother, which I think men can also relate to through their own childhood and inner child. Her journey work starts with meditating with that young child, the little girl (or boy) inside who has been waiting to be mothered for a very long time.

Sarah makes the point that patriarchalised mothers don’t have the energy and the fortitude to be the primordial femme. The patriarchy just bleeds into everything and becomes programming “this life is hard… don’t even try…stay small, you’ll be protected…” and then there is that look “that makes you feel you’ll never be good enough, she will never approve of me”.

Therefore, in seeking to connect with the primordial mother energy, my first job was to sit in meditation with the maiden, the little girl inside who had been waiting to be mothered. And I started the practice of hearing her, heading into the underworld and making reparations. And then, as Sarah says so sublimely, “you start to forgive and release, to alchemise maiden pain into mother wisdom. The pain becomes the medicine”.

It truly does. My childhood may not have been perfect, but my relationship with my mother was everything I needed in order to grow into the person I’ve become today, I wouldn’t change a thing. As I reflect back on my female lineage, mum may often have led with the sharp side of her sword, but it ultimately helped define my edges as I journeyed through life.

She also taught me the value of being present in sickness, of drawing on my own reserves, of trusting my own judgment and of allowing others to be who they are. Her mother, my gran, taught me the value in being alone, of not needing to furnish anyone with an explanation for what my own needs and desires are, to simply live them. And my dad’s mum – though long gone – is with me always and immortalized in her gentle energy that remains with me and her wise saying “what’s for you won’t go by you”.

Mothering my inner child has helped integrate a great deal of unhelpful patterns and behaviours, which had been helpful as a child but had become outdated and no longer served me, with the parts of myself that I had suppressed, denied and disowned over the years. I can’t say the journey is at an end, for that will come with my last breath, but I’m in a much healthier place than I have ever been.

In terms of the journey from Sarah Durham Wilson’s perspective, she says that once we have mastered alchemizing our pain into medicine, then we meet the cherishing mother – the opposite of the patriarchal consciousness:

“We have to practice going inward and meeting the cherishing mother until it becomes closer and closer to how we talk to ourselves and how we talk to others. The work is to see ourselves through the great mother’s eyes, which is to see ourselves with an incredible amount of love”.

Being a mother who vowed when my children were born that they would be allowed to become simply who they are – while respecting others for who they are – I’ve had a lot of practice at feeling into the cherishing mother when I am interacting with them. However, intention and reality are not always the same and so sometimes I fail at this, but I never lose sight of the aim.

And in many respects that is becoming much easier now that I am easier on myself, now that I am connecting to myself more and more through the cherishing mother.

From Sarah’s perspective, this is when we move into mother work. “We learn to build an inner model of the mother we needed when we were little, and the woman our world needs us to be now”. The last step is then to bring that energy to the surface, to the world.

As I sat down to write this today, I thought about where I am in life right now. I am an active mother of beautiful children, and of my inner child. The act of mothering the three of us is time consuming and important, especially for them as they move through their adolescent years and into their teens. It is the most important focus in my life at this point.

But I am also moving closer to bringing that energy out into the world. Contemplating what to write this morning, I felt called to another mother, Mother Nature, in order to feel into the thread that wanted unraveled in this contemplation. And in seeking direction from that calm, gentle lapping of the waves on the shore as I walked along the beach, I found what I wanted on this special mothering Sunday.

“Mothering” says Sarah, “in the way of the great mother caring for us as her children. Like a deep nurturing, a deep protection, a deep unconditional love”.

I hope that you will take the time to mother yourself, to sit down with your wounds and to love them through this mothering energy. It is time for us to bring kindness, compassion and love right back to the heart of where it is needed, beating inside our chests and radiating out into the world.

If you enjoyed reading this, you may enjoy  Should We Abandon Happiness as the Impossible Dream?, How Does Who You Say I Love You to Heal the World?, The Quiet Whisperings of Truth That Inspire Our Life, The People Who Hurt Us Are Vehicles for Our Growth and Be the Change You Want to See. To be the first to receive these posts, you can also opt to subscribe to my blog.

Last week my kids were watching the Kim Possible movie. It’s about a teenage spy who feels overshadowed by a new agent. She loses her identity as “being the best” and doesn’t know who she is anymore. Her mum says “You are who you have always been, you’re still Kim Possible”.

The same day I read a quote from Glennon Doyle “Ask a women who she is and she will tell you who she loves, who she serves and what she does – I am a wife/sister/friend/career woman. The fact that we define ourselves by our roles is what makes us untethered and afraid. If a woman defines herself as a wife, what happens when her partner leaves? Or the kids go to college? Or the company folds?”

I observe the same regardless of gender, our roles in relation to others seem to define our very sense of self.
Perhaps having been through many changes in my life that have redefined the roles I’ve played within relationships and careers and other arenas, it has helped me to see the qualities that make me uniquely me:

• I am always curious about why people behave the way they do
  
• I am always curious about life, energy and creation beyond the physical senses
  
• I am always curious about the interconnectedness of everything on our planet, seen and unseen, understood and misunderstood, and beyond
  
• I am always looking for ways to best express my thoughts and feelings
  
• I am generally kind, sensitive, thoughtful and generous in nature
  
• I am a person of my word, and take promises and responsibilities very seriously
  
• I enjoy being around people who evoke my curiosity and evolve my worldview
  
• I prefer quality over quantity
  
• I love being out in nature, especially near the ocean and other bodies of water
  
• I trust in the process of change and transformation - in all its guises. I’ve seen it from a retrospective standpoint enough to welcome it in and embrace it even though it’s usually not the most pleasant experience
  
• And I am well aware that I am not everyone’s cup of tea
  

There are times when different parts of me take the lead, and those parts are not always defined by healthy behaviors, yet they were all born from healthy reactions that – at the time – served me. I’ve had to look at these parts of me, the behavioural patterns that may no longer serve and observe, question and make different choices in order to create healthier patterns.

As a result there are times I can be fiercely independent and at other times codependent. There are times when I am centered and confident, and others when I am anxious or in flight or fight mode. There are times when I’m deep and serious and others when I’m carefree and playful. There are times I am extremely introverted and closed off from the world, and others when I am open and social and really quite extrovert. There are times when I’m present and times when I’m distracted. I’m human.

You might like me, you might not. You might like me one minute and hate me the next. My job is to learn to be okay with that rather than bend my shape to fit something you might like and lose myself again in the process. I’m always coming back to myself, and that happens more frequently and with a stronger pull these days if I veer off course.
I listened to someone express their opinion on something recently, who felt the need to preface it with these words:

“Things do not seem to me to always match the popular narrative. We are living in a time where people are being silenced and alternative opinions are being monitored for questioning the narratives pushed to the public. It is a time of living in fear of ridicule, judgment and social persecution.

Even if I wanted to share my most honest insights about the global and collective energies I would likely be censored, deplatformed or trolled. I am aware I have to filter much of what I have to say, to be careful with my wording so as not to offend others. Yet ultimately I am not trying to convince anyone of anything, I am not attached to anyone needing to believe my truth as their own.”

I feel the truth of where they were coming from. In so many ways, aspects of this world seem to be going backwards. While I firmly believe this is actually part of a process of “turning up the heat” on the things that really need to change, I also believe that the thing that will see us through is getting a clearer view on who we each authentically are.

I read an email from Brianna MacWilliam yesterday “Oprah once said that the greatest discovery of all time is that a person can change his future by merely changing his attitude, which I personally found really inspiring. But she left out one really crucial part – how damn hard it can be to change your attitude when so much that compels our thoughts, feelings and behaviours is largely unconscious, and therefore beyond our awareness and control. That is of course, until you become aware. Then a whole lot more falls within the bounds of your control”.

I believe the key to human evolution right now lies in this bit of work, becoming aware of who we each truly are. The ability to define our qualities and talents and anchor ourselves in that, to observe our thoughts and our reactions and figure out which part of us is in the driving seat and whether it is serving us, this is the key to a kinder, more empowering world. So who are you? Go ahead and introduce yourself to the remarkable human behind the roles that you currently play and anchor yourself in that.

If you enjoyed reading this, you may enjoy Introducing the Authentic You, Take a Small Break from Your Life to Restart from Your Authentic Core, Leverage Your Feelings to Find Your Authentic Self, Want Better Health? Be Shrewd About Stress, Change Unhealthy Reactions, Meditation – the Cornerstone to Your Success and Do You Always Express Your True Feelings? To be the first to receive these posts, you can also opt to subscribe to my blog.

Non-binary means not relating to, or composed of, or involving just two things. While the term is becoming popularised though those who do not identify with the male or female gender, I am really excited about what it is signalling for our human growth potential.

When someone close recently identified as non-binary, it made absolute sense to me. I believe we are all a mix of masculine and feminine traits and – like everything else – it’s easier to think of people on a spectrum in terms of their sexuality rather one of a definitive two things.

I thought the same thing this week when I saw a post from an old friend supporting a guy they knew who had donated money to a political party, and some followers of his music were outraged, threatening to sabotage his musical career because they didn’t like his choices.

As Morgan Freeman said “Just because I disagree with you does not mean I hate you. We need to relearn that in our society”.  

For a long time we have been living in a black and white world. One that denotes something as good or bad, true or false, male or female and so on. This kind of polarisation has been no more obvious than in the recent pandemic where governments and the media did their utmost to promote fear and polarisation over the choice of a vaccine.

Families have been torn apart by this idea that you need to do something in order to keep everyone else safe, and if you don’t you are not only irresponsible but a bad person. As I said in Ask No One to Be Different So That You Can Feel Good I feel an inherent truth in those words, not the ones I heard espoused by politicians.

Brianna McWilliams explains how it is that some of us come to appreciate a broader, subtler palette of thoughts and emotions than others. Brianna specialises in the area of attachment theory and how it affects our relationships as adults. She notes that those with a disorganised attachment, also known as fearful-avoidant attachment, are particularly prone to black and white thinking.

This arises, she says, because as children we learn to understand our feelings through our caregivers tuning in and reflecting back to us what we are experiencing which builds our vocabulary and understanding beyond the binary “It feels good” or it feels bad”. If our caregivers don’t or cannot reflect back more understanding than that, we then lack the same.

Worse, in the era of behaviourist parenting – still the predominant style – there is a tendency to translate behaviour into beliefs that the behaviour itself defines the person as inherently good or bad, introducing the eternally damaging dynamic of shame into the equation along with guilt.

I like to challenge myself in recent years to consciously look at things in a broader context than right or wrong, which my parents had strong ideas about. Instead of looking through a lens of or, I look through the lens of and. This leads me to see the many ways in which things can be both right and wrong.

For example, although there were many ways in which I could demonstrate I have been victimised in certain relationships, there has always been learning and personal growth in such circumstances.

What if there’s an inherent juxtaposition in everything because – instead of a binary world – we live in a world of contrast, a contrast that allows me to figure out my own unique true north instead of being taught it by someone else?
And what if every day that changes on some level? The person known as Shona Keachie is a collection of trillions of cells, a collection of emotions, experiences, multiple psyches, skills, opinions and on and on.

I first felt this acutely when – in my twenties – I did a lot of personal development work. I remember listening to Florence Littauer talk on stage about four distinct personality profiles and – as hugely entertaining and insightful as it was – I knew life is more complex. It can be helpful to see patterns, but it is also true that I can show up differently in a work situation than a personal relationship and differently again in a friendship, and different in all of those depending on the people within them.

As Tony Robbins said “Inside of you, there are parts of you that are incredibly gracious and generous, but there is also a part that is selfish. We all have loving parts and not so loving parts, playful parts and boring parts, courageous parts and fearful parts”.

Then he said, poignantly, “The real question is not Who are you? The real question is Which part of you is in charge right now?” In fact, Tony firmly believes he doesn’t change people; he just gets them to put another part of themselves in charge.

I believe that applies to all the various parts of us, the tangible and intangible. The mind, body and emotions can be complex and ever-changing. To me the LGBTQIA2S+ community are on the leading edge of a new kind of – and kinder - approach to the human experience on Earth.

Who we are is not so simple, it’s shaped by many things. To try and make anything from our sexuality to our cereal preferences and any other minor or major life choices a straightforward binary equation is far too limiting, it stymies our growth as individuals and as a society. Is it time to embrace the full spectrum from shades of grey to the rainbow of choices that define our uniqueness in every way?

If you enjoyed reading this, you may enjoy Don’t Tell Me What to Believe - Help Me Find What I Already Know, Are the Most Loving, Courageous and Compassionate Parts of You in the Driving Seat? The Inevitable Pain of Returning to Love After Years of Abandoning Yourself, How Do I Honour What I Believe and Care Less What You Think? and Shine Your Inner Light - Let No One Keep You Down . To be the first to receive these posts, you can also opt to subscribe to my blog.

Many decades after the war had ended, holocaust survivor Dr Edith Eger finally began to do the inner work necessary to thrive in her life. She said “At Auschwitz, at Mauthausen, and on The Death March, I survived by drawing on my inner world. I found hope and faith in my life within me, even when I was surrounded by starvation and torture and death.”

However, of her life after the war, she said “My inner world was no longer sustaining, it became the source of my pain, unstoppable memories, loss and fear… I tried to banish the memories of the past, I thought it was a matter of survival.”

Then she reflects “Only after many years did I come to understand that running away doesn’t heal pain… (In America) I was further geographically than I had ever been from my former prison, but here I became psychologically imprisoned… running from my past, from my fear.”

Dr Egar, now a renowned psychologist, also observes “There is no hierarchy of suffering. Nothing makes my pain worse of better than yours”.

She has worked with many patients, both those with overt trauma like her own, and those suffering from more covert chronic trauma of childhood development in a world where parenting has centered on controlling behaviour and ignoring feelings for far too long.

Dr Gabor Mate, another child of the holocaust, agrees and says “Trauma creates coping mechanisms.  One way is soothing that leads to addictions, but another way is, if you get the message that you’re not good enough, then you might spend the rest of your life trying to prove that you are, compensating by taking on too much”.

I recognise all these dynamics at play in my own life. I realise I was compensating my whole childhood for my mother’s poor relationship with her father: an abusive, alcoholic liar who died of lung cancer when she was only seven years old. It understandably shaped her whole way of being in the world, as does everyone’s childhood.

My mother was always afraid of anyone getting the better of her, or of us, of being duped, and – as such – had strong unshakeable opinions about the way things should be and a very controlling nature. As children, her reaction to our behaviour (my brother and I) dictated the landscape, and I was never sure whether she would be angry or calm, but she was angry a lot.

To compensate I became hyper attuned to everyone else’s feelings in order to anticipate danger, a perfectionist to ward it off and highly anxious in my relational attachment style.

Like Dr Egar, mum banished the memories of the past and talked about them very rarely, and she certainly made no concession that she had been shaped by her own childhood experience in a way that did not allow her to be the fullest expression of herself.

Now a mother myself, I have been forced to confront the unhealthy behaviour patterns I myself adopted as a child many times over. When I read Dr Egar’s words about her return to Auschwitz decades later, I recognised the truth of them straight away:

“Arbeit Macht Frei, seeing those words made me realise they do spark with a certain truth. Work has set me free I realise. Not the work the Nazis meant – the hard labour of sacrifice and hunger, of exhaustion and enslavement. It was the inner work. Of learning to survive and thrive, of learning to forgive myself, of helping others do the same. And when I do this work I am no longer the hostage or prisoner of anything.”

When I was listening to an interview with Sarah Durham Wilson this week, author of Maiden to Mother: Unlocking Our Archetypal Journey into the Mature Feminine, she really spoke to this sense of many of us being stuck in our child selves.

She talks about the journey of meeting with the maiden (or master) the little girl or boy inside who has been waiting to be mothered for a very long time, about journeying to the underworld (the hurts experienced and the compensations we made) where you start to forgive and release, to alchemise the pain into mothering wisdom. The pain becomes medicine.

This is what makes Dr Edith Egar and Dr Gabor Mate so good at their jobs and able now to speak on world stages about their experiences and lessons, not just from their own lives, but that of the many thousands of people they have helped. They have taken their pain and alchemised it to medicine.

And so this is the task that Sarah Durham Wilson points to. The journey from the patriarchialised mother, where it’s all about keeping you small as a (so called) act of protection, to the great Mother consciousness, which is the opposite and says “you are perfect as you are and cherished always”.

My own healing journey has attracted many more opportunities through other relationships over the years to see all the unhealthy patterns and behaviours I adopted. My work right now is to break the pattern of fighting to have my opinion heard, of my chemical addition to chasing closeness from those unable to give it (the emotionally unavailable), and to ease the pervading sense of anxiety over constant rejection and abandonment.

To break the patterns of codependency, enmeshment trauma, and an anxious attachment style, I’m learning to have and hold healthy boundaries, to have reasonable expectations within relationships and communicate my needs directly without blame or criticism, to take responsibility for feeling my pain and discomfort rather than trying to avoid it by jumping into my head, or trying to fix others’ problems, and to take responsibility for regulating my nervous system.

I vowed to my closest friends that I will keep heading into the underworld to alchemise my pain until it becomes medicine, to keep going in and meeting the cherishing mother until it becomes how I talk to myself and others, and to bring that energy out into the world just as those before me have done.

What unacknowledged pain is there within you? What hurts did you compensate for as a child, what coping mechanisms did you develop, that may now be creating limitations in your life? Are you ready to head into the underworld and do your personal work? Is it time to heal ourselves and to bring back the cherishing mother energy that has been absent for a long time?

If you enjoyed reading this, you may enjoy How to Attract the Blissful Relationships You Actually Deserve, Great Relationships Happen When You Put You First, The Almighty Growth Opportunity in Dealing With Emotionally Unavailable People, Get Emotionally Healthy - Is It Time to Break the Chain of Pain?  and Risk Losing People to Make Room for Those Who Can Honour and Cherish You. To be the first to receive these posts, you can also opt to subscribe to my blog.

I was talking to various friends this week about those three magic words I love you. Our experiences of hearing and speaking those words all vary widely, and my own relationship with them has changed dramatically over the years.

The first person I ever said those words to, and recall hearing those words from, was my boyfriend when we were twelve or thirteen and we used to write letters to one another. I grew up believing – mainly through movies and books - those romantic relationships were where a person expressed any kind of big feelings.

Saying I love you to family members was more in the domain of those crazy Americans we used to watch on TV. Certainly not in our homes, nor in popular culture in the UK, it just wasn’t something people said to each other; a definite overhang of centuries of emotional repression.

Yet in recent years it has crept in. I personally remember the creep very well, I didn’t just suddenly find myself saying those words to all and sundry, and still don’t of course, I am selective. But my world of expressing and receiving love now goes beyond romantic relationships and it was a process.

My niece and I were having a conversation about what is happening with Russia and the Ukraine. To me, this is all connected; it isn’t something that happens in isolation. I was sharing with her that I resonated with one of Brene Brown’s posts where she said “We stand with every Ukrainian. We stand with the thousands of brave Russians demonstrating in protest, risking their safety to do so, and all those devastated by this unprovoked, terrifying, and reprehensible war”.

It also brought up for me the hundreds of thousands of protesters around the world whose governments are not only ignoring their messages about the overreach in regards to COVID19 restrictions, but vilifying peaceful protesters in the mainstream media as violent troublemakers. I’ve seen many times now firsthand live footage of what is actually happening versus what gets reported.

So, what do I think is really going on... first COVID19 extremism and now Putin invades the Ukraine, is the world going to hell in a hand cart? 

No I'd say not. I'd say it's more like Mother Earth is ridding herself of a poison. All that was hidden beneath is bubbling to the surface. The atrocities of 80 years ago amid the horrors of WW2, with characters like Hitler, Stalin, Mussolini, Franco etc did not just disappear. The narcissistic traits that created pain and war then are still seen in many people today, in many households, workplaces and they are very obviously and sadly seen in many people in power positions.

I think this is a time of taking off rose coloured glasses, and many still have them on so there could be more to come, but we are collectively starting the process of clearing out all the junk in our trunk.

As I awakened to the lie that power is an external force to be complied with, and is instead an internal allowing of love from within, that is when space was cleared within me. I have come to feel this love as the powerful force it is.

I think it was around the time I started to find my feet as an adult I can remember my mum saying “Love you Sho”. For a long time those words would send me into freeze mode. As I spoke to in Who Are You Protecting? Why Telling Your Story Is Powerful the relationship I had had with my mum in childhood had created a lot of anxiety as I grew. Love was not unconditional.

As in most households and upbringings, there were expectations around behaviour and, if not met, there would be punishment, withdrawal of love and words such as “you should be ashamed”. So for many years I was not able to receive those three words I love you from my mum, nor anyone else outside of a romantic relationship.

I would feel like a cat caught in the headlights and avoid saying anything in response and come up with other phrases to smooth over that awkward moment. It wasn’t really until I started doing my own inner work not long before my mum died that I began to clear space for the love that I am to rise up within me.

There was – and is ongoing – a necessary and conscious look at all that dwells in the shadows, and a deliberate process of forgiveness and healing. This also gave rise to new possibilities, new connections and a place to receive and give those three words more freely.

But perhaps the biggest gift has been the ability to feel those three words in relation to myself. As I have begun to reintegrate the parts of me I had rejected as I grew, because they hadn’t fit into what was expected or desired of me back then.

In recent years I’ve been able to more easily say to my closest confidants, family members and girlfriends “I love you” with more and more ease. To me it means something like “I see you, the real you, in all your glory and pain. I’ve got your back. I trust you not to betray me. And it hurts my heart when I see you being dishonored”.

And it’s also been easier to say it to my guy friends recently without that romantic overlay/entanglement. That boyfriend from my younger days is still in my world. The level of intimacy in our relationship has obviously changed over the years as we each went on to have other relationships, had kids and moved to different countries.

But our friendship has endured and I love to hear how he and his family are doing, and we generally have the other’s back when life throws some pain our way. These things are not always easy, and I have to respect and honour the other people in my people’s lives. Everyone is at a different stage of their own journey and the relationship they have in terms of self love and the words I love you.

I do believe that as each person finds their way back to and expresses the love that they are, it purges more and more of the poison that stops each of us from feeling and receiving the love that is there.

The more we take responsibility for healing our own wounds, the less we will see of the atrocities that are happening today. We can rise in anger, and well we should, it is better than powerlessness, but we can also find the powerful force of love within and allow that to rise up and to get to know our true nature which is powerful beyond imagination.

If you enjoyed reading this, you may enjoy Why the Integration of Feelings and Logic Will Save the Human Race, How to Quieten the Inner Critic, When to Act on Possibility, Embracing the Feminine within All of Us, , What You Give Your Attention to Is Your Greatest Contribution, Connect to Your Well-Being  and Could a Broader Perspective Benefit Us All Right Now? To be the first to receive these posts, you can also opt to subscribe to my blog.