If being an extreme-giver or an extreme-taker is two sides of the same coin, i.e. both an unhealthy reaction to negative core beliefs – how did I end up in the former camp when I had a good upbringing? It’s not difficult to fathom my ex’s unhealthy behaviours, I’d been close enough to know of their childhood pain and trauma that got them there, I was perplexed at the incongruity of my own situation though.
An otter with a stone
Turning over this kind of question like an otter with a stone, questions arising from my desire to learn, do better, evolve, be healthier, I’ve found the answers appear before me – Poof! Like magic. And so it was, a Sven Erlandson Badass Counselling, short video appeared in my feed. I clicked and within seconds Sven was saying that the common thing with extreme-givers is that they often did come from good upbringings, one where giving was modelled as loving. The difference between healthy and unhealthy then is who you’re doing the giving with – another giver, happy days, or a taker, unhappy days.
So it continued; I was working on my latest journeying assignment from Sven’s ‘There’s a Hole in my Love Cup’ book; the question, ‘who owns me?’ Whose voice is stopping me from being my true authentic self, pipping in with critical commentary? I was drawing a bit of a blank, I could think of some things but wasn’t feeling it. I had a morning yoga class booked so I put down my book, my journal, and my pen and headed to class. During our final savasana, the laying down relaxation bit, our teacher said, “Sometimes it’s ok to just do nothing”. I had a pang of sharp guilt at those words, felt a little sick, and then I remembered why, it was definitely NOT OK in my childhood home to do nothing. In fact it was, and still is in my Mum’s eyes, pretty much a sin. Probably would still be in my Dad’s eyes also, if he was still with us. I’ll be journaling for a bit to pull all those weeds out I’m guessing. Hell, people pay big money these days to learn to relax, struggle to be mindful, or meditate. I was a natural at it as a child, taking myself off on my own to sit under the fruit trees. Now I’m having to re-learn a useful skill that was stolen from me by parents who only valued constant ‘doing’. Mum to this day can’t just sit and just watch a movie, she has to be knitting or ‘doing something’ at the same time – she considers this a virtue. I believed her once, now I think it would be better for her health if she were capable of switching off sometimes, relaxing, or just plain doing nothing.
Finding the questions
Thank you to those supporting me on this journey, it seems asking the questions is enough – the answers will come, from all kinds of unexpected places. Finding the right questions to ask is something this book is helping me with.
I know it’s helping me to evolve as well. How do I know? Something unthinkable for most of my life is now thought, even better – felt. I was talking with a friend about the energy I’d felt recently watching the sunrise over the ocean in a special place. Being a very spiritual person she responded by saying, “You know you can send energy to Jessie, I know you were worried about him.” I looked at her and replied, “Oh Katy, I’m not worried about him anymore, his healing is his own to do, I’m working on my own.” She whopped, leapt up from her seat, hugged me and said triumphantly, “I wasn’t sure you’d ever have the tools to realise that!” Neither did I, isn’t it sinful to not put others first? To be ‘selfish’? I’d felt so preoccupied with worry about Jessie’s pain and how much worse he might be imploding since I left I’d put far less energy into worrying about myself. This journey has already flipped that, and now I not only logically understand what I’ve been told so many times, ‘You need to think of yourself’, ‘it’s not your responsibility to heal / look after this person or that person, look after yourself’, ‘it’s their journey, you live your own.’ I’ve been advised this lesson many times by many wise people and it made sense in my head, but I never felt it, now I feel it. Game-changer.
My new life at 50 