A bit brave

There is no place for looking on the bright side and I’m told that if you don’t grieve for someone then that grief is added to the next time you lose a loved one. So, I’m learning to grieve for those who recently passed but also for those I’ve lived without for decades. Isaac my grandson, my mum and dad, and brothers Jack and Harry. From my family that lived at 26 Coleridge Road, I'm the only one left so I am allowed to be sad. Watching my dad on video for the first time in 40 years and spending time collecting photos of him for the village history, has brought me close to him. In the past, I felt disconnected and impartial about him and his life, but the photos, combined with my counselling have made him more real. I realise that I have never really grieved for him or admired his strength and resilience. I do miss him although I’m not sure he would understand what I am going through. I also miss my brother Jack and am grieving for my little family that lived in Coleridge Road fo

  For months I had been trying to do two jobs at work, covering for my boss but also looking after things at home to help my wife to look after her ailing mother. The skin on my forehead began to peel and I felt utterly exhausted. The doctor told me to go home and rest so, I was lying in bed trying to recover from stress and exhaustion when my wife told me that my boss was going to be forced to retire. Once I wasn’t there to prop him up things were unravelling. I felt helpless and was certain that I had lost the job I had spent my life working towards. I lay in bed and slowly the anxiety crept over me. I wasn’t conscious of the thought but somewhere there was the thought that had hounded me all my life. Everyone was correct about me, I was useless. Kay came into the bedroom, took one look at me, and said that we should go to see our doctor. The doctor prescribed a relaxant and that night I felt better. The following day I got out of bed and worked in the garden. I felt Okay but later t

Adult: Why do you haunt me with your fears? Child: They are your fears as well, but you always try to run away. Adult: What do you mean? Child: When I need you, you go off and sing or swim or play golf. Anything but talking to me and giving me reassurance. Adult: But I don’t know how to do that. I only know how to pretend that everything’s OK. To laugh things off or keep busy. I was taught that men are strong and show a brave face to the world so when the anxiety comes, you are on your own. When I’m busy I can forget about you. Child: But in time that won’t help either of us. I need to tell everyone how I feel but you won’t let me. I need to tell you how I feel. Adult: But I am improving at that. I let you talk to the Samaritans, to the therapist, and sometimes at AMC. Child: You don’t let me. When you are tearful you can’t stop me. You need me to speak out just like I need you to be strong. Am I an embarrassment to you? ADULT: No no, I love you, but I’m not equipped to

  Where’s the Man in the suit? I am undergoing psychodynamic therapy and once a week I spend my time exploring the traumas of my past and the person I am today. I find myself talking about my inner child who is responsible for the pain I am feeling and the man in the suit who represents the man that people see (The Headteacher as I was). This man is strong and resourceful. This is the man who has seen his wife and family through difficult times. This is the man who has faced his worse fears and got on with his life. When I tried Cognitive Behaviour Therapy, this man was easy to locate because he provided the rationality needed to find the positives. What CBT couldn’t help me with was connecting the child to the adult and that was the only way I thought I might deal with my phobia about pain and injury. To some people, this may sound like psychobabble, but it makes sense to me.   At the moment the psychodynamic therapy seems more about the wretchedness of the child and the man in the