The réalisations in writing this blog have given me back my mother and brought closure to a very disturbing re-occurring dream.
Looking back over our lives we often search for reasons why we did this or that, and sometimes we come across difficult or challenging experiences…
Occasionally we muster the courage, or the will, or even the self-love to ‘go there’ again. To unpack what we remember, to apply our adult knowledge, experience, perspective and understanding to the child we once were who was hurt by the deeds or words of a loved one, which imprisoned us in the lovelessness of our own doubt, self-judgement and denial of our own senses, locking us away under deep layers of self-imposed protection for fear of being hurt further.
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As a teenager I loved collecting things from bath cube wrappers, beer mats, cigarette boxes, to coins; not necessarily anything of value but I loved getting something different to add to my collection. I also loved organising them together into sets, especially the coins by their country of origin.
As an adult I collected records of my favourite pop artists, I read and kept storybooks (historical romance), and painted and bought loads of artist materials (acrylic). I hardly ever threw anything away. I’ve been collecting shells and pebbles from beaches as long as I can remember, and there would be bowls full around the house. That’s the one collection that lasted through till now. I also bought souvenirs in the different countries I visited and displayed them as a reminder. For some years I had a beautiful collection of dark blue glass objects on my east-facing kitchen window, because I…
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Why hide the loveliness of you?
“…They know and have claimed the fact that the beauty that shines forth from their eyes comes from within and is not something that can be acquired through money, sweat or competition…”
During a shared walk, a friend of mine mentioned that her son had visited with his new partner the previous evening. They had chatted for a while before the couple left and my friend, much to her horror, recollected that all the while, she had found herself running an internal dialogue about the attributes, physical and otherwise, of the young woman.
My friend was deeply shocked and explained that she had found herself engaging thoughts such as “her chin is a bit saggy”, “her complexion is sallow”, “her hips are bigger than her breasts” and “she is shy”. From there she had jumped to her own physical attributes and had made self-directed and critical comments such as “I’ve never liked the size of my hips, they’ve been the bane of my life”, etc. etc.
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Why are the NHS and other ‘health-care’ organisations so dis-respectful, unsupportive and in-human towards their own medical men and women?
Are we ultimately responsible for this gross abuse of the people who try to patch us up, offer the health care we demand?
Maybe it is time for us all to collectively accept responsibility for our own well-being?
To ensure that we have a fully stocked First Aid cabinet at home.
To take responsibility for our own eating, smoking, drinking, drug-taking, adrenaline-seeking activities, because we KNOW that they are harmful to our bodies and minds.
To fully understand why we do our best to sabotage our own lives: why we depend on excessive food intake, cigarettes, alcohol, caffeine, drugs and extreme activities?
To fully understand and appreciate deeply how we feel when we reach for these substances. Why they make us feel better? What is it about our lives that we don’t like or feel uncomfortable about that we must either divert away our attention or numb ourselves to?
When we start asking these questions and then finding our own truthful answers; then we can start taking responsibility for our own lives.
And then we can stop becoming burdens to our over-worked and over-stressed medical staff.
“…The noble call to Medicine has been suffocated by the bureaucratic force exerting itself as the medical industry…’
Source: The Dark Side of Doctoring
Source: Selfie As A Way To Self-Love
I used to feel very self-conscious and super-critical because I felt I looked less than I wanted to look. Now I am realising that I was frightened of and not accepting my own vulnerability and fragility which I am now beginning to embrace as these facets are a major part of who I am. ❤
Great blog on the value and appreciation we pay to low-paid work.
“…Back to the toilet cleaning. What should make toilet cleaning less worthy than nursing, teaching, being a lawyer, a dentist etc.? It surely gets paid less if that is your profession, but it is not less important or less worthy than anything else we do…”
Just lately I remembered that when I was in high school, it was a regular prediction/warning of my father that if I wasn’t studying well in school and university I would end up as a toilet woman, meaning cleaning public toilets for a meagre living.
Cleaning toilets in public places like big service stations, train stations, or any public toilets, was – when I grew up in Germany – regarded at the time as the lowest work you could do, and possibly the lowest paid job too. Toilet women would spend the whole day cleaning a certain group of toilets – let’s say the women’s toilets at the train station – and in between sit at a table with a plate where customers were to place their coins in payment.
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Not everyone openly indulges in grief like Queen Victoria; but how many do so behind closed doors, or let their hurts empower their choices…? How many of us choose to claim back our lives from our loved ones and start living our own lives again.
An inspiring read by a lovely lady.
by Elizabeth McCann, United Kingdom
When I first came to Universal Medicine I was harbouring a very deep sadness, hurt, pain and bitterness. This was a result of the brutal murder of my brother.
I dealt with this by throwing myself deeper into my work as a radiographer at a London Hospital, winding up my brother’s estate, and by working with the police in South America who were dealing with my brother’s case. In other words, I kept myself very busy in order to numb the pain I was feeling.
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by Alexis Stewart, care worker with the intellectually disabled and yoga teacher, Sydney, Australia.
When I was a girl I used to go to friends’ houses for tea (‘tea’ being a word in England that refers to an early dinner. My favourite tea was macaroni cheese and chips). Going to other people’s houses was always a bit odd, because other people’s families never did things quite the same as my family did; for example some Mums used to tell their kids to wash their hands before eating, which is something my family never did. So when issued with the command to wash my hands by someone else’s Mum, I would dutifully file into the bathroom with the other kids and copy the way that they waved their hands in the general direction of the taps. There was one thing however that most Mums seemed to have in common and that…
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