I deserve to be…..

I deserve to be….happy…fulfilled….loved….adored…treated with respect….fill in your own word in the space.

Or, as I was challenged to today, just look at those four little words on their own and say them out loud….

I deserve to be…

or simply

I deserve to be me

How does that make you feel? Can you honestly say you feel completely comfortable saying those words out loud?

I know I don’t always. 

Do I deserve to be up on stage sharing my story with 1000 people at our company’s annual event? Why would they be interested in my story? There are so many in that room who are “better” at the business than me, further along, have bigger teams, have gathered more clients, are making more money, helping more people, why would they want to hear from me?

Yet that’s where I was today, up on stage, with new friends, sharing our stories. And from the kind and warm reception we got, and the number of folk who sought me out afterwards to have a chat and say thanks for sharing, I know that I helped them by sharing my story.

But do I believe that I deserve to be there? I’m still not sure…

Our wishes command our reality; it is up to us to ensure that we build our best possible dreams and not our worst nightmare.

I have only recently realised the importance of this simple statement.

Whatever you say to yourself will become the truth; whether you realise it or not.

That is simultaneously immensely exciting and immensely terrifying.

I was pondering away in the car on the way home. I have a half written book, partly in my head, partly on a lost pen drive (please bring that USB stick back to me somehow, universe), and partly re written on my laptop. I started the book in 2008: I had just written a 60,000 word thesis and so thought a book was about the same number of words but might be more fun, and possibly more lucrative. It’s a love story, based in the eccentric world of polo, drawn from the grooming jobs worked over university summer holidays, enjoying crazy ponies, fast cars, and furious fun.

I wrote the bulk of the book when I was on call at a small district general hospital- we did whole 3 day weekends but nothing ever happened. Being on call was a bit like I imagine prison: unlimited hot water, regular meals, satellite TV, a small square stuffy room and hours of inactivity. The devil makes work for idle hands…..I had a lovely pen pal who helped me while away the hours and encouraged me to write.

But in retrospect, the book was going to tell the classic lie we are all sold as girls…the tall, dark, powerful, handsome stranger is abrupt, unavailable and yet charismatic and alluring. It’s all drama and angst and passion and fury. Somehow he is won over, and despite his hardened exterior, turns out to have a heart that can be redeemed by the selfless love of the heroine. She blossoms, safe and cherished and protected and possessed. 

It’s a bullshit ending, to a bullshit story. I didn’t finish writing the book but I did have a damned good go at living it.

To the casual observer, I had it all. A great career as a consultant surgeon, a gorgeous house in the country, a fast car, and a handsome husband with whom I shared my two main passions, climbing and horse riding. All my dreams had come true.

Except it turns out that I was missing some key details from my dreams. 

By the time I was aware of my surroundings as a child my parents were fighting, verbally and physically, quite bitterly. Soon after this my mother scooped me up and we left Germany to live in London. My father didn’t visit for months; I’m pretty sure she didn’t allow it. In the same way we instantly stopped talking German at home. I have struggled to learn German since, despite having a natural ear for every other language I have been exposed to, including the complexities of Hebrew. I’m sure there is a buried fear of speaking German left over from that transition time.

I somehow learned that I must cry for my father quietly and alone, because there would be reprisal rather than comfort. I went everywhere with my mother, out of necessity, but I learned to be quiet and well behaved, and to entertain myself. I learned to read almost as soon as I could talk, and books became my entertainment and my refuge.

As long as I had a book in my hand, I was entirely self reliant, self sufficient and utterly self contained.

My mother provided for my physical and educational needs; I never wanted for the basics- clothes, food or shelter, and was treated to the full Renaissance range of extra curricular activities, school sports, music lessons, judo, basketball, figure skating. I wasn’t allowed to watch seditious TV programmes like Grange Hill, go out to parties or to meet any boys.

I was never told I was loved, never told that I was precious. I don’t remember hugs or cuddles. When I achieved a grade, or passed a test, the focus was always on the missing points, not the success.

And there was a lot of anger under the surface, pure rage, simmering away. 

Little wonder I left as soon as I could. I went to Israel and Australia for a gap year, working with polo ponies, and then to St Andrews for university. And did my best never to go ‘home’. As a junior doctor I worked every single Christmas, and partied wildly every New Year.

Music is the answer

And I had a disastrous time with boys/men. I had no idea how to stand in my own power, build a relationship, no idea that love wasn’t actually meant to be transactional. 

I didn’t love myself. No one had ever showed me what love looked like, so I couldn’t love myself either. I smoked from my teens all the way through to my 40s; every single cigarette I lit was a metaphorical middle finger to my mother’s ultra controlling sanctimony.

When you have no close family, your friends become your life support system. Medicine and especially surgery, is a tough life; it’s impossible to explain to those who aren’t living it how it feels when the ultimate responsibility weighs heavy. I do have fabulous friends; loyal, fierce and honest.

Now don’t get me wrong- I know I’m lucky. I’m slim, fit, strong, incredibly bright, I read about 300 words a minute, I have a great memory and can multi task like a fiend. I have a high threshold for pain, and fear, and like many cortisol babies, I thrive on adrenaline. I have good hand eye coordination and learn fine motor skills quickly.

I know all these things. But I know them as facts. They are not feelings. I don’t feel special. I don’t feel like I deserve to be loved.

The marriage didn’t stand a chance really. If I didn’t love myself, didn’t feel like I deserved to be loved, how could I accept love from anyone else? Let alone find anything remotely resembling healthy, nurturing love.

I picked the dark, handsome, brooding charismatic stranger. Like in the stupid fairytales.

Yes I picked him….based on all the wrong criteria but I picked him. That’s another piece of work.

I did what I thought was love- I made a home, I provided, I cooked and organised and made life run smoothly. I throw the most amazing parties (just take the most eclectic mix of people you can think of and add plenty of food and alcohol). And we had lots of adventures, through climbing. 

And I remained positive, upbeat, independent and self sufficient emotionally, for a long time. Until I was nearly broken.

I didn’t feel the need to address my doubts and fears.  Previously I had always dealt with them on my own, or with my friends. Dealt with or mostly buried, ignored, brushed aside. I actively avoided any self knowledge or contemplation. While my cousin was espousing the benefits of Vaipassana, I knew very clearly that I was not ready to tackle the contents of my head.

I did share them though. Share them!!! I wear them on my sleeve, even now, I’m sure. The predators who are tuned in to this stuff can spot the damaged human a mile off. And actively seek us out, the cortisol babies. Naively I didn’t realise that these wounds I hadn’t dealt with could be weaponised against me. But I was so very good at living a full and happy life as long as I didn’t look too deep under the surface.

Because I am so naturally positive, and a pathological people pleaser, it took me a long time to realise that my wide open world was gradually being curtailed. Once I got better and stronger at climbing, got up a few good hard routes, even some he hadn’t done, suddenly we stopped lead and trad climbing (my forte) and seemed to do a lot more bouldering (his speciality, my weakness). This did nothing for my confidence and fitness, and meant that when I did manage to persuade him to tie onto a rope for me to lead something, we then had a disastrous day. I tried climbing with other people, but then got shit for not spending time with him.

He learned to ride, team chased and loved farm rides, but once his foray into OTTTB rehab failed and he realised getting good at the foundational stuff really isn’t easy, he stopped helping and supporting me with my horses. I then had to do nearly all of the husbandry, organise all the management, and do most of the riding. If I was competing I went eventing on my own, which was actually much less stressful, but the amount of time horses require was all time that we were not spending together.

He was actually the one to sign us up to this fabulous network marketing business, but like other new hobbies, once the shine wore off, he stopped trying, and was pretty negative, to put me off and stop me succeeding at it.

I’m a completer-finisher, so I carried on, with the horses, and with the business. 

I was never not ‘allowed’ to go out and have fun with the doctor crowd, or with other friends, but I got so much shit the next day that it became easier not to go. He wouldn’t come out with me, citing boredom with medic talk or girls chat, but would make sure that all the fun was sucked out of the event post haste. If we went away climbing for the weekend, he would chat to everyone else in the pub except me. Ignored, instead of cherished, rejected instead of wanted.

I went on expedition to Mongolia as a medic, and was welcomed back with a cold shoulder and barely afforded any airtime in company when friends dared to ask about my amazing experiences upon my return.

And my response to this gradual diminution was to try harder, to be the perfect wife, to selflessly predict and fulfil all his needs, because I thought I loved him and because that’s what girls should do. Even kick ass consultant surgeon girls with a high flying career and a punishing on call rota should still look after their house and their man. And because if I didn’t do it, it just didn’t occur.

It all started to take a toll. I was spinning plates, treading water, just about keeping it all together. I was barely coping. I didn’t notice I was unhappy. It takes a lot to wear me down. Work wasn’t as much fun, the immersive meditation of operating became stressful, competing the horses wasn’t as rewarding, I wasn’t pushing myself physically or mentally, I wasn’t stretching myself. I was constantly feeling a vague background fear!

Looking back now I cannot believe how close I was to crumbling.

It all sounds very indulgent. I know I lead a privileged life. I have worked really hard to create that life.

It’s really hard to put the feelings into words. It’s really hard to explain; the attrition was very subtle. I wasn’t physically abused. But neglect and emotional abuse cuts pretty deep too. I still don’t quite understand how I allowed it to happen for so long.

It’s like the volume of my song was being gradually turned down.

 

I wake up every day smiling. I smile as easily as I breathe, and you have to work quite hard to wipe that smile off my face. I love my work (mostly), and my dog, and my horses, and I absolutely loved where we lived. I had enough good stuff going on in my life to keep me happy, and I knew that no one else had the power to control my mood. Influence it strongly maybe; I am an empath it would seem, but I knew, even back then, that I could filter my thoughts and my reactions.

I can allow myself to be unhappy, fearful, anxious….but no one else can do that to me.

That’s a kind of power.

One day I had an epiphany. It was literally like a fluourescent light flicking on and illuminating the room. He kept pouring me wine while we had a “chat” about our relationship; which basically involved him talking. There never were any spaces for me to speak in. I had allowed him to completely silence my voice.

He looked me straight in the eyes to gauge my reaction and said that we should never have got married, that he didn’t love me anymore and that he wanted to be on his own.

The next day he denied that conversation had ever taken place, but I will never forget the look in his eyes. It was so cold. He knew exactly what he was saying. I realised in that moment that it wasn’t up to me to make him happy. No matter how hard I tried, him being happy was nothing to do with what I might do or not do. And I realised that no mater what I did, it would never be good enough. And that he would destroy me if I allowed him to.

I left two weeks later. Flitting with 3 horses, a dog and a cat to a secret location took a little work. 

Now all I need to learn to do is recover. The further I get from the situation, the more clearly I see how close I came to a breakdown. I have been immeasurably better every day since I left. The lack wasn’t in me. Although I was complicit in allowing him to hold that power over me.

I am turning back into my old self,  happy, self sufficient, shining bright. I have a lot of work to do to make sure the compulsion to repeat doesn’t get me again. I need to learn to truly believe in my self worth, and to listen to myself closely enough to make sure I feed myself the good positive self talk.

And I finally just need to crack on and do the deep work to make sure that I love myself enough to make only good choices for myself. And then the next guy that I might fall for can be someone who loves me for the good strong bits, not a narc looking to take advantage of the old buried wounds.

But actually, mostly, what I need to do is learn to stand in my own power. The rest may or may not follow….

I deserve to be……me.

I deserve to be the best possible version of me.

And I deserve to spend the time to work on that best possible version of me, every day.

“When I let go of what I am, I become what I might be”

This article is the best other description I have found of my previous situations

https://www.elephantjournal.com/2019/06/the-unexpected-reason-wonderful-women-find-themselves-in-horrible-relationships/

Dedicated to all the Charles Angels- thank you for inspiring me.

June 2019