Integrative / Intuitive Health and Empowerment Coaching
'Mamaita's Journey uses the gifts of a clinical academic and intuitive to empower seekers to discover that 'missing something' they need to make their life MORE!
Catch your thoughts....
April 19, 2014
My Reason for being...
May 1, 2013
'Guilty of Libel...?'
June 3, 2014
On His Knees...
January 21, 2014
He is there, in front of me, sobs making his body shake and shudder, kneeling on the bathroom floor, his head in his hands, on the floor, in front of him… He looks like a child hiding his face from the world… ashamed, desperate, broken… yes, broken, fragile, vulnerable… crying… I don’t understand….
The memory is sketchy… I think I may have been 11 years old, maybe 12? We had been woken up, I think, by raised voices and doors slamming… I was the first to wander through to the front of the house… Their friends were here…Why were they here? What was happening…. The front door is open… something is happening outside so I go to see. There is his friend, talking calmly, soothing… persuading him to come back in. I see the danger he’s trying to avoid. He is drunk…very drunk. I don’t often see him drunk….although I always knew when he’d had a drink… he changed, ever so subtly, but he changed when he’d had a drink… Not like her…oh no…when she started she couldn’t stop. Not until she passed out and had to be carried from wherever she fell…So many times we had been out late. Me and her, 5 years my junior. I had to look after her… I felt protective of her. It was me and her and them. He would carry her to the car, we would sit in the back, holding hands, squeezing so tight and watching the road ahead as he, drunk, would drive us all home. She would be slumped in the front seat…I hated her when she was like that…really, really hated her… Drink made her ‘soppy’ and ‘pathetic’… all the things she wasn’t when she was sober… hard, spiteful, mean, cold… How did she even imagine that I could like her when I knew what she was really like… 'awwww….come to me Sammy…come and give me a cuddle….' Her breath was stale, cigarettes and alcohol…gin….I still hate the smell of gin…. Gordon’s Gin and Schweppes Tonic. I can remember those ellipse shaped bottles… how many I had tipped down the sink ... my pathetic child’s mind thinking it would stop the drinking… Was that night one of those nights? Had we come home from somewhere? I don’t know… I tell my counsellor that the memory is unclear. But what I do remember is making me cry… cry for that little girl who is watching the friend persuade him not to leave… yes. That’s what he’s doing. He’s trying to get in the car to drive away. But where to? I’m confused… She is crying…crying out loud for him not to leave, not to go, the other friend is trying to soothe her…
I tell my counsellor that she is somewhere behind me, I think, and then she withdraws to her ‘safe place’. Her bedroom with her music turned up loud… ‘Air Supply’ with Russell Hitchcock’s high clear voice… that was always her escape.
Suddenly he comes back in, swaying and staggering his way passed us to go to the back of the house… The friend goes after him… She has gone quiet now… everything has gone quiet. I go back to my room, and wait. Listen and wait. I still don’t know what’s happening. I'm curious. Always curious. Trying to understand.
My EMDR takes me back into the hallway and I see me making my way to the back of the house and I can hear crying… sobbing. There he is. Broken. Fragile. Vulnerable. Crying…He looks up at me… Eyes just like mine.. 'I’m sorry Mant.. I’m so sorry.. Manty … ‘