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Category: self expression

  • Swimming Alongside Grief

    How I understood it was not a battle to be won.

    John Walter 📣May 29 · 7 min read First published in Invisible Illness on Medium.

    Image by the author.

    The only footprints are mine, but grief is with me as I dive into the waves. Together we delight in the heat of the sunshine and the cool of the water. Grief is there not as an unwelcome visitor but as an invited companion. It has taken me two years and several weeks of forced isolation to reach out and hold her hand.

    In the last few days, I have involved myself in all sorts of creative endeavours that I have neglected for years. I have begun writing music just for the love of it. I remember the flow of that process from over 30 years ago. I have been making storytelling videos, harking back to a career as a performing storyteller last practised professionally 20 years ago.

    Now I must write. Not to achieve anything, just because I must write.

    Holly by a friend

    Holly took her own life almost two years ago. At 28 she had just completed a Masters Degree in Behavioural Psychology and was working in her dream job supervising the tutors of autistic children. She had married her childhood sweetheart, sang in a choir and had many friends she could call on.

    It was a complete shock.

    My grief process has mainly involved me pulling myself together and getting on with things. My first reaction was to find ways to be there for others. I assumed this was my duty as Holly’s father. We spent ten days in London walking down to the hospital where her body was held. In a park by the river, we met her friends, colleagues and family members. We exchanged hugs and ate food together and shook our heads in disbelief.

    Far from home, I could only think of one personal friend in London. I called him up, and he came to join us and took me to a Sushi bar. I treasure that as a moment where I was doing something for myself. He was the perfect friend to share grief with.

    That one meeting amongst so many serves to illustrate the imbalance of my grief process. At the funeral, I left my wife to bawl her eyes out by the graveside while I walked around the burial field, greeting each of the 300 or so family and friends.

    I am not judging myself here, just noticing that my process was focused on what I have felt to be the needs of others.

    Similarly, my first significant action within days of her death was to sign up for a Counselling Training course. The questions driving me were — How can I help others avoid having to live through such trauma? Or maybe — How can I help other young people going through similar mental distress?

    Now 23 months down the line I am beginning to notice how I am grieving for myself. The loss of Holly is such a massive trauma that my body, emotions and spirit have taken over the grieving process. I have given my mind space to step aside. I am feeling the grief in my body. I am allowing the emotions to bubble up and not trying to fix them.

    I have a clear sense of purpose and direction which is not driven by the needs of others. This is new to me. It is as if I had a concept in my mind that to create meaning and purpose in my life, I had to focus on the needs of others. Now I am finding purpose and meaning by focusing on my own needs, and this has allowed my creative processes to open up in new ways.

    The music of grief.

    Lockdown has enabled me to create a music studio for myself in the spare bedroom. Till now it has always been temporary. Dismantled for visitors or to pack up instruments for gigs. Now with none of that possible, it is stable.

    One morning last week, I moved from my second breakfast into the studio, and I started playing a melody on my little melodica. I became engrossed. The theme grew, an accompaniment flowered in the background. I made a rough recording layering up the parts as if I was writing music for a yet to be created film.

    There were several things unusual about this. For 30 years, I have only written music for a specific purpose. I worked as a Storyteller in schools and wrote music to accompany a particular story. Or I had a gig coming up that needed padding out. Always specific and with a clear brief and goal in mind.

    Today I wrote music for no reason just as I had in my youth.

    It flowed easily. There were times when I had tears in my eyes. There were times when I felt like I was observing myself composing music. As if the observer and the composer were two separate entities.

    Eventually, I pulled out of the process and left the music playing on a loop now on monitor speakers. I made coffee and sat with my wife.

    “That sounds like your grief,” she said.

    I realised at that moment that at last, I was allowing my grief to flow. Not judging it or trying to turn it to some purpose or managing it.

    I could sense it in my body. As I lifted the coffee cup, there was sadness there. But it was not stopping me from drinking my coffee or being a creative person. It was is if it was driving my creative process, and I was allowing it to do that. I was no longer in a battle with or struggling with grief. I had achieved some sort of partnership with it.

    The story of grief.

    In the next few days, the song took hold.

    For my grandson and two nephews, I have been making youtube videos under my old performing name of Dragonfly Stories. I have not performed professionally as a storyteller for 20 years. I would however always be asked to resurrect a few for family birthdays and other occasions when we gathered together.

    The creating of the music now took on a new life in creating a story performance to go with it. I found myself researching myths, legends and folk tales related to grief.

    Many I could not relate to at all. Western culture and religions particularly seem to have a peculiar perception of the grief process. I found more resonance with Asian religions but finally managed to settle on using a common African folktale around which to hang my song and story.

    I have called it Aaliyah — The girl with the golden hair.

    A young woman suffering the grief of losing her entire extended family travels through a dark forest and finds a village of people very unlike her. She settles in and is accepted even though she is clearly different to them. Each morning she walks around the village singing a song to awaken everyone to enjoy the day.

    The villagers have never sung or even heard singing before. They are entranced and ask Aaliyah to teach them to sing. She brings much joy and happiness to the village.

    However, the medicine man is jealous and thinks she has enchanted them with magic that he does not possess. He begins to implant doubt and fearful thoughts into the mind of Aaliyah.

    “They don’t really love you. They pretend they do because they are afraid.” “They are plotting to kill you” “They will cut off your golden hair in the night.”

    Finally, she is so afraid that she leaves the village never to return.

    Now the villagers express their grief in a song. Every evening they gather by the forest and sing to Aaliyah.

    Aaliyah, We miss you when the morning comes.

    Where are you, when will you return?

    We miss you when the evening comes.

    Will you return to us? Please return to us?

    Although she never returns. The gift of singing and the joy she brought to the village remains and has become part of their lives.

    The flow of grief.

    The most used metaphor for traumatic grief is that of a black hole. You never get rid of it, but you grow a new life around it. I have never related to this metaphor. It suggests the grief is a singular item with a permanent place in your life which will never change.

    The metaphor that I have with me now is that of a flowing stream. The grief is not one of the rocks or a deep pool which life flows around. The grief is part of the flow. The grief is there flowing in shallow waters over pebbly ground catching the sunlight. It is part of the flow through dark underground caves. It is part of the joyous splashing of a waterfall over rocks. It is part of the wide river on its determined journey to the ocean. It is part of the ocean.

    Grief will always be with me, but not as an obstacle or a distraction. Grief will now inspire me to write, compose or perform. This is quite different from using my creative skills as an outlet for my grief. I can now allow grief to be part of the driving force of my life. Not as an unwelcome visitor but as a companion.

  • Finding Your Voice

    Do you unconsciously limit your self-expression?

    John Walter ⭐Jan 16 · 5 min read [First published in The Ascent – Medium]

    Image by Dawnyell Reese from Pixabay

    The medium doesn’t matter. As an artist, a musician, a writer or as a human being, you reach your full potential when you find your voice.

    Most of us never do. Some, like me, think we have found it only to discover years later that we are still hitting invisible barriers in every aspect of our self-expression.

    I am a musician and writer. I have recognised that the significant shifts in my creative expression, have come not from some artistic revelation or inspiration, but a conversation with a coach or counsellor. My self-awareness and emotional literacy have a direct, measurable correlation to my creative expression.

    So below is a little process I go through when I feel I have lost my voice in some way.

    First Question:

    Is there any space between stimulus and response when you are speaking?

    In 2000 a coach asked, “Why, when I ask you a question, do you look away for a moment before answering?”

    in 2020 my counsellor observed “When I asked you about your feelings, it was as if you took a step away from yourself. You seemed to observe your feelings from a distance and then return to yourself to answer.”

    The exploration prompted by these professional interventions caused a massive shift in my freedom of expression.

    Second Question:

    What is happening in that space?

    What is your body doing? What are the thoughts? What is the present emotion?

    In 2000 my eyes would look up or to the side. I could sense anxiety or fear. It was challenging to be specific about thoughts that happened in a millisecond, but I had an idea I was censoring myself, afraid of saying the wrong thing.

    In 2020 it was different. My eyes still did that thing, but there was no anxiety or fear. I had experienced 20 years of being fearless in my speaking. Now there was sadness and pain. I was still censoring myself! It was extraordinary my counsellor had asked the same fundamental question 20 years later. I thought I had dealt with that!

    Third Question:

    When did you first do that?

    Do not consider this as a history question. What flashes into your mind Don’t censor don’t judge, don’t even think about it. Let your unconscious give you the answer.

    In 2000 I had a picture of my childhood dining table on a Sunday night.

    Father sat at one end, mother and seven children around the edge. Walls a deep red, table a dark old wooden affair. I was sat on a bench, an older brother on either side. No one was talking. Above the always warm stove was a smudge on the wall — the smudge marks where Father’s dinner plate had once made violent contact followed by an unintelligible parental tirade.

    The truth is seldom welcome, especially at dinner.

    Margaret Atwood

    For a while, Father experimented with cooking Sunday dinner for all of us. On this occasion, it was a casserole. Whole Brussel Sprouts were bobbing around in it, completely uncooked. We all watched our father. As soon as he looked away from me, I snatched the uncooked sprout from my mouth, and before he looked up, it was safely in my pocket. All seven children were following the same procedure.

    I was terrified at what he may unleash if he thought there was anything less than total appreciation of the remarkable results of his torturous culinary afternoon.

    The nature of our terror was such that even out in the garden later, as we each discreetly searched for a place to deposit the offending sprouts, there was no giggling or relief, no relaxing of the tension. This behaviour was severe survival mechanisms kicking in.

    Fourth Question:

    Is there a way you can resolve or complete this?

    The thing to do here is to look at this historical incident. Don’t worry if it is half-remembered. It could even be some fantasy you have created because reality is too painful to contemplate. Whatever it is, you need to let it go. It is still driving your life.

    The situation no longer exists. It may require forgiveness. You could use a ritual like writing it on paper and burning it. You could speak to the people involved. Whatever works for you.

    I had not spoken to my father for many years. He was no longer any threat. If I visited for a meal, he would drift off to the front room to watch television, and I would sit and chat with my mother.

    So I arranged to visit on a day I knew she was going out for part of the evening. I had a simple plan. I was going to talk to him. I wanted to experience the freedom of communicating, without that feeling of terror that was there in childhood.

    We ate a simple meal together chatting happily and then he did his usual thing of sitting in the front room and turning the telly on. “What do you want to watch?” he asked, picking up the television magazine.

    “You know what? I think I’d rather sit here and chat.”

    And there we were. No big drama, no hysterics, just a father and son talking about their lives together and sharing their experiences.

    Extra Bonus Question:

    What do you need to keep this in place?

    This epiphany with my father marks a point in my life where I moved from struggling with circumstances to living a life I loved. I spoke my truth. I had found my voice. I created a successful music business which served me well for 13 years.

    Circumstances change. For me, my business collapsed in the recession, and I found it challenging to create an alternative successful career path.

    2020 — After several years of struggling with difficult circumstances such as health issues and bereavement, I am back with a counsellor. The questions are the same, but the answers are not. It leads me to wonder if there is a way I could have used these four questions to keep my authentic voice ringing out.

    Creativity is a fluctuating process. I have ridden a roller coaster. My lesson now is to keep returning to these four questions when blocks arise. In my speech, piano playing, singing, writing, cooking, whatever it is.

    Is there a millisecond space between an idea and its execution where I am censoring, judging, criticising or otherwise sabotaging my authentic voice?

    “When we don’t listen to our intuition, we abandon our souls. And we abandon our souls because we are afraid if we don’t, others will abandon us. We’ve been raised to question what we know, to discount and discredit the authority of our gut.” — Terry Tempest Williams

    2020 marks a new beginning for me. Reconnecting with my soul and helping others to do the same.

  • Walk like a child

    Discover the freedom you have always had.

    John Walter ⭐Feb 13 · 3 min read [First published in Live Your Life On Purpose – Medium]

    I was standing in a car park, drinking my morning cup of coffee when cars started arriving, and children and parents began to spill out all around me. Next to my van was the entrance to a pathway leading to a school.

    I stood and watched as the chaotic parade began. I became fascinated by the walking styles displayed. Later I tried them out for myself in a secluded corner of the local park.

    Watch some children. Copy their walk and experience the freedom they inhabit.

    Children walking

    Each child walked past me, expressing their whole being through their walk.

    Child walking #1

    First up was a child around nine years old — almost running — looking like they had an invisible thread attached to their belly button, drawing them forward. The arms and legs seemed to be flapping wildly like a rag doll. The solar plexus was leading, the rest of the body and mind drawn along by its power.

    Child walking #2

    The eyes led this child. From side to side searching the path for anything of interest. Stamping on a leaf, kicking aside a branch. Arms uninvolved, automatically adjusting their position for balance.

    Child walking #3

    Across the entrance to the path were painted parallel lines. The legs were leading. In each pace, there was a determination to stretch the stride the full width of the tracks. For ten paces, nothing else mattered but achieving that goal. Then, task completed, they trotted off on a new mission.

    Photo by Brett Sayles from Pexels

    Walk like a child

    How we walk affects our whole being. I spent 20 minutes trying out each style and a few others. As I walked a new way, my entire mood changed.

    I was aware that I could let go and feel my being respond.

    Some walks felt like conscious acts led by the mind. Others seemed focused on the heart. Overall it felt like a different chakra center was in charge of each.

    A child is responding to its environment in every moment. There is a play between mind, body, spirit, and emotions. They are not following long engrained patterns. There is little awareness of how they look to others.

    For a few minutes, I felt the freedom of my inner child. Allowing that freedom to come through for a few minutes energized me and carried me through the day.

    Maybe on a day when you feel weighed down by all your worldly concerns you could change your walk. Who knows what else might change as a result.

    Losing a Child to Suicide