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Tag: Inner Child

  • Setting Sail Into Unknown Waters

    Do you grasp the opportunity or yearn for the safety of the familiar?

    First published in Medium 05/10/2022

    A person sat in the rear of a sailing boat with red sails, setting off into the sunset.
    Image created by author using Midjourney

    I have had good chunks of my life where I lived a life I love. They always happened when I stopped thinking about my security and prioritised adventure. I left the arid land of secure jobs and pensions and sailed out on my own. I discarded detailed plans, goals and targets. I pointed myself at the horizon with no destination in mind. I trusted that the power of my passion and excitement would fill my sails and carry me into some unknown world that would feed my soul.

    One real sailing adventure in my teens has provided me with a metaphor that I can apply to any point in my life where I have changed direction, set myself free, and embraced freedom and excitement.

    The same metaphor has helped me identify times when the opposite is true. I have been following someone else’s rules; I have been stuck in a place where I am afraid to give voice to my ideas for fear of rocking the boat. I have had the wind knocked out of my sails. Daily, I am rowing back and forth and exhausting myself, like the ferryman in The Giant with Three Golden Hairs. I am unable to discover the simple solution to my cursed life. A delusion drives me to say this is the only way to keep myself afloat financially.

    Breaking the rules, escaping the moorings.

    In my late teens, I felt very lost. I had been trying to live a double life.

    One version of me dressed smartly and went to school, only to sit bored all day dreaming of what I could do if society did not force me to go.

    The other version was constantly creative. Drawing, painting, writing poems, songs and stories, singing in choirs, acting in plays, teaching myself to play the guitar and piano, and inviting friends over to listen to the latest album by Jimi Hendrix, Pink Floyd or King Crimson.

    On this day, I had failed two of my three A-Level exams, and my latest girlfriend was off to Paris. I had no plan of what to do next. I could not get into University or College, but it was clear that academic life was not for me. I was adrift with no clue of what was calling me, apart from a vague notion of being a rockstar.

    I drove with a brother down to our Grandparents, who lived in a tiny cottage nestled into the cliffs in South Cornwall. There was a good wind, and I wanted to get in our sailing boat Sonia and feel freedom away from all pressures and expectations.

    My grandad nodded when I voiced my intention and then removed his pipe from his mouth and said.
    “Stay in the harbour; there’s a wind out there.”

    I nodded and went to the boatshed to collect sails, life jacket and rudder. Leaving them at the top of the landing stage, I slipped through the dark alleyway between boatshed and rocks to the little rocky cove where the rowing boat was moored up. I rowed out to Sonia, switched moorings, returned her to the landing stage and rigged up sails.

    All set, I let the sails grab the wind and soon I was out in the large harbour feeling that wonderful heady mix of freedom and control. However, it wasn’t enough. The safety of the harbour felt like a prison. I could see the ocean beyond the two blockhouses which, for centuries have marked and protected the entrance to the harbour.

    I had been obeying the rules for too long, staring at the ocean out of the classroom window, not wanting to be there but having no possibility of being anywhere else.

    It was not a conscious process to continue my tacking journey past the ferries, the two harbour tugs and all the moored yachts and leisure craft. I didn’t even consider my Grandad’s warning. I sailed past them all and into the swell of the ocean. It felt good, and I felt free.

    In a matter of minutes, I realised that the storm I was sailing into was too much for the tiny wooden sailing dinghy of which I was master. With each tack, the swell increased, and each wave began to deposit increasing amounts of water into the front of the boat. I was exhilarated, but I had not considered the difficulties of turning back.

    This challenge occupied me now. I needed to choose my moment as I crested a wave. Was the distance from the next enough for me to swing 180 degrees without being caught and tipped sideways into the angry sea? After I had crashed through a few more waves, I saw my chance. I jammed the tiller away from me, ducked under the boom and held my breath for a second until I felt the reassuring thud as the wind took control of the sail.

    Now I was surfing into the harbour with the wind behind me. There were no feelings other than contentment. I had risked stepping into the unknown and had the skills and knowledge to face the challenge and survive.

    The unseen safety net.

    I was unaware of the unseen safety net until I was lying in my bunk below my brother that night.

    I returned late that afternoon, moored both boats and stored the sails. The cottage did not boast “new-fangled” things like showers or constant hot water, so I warmed myself on a mug of tea. My Grandparents said nothing about my little adventure as we sat together eating the evening meal and then playing draughts.

    I learnt from the shipping forecast that we had been experiencing force four gales, which was building.

    Later my brother whispered to me from the bunk above.

    “Grandad was watching you the whole time.”

    “What do you mean?”

    “The minute he saw you were heading out he was on his feet and asked me to come too. He had his binoculars, and we were headed to the cliffs stopping at the phone box on the way.”

    “Who did he phone?”

    “The coastguard. They put the lifeboat crew on alert. We were watching you from the cliff. Grandad said the lifeboat had the engines going, and if you capsized, I had to run to the phonebox and let them know. They would be with you in two minutes.”

    I wonder now how much that unseen safety net my grandfather created was influencing and encouraging me to take risks, or giving me a safe platform from which to launch myself.

    A few months after this experience I jumped on a train to London, and within a week I rented a flat and secured a job. My great adventure away from the safety of my parent’s world had begun.

    Reminding me to step into the unknown

    That feeling of going through the motions, living in one world while yearning to be in another has returned to me many times throughout my life. I also recognise how the frustration builds until I finally break through and how that process is not conscious. I wonder how much I am creating my own unseen safety net and how that contributes to the moment when my intuition says, “Now is the time.”

    All logic and thoughts of consequences are suspended, and I head out into the unknown past the harbour walls.

    If you would like help creating a sense of freedom and adventure in your life contact me through my website.

  • About Me — John Walter

    I’ve been keeping my act together for 66 years. Writing helps me realise that keeping your act together is not the best way to create a meaningful life.

    First published on Medium John Walter 📣Jan 1 · 3 min read

    Image for post

    From the Author’s archive. John Walter — back row centre.

    I was born and brought up in the seaside town of Bude, Cornwall Uk. In the picture above, (back row centre) I am 10 yrs old. The girl to the right on the row below me is the one I kissed as she climbed down from a table. She didn’t say a word. She gave me that questioning look and left me in the classroom to finish the flower arranging duty on my own.

    The girl (centre front) sat on the desk in front of me for a while. I enjoyed secretly inserting a pencil into her ponytail then waiting for the right moment to twist it. I met her again 30 years later, and the conversation was so easy. I think she has forgiven me.

    At this time, I wrote plays and tried to get my friends to act them out. The girls were not interested in my pirate stories, and the boys couldn’t be bothered to learn the lines.

    I was rushed into hospital to have my appendix removed, and an uncle bought me a Biggles book by W.E johns. This is my first memory of being completely absorbed by reading. For two weeks, I was alone in a hospital bed eagerly awaiting the woman with the Library trolley that appeared most days.

    Learning to keep my act together

    After the age of 10, my world shifted, I seemed to split myself in two. Johnny-boy devoured books of all sorts, wrote poetry and songs, drew fantastic designs, invented brilliant machines, and learnt how to kiss.

    Big John went off in a different direction. He learnt to sit still in class and keep his act together. He made it look as though he was absorbed in the dreary Grammar School lessons when he provided cover for Johnny-boy to drift off into imaginary worlds. He learnt how to suppress his emotions with alcohol. He worried that something was wrong with him, and one day everyone would find out.

    Big John and Johnny-boy have been looking out for each other ever since.I have mostly kept my act together and managed to make a living and allow my creativity and imagination to surface under controlled circumstances.

    There have been some excruciating times when Big John has felt he has had to take more control to hold it all together. Johnny-boy has retreated to his bedroom and occasionally peaks around the door to see if the coast is clear for him to come out again.

    The coast is clear

    Definition of the coast is clear

    — used to mean that someone can go somewhere or do something without being caught or seen because no one is in the area ‘OK, the coast is clear — you can come out now!’

    The coast is clear, and it always has been. I am 66 years old, and it is only now that I fully hear this message. I can write anything I want. I can play any music I enjoy. I can share my thoughts, hopes and dreams in any way I see fit.

    Johnny-boy and Big John have not fallen out. Both make me who I am. At last, we are beginning to work as a team. If I encounter a creative blockage, I know that Johnny-boy has retreated to his bedroom. I shout ‘OK, the coast is clear — you can come out now!’ If I spend days in a creative flow and forget to eat, wash or speak to anyone, I ask for Big John’s help.

    I have been writing for Medium for just over a year. I have published 31 stories. Here is a selection

    My Top Story

    Losing a Child to SuicideGrief is my wake up call.medium.com

    My Favourite Story

    The Fear Of FreedomHow to recognise it and choose to move on.medium.com

    The Story I’d Like Everyone to Read

    Walk like a child Discover the freedom you have always had.medium.com

    My Website

    https://johnwaltercounsellor.com/

  • Cycling Alongside Grief

    My inner child has joined the party.

    John Walter 📣Jun 3 · 5 min read first published on Medium by Invisible Illness.

    The author took the image.

    Grief is not singular. In 2 years grieving my daughter, I have begun to realise how much grief I have accumulated in my body and soul. The trauma of Holly’s suicide has triggered all the other pain and loss I have been holding for many years.

    Regular counselling has been a vital resource to get me through the last two years, but I soon realised that although my grief around Holly was close to the surface, there were many other issues that very often took over our sessions. My relationship with my father soon came to the fore, prompting an exploration of my gender identity and sexuality.

    My inner child has been surfacing in the last couple of weeks. He was calling out to me from 54 years ago when I was a tall 11-year-old who loved being outside, cycling, swimming in the sea or just mucking around on river banks with other kids.

    From the Author’s archive. John Walter — back row centre.

    At this age, I was the tallest in the class, the fastest runner and ranked amongst the first three in most tests. But 1965 is the year all sorts of things changed.

    Childhood wounds began to accumulate. The owner of a local sweetshop caught my best friend and me stealing a Mars bar each from her shop. The local policeman arrived at our door, and my parents banned me from seeing my friend ever again.

    My parents decided to enter me for a scholarship exam to a prestigious boarding school which involved a weekly visit to a local maths teacher for booster lessons. Perhaps due to the pressure to succeed in this exam, I became very anxious. I was conflicted, between the desire to please my parents and pass the exam, and a fear of being shipped off to boarding school. The anxiety caused crippling stomachaches, and my doctor prescribed phenobarbitone which is a powerful barbiturate. Luckily I managed to do well in the exam but not well enough to secure a place.

    A toddler who I used to look out for and who was a family friend, was murdered. Irrationally I have blamed myself for this.

    The list could continue. What I recognise is that the age of 11 was a turning point. I lost interest in education. I adapted in various ways so as not to feel the wounds.

    I created survival strategies that served me well for a time, but now I need to give some space to my inner child. The surviving child has hit a crossroads; the adult I have developed into is failing to cope.

    Connecting with my inner child.

    With lockdown in place, I have had the freedom to connect with my inner child, the 11-year-old boy, happy in his idyllic childhood world.

    I have found myself back in my hometown. Everything about the town feels like I have gone back in time to the ’60s. This is helping me make the connections. I have very few responsibilities and can focus on whatever creative work or activities I feel drawn to.

    The only bakery in the town which is remaining open is the same one I walked to as a child to collect a still-warm loaf in a brown paper bag. In 60 years it has changed very little. The chain bakers and cornish pasty shops have all closed for the duration of lockdown, but this tiny shop continues. Even in normal times, a maximum of 3 customers at a time could enter.

    Image taken by the author.

    As I stood to wait for my loaf of bread, the door to the garden opened and a young man brought in a tray of steaming loaves from the bakery behind the shop. As a child, I knew the times that the fresh bread would be appearing and would offer to make the daily trip for my mother. As I returned from my errand I could never resist picking off some of the warm fresh crust and eating it. My mother did not approve but it was a small sacrifice to get the errand done.

    I am also using the local grocer rather than supermarkets. The family business stretches right back to before I was born. The pace of life in the town is sleepy and slow as it usually was at off-season times.

    Part of my grief has been my grief for my inner child. He is creative and imaginative and cares nothing for practicalities and doing the sensible thing. He knows what he needs and finds ways of fulfilling those needs.

    The cycle rides.

    I had my bicycle repaired and have started daily cycle rides along the cliffs and through the narrow lanes and cycle paths of North Cornwall. It is my inner child that is leading and directing these rides.

    The first morning I awoke with grief sitting on my chest like a weighted blanket. Young John slipped out from under the duvet, and I found myself standing in the kitchen at 5.30 AM looking out at the glorious day. Young John packed a bag with a swimming suit, towel, a bottle of water, a cheese sandwich and an orange.

    With no plan, I cycled down the driveway in shorts, T-shirt and sandals. Young John decided to turn left. The ride continued in this way. At each junction, I either turned left or right, but it was all spontaneous with no thought of the destination or the return route.

    There was no pushing. On some of the steepest hills, I got off and walked, or I rested in a gateway and took in the view. At one point, I went into a field, took off all my clothes and lay in the sun reading my book. Along the way, I rested and ate my lunch. In the heat of the day, I found a deserted beach and swam in the sea.

    I arrived home refreshed. Able to get on with creative projects for the rest of the day.

    I now have a similar cycle ride every morning, conscious that this is when my inner child can come out to play. My thoughts on these rides bounce around all the losses and trauma of the last 54 years. I am carefree and free of all responsibilities. I am cycling alongside grief, and I am allowing my inner child to take the lead.

    We don’t talk enough about mental health.