Archive for the ‘Womens’ right to choose’ Category

MissionMiraculus Ltd: An Update.

December 5, 2013

It’s been a growing time, a harvesting time, a storing and a planning time since June.

Yep - it's harvesting time ;-)

Yep: It’s harvest time!!

It’s been a balancing time; an evaluating time; a time of quiet achievement since the fruits were fallen and were gathered for storing.  Autumn – the richest, most vibrant season of the year – with all the fruit being gathered from the summer and all of the storing cold of the winter approaching in the air, in which is hiding the wake of call of spring next year… what a wondrous cycle of eternal joy as weather – how unutterably wonderful is the gift of human life  = we are  designed precisely for the purpose of sensing and enjoying these seasons and

harvesting amok lol

harvesting amok lol

The signals aren’t visible, mostly, although ‘MissionMiraculus Ltd.’ is now a registered company and we have gained the  invaluable input of an independent-minded business consultant, simply because he is a true friend and doesn’t either mince words or deliver bills for his advice that will embarrass the  funds available pre-launch. Indeed – he hasn’t delivered a bill at all. So we have made a mental note of our calculated profit from his guidance and mentoring and we’re figuring in a percentage of takings after expenses which we will put his way once we’re up and running.

Our finance director has no job to do of course, until the business starts being operative, whilst the general assistant and p.a. our adorable Glenn, continues to surf bus and plane sites and facebook chatlines while he waits for  instructions.

Our CEO is on the job of translating instructions into task lists and delivering on the templates for our market research;  job 1 for the visible company – still pre-economic viability, but focussed directly on the matter of becoming a uniquely tooled-up and skilled up force to be reckoned with vis a vis mental health crisis and recovery interventions and support.

The multiple hatter

The multiple hatter

Meanwhile, with  her other hats on, Janie is: wearing the tea-pot hat for  being sociable and hospitable to regular visitors; bowler hat on top for the scheduled house maintenance & development meetings in amongst; spends time on the phone wearing a hand crocheted beret or river island woolly hat;  the feminine black homberg-alike comes on for trips to the bank manager etc;  hatlessly writes and plans for at least 2 hours a day; nips to the University of Birmingham in whatever she likes,  & to Worcester (always black and grey and self restraining) for ‘survivor’ networking, teaching and offering consultancy input for services transformation and research.  95% of her work is voluntary, for which she gets her travelling expenses and, occasionally access to water, though often a cup of coffee and even a biscuit – oh yes, and utter anonymity as a sign of respect (?).

On the home improvements front, Janie has homed in on a scandinavian style log-cabin/office of generous proportions that she has space for at the top of her garden. She plans to  move all of her academic and business work to it and to work from there during office hours and return home afterwards and between times, to cook, socialise and paint. The log cabin is quite divine:-

Log-Cabin/Office, Scandinavian Style

Log-Cabin/Office, Scandinavian Style

It will appear as something of a ‘granny annexe’ and will include a chilling/sleeping room; a toilet/shower room; a storage room and a working area. It involves getting permissions from the council locally and possibly regionally to acquire access to the back of the property via the driveway and grounds of a public institution.  Due to MissionMiraculus’s social purposes, we forecast a deal to  be struck between the institution and its purposes and the purpose and focii of MMus Ltd: we will offer to provide learning recovery work for its clients in return for the said access.

Leaving a lot of gardening work to do in what will become quite uniquely designed and maintained grounds with genuinely wild spots alongside parts of ‘an english cottage garden‘.

Janie is feeling inspired about these domestic areas of her development. She is noticing a huge wave of empowerment from, frankly, the gift her father left her on his death bed last year.  She is probably singing ‘I’m a material girl’ right now lol (not – because she can’t remember any other words lol).  She has realised that mess and clutter have been mirroring her inner muddled, crisis driven state for years.

As a friend put it to her: ‘why did these mental health people come in and see you in that state without doing anything to help you?’. The answer was, of course, that that state was perfect for writing about in documents ‘validating’ ‘severe mental illness‘ diagnoses and descriptions: the job was not to remove the problem, it was to notice and share reports about it.  It is a pleasantly and deceptively delivered form of bureaucracy and private-eye journalism – so damned deceptive that I’ve never met a cpn, social worker or medic who has a clue that’s all they’re doing.

It was an effing rude invasion of my space. Thank god they’ve taken their damned files and buggared off. To some other poor sod probably, prescription pad in hand,  report book in the other….

Janie is planning to get the MissionMiraculus.com website properly constructed and designed and in the public domain by Christmas or thereabouts. It will offer you a link to a different website that will be accessible in full for £5.95 per month.  More of on a different day when it’s worth saying anything else – the two sites are allied and are structurally connected so that MissionMiraculus.com will appear fully formed before the subscriber only site is launched.  Watch this space 😉

Gosh What a Busy Week we’ve had!!!!!!

November 7, 2013
Birmingham Rep in Centenary Square, Birmingham.

Birmingham Rep in Centenary Square, Birmingham. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

First there was the run up to Arrabbella Faith’s debut at the Birmingham Rep last Sunday (3/11) and since then it’s been rush rush rush, since a beautiful brass plaque arrived at our CEO’s home last Friday. She was so pleased with it she forced poor Arrabbella to wear the thing round her neck at the Rep – fastened with string, of all things!!!

As to the rest it has been a long haul through the days picking up the pieces of prep for the night’s performance and chilling out to recuperate before travelling down to London this weekend.

FIY We’re weighed down with apples at the moment – we could feed the nation in Worcestershire harvested apples…. So – as from now: we’re touching nothing to do with MissionMiraculus, Talkheals, Heaven From Here; Fb pages etc etc.

Thank Friendship for Hopefulness Thank heavens for harvest time 🙂

See you round the other side of the apple deluge 😉

Maya inadvertantly embodies MM-us values; Aesthetic Science in Motion.

November 3, 2013

The values of MissionMiraculus Ltd (= MM-us) have been articulated across a range of documents authored by MissionMiraculus & Janie Greville. All of this material is Copyrighted with All Rights Reserved. Today, in particular, we would like to draw your attention to the term ‘Aesthetic Science’. Although Janie Greville has coined this term originally, together with a concept of meaning that refers in and outward to a deep and wide network of knowledges and affective references; it is not the first usage of this term.

One company offering cosmetic surgery have misused the term vis a vis the dictionary definition of the term within The Shorter Oxford Dictionary, a common reference manual for such disagreements, and therefore we anticipate this commercial concern will shortly be renaming their company.

A book as been edited by Arthur P. Shimamura and Stephen E. Palmer, with a telling subtitle – ‘Connecting Minds, Brains, and Experience’. This sounds as if the focal zone for the collection of authors in this volume is subjective experience, not including the subjectivity of the  material body – I  may be mistaken, but I shall order and read this volume within the next month and let you know – if anyone else would like to do likewise that would be great.

For the time being I believe we are the first collective genius to create the new theory of ‘Aesthetic Science’ which will literally, in one swoop, demolish both western science and Modernism, with it’s ‘Post-Modernist‘ spin offs. It will in fact a cosmic blow to post Newtonian Britain and the entire world, but especially USA; UK and Europe (including Russia/USSR).

In addition, quite by accident it will lead to an open and forceful alliance between Sweden & the UK – two unusually strongly independent states / countries within the larger territory of Europe, stretching from Norway and Ireland across to Russia, down to the mediterranean shores of Cyprus, Turkey and Afghanistan.  Communities within two latter, and other ‘borderline’ states,  to have both European and Asian identity issues cheek-by-jowl.  Previous efforts to quell the squabbling have been led by the highly warrior spirited USA and UK organisations; notably, the UN is largely USA controlled with UK support and encouragement too often.  The Teutonic inclination to fire before thinking is balanced by the Viking soul of the Scandinavian’s (including the ‘netherlandish) post-imperial wisdom of taking the following approach to trouble: ‘Think about it, map it, analyse it; reach for the most effective, economic, humane, solution.’ We believe that the ‘nords’ have it sorted. War is no more in these lands. Let’s spread the joy, is what MissionMiraculus thinks.

The theory of Aesthetic Science created, constructed and in the wings of publication, is the brain child of MissMiracle’s MIC & Friends; sister company to MissionMiraculus Ltd.  Though the theory in totalis is not yet visible, it exists. Any use or misuse of these concepts with this name or any other created via MissionMiraculus.com; Talkheals.wordpress.com; facebook pages for missionmiraculus, Arrabella Faith & Janie Greville or referred to or discussed across her networks of colleagues and private friends, will be pursued actively in relation to Copyright Laws. Many thanks for your co-operation.

 

 

Born at last, after birth cleaned off, birthing suite under repairs

August 11, 2013

 

What a Perfect Summer for it! 🙂

Saturday with Friends and Family  028

Saturday with Friends and Family 028 (Photo credit: -DjD-)

For some reason it seems that everyone I know who has reached true maturity has had to enter some kind of extremely painful, frightening journey in their lives that has retrospectively appeared to be like a ‘rebirth’ because of the gifts it reaps once the shit has settled.

I wonder why the well-intentioned control freaks in the mental health services provision or in any other ‘caring’ contexts will insist on trying to anaesthetise this unbearable pain and distress?

Could it be that these are the people who simply can’t bear to think about inner pain, let alone see it? So much pain that no cognitive coherence is possible and the outer appearance is hysteria, or extreme autism or incomprehensible pattern devoid of apparent rationality or appropriacy.  That they are filled with terror in the face of pain or anything that they don’t understand? That they take refuge in the fields of explanation that omit of the possibility that the apparent extreme, dangerous, intense and mystifying behaviour is a developmental urge of the soul which is reaching for more of life, more joy, more pleasure, more fulfilment, more love, more beauty, more opportunity, more hope?

Perhaps it is time that the position of being a practising psychiatrist should enter DSM : mental disorder: asocial personality disorder is a person who exhibits an over attachment to rules and other aspects of systems and an under acknowledgement or interest in fellow persons. In consequence such a person when relating or encountering a fellow human will not be at all observant in relation to who is in front of her/him. S/he will scan the person and their behaviour through his/her rule books and guidelines and make rapid judgements about who s/he is ‘with’ that have nothing to do with the person she/he is with. In day to day life you can spot such people by their level of social discriminations, religious and political discriminations etc etc. In a professional such as a psychiatrist the disorder is evidenced by the manner in which he/she scans the patient for descriptions to be found in disorder texts and dsm manual of ‘disorders’ and ‘symptoms’.

To be fair the simplest test with everyone you meet is: do they think for themselves? If they do you can be pretty sure they are either under 7 or a mature adult. Some adults mature very young. Some are still in the ‘gang age’ when they die, alone, at 92.

Interesting Laing failed to break psychiatry and the ‘madness industry’ not because his arguments were poor but because they could be politically challenged and attacked and were vulnerable to the breezes of fashion especially if the breeze grew strong. The arrival of a Britiain weary of Callaghan as well as Heath meant that the culture swung to the right. Laing’s decline became inevitable, part of the ‘hippy 60’s’ ’70’s decay’ once Thatcherism got a hold.

Nothing to worry about – as you’ve seen I have discovered a way to highlight the conceptual frame for contemporary and 19th C Psychiatry that secures everyone, gradually – hopefully if you all find 5 people to share this posting with and ensure that they do the same thing, the sharing will be rapid. By next Saturday the paradigm shift in this zone of ‘science’ will have been noticed and there will be an article in the Independent on Saturday and something related to that but asking more probing questions, will be in the Observer on Sunday lol

Well that was a ‘hypo-manic’ paragraph in its optimism and sweeping generalisation. Still…. it remains disappointing that I have fewer companions for uprooting this 150 year old bind weed – we’re more than a mere handful, but we’re being held back by the obsequious and the opportunistic, not to mention the socially compliant which leads, lets face it, to obsequiousness anyway. Oh I do wish people valued themselves more and began to think for themselves!

Of course – earning the label consultant psychiatrist doesn’t exclude that person from being someone who fully listens to and observes an acutely distressed human being. It is simply that the entire training as a psychiatrist is the same as that of a GP and both are trained to see the body as so many working, or not working, or struggling, parts. It includes diagrams and demonstrations of how these different parts relate to each other. It doesn’t, however, have an integrated sense or concept of the whole person being greater than the sum of its parts – in a way that a lawn mower doesn’t, or a jaguar doesn’t, for example.

Now – Do an Amelia Greville – and spread the news lmao

Toodle Pip, From your every loving

Miss Miracle (in August)

NAOMI WOLF.. ‘VAGINA: A NEW BIOGRAPHY’

December 20, 2012
Love, Love, Love..

Love, Love, Love..

..Sounds very interesting.#

I haven’t got a copy – if you have – fancy lending it to me when you’ve finished it?

I have trawled through a few articles by this journalist today, in the online Guardian pages, pursuing more information about this little ditty, and I have been favourably impressed.

That doesn’t mean – ‘I’m impressed – quick everyone, get your visas out and make a purchase’. It means : mmmm…. now this sounds worth a look…

I was looking up ‘neuroscience’ in relation to a conference I’m thinking of sending an abstract for ‘Understanding Human Flourishing: A Postgraduate Medical Humanities Conference’ (CfP, Durham University, 16-17 May 2013) [in case you’re interested yourself] and somehow or another – don’t ask me how, because I can hardly recall, I ended up via a host of other articles I read during the hunt-down, coming across a couple of articles by Naomi – a far cry from my original intent.

But hardly a far cry from yesterday’s entry so – it must have been a case of serendipity.

The first thing I have to say to Naomi Wolf is : Brave Woman!!! In a world where, outside the (un)adventurous boundaries of the Guardian and the Independent, English society is terrified of the word ‘Vagina’ (though thoroughly comfortable with words like ‘shag’, ‘slag’ and ‘cunt’) (the last rather ironic of course as it usually is used against men as a term of abuse) here is a woman who happens to be at the forefront of the public eye and doesn’t cringe to admit that – she has one.

Quite a lot of us do, I hear rumoured.

I know, I know.. If you’re a man it’s a harsh thing to hear. Your mother has one, your daughter has one, the little old lady you passed in the street has one. Every other person you ever see has one.

How fucking outrageous!!!!

And it’s the reason why Feminism was fated to make such a shit job of improving our world.

Don’t get me wrong. Of course – women had to find a way to get seen, heard, valued in the world we found ourselves in: a world in which we frequently found ourselves valued as less than the cattle we slept with.

Sure things had to change.

Apparently they needed to change in this bizarre manner. With ‘feminism’ standing for ‘women’s rights’ to become ever more like men.

Ouch!!!

Who won then?

Who’s winning now?

The ‘femininists‘, that’s who – who love and adore men, who love and adore them – those whose object is to integrate and complete the human circle – by entering ‘woman’ as the equal and different partner of ‘man’. Ie:-

Those women and men who are beginning to wake up to the differences, that’s who. Those men and women who are learning to heed the sound of softness, of feeling, of tenderness, of subtlety: who tire of the call of gongs and trophies; who wear of the demand of competitive success; who notice how vacuous is the grand title, how precious the arrival of a new born baby.

Who notice how precious is the touch that is made for love, how futile the touch of coins and bedazzled, camera driven lust.

When will we ever learn… When will we ever…

Oh – I have to share with you the huge pleasure writing this has given me. A long time ago I was a post-grad at Leeds University and was privileged to be taught by two people I rapidly grew to love – Griselda Pollock and Fred Orton. Each of these individuals were exemplary examples of humanity at its best – warm, passionate, alert, sincere, determined – that must surely be sufficient attributes to win anyone’s love? I didn’t agree with the feminist part of my ‘social history of art’ nor did I feel qualified to disagree with anything.

But – if you get wind of this as it moves through the www air, Fred and Griselda: I want you to know: you did me the world of good: indeed, together with Charles Harrison, a man who grew to detest me but who I loved to and beyond the end: you made me who I am today.. Just because you never heard from me again doesn’t mean I lost ambition or drive. It means I walked my own path. And that ‘as they say’ – is the record of a fully achieved student. 😉

Primary and Secondary Sexual components.

December 20, 2012
Thanks to sarahstitely

Sun Bejewells Water

How absurd. Even to identify ‘primary’ and ‘secondary’ sexual characteristics.
What is the masculine ‘secondary’ sexual characteristic?
A Deep Voice?
I haven’t googled it.
I only have my surface impression. That breasts are a female’s ‘secondary sexual characteristics’.

How fucking ridiculous.
They are not primary or secondary.

They are essential sexual characteristics.

Find a man who is capable of lactating.

You will find a few.
However – you will remark every single one.
Every single one is gifted. They have the characteristics of both sexes, assuming they are characterisable as male.

Or as female despite possessing a ‘male member’.

The fact is that possessing lactating organs – in the arena of the breast region – is characteristically feminine. Female. It is where the feminine links up with the female.

It has nothing whatever to do with the ‘size of breasts’
I have absurdly minute breasts unless I’m breast feeding.
I breast fed between 1990 and 1992. I could have fed the nation of infants.
Though frankly that possibility didn’t occur to me. I simply fed my own til they were obese and then leaked – pints.

It was my happiest time.

I was ‘huge’ – overflowing with the love of motherhood caused my breasts to swell and provide more than twins or quadruplets could possibly have managed to consume safely.

I did so despite working full time, despite attempting to transfer my surfeit to them for whenever I couldn’t be with them, despite demanding of my body that it respect my ‘normal professional life’
I couldn’t be more delighted. I felt proud at the time. I feel delighted still.
Me. Tiny me. Sliver of an item of humanity, featuring some hip bone and little much else; a tiny waist (til the kids distorted my rib cage) and breasts as flat as they could get short of a nipple or two…
I’ve seen men with needs for a bigger bra than I who wouldn’t even need a bra…

So I knew and know for certainty that breast size has nothing to do with functionality – from 32 aa to 38DD in a few months – all for the love of babies

And that is why I have an issue with the pathetic (in the sympathetic sense) followers of ‘Jordan’

Oh how I regret, on her behalf, the passion she has brought about to emulate the passion of men for huge dick.

When she could have taught men how inappropriate, irrelevant, senseless was/is the fetish of ‘size’ – power is not in ‘size’ but in character and disposition:

How long will it take humanity to learn this lesson???

Olympian Star Glows On

December 17, 2012

This link works – press it 😉

I wrote the title of this entry in August. Sarah Attar was the first woman from Saudi Arabia to be permitted to run a race in the Olympics. She ran fully covered from head to foot, with only her face and hands on view unveiled.

She finished her 800 metre race almost a full lap behind her competitors yet crossed the line to a standing ovation and with a smile to light up the city of London.

For one brief moment we witnessed the beauty of humanity applauding effort over achievement, challenge over facility, obstacle over determination. In that act we simultaneously celebrated the true nature of all of these ‘normal’ values: it is through effort that we achieve, through challenge that we develop facilities and through determination that we overcome obstacles.

Sarah has already broken through astounding obstacles and challenges by arriving in England to run for her country. She may have been ‘slow’ for the Olympic Championship once she got here – but of course, even once here she was disabled by her difference of outfit as well as her disability of culture at home. I doubt she found herself well accompanied in Saudi Arabia to match the conditions she would discover in England with women world wide having already competed severally with their opponents.

It is a heroic story within the disability movement. Her disability has been cultural. She has now broken through a ceiling for her culture and we can’t do anything but smile with her – for no-one else in the championships went so far this year: In four years time we should see more women having trickled out of this opening.

Of course – there could be questions. For example – the entire obsession with competition, with establishing who runs fastest, who throws furthest, who is cleverest etc., etc., etc., – isn’t this an agenda set by men for men and infiltrated by women who can’t help feeling left out by the games men play?

This is a tough question for me. Mainly because I’m crap at competitive games. So, I stopped being interested in winning competitions shortly before I became able to think at all. I arrived in language freshly shorn of competitive ambitions.

Would that be my ‘femininity’ or simply my inclination to fail that pushed me in this way?

Competition is a difficult concept. It yields its greatest loading in politics as the arena of ‘possessive individualism’ (CB MCPherson, subtitle ‘from Hobbes to Locke’ if you’re interested); the American Dream, the shop-keeper’s daughter etc etc.

If ‘man’ stands for ‘competition’ – couldn’t ‘woman’ stand for ‘bonding’/’sharing’? Women could help men (and women who have moved to ‘male values’) to learn how to relax, how to share, how to feel safe, how to feel ok, how to feel that lovability doesn’t lie in trophies of competition – be it financial, status or penis length.

Yes, I know, how bloody radical am I??!!! 😉

But truth is – my joys come from a walk, a drink, an afternoon baking bread (not so different from clay work really), from helping a little friend with her homework, from making people laugh, from going to bed at night feeling that I’ve done one or two things to make one or two people happier.. How many trophies do I need for these achievements? And if I’ve eaten again today – does it matter?

I guess this must be why I’m not ‘rich and famous’ and why I’ve never run a race let alone win one.

I’m happy though.

Does that count at all?

I think Sarah Attar is happy too. Nothing I have said or suggested by way of reflection – detracts from her achievement. Far from it. In a land where women can wear what they like, work where they like and muscle up with the boys if that’s their wish – who on earth am I, or would I be, to oppose or question the right of the saudi arabian women to assert their existence as fully acknowledged and valued human citizens? In such a world women become the avant-garde sector pushing humanisation.

In England I believe that burden falls upon the shoulders of the ‘disability community’. There are a lot of us. If you begin to include the numbers disabled by culture and finance – it runs to many millions. Too many, by far, for David Cameron to hold back.

All it will take is a few determined people to emerge and this movement will transform this country for good.

I intuit the emergency as I write.

Why: Thank You!! Unexpected Gift :-)

December 13, 2012
Even the Smallest Signal of Life - Is Life

Even the Smallest Signal of Life – Is Life

Suddenly today, after couple of weeks lull, there was a little flood of visitors to this site.

Thank you so much. I’ve never worked out why sometimes literally thousands of people potter over to see what I’m thinking and other times I find just one lonely soul checking in.

Well – that’s not quite true. Sometime ago I noticed that the more danger I put myself in, the more controversial my actions, the more intemperate my emotions – the more popular my blog became.

Ultimately, though, that almost appeared to be some appetite for a ‘true life suspense thriller’ in which I was always the loser lol, so – on balance I decided to take my risk taking ‘off air’ so to speak.

And invest my very soul in the task suggested to me by a book I bought a few years ago. ‘Pronoia’ it was called. I.e., the opposite of ‘paranoia’..

Paranoia comes easily to me. I am easily taken up by fear driven scenarios. In relation to which my defence is often anger – well, at least, if I want to defend myself against my worst fears, anger becomes my first defence. My second is paralysis. I believe that this would translate as the ‘flight’ variant of the ‘fight’ response to danger.

My first response to danger in my life was ‘flight’. When my mother began to shout at me I stood like a moron before her, shaking, and sometimes with an expression on my face that she took to be a ‘smirk’ but which was, internally, my involuntary expression of terror. She would then ‘lose the plot’ and begin slapping me, pretty hard. I would offer no defence apart from beginning to cry and then to sob. Eventually the sobbing would stop and she would continue to remonstrate with me as my sobs became more and more uncontrollable until I began to hyper-ventilate (a term I learned much, much later at Leeds University).

At this point she would calm right down and inform me that I had now shown sufficient remorse for my wrong doing.

I never had a clue what my ‘wrong doing’ had been. I seem to recall that on one occasion it had been laughing and joking at the dinner table when a school friend had come for tea and I was nine or ten. It’s the only occasion I remember with that degree of clarity.

I expect my poor beleaguered mother felt desperately guilty about my hyper-ventilation episodes (at times almost daily). I wasn’t a very naughty little girl – just plain stupid I suppose, because I never caught up with her issues. I just knew that she routinely lost her temper, shouted, started slapping and then got left with this hyper-ventilating little wreck.

She was an ill-educated young woman, an immigrant from afar, with a husband working round the clock to keep us all. She saw him between 2am and 11 am – most of the time they were asleep – not very supportive, when you’re exhausted, young and anxious. With language challenges.

….Where were we… Oh yes – paranoia – vs PRONOIA.

Yes, pronoia is much the better option I find. Goodbye Fear. Hello Hope. Goodbye regrets. Hello Anticipation. Goodbye Yesterday & Tomorrow. Hello Today.

Today I learn that it is OK to mourn losses I haven’t yet come to terms with.
to
1. I haven’t come to terms with the loss of my unborn baby from 1994. I lost a baby in 1989 and because everyone knew about it, I was allowed to grieve, I was allowed to talk about it, I was allowed the time I needed to come to terms with it.

Luckily for me, two beautiful daughters followed this loss, and there is no doubt that they have more than compensated for the loss of my first baby. The child died within me quite ‘naturally’ and miscarried within 7 or 8 weeks of conception and I found it possible to ‘fit in’ with the convention of perceiving natural ‘miscarriage’ as a ‘sign of nature’ that the baby is not ‘meant to be’.

My second ‘miscarriage’ was no such simple matter, as you will know if you have read the entry immediately previous to this one. S/he didn’t leave my body naturally. S/he gave me no sign that s/he was dead until nurse told me this had been shown on a scan. Following the operation to remove the ‘debris of a pregnancy’ I found myself in an invisible capsule of enforced silence. Indeed – let’s go further and ‘tell it as it was’ : I was expected to emerge from a hospital bed in excellent spirits for a New Years Eve celebration.

Thanks for listening. No-one in my palpable life has any interest at all in knowing of my private griefs – some don’t know anything about it; some don’t realise I still have needs to express my thoughts and feelings about it; some don’t think it at all appropriate that I experience grief around this topic; some I wish to protect; … Funnily enough – this weirdly anonymous vehicle of fully ‘public’ communication has become a place of ‘sanctuary’ for me.

Yes – as usual I forget the season. I don’t actually: that’s what is so damned inconvenient about it. I remember the season all too well. This is the wrong mood and the wrong topic to be choosing for Christmas. ..I want to say ‘I didn’t choose it, it chose me..

And in the one clause I have my thinking matter… if I didn’t choose it and it chose me – I need to meditate on that.. I need to derive something positive out of this.. Something about ‘aborted beginnings’ and ‘auspicious births’…

Merry Christmas and an Aborted Old Year !

December 10, 2012

228483_10150573506395514_893365513_18705285_5857753_n sisters

Like my style? 😉

Abortion.

What might we like to abort today?

Justice? Barely.

Injustice? Possibly.

Abortion is a sensitive, delicate subject.

..It is particularly delicate and sensitive for me.

Every Christmas since December 30th 1994 I have approached Christmas with an intent to please and make everything lovely.

And then completely ruined it.

Well – actually – I managed Christmas 94, 95, 96 just about Ok.

Probably the first because I hadn’t quite hit the wall.

Probably 95 because, well, I’d convinced myself that silence really was the way forward; false smiles the cheer of the good.

’96… 96 I was fraying within. Reaching the end of my personal, fragile weave…

’97 I’d already tipped over to the point where I’d so successfully repressed my pain and its source that I didn’t even have a conscious awareness that this… This.. THIS was the cause of my unbearable trauma.

This year I’m determined to focus on this earth, this blessing, these blessings, the beauty of all that is and all that can be.

I refuse to bleed my griefs into the fabric of the season.

Were I a good Catholic girl I would find myself in commune with those who understand my undying pain.

http://https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSpl-CyZl-kqZAvxp2-B8pj1QXRbWNMzekp2T4iULAq_BFdrpqA

But I’m not even a Catholic, let alone a good one.

By culture I’m a Scandinavian-Germanic-(Celtic) Calvinist who happens to abhor abortion simply because in my own bizarre, no doubt, eyes, every conception is, at the very instant of it – a miraculous wonder of life burgeoning: a ‘god given blessing’ to share this earth with a new innocent emerging..

http://http://uploads5.wikipaintings.org/images/sandro-botticelli/the-birth-of-venus-1485(1).jpg

My husband-of-the-time, who had announced, most decisively from my point of view (‘shared values’ etc) that he ‘wanted at least 4 or 5 children’ ordered me to have an abortion in early? mid? December 1994.

The Doctor I visited in the fervent hope and belief he would refuse such a crime on the grounds of inappropriacy and unsuitability simply reached for his form and sent me to the hospital for a scan and abort.

Question asked: ‘Why do you want an abortion?’ Question answered, in a hesitant, reluctant and reticent form as a quotation as required ‘because my husband and I think our family is complete’. Response: reach for form. Eye contact: Nil.

My husband-of-the-time came with me for the hospital appointment. He would. He’d want to ensure I went through with it.

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I sat in the waiting area after the scan to assess age of gestation. I sobbed. Then sobbed. Then sobbed some more. I begged my H-of-the-time not to make me kill my baby.

He sat beside me watching some tv screen ahead and above him as if I weren’t there. He didn’t say a word to me. He didn’t look at me. He didn’t give a shit how I felt.

When we were called in the sister/nurse did give a shit. She took my right hand in hers, or both my hands, can’t be quite sure, and she showed caring. It was a caring I hadn’t experienced in a long while.

She told me that she had something to tell me that, under the circumstances maybe was a good thing.

The foetus, as she named it, had died within me a fortnight before. It had been poisoning my body as a result of not naturally aborting (as a ‘miscarriage’) and so if I hadn’t come for this scan I could have died.

I saw this as my baby giving up on life in the belief that I didn’t love him/her enough.

I suffered years of flashbacks and dreams about my lost baby. I imagined the nurse having been bribed to tell me this and that my baby wasn’t dead but was killed because I believed the lie.

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However absurd the idea of that :- my sense of myself as a murderer of my longed-for baby sat in my ‘god shaped hole’ for years. And years. And years.

It spilled out one day in 2009 in a preceptorship course session. Not very neat. Not very tidy. Not well handled (by me, I mean).

It made one of the students cry.

I shouldn’t have been glad.

But I was glad.

Especially perhaps, because it was a male student. He healed my total loss of trust in men (apart from my father and my grandfather.

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(I use an ‘in-service soldier’ image because – I believe that mental health practitioners need to realise that – that’s what they have to have the courage to be in order to do their job well)

Only now do I look back with shame as I realise –

I was glad.

At last I had shared a bit of my pain.

(But shouldn’t have got such a healing from the comfort of strangers… sadly no comfort had come from anywhere else..)(Not that it had had a chance – I’d shared it with no-one else.)

It must have lessened it.

Because in 2012 I sit here writing these words: sure – I’ve cried a river as I’ve written this, have had to stop, at times, just to protect the keyboard and find a way to carry on.

But until 2009 I was driven by my unconscious and my sleeping nightmares.

I had spent a full 11 years or more, by that time, attempting to live with an unbearable reality.

It had driven me round the bend.

Not so crazy that I so lost the plot that I didn’t know the difference between truth and reality.

I was very clear on that.

Some bits in the middle were not so easy to determine.

I must say though.

I only have and would only ever publish what I know.

I know that you visit. I know that you skim through to see what you find interesting.

I have no idea what you think.

On this particular entry: I would love to hear from you.

I imagine that most of you probably come from a pro-abortion background and may feel offended.

Please don’t.

Try to imagine that for ME PERSONALLY pregnancy in my body is always experienced as an existence of 2 in 1.

I don’t assume or judge others for having different views.

Who am I to judge?

I do judge internally and very rarely, openly – those who act to transgress my essential identity and values. Identity and values that, as it happens, are entirely legal. I don’t judge others in this value/view: I can imagine that experiences outside of mine could lead me to hold different views. But I haven’t had them. So I don’t.

Especially where I been explicit and honest about them. I used ‘the pill’ a few times. Probably about 3 months in the whole of my life. I doubt it was that long. Actually I used the ‘rhythm method’. Oh – and celibacy.

I didn’t mean to be a catholic.

It was the way I was brought up.

It was the way my heart beat.

It was where the stars were placed on the instant of my birth.

It was the result of my father’s piano playing.

It derived from my adoration of babies..

From my yearning to share the joy of living

From my wishful conviction in the multiplication of love

From my conviction that the world is always as big as the heart

….

..or as small…

Tell me.

What do YOU think? 🙂

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