Settling into Stillness, Returning to Wholeness

This is another story from our book Mindfulness for Transformation. The stories are written by members of our community.

By - Carol Hickson

All my life I had felt untethered and irrelevant. No matter howhard I tried, the ground always slipped from under me.

By the time I reached 50 in 2013, I had been exhausted for years. My marriage of 23 years had ended. My partner from my second relationship had died in my arms from a brain tumour and, five years later, history repeated itself when my dad died in my arms.

Here, I share some of the significant experiences which taught me that I alone can be the change in my own life.

I am the youngest child of alcoholic parents. My mother never acknowledged the damage that her addiction and years of drunken behaviour caused to our family. Our fragile world, built on eggshells, centred around her. On 5th November 2012, the fifth anniversary of my partner’s cremation, my dad was diagnosed with cancer of the oesophagus.

I was so proud of him and the way he received the prognosis. He was very kind to the nurse delivering the news: “Please don’t be upset for me, I’ve lived my life in the way I chose.” He died the following January.

I had always been a poor sleeper, and his death worsened my insomnia; I was sleeping for only an hour a night. Later, during therapist training, I discovered that my subconscious mind had linked my bereavements to sleep: if you fall asleep, you die.

There were glimmers of hope amongst the darkest grey: two of my children graduated and started their careers, my youngest child started at university, I bought a house with my new partner, and I graduated and was accepted onto a full-time PGCE teaching course in modern foreign languages (after which I became a teacher).

The chaos of my sleep, however, meant that every day was harder than the last. It had deteriorated to the point where, as well as only sleeping for an hour, I was having night terrors. Neither counselling nor the medical profession could help.

I was on medication to try to reset my circadian rhythm, but powerful drugs had no effect; I remained wide awake.I spent my savings on holistic therapists, counsellors and private specialists. Occasionally, they lifted me, but there was always the unstable relationship with my mother to set me back again.

With every bitter onslaught from her, a part of me unravelled as it always had since my childhood. In late 2016, I experienced a series of difficult events that would see me reach breaking point. As well as the uncertainty of Mum’s behaviour and the sleep deprivation, I was struggling with the workload of a newly qualified teacher, plus the chronic pain of three prolapsed discs in my lumbar region, for which I held a disabled blue badge.

In September, the left side of my face fell, and I lost both the ability to smile and my yawn reflex. A few weeks later I lost the strength in my left arm and hand, and was convinced I was having a stroke.

The results from an MRI scan were delivered on 19th December 2016 and came at the start of a Christmas week that was to change my life forever. The consultant told me that I needed surgery to replace two discs in my neck. I left the appointment in a haze of ambiguity.

Someone was finally being proactive in a way that might help me, and yet neck surgery felt like a bad fit.

I telephoned my mother, hoping that she would support me. I shared my fears of paralysis and exhaustion, and at the time she was encouraging and kind. But, three hours later I received a stack of drunken answer-machine messages of the foulest nature from her.

Two days later, when she was sober, I telephoned her and played her messages back. I recorded the call so that she couldn’t fabricate any more lies. I told her that I loved her, but that I could no longer tolerate her behaviour towards my children and me.

I explained that should she wish to call and be pleasant then I would be delighted to hear from her, but that we could no longer continue like this. I was shaking but relieved when I put the phone down–finally, I had found my courage and voiced my truth. I was calm,honest and kind to her, and I hoped that this would move our relationship to a better place.

The next day, an uninsured driver shunted into my partner’s car. Due to whiplash, I was left unemployed. Two days later, on Christmas Day, my brother found our mother dead at her home. I phoned an auntie on the 27th December to tell her about Mum, and she told me that her husband, a favourite uncle, had died on Boxing Day.

I truly felt as if the sky had fallen in. During the course of one week, the landscape of my life had been redrawn. It felt as if I was embroiled in a fight for survival but I knew I had to persist, and so I enrolled on a short mindfulness course (with Shamash Alidina). It was hard–I was so used to the battering ram of my own inner critic that being kind towards myself was an athema to me.

However, in the days following Mum’s death, I felt as if a weight had been lifted. Initially, I felt guilty admitting this, but I now accept that this is my truth. One difficulty in growing up with a parent who treats you badly is the conflict of emotion.

The voice of survival tells you to walk away, but hope is eternal–and so I had clung on, waiting for her to change.

When I was finally able to set my boundary, two days before her death, it was for my own survival. A few months later, I slept for five hours for the first time in years.

The battle with the night terrors has been harder fought, but slowly the loops in my brain have been unravelling. The unwavering support of my family has helped me to see myself through a fairer filter and to slowly develop a sense of safety.

Mindfulness and the Emotional Freedom Technique (EFT) have helped me to accept what is. I no longer need a blue badge; I have no numbness or pain. I avoided having an operation after all.

My futile fight for approval is over. Quieting my chattering monkey brain has been altogether harder, but I refuse to be diverted. When the carousel of critical thoughts attempts to subvert me, I persevere with self-compassionate kindness.

People who know me well tell me that I am the kind person they have always known. It would appear the fight was only in my head after all. The 16-year-old me was very much as I am now–spiritual and compassionate–and I realise that after a 40-year detour I have returned to myself.

After so many years of poor programming, I choose to be mindful of my thoughts because choice is a gift. Each day I choose to be grateful: I have my partner, my children, good friends and a fulfilling career.

I am mentally resilient and strong. Without the constant derogation, I like myself more and more. Each day I settle deeper into stillness, returning to the me who waited patiently in the wings of life’s dramas.

I find myself content.As I write this, I wouldn’t change a thing. At times, I miss my parents, and I believe they did the best they could with what they had.

I have no doubt that in their own way they loved me, but they were both overwhelmed by their own histories and by the distorted filter of alcohol.

My experiences have moulded and formed me into the person I am, and for that I am grateful. Within each of us lies a kernel of possibility for change that once acknowledged and nurtured, can help us as we actively overcome our negative thoughts and interrupt our limiting patterns of behaviour.

This, I believe, is how we transform.

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