Life stuff

Strength of the eternal Spirit (childhood, sickness and death)

/ sarahlissyjenkins / 3 Comments

I will be staying with my mother for a few days from early tomorrow until Wednesday afternoon. I feel very anxious about the visit for several reasons. It is always strange going back to the home I lived in for a brief time as a teenager; that is, before going to university and moving out for good. But this visit has extra complications and emotions attached. It will most likely be the last time I stay in that house, where my mother has lived for almost 30 years, because she needs to move somewhere without stairs. Her health is deteriorating due to heart failure and lung fibrosis, so I’m not sure how much worse she will be since I last visited in early February. I speak to her a lot on Facetime and we text, but such mediums are limited for knowing how someone really is. Also, Mum is stoic and independent to a fault, and thinks she’s protecting people by not giving them the full picture. It is hard to know quite how well or otherwise she is until I see her. She has relatives nearby but we’re not a close family, so I don’t get much information from them, even though they visit my mum regularly.

In addition, my sister is driving us all (my mum, me and my niece) to the grave of my other niece who died of cancer in 2019, age 34, both to leave flowers for her and to scatter my dad’s ashes (he died in 2015). To make this extra surreal and potentially painful, my niece’s grave is where my mum’s final resting place will be, when she succumbes to the heart failure. We will all be aware of it but of course it will be left as the great unspoken. How on Earth does one even begin to make conversation along the lines of ‘one day we will be visiting you here’? You just don’t. But it will be on everyone’s minds all the same.

I know my mum won’t really be in the grave, just as my niece isn’t, and my dad is not the ashes that we will be scattering. Wherever their spirits are/will be, they’re not part of the Earth, just as none of us alive today are our physical bodies and the dust they are made from. We are the spirits that inhabit them. When our body returns to Earth, so does our Spirit return to the place from which it came. I can’t begin to rationalise that because the mind cannot understand it. It is the ‘peace that passes all understanding.’ We cannot think about it logically, we just KNOW, with deeper wisdom, that this is the case; our Spirit is eternal consciousness and will fly free, as it is our true nature.

Remembering such truth is of course far more tricky while in the presence of your childhood family. Was it Ram Dass who once said ‘if you think you’re awakened, go spend a week with your parents?’ There’s so much wisdom in that statement. Our parents trigger us, remind us how far we have to go, as well as, positively, how far we have come. Throw in old age, sickness, and death, and that’s about as triggered as you can get.

I am ready to go. I hope it will be a positive, precious experience, and a reminder of the fragility of this Earthly life as well as the enduring power of Love.

I will be back. Thank you for reading. Many blessings x

/ sarahlissyjenkins / 3 Comments
Daily writing prompt
What’s one small improvement you can make in your life?
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I intend to be more mindful of how I begin my day because, if I’m honest, the first thing I tend to do after waking in the morning is grab my phone and check my emails! Even though there is never going to be anything so ‘urgent’ that it can’t wait a couple of hours (or else a phone call would have been a more appropriate option) I still feel that pull to make sure. It is the curse of modern technology – it installs a sense of urgency within our brains, triggering a survival response – “I have to check or else I might miss something important and x, y, z may happen” and of course this is reinforced by 24/7 alerts and notifications, which thankfully I have turned off, except for WhatsApp. It is all designed to keep us addicted, anxious, tuned in, constantly checking, and all the while our mental health deteoriates. Well, for many it does.

I have been aware of this for some time but never quite managed to get out of the habit of checking because it’s simply ‘the norm’ now by society’s standards. There is a fear of missing out if one does not check. And this plays on a deep rooted fear of not belonging, being abandoned, not part of the world. In spiritual terms, we can say it’s a disconnection from one’s own soul and becoming lost in the ego. Any addiction is ultimately a disconnection from one’s own soul. Modern technology, if not used mindfully and carefully, feeds the ego, leading to greater fear, separation, and mental illness.

I have resolved to put off checking my emails until I have taken my dog out, eaten my breakfast, meditated, and read inspiring posts on WordPress and other sources. Moreover, as soon as I wake, I am listening to relaxing music on Spotify, to put me in the right frame of mind to begin my day and facilitate a sense of peace and calm. Anything else can wait until I am ready to deal with it.

Small changes lead to big improvements. All it takes is awareness and a little motivation to begin.

Remembering the creative Divine spark

/ sarahlissyjenkins / 5 Comments

As I was growing up I knew I was going to be someone great. I felt it deep in my heart. I was going to be a world famous Tv actress, or a writer. For a small child I had some pretty big plans. I was going to audition for RADA. I was going to journalism college. I was going to write a novel. I had no one to encourage me but I felt it deep in my being. I wrote pages upon pages of stories. Creativity was my lifeblood. I was determined to express myself doing what I loved.

Acting was the first thing I lost. I enrolled on an A-level in Theatre Studies at sixth form college. Not long after starting the course I realised that I wasn’t really very good. I suffered from severe social anxiety as a result of my home and school lives. My dramatic monologues paled in comparison to others. The teacher didn’t seem to like me and gave me no suggestions on how to improve. I started dropping out and eventually spoke to my personal tutor about giving up the course. I told him that I wasn’t doing very well. Even as I spoke the words I hoped he would say ‘That’s no reason to give up’ or ‘We can work on that’ but he agreed and I left the course.

When I started university two years later someone set up a drama society and I went along to the first meeting despite myself. I still had the spark of longing. But I couldn’t bring myself to join. All I could feel was the terror of making an idiot of myself. I feared everyone laughing at me, as kids had through school. Until Theatre Studies, I’d clung onto my love of drama and writing, my passion for creativity, believing that would see me through everything. Until it didn’t work anymore.

Things got worse. I took a creative writing module as part of my English degree and suddenly my writing was torn apart and criticised. I know this is par the course, but I didn’t have the resilience to manage it. Even worse, the students in my group showed far greater ability and got higher grades than I did. And truly, writing at that time was terrible. I was trying to come to terms with my childhood and being away from home and my heart was in darkness. Writing was no longer a refuge. Like acting, it seemed to prove that everything I had loved as a child was built on a lie, that in fact I was NOT GOOD ENOUGH. It was my deepest fear confirmed: I was actually a stupid girl who once thought she was great. What an idiot I had been!

Those beliefs sent me into a deep depression for many years. I still battle with them sometimes, especially when starting something new. I attempted a creative writing workshop a few years ago but almost immediately I realised I couldn’t match the level of those in the group. I was too scared to read anything out. It’s still a real source of sadness to me that something I loved so much when I was a child produces so much fear. I feel grief at not being encouraged as a child. I wish someone had seen the spark I possessed and nurtured it. But no one had cared. My family didn’t read anything I’d written. I think they feared my openness and vulnerability.

However, maybe in all that loss there is a gift. Acting and writing are wonderful talents to have, but they emerge from what we ARE, which is a spark of the Divine. As a child I was completely tapped into that wisdom and desired its creative expression despite the dysfunction that surrounded me. I didn’t compare myself to anyone else because I had no concept of doing so; all I knew was how to BE. Fear wasn’t even on my radar. My heart knew the way. I was walking the path of Divine love and OF COURSE I was – and am – someone great. How could I not be? The mistake I made was looking for fulfilment in someone else’s opinion and believing their judgements as well as my own. I got lost in my head. We are individual souls with our own way of seeing and experiencing the world. While comparison and constructive criticisms have their place, what’s more important is remembering our true nature which is creative expression itself, no matter which particular form it happens to take. Our souls are like trees -we express in our unique ways, but we are all beautiful. As a child I knew this in my heart. My lifelong task is to remember, and keep remembering that despite what I seem to have lost on the outside, I am always good enough.

The wildness of our true nature

/ sarahlissyjenkins / 17 Comments

During the early end of my teenage years I developed an affinity with horses. I was a lonely young girl with very few friends, and I spent most of my time reading and writing. However, at some point I was given a second hand bicycle, and I frequently cycled the mile or so to a large field on the outskirts of my village to see the horses who lived there. They seemed to recognise me, trotting over to the gate as soon as I appeared, eating grass from my outstretched palm. I was an avid reader of the magazine ‘Horse and Pony’ and had posters all over my bedroom wall.

Not long after this I asked my mum for riding lessons. She was usually happy to do whatever I wanted as long as it didn’t involve dealing with emotions. Sure enough, she agreed. She and my cousin who was around quite a lot at the time (cousin is a whole other issue) drove me to the local riding school and waited while I had my lesson. The first few were wonderful. I rode a palomino called Tilly and a grey called Cobweb. Occasionally I rode a larger chestnut called Lacey.

Only the second time I rode Lacey, disaster happened. She was temperamental and my nervous excited energy was probably too much for her. I was pulling at the bit and she took off. I only remember screaming and gripping onto the saddle as she galloped through the field at the back of the riding school. Finally, she charged through the stables where several instructors, including mine (not sure where she had even gone?!) managed to calm her down. I slid off the pony and down onto my knees. No one could believe I’d hung on. Sheer willpower I suppose.

My mum and cousin were still waiting in the car. They had seen everything. As I climbed in the back, my instructor looked through the window and said ‘I don’t know how you didn’t fall off, well done.’ My mum and cousin just looked at her. They didn’t say anything. I didn’t talk about it. But we all knew I wouldn’t be going back.

As frightening as that experience was, I saw something in those horses that I didn’t realise I had; the wildness and beauty of my own soul. I could envisage myself living in the field where I first made friends with those beautiful beings. I longed for the simplicity of such a life. To be honest, I still do.

As an adult I find it painful to talk about horses, not because of the experience at the stables but something I read about in the paper a few years ago which has stayed with me. I’m not going to write it here because it’s too painful to even do that, plus I wouldn’t want to inflict it on anyone else, but suffice to say it involves extreme suffering and cruelty, and there was a photo, which is even worse. It affected me so deeply that to this day I struggle to see a picture of a horse without thinking about what I read. I even wake up during the night sometimes thinking about it.

I am writing this post today to connect with the beauty that horses symbolised in my childhood; their innocence, purity, grace, as well as their power and majesticity, that made me feel at home in ways I didn’t with my blood family. I knew their hearts and mine were ultimately the same. Even Lacey, bless her, who was probably scared witless of me poking her about and longing to break free.

As souls, we all want to break free. We long to live in love, free of cruelty and suffering. Despite the sadness in the world, we each have the capacity to remember our true nature – beautiful, wild, and free.

Book Review: 11/5

/ sarahlissyjenkins / 2 Comments

It’s not often that I post book reviews, but I’m writing this for a friend who has published his first novel ’11/5′. Based on real life experiences, it’s a beautiful, heartfelt account of the perils of forming a connection with someone over email before travelling abroad and starting an exciting long distance romance. For a time, things seemed perfect. But everything is not as it appears.

Thomas had always felt different and longed for a likeminded, sensitive soul to share his life, and for a time it seemed that Elisa was the perfect girl. Vibrant, funny, she was everything Thomas wanted. He was certainly everything SHE wanted. Okay so she had a difficult past, she was unpredictable, but he understood. He wanted to be with her, no matter what. Didn’t he?

Through the novel we experience the deep connection between the two characters over email; intense, vulnerable and passionate. I was braced for the moment Thomas and Elisa met, keen to find out how the in IRL chemistry would be and whether they could build on what they’d already built online to form a lasting relationship despite the distance – and Elisa’s rocky past.

I felt the novel was a very moving portrayal of how hard it can be to find the right person to share a life and navigate the complicated waters of traumatic pasts and present expectations. I could relate so deeply to the desire for a companion to share my life but feeling overwhelmed, doubting my feelings and perceptions, often wondering if I’d rather just be on my own. The author is also an HSP (highly sensitive person) and spiritually minded, and I believe if it’s harder for those of us who are more self-aware to truly fit in when it comes to relationships, or indeed anywhere else!

The author’s native language is German and his written English is not perfect; however, I find this makes the novel even more readable. He has a very unique, chatty style which engaged me from the first page. The title and illustration depict a sense of anticipation and urgency which is carried throughout.

I wish the author well with his novel. I’ll definitely be looking out for more from him!

The quest for happiness and finding peace

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Yesterday I was reading one of my journals from 2008, in which I wrote:

“Everything is like an endless struggle -wanting happiness but never really getting there “

I believed that happiness was waiting for me ‘out there’ in some distant place or state of being. It made complete sense given the fact I was caring for my severely disabled and very challenging 7 year old son while being extremely unwell myself. The situation was unbearable. While social services had thrown all the help they could at us, I was barely surviving. I wanted my life – as I knew it – to be over. Whilst I did go into some very dark places, I had enough presence of mind to know that I didn’t actually want to die. I didn’t want to leave my child. I wanted to be happy, I just didn’t know what it was or where to find it.

I didn’t realise then that happiness does not exist in some other place or even necessarily in the present moment because – if we’re honest – many people’s present moments are absolutely horrible. And while they may help, quite often no amount of shifting perceptions or affirmations or prayers change the realities that some people are unfortunate enough to have to endure. I tried all of them. I thought if I was spiritual enough my situation would improve: I’d recover, my son’s behaviour would become manageable, and I’d finally be happy. What I now realise is that it was never really happiness I was after in the first place; it was inner peace.

Happiness is a temporary state that usually depends on external circumstances. Inner peace goes deeper. It’s our true state, existing beyond shifting thoughts and emotions and circumstances. If the self was a lake, happiness and other temporary emotions would be the ripples that come and go, subject to disturbances such as stones and twigs and boats, whilst inner peace is its depth.

When we go deeper, we realise that the present moment truly is the holy grail because it is only when we stop and pay attention to the now that we tune into the stillness of the lake that exists within us. We are no longer being thrown around at the complete mercy of what life throws at us. Whilst outer circumstances may be dreadful and cause immense pain and apparently endless suffering, we know that the strength and magnificence that lies within us is truly endless.

Moreover, when we connect to the stillness within, we access our Divine truth. We don’t see our thoughts and perceptions as the ultimate reality because we have experienced a greater reality. We will have the wisdom to know whether we can and should change the situation we are in, or whether to walk away, or there is nothing to be done but tap into the Divine power of acceptance.

This is far from easy. In my case, it took me seven more years before I reached rock bottom and realised what Divine wisdom was asking of me. It went so against the grain of what I, my ex, and indeed society, thought a mother should be. I was brought to my knees and you know what the saying goes – if life brings you to your knees, pray. Well I was so angry at God that I neglected my spiritual path for quite a few years. I didn’t understand why I was so ill, why I had a child with such difficulties, why my life had to be so hard. I still feel the pain. I had to make a very tough decision that affected me and those around me for many years. I felt immense guilt for a long time but it was the only decision I could have made.

I’m not in the terrible situation I was back then; in fact my outer life is quite peaceful all in all, only my thoughts and emotions cause disturbance. I am not always happy but I understand that happiness was never something to gain; it is something we experience at times, if we are fortunate. Being in touch with our natural state can inform our thoughts, emotions, and experiences for the better, but sometimes circumstances just hurt. In such times I remember the calm lake that is my true Divine nature and know that whatever disturbs me in life, I am safe. I connect deeply with my inner self, and I am at peace.

The power of human kindness

/ sarahlissyjenkins / 4 Comments

In case anyone ever doubted it, even the most small acts of kindness make a real difference.

Years ago as a sixteen year old I went on holiday with my mum. It was a particularly painful holiday for me because I had to break up early for the summer break at college and miss a final week with a teacher who I was deeply attached to. Also, while away, I became very sick with some sort of bug, or possibly sun stroke, and ended up vomiting for a couple of days. Then, on the final day, my mum got very ratty with me although I can’t remember the details of this (probably blocked it out) only that it may have been over having little money as we were poor, albeit still had enough to scrape a summer holiday, but she blamed our financial situation on my father, just like she blamed everything on him.

My mum’s emotional state always affected me horribly, and I developed a severe headache while waiting in the hotel for our pick up bus to take us to the airport for our return flight. By the time we reached the airport and were standing in the queue for check in, I had a full blown migraine.

My mum was no good in these situations. As an adult myself, I now know that it wasn’t that she didn’t care; she just had little or no emotional energy left for me. She had depression while I was growing up, understandably given the circumstances we lived in, and her focus was on survival (and blaming my dad for everything). She has always been strong and resilient which serves her well now in terms of her ailing health, but back then her determination to plough on and give no time and attention to her emotions meant that she had little patience for her very sensitive and introspective youngest daughter (me).

I can’t remember what she said or did, only that she was sharp with me, and I went and sat on a seat in the centre of the airport where I could see the line of people queuing. I had my head in my hands. The pain was horrific. I’m not sure what was worse, the physical agony of the migraine or the sadness weighing on me. I can’t remember how long I sat there but at some point a man came over, sat with me, and asked if I was okay. I told him I had a bad headache. He went off to get me some painkillers and water.

Such a simple gesture but I still remember this 28 years later. It sticks in my mind because the loneliness I felt then – the disconnect from my mum and not being able to spend the final week with the teacher who I’d formed an emotional bond with – was debilitating. I didn’t even realise at the time how lonely I was because such devastating feelings are too much to process when the support structure isn’t there. A total stranger reached out and helped me when I most needed an act of kindness. That is why so many years later it still touches me.

Never underestimate a small act of kindness like this. It can absolutely make a difference, however insignificant it seems to be. One can never know how much it might be needed in ways that go beyond the surface. Knowing someone cares is the most powerful thing of all.

An ode to journal

/ sarahlissyjenkins / 2 Comments

Starting in childhood, I’ve been a prolific diary and journal writer, filling out pages upon pages with introspections and often deep emotional pain. I’ve kept them all. I rarely read back over them as I’ll be honest, most are horrifically painful to read, and easily send me back into a dark place. But neither can I throw them away. Sometimes I wonder whether holding onto them is the right thing to do and all I’m doing is clinging onto a past that has gone. Surely I should be willing to let them go, like everything else? The truth is that I can’t. The journals are the voice of the child, and later the teenager, who had virtually nothing and no one else, and to throw them away feels like dismissing her strength and courage to be her own person even when she felt invisible to the world.

It’s an interesting dilemma though and I often ponder how I’d feel if the journals were taken from me. Would I be devastated or relieved? Would I feel lighter and more present to my day to day self or as if I’d lost a part of me? The time may come when I won’t feel the need to keep them anymore because what they represented has become fully alive inside the self that I now am. In truth, I’m already there, but for now I am honouring the child through their presence.

Just the way it was

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Today was evidence that I’m in a very different place to how I was two weeks ago.

My son was in an awful mood when I visited. He was shouty, agitated and upset. No one ever knows why as there’s no obvious reason and of course he can’t tell us, so we put it down to one of those days. But he did appreciate my presence, or at least my bag of goodies. He grabbed the Easter egg, immediately tore the wrapper off and chomped down hard on the top, then proceeded to leave the egg for the time being and shred the box, which is one of his favourite activities of late.

I watched him, knowing he was being exactly who he is, and it was okay. I had no expectations of anything different. I didn’t experience any pain or sadness or longing whatsoever. It was just the way it was.

Soon after this his agitation grew so he disappeared into the toilet, which is his ‘safe place’ when he’s feeling overwhelmed. After ten minutes in there he came out yelling the word ‘shopping’ over and over, indicating that he wanted to go for a walk. I told the carers this was fine and that even though my taxi wasn’t picking me up for another half an hour, I was happy to just sit and wait if they wanted to go. I couldn’t go with them as I couldn’t walk very far. I hugged my son goodbye and told him I’d be back after Easter.

I sat in the lounge on my own waiting for difficult emotions to appear, but they didn’t. I felt okay with everything. I didn’t need to attach any reaction to any of it. I realised that I didn’t need anything from the situation. I didn’t need anything from my son in that moment. I just wanted to be there for him, give him his Easter egg, and I had done that.

I decided to see if I could get a taxi home any earlier. I was fine with waiting but the taxi arrived five minutes later. Small blessings seem so big when you don’t mind what happens.

A day in my life of feeling fine, that everything pans out in the way it’s going to, and I don’t need to take it personally at all, or hope or feel the need for anything different. I’ve done my bit and that is enough.

/ sarahlissyjenkins / 5 Comments
Daily writing prompt
When you were five, what did you want to be when you grew up?
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I wanted to be a writer from as far back as I can remember. I filled notebooks with prayers to God before turning to short stories at age ten and journals at sixteen. As a five year old I loved creative writing class on Monday mornings because we had to write what we’d done over the weekend. Most of it was made up of course. The reality was that my childhood home was pretty dysfunctional with secrets and violence.

Writing saved me. I have absolutely no doubt about it. I escaped into my own world where I was best friends with my favourite TV actors and used to meet them every day at made-up studios for lunch. As I grew, I wrote about abandoned animals finding loving homes, family dramas, and teenage romances. I wrote huge amounts of fan fiction based on my favourite shows, believing I was the characters. Years down the line when I considered that the characters I had created didn’t really exist, it was a visceral shock to my system, because they were so real in my head.

Then I went to university to study English and undertook a creative writing module as part of that. It wasn’t the first time my writing had been criticised of course; I had my share of constructive comments at secondary school. But this was on a whole new level. The tutors didn’t like my work. Worse, I was surrounded by people who were very clearly a lot more talented than I am. This destroyed my sense of who I was. You see, writing was my very heart and soul. It was the only real friend I had. I lived and breathed it. To have it torn apart by people who had no clue was like having my insides ripped out very slowly over time. I was struggling to come to terms with a painful past but this time I no longer had the writing I loved. I was on my own.

I gave it all up. Things changed when I started seeing a therapist to cope with my young autistic son and she commented on something I’d written about my childhood many years previously. She said ‘you write very well.’ I was stunned. I told her that I no longer believed that. I said I couldn’t bear to even hear it because it wasn’t true. She said ‘of course it is.’ Bit by bit, I began to tell her how studying a creative writing module had broken my heart. Telling my story, this time out loud, once again helped me to heal.

Tentatively I started to write again. Not as much as I did before as I no longer had the physical or mental strength, but once again it became an outlet for my feelings. I wrote a couple of stories about my son. Then I began journaling as an outlet. I no longer cared what others thought. Over time I began to reclaim the natural joy and creativity I’d had as a child. This led me to start blogging to share my thoughts and experiences with the world.

I no longer hold tightly onto the identity of ‘writer’ but I write. It is what heals the soul. My five year old self knew that all along.