I was very sensitive growing up, which landed me in trouble a lot. My father was a volatile man who had a short fuse and I never knew if the next thing I said would get me scolded. My mother was very loving and would always be the one to soothe me in the wake of conflict. However she also had my siblings to look after, a full time job and her own emotional well-being to consider. All-in-all my sensitivity felt like a burden on the family, as we would all suffer when my dad lost his temper. No one could stand up to him, and my memories of childhood are that of survival. The way I did this was by trying to keep myself small, hidden and distracted. Of the limited childhood memories I have, one of the clearest is making a promise to myself to never treat anyone like my father treated me. My family (extended family included) used alcohol (and in some cases other drugs) to get through the multitude of unresolved and unhealed conflicts that had transpired through the years. When I was 16 my parents separated as the weight of my father’s depression induced alcoholism stopped him showing up in a meaningful way for their marriage. (I am obviously paraphrasing a lot of history here.)

By the time I hit my early twenties I had all the strategies in place I needed to carry out the rest of my life with little to no more effort from my part. I knew (subconsciously) that anything  I found to be too uncomfortable, I could eventually accept as the state of affairs, or Time would make those particular discomforts irrelevant (same dif). Conflict and negativity was never addressed, it was buried. I kept myself busy with an all encompassing job and partying, and medicated myself with weed for all the in-between times. I never questioned whether I was acting from a place of integrity to myself because, well, who doesn’t right? Surely we all act with our best interests at heart? This was my belief at the time. How could my actions possibly be any form of dissolution? I had a job, a serious relationship, good family relations and a trusted inner circle of friends. I had also observed my entire family deal with life in the same way so it seemed perfectly normal to me.

I did however pride myself on being a person so “open” that I would tell you anything about topics that I had experienced others being closed off about. My desire to be open was there intellectually, but the emotions were still buried. I never questioned my own bouts with depression. It would follow and cripple me until I could find equilibrium again. My equilibrium? Numb, Distracted & Medicated. 

It wasn’t until I met Erica, my current partner, in my late twenties that my strategies started to fall apart. I have never met anyone as curious as my partner. I began to realise, all those truths I had ready and waiting for the difficult questions weren’t my truths, they were my script. A script no doubt filled with genuine heartache and life experiences, but engineered in such a way that I could perform it to the world at large. 

Initially we were co-dependant, our relationship was (subconsciously) trauma based. Erica had grown up with her mother, who was emotionally unavailable and picked substances over herself and her daughter. Exactly the wounds of history I was playing out. I was looking to be rescued, completely disempowered from a lifetime of never owning and accepting my own pain. I had never been able to stand up and take responsibility for the direction of my life, I was just looking for an easy ride with a person who would love me and not rock the boat. In retrospect I can say thankfully, that not only did Erica rock the boat, she full-on capsized it and jumped in with me. 

During the pandemic I reached the lowest point of my life. I was smoking weed all day everyday, I was checked out, out of myself and out of the relationship. Erica was brave enough to call me out on my behaviour and we fractured. I was obstinate in my position, however a decision presented itself clearly to me. Carry on dealing with my trauma alone by burying it under drugs and distraction (safe and hidden) or address it and keep this person in my life who I could actually build a future with.

I went to spend the night with my mum and we talked about it. That night she described to me what it was like living with an addict (my father), living with someone who picked substances and the avoidance of pain over connection and love. I cracked open like an egg, I made the most painful realisation of my life. I had broken the promise I had made to myself as a little boy, to never treat anyone like my father treated me. I was repeating history and abusing the love of others. Not maliciously, but because I could not face my own pain, I was passing it to others. 

I got counselling and started working on myself & I started getting involved with men’s work. Erica and I received Couples Coaching and started to address our codependency among other things. Further down the line I started to receive coaching on a one-to-one basis. As I found myself again I went through the long (and awkward) process of re-introducing myself to my family, taking a stand as the one who wanted everything on the table, the Joy & the Pain. 

I am not nearly finished with my journey, I have no end point because there isn’t one. Enlightenment is acquired and lost in moments and there will always be new challenges to come or old challenges returning. Decades of strategy do not change overnight but we have a choice in every moment to change for the future. I have felt first hand how it empowers us to reintroduce real choice into our lives.

Relationships show us who we are, they help us grow because we do not grow in isolation. This is why I am a Relationship Coach, I see no work that is more important.

On the subject of my father. 

I can happily say that nowadays my father is sober. It is a long story with a lot of pain but short-hand what I have come to realise is; He too, most likely made that same promise to himself that I made to myself as a boy. I have nothing but love and admiration for a man who tried his best in a time when Relationship Coaching didn’t exist and on the whole the response to depression was “just get on with it”. Turns out, that I’m actually a lot more like my father than I ever thought, and if I’d had a father like his, I don’t know if I could have done any better.