Prior to really tuning into dreams in Boonah, I had two I remember while living in Perth, Western Australia. In the first, on the night before my mother’s funeral, I saw her on a carousel which was gently turning and bathed in golden light. I said to her: “You really are dead, Mum, aren’t you?” And she nodded and the scene went black. In the second dream, one I’ve described already, I saw my little dog, Chloe, the night after she was hit by a bus and killed, walking away away from me in the same golden light. As she turned to look at me, a voice said: “She came to teach you unconditional love. Now her job is done, it’s time for her to move on.” Chloe gave me a compassionate, loving look then turned and kept walking away. Eventually, everything went black again.
The golden light in dreams, I’ve found from experience over the years, means the dream has a spiritual meaning for me. In my mother’s case, not only did I confirm that she was dead, but her death opened the way for me to start looking at childhood stuff, healing in a very fundamental way, and looking at my relationship with my father, as Mum had been the peacemaker between us. In the second dream, Chloe’s death opened me up to the idea of moving from Western Australia, taking a course in Reiki and opening up to my psychic abilities.
When I had the dream about the bull I described in my last post, the kitchen was in golden light, and it opened up my inner wisdom to understand the self-centred motivation behind my father offering us what looked like a good deal on building our house next to him but which was really intended for him to control us. And I can tell you, when I told him we wouldn’t be taking him up on his offer, his face went thunderous and he started swinging his foot and banging the floor, always a sign of dad in a rage. I scarpered for my own safety and well-being.
When I had a continued infection after breaking my leg and ankle, and had a dream of two herbalists in a cottage asking me in, and I had hit the peak of the hill and was on the way down, the two women were in a golden light. It symbolised the herbal healing I received from Yvonne and her herbalist friend which set me on the path to recovery.
Other dreams have been incredibly helpful to me. I had another predictive dream about my father: that he collapsed outside his toilet, was taken to hospital and my mother appeared to tell me she would take care of him and I needed to make my own life. A week or so later, my father, by then a raging alcoholic, had a black-out by the toilet and fell badly. He had to call the ambulance and had a broken rib and fractured vertebrae. I told the hospital staff he was an alcoholic and they kept him on small doses of alcohol to minimise withdrawal symptoms.
Dad ended up in hospital for a long time and wasn’t allowed to go back to his home due to him having suffered several minor strokes and having falls. We stupidly felt sorry for him and got him into a rental beside us where he lasted a very short time before he was back on the booze, took himself off all the medication he’d been taken and re-emerged as malevolent and dysfunctional as ever.
It was then I had another dream where a friend told me about a run-down farmhouse that had burned out in town and slightly uphill. When I found the scene, it was surrounded by emergency workers who were handling the situation and I had to leave it to them. I was puzzled by this and talked it over with another friend who suggested, since it was just after the Twin Towers tragedy that I was worried about a bombing in our town. Well, with the best will in the world I couldn’t image Al-Qaeda or its affiliates bothering to bomb a small town in the hinterland of Queensland, and it just didn’t feel right. As it was, when I got home I looked up at Dad’s house, slightly uphill from ours and beginning to look like a rubbish tip, and realised it was about him. Sure enough, he self-destructed a short while later and the social workers took over. I retired from the lists, stopped contact with Dad due to my own stress and ill-health from his shenanigans, and began to rebuild my own health and well-being.
I also came across in interesting technique in dreams which are unfinished. I had a dream that Bryan was in our old house up Mt French and a huge, black tornado was heading towards him. I tried to phone him but he wasn’t answering and I was frightened for him. I got woken up before the end of the dream but had that horrible, muggy feeling which meant it had some emotional meaning for me which I needed to understand. So I did some stooging around and came across the idea of relaxing, going into a sort of trance, revisiting the dream and asking for an ending. Well, it was quite unexpected. The dream was about me and the huge storm was heading my way. I was again puzzled by this but it was quite true – within a few weeks I was quite sick, no energy, lying on the sofa looking at the ceiling all day, fog in my head, intense pain in my back and hips and…..I found out later down the line that I’d copped fibromyalgia, another of Boonah’s horror stories!
I have had heaps of dreams since then which have helped me enormously, from understanding day-to-day problems to situations of a spiritual nature. I’ve found that if I concentrate on and pay attention to dreams, my inner wisdom or spiritual guidance will happily respond and send me some intriguing postcards from within – some easy to understand, some difficult to work with but rewarding in the end. And if you return to them further down the line, you may well find that there are deeper layers to a dream you might not have realised the first time you worked with it.
In my next post, I’ll explain some ways to work with dreams and also add in some great blogs about dreams and books which I’ve found helpful. If you have any questions, please let me know and I’ll do my best to help with your queries.
I wasn’t intending to continue on the theme of domestic violence in my family’s history except something happened which reminded me of how one can be affected not just by physical violence but by verbal pressures. I found myself freezing when someone said something sharply to me (who it was doesn’t matter, more how it affected me), and it reminded me of behavioural patterns from childhood which still affect me from time to time.
So I thought I’d carry on with how a dysfunctional relationship has affected me and how I’ve pretty much worked it out of my system. I’m writing this basically to encourage other women who might come across this blog and who are struggling with a dysfunctional relationship – whether in childhood, in the family right now or in a relationship – to get some understanding that they’re not on the same leaky boat alone.
I want to let them know that they are worth a damned sight more than anyone dragging them down or indulging in violence – whether physical or mental – against them, and to say to anyone who reads this and thinks they’re perhaps over-reacting: if you feel abused in any way, if you feel that someone is putting you down, if someone is bashing you or verbally abusing you, it is okay to acknowledge you may feel worthless and a heap of shit, but it’s also okay to feel angry, to experience hatred because it’s your experience, no-one else’s. No-one has the right to say that you are over-stating things, being sensitive or whatever. You have your feelings, you’re entitled to own your feelings and know they are fine.
The next step is to deal with your circumstances and work on clearing out crappy feelings – because those feelings affect only you, not the person who caused it. I want to tell you that I ran a group once with women who’d been sexually assaulted or suffered domestic violence or been the subject of hurtful behaviour and comments designed to smash their self-confidence. Each and every one of these brave, gutsy women had finally quit a situation that dragged down their spirits. They had regained their self-esteem, their self-confidence and rebuilt their lives. Some of them were in difficult financial circumstances but not one of them would go back to the hell of the past. They saw themselves not as survivors but as victors, because they had regained their spirit and their sense of self.
The quote in the title comes from one of those women. She had been through unimaginable difficulties but never gave up hope. Every time she was down, she told herself: “I am a fine woman”. I have never forgotten that and it’s been my mantra too and I’m pretrty sure it remains a mantra for other women in her group not only for her courage but her honesty in baring her soul to us.
Before we left Australia, we saw a programme on ABC TV which was based on the fact that many women who were the victims of domestic abuse in post-war Sydney got shot of their violent partners with thallium, a rat poison readily available in the corner stores in the city, although not available in other parts of the country.
About 100 deaths were attributed to these poisonings although the figure could have been higher. In most cases the women poisoning their partners were the victims of domestic violence and in those days there was no escape. To leave a marriage meant, for women, poverty and social ostracism. If you were getting beaten up, you had to put up with it and try to survive as best you could. Enter stage left thallium which was tasteless and highly effective at putting in food and knocking off your violent partner.
True not every woman who used the poison was the victim of domestic violence, but very many were and they were desperate.
Nowadays of course there is more knowledge of domestic violence, awareness of women’s refuges and far more support than there used to be. Nevertheless, many women continue to remain in violent relationships and all too often you see the comment: “Why don’t these women just get out of this situation. Just walk out or walk away.”
But it’s easier said than done, as victims will attest. There’s the shame factor of admitting publicly you’ve been bashed. Often there’s the very real fear of being homeless or facing the prospect of poverty. And all too often it’s because women have been brainwashed into thinking they deserve what they’re getting, that they don’t deserve any better and they’re basically a heap of worthless shit who should be happy they’ve got a man in their life, however violent.
If you’re wondering if I’ve been a victim of domestic violence myself, no, I haven’t, thank goodness. But going back to the history of domestic violence in my family and to the domineering attitude of my father, it came as a shock to me in my ‘fifties to realise how much I’d been brainwashed by my father over the years.
He used to say things with so much certainty that as a child I never queried whether his comments were truthful and correct or not. And this attitude continued into adulthood because it was one I’d grown up with and I had no reason not to trust what my father was saying. Also in my adult years I wasn’t around my father very much and, if I was, we used to argue like the clappers because I stood up to Dad when he said things I didn’t agree with or sneered at my views. Looking back now, I realise that my mum was the peacemaker between us and when she died, Dad and I were face to face in our relationship without an intervening presence.
In my ‘fifties I found out that something Dad had asserted was quite untrue and was in actual fact a piece of complete fiction. I found out other untruths and I began to query just what was real in the past and what wasn’t. I really have no idea now if the stories Dad told of his younger years were real or complete fiction. It’s a weird situation as you realise you’ve been so comprehensively brainwashed when you think you’re a perfectly functioning adult!
I also learned that, as well as being a liar, my father was always ready to rip off anyone, regardless of whether they were his friends or not. And he used money to try and control people, including myself. Facing up to who your father really was – and also seeing him when he was down and out as a raging alcoholic is very painful. We all would like the perfect father who loves us and approves of us, but for many of us it’s often it’s pie in the sky, particularly with older generations where fathers were often absent due to work requirements.
I don’t know about women who’ve been the subject of domestic violence, but I do know now that whenever someone speaks sharply or aggressively to me, I still freeze. My mind goes blank, I feel I’m in freefall, and it is really hard to get together the words to respond. Often I’ll simply reply shakily and quite weakly which really pisses me off no end when I look at how I could have replied further down the line. I’m working on this because it’s only with writing about my reaction that I’ve been able to pin the source down to the verbal batterings I used to get from my father.
In my next post I want to look at my relationship with money, because it too has been affected by my reaction to my father’s miserly approach to life and my fear of not being in the least like him. Once you start digging down into your family, its origins and how it affects you, it can seem like opening Pandora’s Box. But clearing out the box is the best way to get clear of shit which has been dragging you down, and standing tall in your own right and with confidence in yourself as “a fine woman”.