My name is Jane Brown, but this is not who I am, it is simply a name for the being standing in front of you and a mirror, no labels, no tags. Using aspects of the Gibbs model, assessing the Journey of life I have travelled upon so far.  I’ve taken a look past the reflection and considered exactly who, what resides inside,  my beliefs, thoughts and feelings which have influenced my decisions and behaviours, to my detriment and  at times to my benefit. What makes me happy, sad, what motivates me, what has held me back and what I was fearful of.   I will touch upon the turning point which has helped me seek refuge and find answers within.  The sad awakening to the false, painful existence I was living and the rose tinted glasses thrown away and replaced with self-awareness.
Born 2nd of March 1972, a really happy experience by all accounts.  At 20 and 21 Mum and dad had been dating for two years.  Dad, the eldest of 6 tall, blonde, blue eyed madly in lust, desperately wanting her to bear him a child.  When I came along they moved to a flat opposite a social club, to our detriment.  Mum from the rough side of the tracks, his family horrified.
An only child, a lonely child personified.  I vaguely recall my early years being happy, I knew no different.  It was safe to play outside until the street lights came on back then.  Building dens hide and seek, skates and my boxer bike, a tomboy, the good old days.  The only time I noticed something was amiss was at Christmas,  2-4 player board games simply put to the side, never knew what happened to them.   Mum, provided occasional cuddles, clean clothes, hot meals and sweets of course.   Dad at work, keeping the roof over our heads, food on the table and clothes on our back, the basics, with regular stumbles in from the social club of a night, every night. His motto being ‘work hard, play hard’  With mum being a  yes dear, I had freewill  but Dad’s resounding no’s, his style that of old school, ‘sit still’, ‘do as you’re told’, ‘don’t answer back ‘ , left confused.  What was the proper thing to say or do?
The years wore on, their relationship rotting, screaming started, harsh words, fights, dinners against the wall or in the bin, plates too.  Mum, having suffered a nervous breakdown at the tender age of 17, had been on medication ever since, was starting to deteriorate.  About 12 years old, my mother made a critical decision ‘ If I can’t beat him, I’ll join him’ and started drinking,   mixed with the medication didn’t need a lot to have the same effects as a full on  binge, taking to her bed most days or physically bouncing against the walls.   Angry, embarrassed, abandoned, never in a million years did I think she wouldn’t love me enough to be there for me.  I hated her, I lost my mother that day forever, I just didn’t understand depression or alcoholism.   The absence of my father didn’t bother me, what you don’t have you don’t miss. 
Aged 14, I was doing well at school, I loved it, and was always put forward to represent the school in competitions, Sports crazy.  At the same time dad was accused of having a ‘thing’ with the neighbour across the road,   mum -humiliated, hurt, packed.  Clothes in black bags, he took them without a backward glance, no goodbye, no fight, nothing.   Not much food, no heating, no money, and no mum, like a ghost almost, knew she was there.  Eggs were our staple diet from that point on, I was the new cook, the simple pleasure from slicing and the dicing, therapeutic. No more rules, freedom at last.  I too became invisible.


Smoking, late nights, chopsing, avoiding the care system for bunking off school for almost two years.  I was forced to live with my dad’s mother, avoid bringing shame to the family, six months later, two things happened at the same time.  My dad met and moved in with the love of his life with two teenagers in tow, and my amazing aunt invited me to go live with her and her family in Hampshire.   My favourite Aunt, fair but firm, fun and nurturing, I jumped at the chance.   Boarding the national express to London Victoria, I felt nothing, no hope, no sadness, just numb.  What was that?  Shouldn’t I be excited?
My new life in Hampshire, a far cry from Swansea, relations had grown stronger by my father’s efforts with his ten o’clock Saturday morning phone calls.  A full time job, money to spend, driving lessons, could life get any better? My dad, I think proud now and accepting, maybe, just maybe.   A few months in homesick, I called and was told to come home, ‘you can always go live with nan’.  Tears stopped and I felt rage, rejected again, but I swallowed it, fear of losing something I’d never had before, a supposed caring father, better than nothing.  
His mother’s 60th, now 17,   I met my dad’s new girlfriend officially,  for no reason,  she bellowed at me, something unfounded, verbally abusing me in front of his whole family.  Not one member of the family came to my defence, their silence giving her permission, and so did I.  I knew my boundaries, I was finally being accepted into the bosom of this family, wasn’t I?  I’d been invited to the party, why would I jeopardise my newfound position?   Red faced, sat there, quiet, I knew my place.  Blood is thicker than water, false statement.
As time went by , changing jobs frequently, qualifications, status, higher salary,  nice clothes, own house, striving to impress upon my dad, look at me, maybe he will be proud of me, forgive me for bringing shame upon the family for all the mistakes I made,  see I’m a good girl. 
They were married now, eventually invited to stay the odd weekend, the visits consisted of pubbing it of course, dad and I grew closer, but I had to put my name on his list or I wasn’t getting in.  I became the ultimate party animal.  Behind his back the sniping continued, but I wouldn’t retaliate, I’ve worked too hard on building, maintaining this relationship.  I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of asking me to leave if I was bold enough to have my say.  Even then I knew he would side with her, another bitter pill.  
My firstborn, perfect, new house, new car, the critique ramped up, caustic words spat out,   I looked at my little girl, and saw how pure and innocent she was, how much help she needed to grow, and be happy.  I could see now the beauty inside of this tiny being, a reflection, a realisation. 
Time passed, on the floor emotionally crushed, I discovered ‘the secret’, a book by Rhonda Byrne.   This proved to be the catalyst, Spiritualism followed, my internal dialogue whispered and slow little slaps to the face, eventually I woke up.   My life was a sham, founded on disillusion and nothingness, decisions had to be made, action needed. The internal pain far outweighed saying goodbye, this could not be remedied, a confrontation ensued, bridges burned and I held the matches. 

Free from the confines of my mind, music inside, dancing like one of those American inflatables outside a car showroom. The tapestry of my life unfinished, only half way through, slightly frayed. My husband and children, they’re the prominent picture, my motivation.  I do my best, allow them space to explore, personal growth, choice and the opportunity for a balanced life.  My friends are the thread, different colours, different strengths, holding things together, helping repair in parts and adding a rich texture, deep, but light, fun and laughter, sharing nights in or out, pizza and vino, films or music.  I read, absorbing myself in someone else’, thoughts and perceptions, a thirst for knowledge and understanding.    Reflect by writing, but also live my life with lists, I wouldn’t be able to function without them.   Day dream or retreat sometimes, just get lost in my thoughts, nobody else there,  to re-charge,  notice my feelings, look forward, make plans.  I am fair and champion equality and diversity, never one opposed to different creeds or colour however, politics, religion are not visible, not qualified to debate.  My tapestry strong and resilient, a contrast to my previous thoughts of a tapestry shredded.
According to Carl Rogers  (Rogers, 1995, p. 174) “ Though as a child she was wholly independent of the opinion of others, she is now completely dependent on what others think, she no longer has any way of knowing what she feels or what her option is, this is the loneliest state of all, and almost complete separation from ones autonomous organism”.  
I have since worked hard on healing my inner child and given her the attention needed and listened carefully,   knowing that fundamentally a good soul with good intention.  Accepting my flaws, forgiving myself for real or perceived mistakes, truly at peace with myself, barriers down but informed, with a sense of freedom knowing I am not responsible for other’s thoughts or feelings. I love me at last, in a healthy way, for the kind and considerate way I treat others, my strength of character and charm.  My resilience in the face of adversity, here I am, open to life on my terms.  I thank my god, the universe, for my amazing husband, beautiful children and good friends and of course my lovely aunt.  They saw the real me, supportive and keeping me sane, sharing our lives, but most importantly belonging. 










REFERENCES

Oxford Brookes University (1988) Gibbs Reflective Model
Available at http://www.brookes.ac.uk/students/upgrade/study-skills/reflective-writing-gibbs/
(Accessed: 17/11/2018)

Rogers, C.R. (1995) A way of being.  New York: Houghton Mifflin Company