Outback Jack's Journey

"People I love could be here one day and gone the next" When I was six, my mother went into the hospital because she was sick. My two younger brothers, my little sister, and I stayed with her best friend, Frances. We were playing in the toy room when Frances came in and told me my stepdad and my uncle wanted to talk to me. In the living room, my uncle invited me onto his lap. He held me and told me my mother had died. I looked over at my stepdad, and he was white as a sheet. He and my mother were both only twenty-three. I began to cry. I had never known anyone who died, and I don’t remember exactly how I came to understand that I would never see her again. During that same conversation, I learned I would be living with my grandparents, while my siblings would go to different aunts and uncles. In one day, everything familiar changed. My mother was gone, and my stepdad, brothers, and sister were no longer part of my everyday life. For about a year, I barely spoke. There’s a pic...

I just sent this to my lawyer: FYI my mental health has been deteriorating over the last several months. At my last two 6-monthly dentist appointments my dentist noticed I have been clenching my teeth and cracking my fillings. I am wearing a night guard to protect against this now.  My sleep quality has deteriorated to the point I need medication to have a decent sleep.  My wife has settled into the former rental property, unpacked, and only living out of a suitcase when living at the old family house. So it’s almost normal for her now. All my stuff is in boxes in the garage and I’m living out of a suitcase when at both properties. So it’s a much more uncertain and uncomfortable time for me.  There are a thousand little tasks to do in preparing the house for sale. She’s smashing through them, and is frustrated I’m not doing the same (that’s also her strength being a J-type in Myers-Briggs). I’ve felt increasingly stressed in my body and needing to hit the gym to de-stress...

Adjectives of relationship with my mother growing up are: smothering, disinterested, distant, stupid, disgust. The one with the most energy is: disgust. The word that best describes my mother growing up is: disgust. Mum would get me to dance on command, then watch me dance, and then comment on how 'beautiful' I was. I liked it to a point, but then it became icky, and I wanted to escape. When jumping into bed in between them in the mornings, I'd spoon Mum, or be spooned by her. She'd often comment that I was a "good little boy", which was nice but I wanted more - something from Dad? She commented on Dad's activities and drinking, which pushed me to have disgust with my Dad, and I bought Mum's point of view, yet felt disgust that she was splitting our family and pushing me away from Dad. I was a trophy to my mother - if I didn't look good, or be "nice", I'd get a scorn oer a frown. I had to be "on" for her. I had to perform , ...

​ Sex ends and you’re handed a towel like you’ve spilled something.   If they start checking their phone like you’re an email that’s already been filed, archived, and emotionally deleted and gone as fast as your boner has deflated, then this is for you. If they shift their body away from yours like they’ve suddenly remembered you’re a stranger, a mild inconvenience, or a man who might ask how their day was, which is obviously unacceptable, then you’re missing that 0.5%. If the air changes, like someone opened a door to a freezer stocked entirely with unresolved trauma and avoidance… yeah. You feel it before you understand it. The temperature drops, the silence gets loud, and suddenly you’re aware of where your clothes are, how far the door is, and how quickly this has gone from “come here” to “okay, so I’ve got an early morning.” Online sex can finish with a wave of a cum covered hand and the one clean finger reaching for the big red 🛑 before the video cuts out.  You realise ...

The Presbyterian Church of the USA wrote an article labelled, Limping Along . Here's my comment to their article:

Identity, Labels, and the Stories We Live By We spend our whole lives figuring out who we are. Not just once, not just during adolescence, but repeatedly—through relationships, through loss, through who or what we love. Through what we fear. Identity is like a living thing. It shifts, grows, breaks, and reforms. Still, we often mistakenly treat it like something that should be simple and fixed: “This is just who I am.” It’s appealing to think identity works that way. A label can feel like clarity. It can offer language for experiences that were once confusing or isolating. It can help us find community. When we finally one that fits, it can feel like finding home. But a label can also become something we cling to too tightly. When a label goes from describing us or our experience to defining us, something changes. We might stop simply being ourselves and begin to associate or perform as we think we’re supposed to. There’s a difference between: I have this experience and This experience...

I just had my post-Crucible Project weekend follow-up group. It is a mix of 6 men in person and 6 online. We shared answers to some questions at different points in our life in pairs, then the other man summarised our answers and shared them in the group. Here's his summary: André experienced wounding early that meant he felt disconnected and fragile, with less than ideal relationships with parents, and smothering by his Mum. His big wounds were: sexual abuse, bullying, and not being seen or supported by his parents. He stumbled thru his teenager years feeling disconnected. His only role model were TV models, like Magnum PI. He suppressed his feelings, yet connected with God, which became his most important relationship. He soothed his wounds through masturbation (& porn). I regret not reconciling with my wife. I’m proud of my girls. They then asked me to consider how God would bless me knowing all of our life. I responded. (I didn't write this down) Then each of the other...

Nightguard by Robert F You grind your teeth, said the doctor.  They will grind to nothing unless you get a night-guard.  It’s just a piece of plastic to bite on in your sleep.   I’m an infant trying to sleep in my crib, and crying.  I bang a cast on my leg against the crib.  No one comes.  Mom is busy, she is with other men.  Dad is angry.  I have no teeth, no advocate.  I brace for the next blow. My brother pins this toddler to the floor, his knees pressing my shoulders and arms down.  He beats on my chest, he twists my skin, my nipples.  I cry.  No one comes.  I clench my teeth, bracing for the next blow.   My father is very angry.  He spanks me.  Did I break the garbage can, climbing on it?  Did I lie about it?  I am afraid of him.  I clench my teeth, bracing for the next blow.   My brother hides in my room with a distorted mask.  He jumps out to frighten me when I ...

Earlier last year (before my back pain came back) I had a triggering experience at the Brazilian Jujitsu place that I’ve been to for years with a coach called Rohan. I stopped going and paused my membership, and I received texts saying, “We’ve noticed that you haven’t been on the mats…” Eventually I met up with the head coach, Mitch, and he suggested that Rohan and I meet up and share our stories. I gave him permission to pass my contact details on to Rohan. Silence. For months. In June, I got excruciating back pain and realised I wouldn’t be wrestling for a while and didn’t bother following up, but I got better and then wondered why Rohan or Mitch hadn’t contacted me to meet up. I investigated some other BJJ places, but they didn’t seem to have the camaraderie of Dark Carnival.  On Monday, my usual staff meeting got cancelled and I decided I wanted to be assertive and find out why. I walked in and the head coach, Mitch, was there. He asked how I was and said he hadn’t seen...

As a 13 year old, I would want my father to have a conversation with me about sexual matters. As a prerequisitie, I would want a close authentic, real, open, and honest relationship with my Dad, which I didn't have. So this would be a fictious, alternate reality version of my Dad. Perhaps not just one "once and done" talk, but several over many months and years. And an open relationship that clearly fostered ongoing discussion and further questions. I would want my Dad to talk about sex in personal ways, not abstract terms. I would want him to talk about body changes as a teen: physical height, muscles, body hair, body odour, changes in penis, love, sex, marriage, girls, relationships. Emotions: anxiety over what didn't happen. Relief and joy over what could have been.

  Today I was just sitting at my computer working when I looked down and saw a drop of blood on my shirt and splash marks on my desk. I get a tissue and apply pressure to my nose, get a cold drink, and lay down to rest. I feel weak and vulnerable like I'm a 6 year old boy. I picture myself in the primary school playground playing with other boys, but I've bumped my head and my nose is bleeding. I hold my nose and walk towards the school buildings where I'll go to the sick bay. I've been there a lot with a bleeding nose. My nose would bleed if I got hot.  If it got bumped. I couldn't be a "rough and tumble boy". I couldn't do team sports. It would bleed if I exercised. So I couldn't do anything energetic. I couldn't become athletic.  This story links with "Mum, am I going to die?"

If you're going to shame me for arranging a massage with a stranger, then please stop reading now. It was a massage we'd arranged thru MassageExchange.com. My profile says "No sex" twice. Before I met him that time I had also texted, "No sex." We met for a massage exchange about two weeks ago and that was a good experience.  However this time, he got more sensual with me than before. I had three sore points on my body I asked him to massage, and he massage two of those areas. This time he was clearly not focussing on my body, but getting off on me, and trying to arouse me. I did get aroused, but not for long. He grabbed me at one point, but I said, "No touching. Thanks" and he let go. I ended up  straddling his chest  with my penis near his mouth, and he offered to blow me, but I said "No thanks."  He gave me a body glide or two, which got me briefly aroused. I did the same and he groaned in ecstasy.  He called out what he thought was ...

I have my Brothers Road Zoom coaching group just now. (I really would recommend it) They asked what I'd like to work on. I said I'd like to talk to the part of me that wants to meet men on Instagram and flirt with them to feel seen. The leader got me to connect with that part of me, which is usually late at night and when someone has ignored me or rejected me. He asked what is an earlier time I've felt like this, and it was growing up. My Dad had a desk where he'd study facing away from us at the far end of the lounge room, which we could see from the kitchen and family room. I must have looked at the back of his head thousands of times wanting connection, but if I did disturb him, I'd get shouted at and told not to disturb him. I presumed there was something wrong with me for wanting connection with him. The leader got me to imagine entering that scene as my adult self, approaching little me together with Jesus. We kneel down and hug him, and tell him that there...

Late last night I was watching Star Wars: Attack of the Clones again. My daughter was going to bed and said “Good night. Are you going to bed soon?”  I said “I’ll go to bed soon, but I’m hungry and I’ll eat some food”  She asked, “Have you seen a doctor about your hunger?”  I felt shame in the question because it implied my hunger is weird or unusual and I should see a doctor about it, and why haven’t I seen a doctor about that already?! Today she left early but when she got back I was able to have a conversation with her about this and say that was a triple barrelled question that implied that I’m stupid, and this is what her Mum has done - she implicitly shames me.  She admitted that she does subtly put me down in some of her questioning. She's effectively learned from her mother who's modelled that to her. We hugged and apologised.  It was really lovely.

It's 6am and I’m feeling very sad. I've been awake for 3 hours after some memories from when I was 18 have come up. I feel punched in the guts. The building where I charged my car the other day is next door to where my Year 10 formal was held.  That got me thinking about my Year 12 formal where the students who organised it gave everyone awards (unchecked by teachers). I wasn’t in the dining hall when they gave them out, but a friend told me soon afterwards that I got some type of Loser award. 😢 I felt sad, rejected, crushed. I called Scott on video and he asked, “What are you feeling?” I couldn’t speak for over a minute, and I just cried. I felt a very heavy knot in my stomach, like the size and heaviness of a bowling ball. I also felt a heaviness on my shoulders, like someone was standing behind me pushing down on my shoulders stopping me from standing up. My mother had drummed in to me daily, "Don't be angry like your father." It's like I have a Jawa restr...

I found a piece of paper on the top shelf in my wardrobe. This is what I'd written in pencil: Where am I?  I'm near the end of my time fathering teenagers before they become adults. I'm coming near a period of time where I'm just a man (not a father or husband), possibly alone, wanting to define myself on other people. I'm at a place where I'm discovering I need to discover who i am. i want to connect with myself. What do I want?  I want to define myself independent of other people - just me. i want to be an awesome friend, awesome Dad. I want friends who love hanging out with me. I want to connect with myself. What am I Afraid of? I'm afriad of not wanting or liking myself when I connect, feeling lonely, wanting to reject myself. Alone. What I don't like about myself: Other people don't seem to like me. I'm weak, ugly, unattractive, damaged, unwanted, weird, something wrong with me, people tolerate being around me/they don't want to hang wit...

My wife and I have each answered the question, "Why are we separating, and not continuing to pursue reconciliation?" Here's my updated statement: I have done some things that unintentionally hurt your Mum and led her to not trust me. Why I did those things is not because I don’t love your Mum. I do love her and you. I still have a some trauma in my life that isn’t fully healed, but which I’m continuing to seek to heal. Trauma is complex; it has made me do things I don’t want to do, I don’t really understand why I’ve done them, and I don’t have all the answers, but I do have to take responsibility for them. Mum has also done things that have hurt me, and am willing to keep working at reconciling and repairing. I continue to love her, I will always be your Dad, and I will always love you. My wife's statement: I have worked hard through our marriage to understand and support Dad with the issues around his trauma. Trust has been broken many times over a number of years an...

Two random stories of showering in a beach public toilet/shower block - one from the 80s, one from a few years ago. I've shared in an earlier post that a pedophile sexually abused me when I was 7 and 8. Perhaps when I was 10 I was showering in a beach toilet block with my Mum waiting outside. My Dad didn't come on Summer holidays. I was in my cubicle showering and jerking off. In the next cubicle was a tall man showering. He was tall enough he could look over the wall and saw me with my boner in my hand. A minute later he was at my cubicle door and had unlocked it from the outside and was opening the door inwards. I realised what was happening and what would happen if I let him come in, so I pushed the door hard closed and re-locked the door! I quickly finished showering and drying and ran out to my Mum crying. The man was nowhere to be seen once I got outside. Story 2 Maybe 3-4 years ago I had swum at a beach in Queensland and walked off the beach to the public toilets and sho...

Here’s my answer the question, Why we’re separating, and why we’re not continuing to pursue reconciliation: I have unintentionally done some things that hurt your Mum and led her to not trust me. Why I did those things is not because I don’t love your Mum. I do love her and you. I still have a lot of trauma in my life that isn’t healed, but which I’m continuing to seek to heal. Trauma is complex; it has made me do things I don’t want to do, I don’t really understand why I’ve done them, and I don’t have all the answers, but I do have to take responsibility for them. Mum can’t go any further with me and I need to respect that. We both feel very sad about this. I will always love her, I will always be your Dad, and I will always love you.

If I am completely honest and uncensored, part of my wants to see and be seen naked, touch, and be touched by other men, and be sexual because: I want to be desired by someone, desperately, eagerly desired, worshipped by someone. I want to know someone loves me and loves my penis, and desires to be close and touch me. I want to feel pleasure, delight, and orgasm. I want to know who I am, see and compare myself to other men. I want to be curious, know the different variations of penises. I want to be the object of someone's lust. I want to hear them cry my name out because they WANT me BAD. I want to matter to someone. I want to be wanted, pursued, I want someone to thirst for me, to be completely transfixed, mesmerised, captivated. I want them to not notice anything in the world, BUT ME!  I want to be valued, seen, appreciated, that I matter, I am important to someone. I want someone to want and value me - all of me! I want someone to love my penis like I do. I want them to pleasur...