Outback Jack's Journey

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 , ...

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.

Today I received a link to a short 11-min video on  Imagining your Ideal Parents . I had to stop it after 6-min. But in those 6-min, the man in the video got me to imagine three scenes: A scene where my father delighted in spending time with me. He wrestled me. He made an effort to learn cricket, and he'd spent tireless afternoons in the backyard helping me learn how to hit a cricket ball with a cricket bat. Another scene where my parents were attuned to me that they listened to me recount a tragic day where I was bullied and punched at school. The listened, didn't give advice, were attuned to my pain, and reassured me that they loved me. Another scene where my family are doing a bush walk. In reality my father would walk fast and far ahead. I couldn't catch up, despite running. In the new imagined scene, my father is attuned to my tiredness and exhaustion, and he cares deeply. He doesn't blame me for being weak and not keeping up, he apologises for going on such a lon...

Mum, I remember you and Dad shouting at each other or at me. Later you'd come to me and apologise for Dad's behaviour. I felt it wasn't right or appropriate that you apologised for his behaviour; he should be the one to apologise, but he never ever did. You would comfort me, and then say "Don't be like your father". The consequence and cost of that meant you drove a wedge between him and me, and between me and the man who needed to help me identify as a man. Effectively you emasculated me. You said, "Don't be like your father" so many times, that I rejected all aspects of him both good and bad. I rejected his anger and violent words. But it also cost me: identifying with his masculinity, copying his assertiveness and leadership, modelling from his initiative-taking, picking up his strength of character. I hand that back to you. Mum, what’s on you is: triangulating me away from Dad, emasculating me, trying to make me “a good little boy” that was...

I am known as: André. What others don’t know about me is: I don't value myself. I only give myself value when others hang out with me.  I was sexually abused aged 7 and 8, I struggle to feel I am a "real man", I have lusted after myself and other men. What I struggle to accept about me and my life is that I have value in myself, and that men accept me as a man. I didn't learn much at all about being a man from my father. What I learned about being a man from my mother is that masculinity is physical attributes that you can see. I am like my father: I am assertive. I am like my mother: I often play the "victim", I am selfish. I am different from my father: I can say "I love you", I can apologise for mistakes, I can express emotions, I can see a counsellor and not "lose it", I trust in Jesus. I am different from my mother: I am not a narcissist. What wounds do I carry as a man: I think the masculine characteristics are ones you can see: vis...

1. Family background My Dad was from Canada. He was an alcoholic, always seemed to be angry, and verbally abusive primarily to Mum, but also my sister and I. One year I was asked what I wanted for Christmas, and I said, “One day where Mum and Dad don’t shout.” Every night he would drink and after dinner he would start shouting, mainly at my Mum, but if my sister or I would talk with him, we’d get shouted at too. So I learned to hide in my bedroom and did my schoolwork. I have no memory of him ever saying he loved me. I know many fathers of this generation didn’t, but his actions didn’t show it either. He didn’t spend time with me, he showed no physical affection, no wrestling, no hugging, he paid me no attention, gave no praise and showed no trust. Dad didn't even seem to like being around me. Dad was physically present, but distant. He didn’t raise me. It seemed he couldn’t be bothered or care about me at all. He would only want to spend time with me so I could help him with a pro...