Emotional Growth Sucks
So I got in to this EFT stuff, I was bloody cagey about it too. The world is full of so much vacuous fluff; ladies of all shapes and sizes enthusing that they see angels and have everything under control now, have everything they want, yet consult their guides, cards, pendulum, guru, girlfriends down at 'the circle' on every single step... all clutching at straws and reinforcing the delusion by any means.
I wanted something practical, scientific, something that my dad would have approved of. I also wanted on a budget. A degree was out of the question. NLP was too expensive. It was this, or leg waxing lessons down at the local evening classes.
Karl Dawson turned up in my Facebook friends list, although neither of us has any clue how. He was just there. He put me on to some useful links and from that I found a video of Gary Craig, probably on YouTube, which convinced me in one of his you-tube appearances. He basically stated for the record that faith didn't come in to the mix; that Emotional Freedom Techniques (48 of them to achieve basic competency, apparently) worked (when they worked), whether the client had any expectations or not. No miracle cure, no supplication or bestowing of wisdom or any of those tacky power games. Push the buttons, physical and metaphorical, and achieve factory re-set, one tiny redundant rationale at a time.
I can do this, me.
Having made the decision to train, it seemed the universe shifted to assist. My husband actually took me seriously for once, even sat down and helped me plan finances and how I could scrimp to save the money. You have no idea how extraordinary that is, and I could spend another year explaining. There wasn't even a bar of chocolate on my horizon if I was to hold back the £30 a week I needed to afford the course in time, but then somehow, in part via my mum and a (then) uncharacteristic splurge of generosity on her part, it all came together with breathing space.
I trained. In that training I shifted a burden so big that my feet never touched ground for twelve weeks.
I'd gone to help others, not myself, \was very clear on that fact and quite snippy about it. I spent a night in tears wondering whether to drop the course that I had saved so long for, that was going to finally give me something I could do, once it became apparent there would be no escaping working on ourselves if we wanted to pass. Shit - my life was one big ball of overwound rubber bands all held safe by tiny little pins. I only functioned with any speed or mental acuity on the strict understanding that nobody, nobody, no fucker was going to touch the fucking pins. The first girl to stand up and blurt her tortured secret put me in a complete spin as she confessed, with excruciating clarity, how a particular event had shattered her world and effected her to that day. The exact same event which had happened to someone close to me, too, someone that I was supposed to be protecting, someone I would give my life to save and yet it had all been hidden from me, all gone on under my nose. I was failure, failure, failure and I took on the blame for that. I assumed that my ineptitude was as good as guilt and that confessing would be as bad as forcing these ladies to confront a perpetrator.
Dear God. I spent the whole course being triggered by the course itself.
I wanted something practical, scientific, something that my dad would have approved of. I also wanted on a budget. A degree was out of the question. NLP was too expensive. It was this, or leg waxing lessons down at the local evening classes.
Karl Dawson turned up in my Facebook friends list, although neither of us has any clue how. He was just there. He put me on to some useful links and from that I found a video of Gary Craig, probably on YouTube, which convinced me in one of his you-tube appearances. He basically stated for the record that faith didn't come in to the mix; that Emotional Freedom Techniques (48 of them to achieve basic competency, apparently) worked (when they worked), whether the client had any expectations or not. No miracle cure, no supplication or bestowing of wisdom or any of those tacky power games. Push the buttons, physical and metaphorical, and achieve factory re-set, one tiny redundant rationale at a time.
I can do this, me.
Having made the decision to train, it seemed the universe shifted to assist. My husband actually took me seriously for once, even sat down and helped me plan finances and how I could scrimp to save the money. You have no idea how extraordinary that is, and I could spend another year explaining. There wasn't even a bar of chocolate on my horizon if I was to hold back the £30 a week I needed to afford the course in time, but then somehow, in part via my mum and a (then) uncharacteristic splurge of generosity on her part, it all came together with breathing space.
I trained. In that training I shifted a burden so big that my feet never touched ground for twelve weeks.
I'd gone to help others, not myself, \was very clear on that fact and quite snippy about it. I spent a night in tears wondering whether to drop the course that I had saved so long for, that was going to finally give me something I could do, once it became apparent there would be no escaping working on ourselves if we wanted to pass. Shit - my life was one big ball of overwound rubber bands all held safe by tiny little pins. I only functioned with any speed or mental acuity on the strict understanding that nobody, nobody, no fucker was going to touch the fucking pins. The first girl to stand up and blurt her tortured secret put me in a complete spin as she confessed, with excruciating clarity, how a particular event had shattered her world and effected her to that day. The exact same event which had happened to someone close to me, too, someone that I was supposed to be protecting, someone I would give my life to save and yet it had all been hidden from me, all gone on under my nose. I was failure, failure, failure and I took on the blame for that. I assumed that my ineptitude was as good as guilt and that confessing would be as bad as forcing these ladies to confront a perpetrator.
Dear God. I spent the whole course being triggered by the course itself.
posted by Cheryl at 9:49 am
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