We need a new narrative around grief — one that involves allowing us to keep our loved one close. To keep them in our present. To intentionally carry their memory, our love for them and the gifts they brought to our lives into our daily present moments.

Author and developer of ‘Narrative ideas’, Michael White, speaks about the idea of our life as being like a club with a membership.

He speaks of practices he calls ‘re- membering’ people who have played significant roles in our lives in the past and intentionally bringing them into our present by reconnecting with them, or recreating some kind of link with them.

There was a woman who used to invite me in to her home at a time when I was very troubled but unable to articulate the trauma I had experienced. I do not even know her name so can’t track her down, but she used to sew furry soft toys that she sold at a market and when I was in her home I loved to watch her stitch their little faces. She had a kerosene heater and I remember the smell of it when I would hold the animals up to my face. I have ‘re-membered’ this kind-hearted woman into my life by looking for and buying several soft toy animals that I have found that remind me of the kind she made. I cannot contact her directly but the toys bring her kindness and caring in my past into my present day.

These re-membering practices can, I believe inform some healthier narratives around grief. When someone very precious to us dies our immediate goal does not need to be the releasing-focused narratives we are familiar with, but rather a holding-close narrative. An endearing, and in Michael White’s sort of terms perhaps, a constant-membering.

Our loved one may no longer be with us, but we can hold their memory close and maintain their involvement in our life-club.

A close friend of mine died recently. Someone who has been a significant part of my life since I was a teenager. A wise, influential, kind and very present friend. I have been deeply impacted by the accident that left her fighting for life and her subsequent death and I have struggled hugely at the rolling out of trite and simplistic notions of, ‘she is in a better place’ and exhortations to ‘let her go’.

I am not ready to let her go, nor should I be.

Death may have come suddenly to this beautiful soul but there is nothing healthy about the idea of quickly getting over it and getting back on with life.

Instead of focusing on the ending of our grief and sense of loss, constant-membering practices can allow us to navigate in a more engaging way through it.

Instead of seeking to avoid and extinguish our pain, it can allow us to intentionally feel it.

Leunig, the Australian cartoonist suggests that, ‘When the heart is cut or cracked or broken, do not clutch it, let the wound lie open. Let the wind from the good old sea blow in, to bathe the wound with salt and let it sting. Let a stray dog lick it, let a bird lean in the hole and sing a simple song like a tiny bell, and let it ring.’

Constant-membering then is about the opposite of moving on and letting go, and instead encourages us to feel, to remember, to let the wound lie open.

In practice this might be wearing items of clothing that were favorites of the one we have lost. Or eating foods we ate together, drinking things we have shared in the past, keeping a candle burning for them, displaying photos of them prominently, keeping their clothes ready, the recipe they were planning on cooking next, open and visible in the kitchen.

These are not unhealthy ideas, keeping us connected to pain — they are not unhealthily keeping the wound open — rather, they keep the one we are grieving as a constant member of our lives allowing us the emotional space to intentionally and appropriately feel our loss.

This may be counter-intuitive in a culture that seeks to move on and let go and hurry us to close our grief, but it is a much healthier way to give us space to process our loss.

And why must grieving be such a hurry anyway? Why is there such a drive to gain ‘closure’?

Constant-membering surely must allow us to more gently tread the painful path of loss, giving us permission to feel rather than avoid feeling, to cry rather than try to avoid crying, and ever-so-gently to process the enormity of our pain.

I am holding my dear friend Penny close — I have photos of her around my home, I intentionally wear things that remind me of her. I am cooking her favourite meals, drinking her favourite drinks and doing so with her in mind. Intentionally.

Yes I am sad, but I find I am increasingly simply thankful for her presence in my life and that can never be lost.

We need a new narrative around grief — one that involves allowing us to keep our loved one close. To keep them in our present. To intentionally carry their memory, our love for them and the gifts they brought to our lives into our daily present moments.

Author and developer of ‘Narrative ideas’, Michael White, speaks about the idea of our life as being like a club with a membership.

He speaks of practices he calls ‘re- membering’ people who have played significant roles in our lives in the past and intentionally bringing them into our present by reconnecting with them, or recreating some kind of link with them.

There was a woman who used to invite me in to her home at a time when I was very troubled but unable to articulate the trauma I had experienced. I do not even know her name so can’t track her down, but she used to sew furry soft toys that she sold at a market and when I was in her home I loved to watch her stitch their little faces. She had a kerosene heater and I remember the smell of it when I would hold the animals up to my face. I have ‘re-membered’ this kind-hearted woman into my life by looking for and buying several soft toy animals that I have found that remind me of the kind she made. I cannot contact her directly but the toys bring her kindness and caring in my past into my present day.

These re-membering practices can, I believe inform some healthier narratives around grief. When someone very precious to us dies our immediate goal does not need to be the releasing-focused narratives we are familiar with, but rather a holding-close narrative. An endearing, and in Michael White’s sort of terms perhaps, a constant-membering.

Our loved one may no longer be with us, but we can hold their memory close and maintain their involvement in our life-club.

A close friend of mine died recently. Someone who has been a significant part of my life since I was a teenager. A wise, influential, kind and very present friend. I have been deeply impacted by the accident that left her fighting for life and her subsequent death and I have struggled hugely at the rolling out of trite and simplistic notions of, ‘she is in a better place’ and exhortations to ‘let her go’.

I am not ready to let her go, nor should I be.

Death may have come suddenly to this beautiful soul but there is nothing healthy about the idea of quickly getting over it and getting back on with life.

Instead of focusing on the ending of our grief and sense of loss, constant-membering practices can allow us to navigate in a more engaging way through it.

Instead of seeking to avoid and extinguish our pain, it can allow us to intentionally feel it.

Leunig, the Australian cartoonist suggests that, ‘When the heart is cut or cracked or broken, do not clutch it, let the wound lie open. Let the wind from the good old sea blow in, to bathe the wound with salt and let it sting. Let a stray dog lick it, let a bird lean in the hole and sing a simple song like a tiny bell, and let it ring.’

Constant-membering then is about the opposite of moving on and letting go, and instead encourages us to feel, to remember, to let the wound lie open.

In practice this might be wearing items of clothing that were favorites of the one we have lost. Or eating foods we ate together, drinking things we have shared in the past, keeping a candle burning for them, displaying photos of them prominently, keeping their clothes ready, the recipe they were planning on cooking next, open and visible in the kitchen.

These are not unhealthy ideas, keeping us connected to pain — they are not unhealthily keeping the wound open — rather, they keep the one we are grieving as a constant member of our lives allowing us the emotional space to intentionally and appropriately feel our loss.

This may be counter-intuitive in a culture that seeks to move on and let go and hurry us to close our grief, but it is a much healthier way to give us space to process our loss.

And why must grieving be such a hurry anyway? Why is there such a drive to gain ‘closure’?

Constant-membering surely must allow us to more gently tread the painful path of loss, giving us permission to feel rather than avoid feeling, to cry rather than try to avoid crying, and ever-so-gently to process the enormity of our pain.

I am holding my dear friend Penny close — I have photos of her around my home, I intentionally wear things that remind me of her. I am cooking her favourite meals, drinking her favourite drinks and doing so with her in mind. Intentionally.

Yes I am sad, but I find I am increasingly simply thankful for her presence in my life and that can never be lost.

We need a new narrative around grief — one that involves allowing us to keep our loved one close. To keep them in our present. To intentionally carry their memory, our love for them and the gifts they brought to our lives into our daily present moments.

Author and developer of ‘Narrative ideas’, Michael White, speaks about the idea of our life as being like a club with a membership.

He speaks of practices he calls ‘re- membering’ people who have played significant roles in our lives in the past and intentionally bringing them into our present by reconnecting with them, or recreating some kind of link with them.

There was a woman who used to invite me in to her home at a time when I was very troubled but unable to articulate the trauma I had experienced. I do not even know her name so can’t track her down, but she used to sew furry soft toys that she sold at a market and when I was in her home I loved to watch her stitch their little faces. She had a kerosene heater and I remember the smell of it when I would hold the animals up to my face. I have ‘re-membered’ this kind-hearted woman into my life by looking for and buying several soft toy animals that I have found that remind me of the kind she made. I cannot contact her directly but the toys bring her kindness and caring in my past into my present day.

These re-membering practices can, I believe inform some healthier narratives around grief. When someone very precious to us dies our immediate goal does not need to be the releasing-focused narratives we are familiar with, but rather a holding-close narrative. An endearing, and in Michael White’s sort of terms perhaps, a constant-membering.

Our loved one may no longer be with us, but we can hold their memory close and maintain their involvement in our life-club.

A close friend of mine died recently. Someone who has been a significant part of my life since I was a teenager. A wise, influential, kind and very present friend. I have been deeply impacted by the accident that left her fighting for life and her subsequent death and I have struggled hugely at the rolling out of trite and simplistic notions of, ‘she is in a better place’ and exhortations to ‘let her go’.

I am not ready to let her go, nor should I be.

Death may have come suddenly to this beautiful soul but there is nothing healthy about the idea of quickly getting over it and getting back on with life.

Instead of focusing on the ending of our grief and sense of loss, constant-membering practices can allow us to navigate in a more engaging way through it.

Instead of seeking to avoid and extinguish our pain, it can allow us to intentionally feel it.

Leunig, the Australian cartoonist suggests that, ‘When the heart is cut or cracked or broken, do not clutch it, let the wound lie open. Let the wind from the good old sea blow in, to bathe the wound with salt and let it sting. Let a stray dog lick it, let a bird lean in the hole and sing a simple song like a tiny bell, and let it ring.’

Constant-membering then is about the opposite of moving on and letting go, and instead encourages us to feel, to remember, to let the wound lie open.

In practice this might be wearing items of clothing that were favorites of the one we have lost. Or eating foods we ate together, drinking things we have shared in the past, keeping a candle burning for them, displaying photos of them prominently, keeping their clothes ready, the recipe they were planning on cooking next, open and visible in the kitchen.

These are not unhealthy ideas, keeping us connected to pain — they are not unhealthily keeping the woulnd open — rather, they keep the one we are grieving as a constant member of our lives allowing us the emotional space to intentionally and appropriately feel our loss.

This may be counter-intuitive in a culture that seeks to move on and let go and hurry us to close our grief, but it is a much healthier way to give us space to process our loss.

And why must grieving be such a hurry anyway? Why is there such a drive to gain ‘closure’?

Constant-membering surely must allow us to more gently tread the painful path of loss, giving us permission to feel rather than avoid feeling, to cry rather than try to avoid crying, and ever-so-gently to process the enormity of our pain.

I am holding my dear friend Penny close — I have photos of her around my home, I intentionally wear things that remind me of her. I am cooking her favourite meals, drinking her favourite drinks and doing so with her in mind. Intentionally.

Yes I am sad, but I find I am increasingly simply thankful for her presence in my life and that can never be lost.

It’s the thirteenth of February today and that means tomorrow will be…….either your favorite day of the year, the day you celebrate love and all things loving, or the worst day of your year, the day you are acutely aware of the absence of love and all things loving in your life.

Valentines Day may have a history steeped in tradition and romanticism but the reality for those of us in the west is that it is simply another money-grab opportunity from those with something vaguely ‘romantic’ to sell, a marketing tool for restaurants, resorts, hotels and anywhere couples might go. You can’t go anywhere around this time of year without spotting the obligatory red hearts everywhere and being confronted at almost every turn with some sign inviting us to buy this or go there to show the one we love how much we care……

And of course the down side to all of this is how confronting that can all be for those with no special person in their lives, or those for whom love has been empty, vacuous or lost.

What strikes me as the most significant aspect of all this is how shallow our perception of love is. Or should I say how shallow a sense of love is portrayed and that we then swallow?

I have always celebrated Valentines Day — over the years I have done various things — put out some pretty red heart shaped candles I have, made a special meal for my family — something they all love, encouraged the children to make pretty heart shaped cards and send them to each other, buy heart shaped chocolates to share…….

The thing is we can make Valentines Day be about ALL aspects of love and not just the romantic notion of love it is narrowly portrayed as (and marketed to us) as being, we can take ownership of how we choose to play the Valentines Day game and instead of allowing it to bring our singleness into sharp focus and receive a message of isolation, loneliness or loss, we can allow our focus to shift to the many other aspects of love that abound around us.

If you have ever watched the TV show, Park’s and Recreation, you will be familiar with actor Amy Pohler’s character, Lesley Knope, an upbeat take of a woman in leadership. Lesley Knope doesn’t focus on Valentines Day and all it’s cliche’d marketing, instead she celebrates what she calls ‘Gal-entines Day on the 13th. I responded so warmly to the main characters’ idea of celebrating what she called ‘Galentines Day’ on the 13th February.

Her idea on the show, and in fact Amy’s real life practice, is to make the 13th February a day to celebrate the ‘Gals’ in our lives, to focus on the awesome friendships and loving support we know from good and trusted friends.

I love that idea. I love it because it broadens our view of love and because it makes us think about what we have instead of focusing our attention on what we don’t have. I love it because it is positive and creative and practical and real.

With Valentines Day just one sleep away, are you allowing yourself to succumb to the devices of marketers and salesmen who honestly just want you to buy their products, are you allowing yourself to feel any sense of being ‘less than’ if you do not currently have a special person in your life to buy flowers for, or receive flowers from? Are you allowing yourself to be played or are you prepared to take responsibility for your own life and take charge of how YOU will play the Valentines Day game?

If you are ready to take charge, then join me in making today be all about your awesome ‘gal’ friends and make tomorrow be all about showing love — show love to your friends, show love to your family, show love to yourself.

Make Valentines Day a day you celebrate the love you DO know!

I came across a quote recently that really struck a chord for me.

‘If you find yourself having to regularly indulge in CONSUMER self-care, it’s because you are disconnected from ACTUAL self-care, which has very little to do with ‘treating yourself’ and a whole lot to do with parenting yourself and making choices for your long-term wellbeing.’

These words were penned by Brianna Wiest, an American writer and speaker, who has summed up succinctly in them what I have now come to think of as first and second stage self-care.

Brianna’s words really helped to bring into focus something about self-care which I could see, but a little hazily. Clarifying and illuminating what had been a somewhat dimly lit understanding.

When we are new to the idea of self-care, when it feels as foreign to us as sitting in a crowded room filled with people speaking in a language we have never heard before, when Recovery is a concept we have just discovered, our ideas around self-care are, of necessity, simplistic.

They involve things like being willing to spend a few dollars on ourselves. Being willing to take ourselves to a cafe for a coffee. Simplistic things that in many ways speak more to the lack in our lives, the devaluing of self that has occurred around abuse, the I’m-not-important-enough-for-anyone-to-spend-money-on-me feeling that is firmly tied in to the abuse we have experienced.

But this first stage self-care is a temporary place for us to visit, a kind of scaffolding that we need to build around our hearts while we are emerging from abuse, while we are learning what false beliefs we have accepted and allowed to influence our thinking, while we are recovering, and rebuilding our lives.

But it’s not our permanent home.

It is when we begin to see how un-nurtured our heart is that we begin to grasp how much deeper self-care is. That it’s not something we tack on at the end of a busy day to balance out all the ways we have pushed ourselves around, done things that injure our souls, spoken harshly to ourselves, shown ourselves complete disdain.

No.

Resoundingly no.

Self-care — the true self-care we are striving for, is not about buying ourselves ‘things’ to make up for our unkindness, our lack of kindness or the failure of our kindness. It’s not a pendulum swing in the other direction to right wrongs — it speaks to the core of rebalancing our lives IN THE RIGHT ORDER.

It is about waking up in the morning and considering what we need.

More sleep?

A healthy breakfast?

Some time alone?

Some time with trusted friends?

To go to the shops to buy supplements or medications that keep us well?

To read or research an issue that we are thinking about?

It is about all through the day making choices, big and small, that honour our own souls, that address our own needs as people of worth and significance, listening to and accepting feedback and focusing on learning and growing, speaking to ourselves not just with kindness but with an understanding that we are growing beings.

In short, being loving, wise and kind parents to ourselves.

First stage self-care is not wrong or bad — but alone it is not enough to rebuild our lives.

We need it to learn, but we need to see it for what it is and then grow past the need to just get ourselves stuff to feel good after we’ve been neglectful.

In second stage self-care we hold ourselves differently. We have brought into harmony our needs and the needs of others around us. We cease compensating ourselves for our earlier mistakes and instead act from a place of accepting our boundaries and respecting our own needs.

Second stage self-care is being the parent to ourselves and showing ourselves the deep and unconditional love our souls have always craved. And then doing it again tomorrow.

~ Sue

Movements come in waves.

There was a wave, starting in the late 70’s when people began to speak of the horror they had been living with — the horror that we now call child sexual abuse.

It was not at first widely believed — surely not — could such things be? But as the wave gained momentum, more and more people bravely spoke of their experiences at the hands of family members, teachers, strangers and of course the clergy. And here we are now in the opening years of a new millennium, riding high on the wave of every story must be true.

I am so glad that I am not a man, and I worry for my male friends — because this can come out of nowhere, so many years later and suddenly their lives are a train wreck and there is no way out. In Salem, Massachusetts in the 1600’s it was dangerous to be a woman. These days it’s men who are living in fear.

The first time I heard someone speak about child sexual abuse was in 1977. I was then seventeen and still living with my parents. My dad had been using me to meet his sexual needs since I was 4 years old and I had recently had to face the fear that I was pregnant with what would have been my baby/sibling. I’d been watching an after-the-news current affair show during which a young girl was interviewed about her life and she spoke words that set my life on a whole new path. She spoke about her dad creeping into her room at night and suddenly I knew I was not the only one. I went on and became a social worker with a clear mandate on my life to turn the horrific experiences I had grown up with into something good — to help others as I had needed to be helped. I know this area like the back of my own hands, and yet — there remains this concern for my male friends.

And here is why. The tide turned. What was once unutterable has become so common place that barely a day goes by without the news of some new celebrity, celebrity’s dad, actor, musician or clergy-man arrested on charges of historic child sex abuse.

What once was unimaginable has become pedestrian.

In the UK almost half of all criminal cases now concern historic child sex abuse (Dougherty, 2016). Of course the media, and in particular social media, has played a huge part in this ordinary-making scenario, but of particular concern is how much an allegation has become accepted as fact.

We pride ourselves on our Westminster legal system here in the western world and yet the reality around historic child sexual abuse cases is that once an allegation has been raised, the media storm that follows makes the case. Mud sticks. Reputations are lost, lives destroyed before the first mention is even made in a court of law.

Child sexual abuse is, and rightly should be, repugnant to us all.

Survivors of a crime that robs a child of their innocence have their work cut out for them to repair the damage done and rebuild their lives. I know that first hand and through the support work I have done throughout my life.

And yet the nagging doubts grow.

Is every allegation based on truth? And how DO you prove a historic case? Or disprove it for that matter? Are we naïve enough to believe that every allegation is factually true or are there other explanations? Do people lie? Do people suggest that abuse may be the reason for someone’s current struggles? Do people come to believe they were abused simply because they feel uncomfortable around a person, even in the absence of actual memories?

There is no way to prove the veracity of a claim that a man snuck into a room and molested a child thirty years ago. And the man can only hope to prove it didn’t happen if at the time he was physically unable — if he was, say, overseas or incarcerated at the time.

Many claimants are vague about time frames, despite the apparent need for specificity in criminal cases — it happened somewhere between 1967 and 1977. It was in a house, flat, car. It was in the city, the country. He was twenty, thirty. He was dark haired, balding. It’s verging on the farcical. And yet on such scanty evidence convictions are brought time and time again.

The tide turned and we realised that, as a society, we had failed so many children and we have vowed to bring them justice. So now we believe implicitly that if he/she said it happened, that it happened. That’s almost all the evidence that is required for conviction.

In every other matter that appears before a court we take great care to ensure the jury is not prejudiced with information about the respondent’s past convictions, but when it comes to matters of historic child sex abuse the tables are literally turned. Not only are similar matters disclosed, they are specifically brought to the case. Tendency evidence is ‘[e]vidence of the character, reputation or conduct of a person or a tendency that a person has or had … [which proves] … that a person has or had a tendency to act in a particular way, or to have a particular state of mind’ (Shead, Vol 26 Issue 1 2014).

Tendency convicts.

Let me explain how it works. Say there is seen to be enough evidence to prove one allegation, then this proves tendency so that when other allegations are considered, even if there is insubstantial evidence, this person is deemed likely to have acted in this way and the weight of tendency is sufficient to lead to multiple convictions. This forms part of the instruction given by a judge to a jury and of course leads to the very ral possibility of compromise.

While in every other matter we take great care to ensure a fair trial, when it comes to historic child sexual abuse we have, for whatever reason, allowed the rules to be altered and while we need to see criminals prosecuted, a higher concern needs to be the safety of those convictions.

Here’s the thing. We most definitely DO need to address historic child sexual abuse — but not by abandoning time-honoured and sound legal practices. It IS difficult to assess the veracity of claims of historic abuse — but we must do so — we MUST find a way to provide a framework to assess TRUTH or face the consequences that will, inevitably, follow.

The primary consequence of accepting testimony alone as the basis for proof of abuse is that false allegation can and will be raised and innocent people will be convicted.

But there is a second consequence — which we are already seeing occur — that is based in the level of fear generated by this witch hunt of the Millennium — that is the need for men to go to great lengths to protect themselves from the possibility of being accused of a crime they have not committed — and the only way this can happen, as we move forwards, is for fewer and fewer men to put themselves into places where accusations can come back and bite them later. So we see, and will continue to see, fewer young men starting careers as primary school teachers. Fewer men engaging in professions that lead them into one-on-one contact with women — counsellors, life coaches, clergy men etc. And the deeper consequence of this is that we will, in time, see less men with soft emotions being around future generations of our young and vulnerable — a consequence with far reaching effects.

We have come to believe that child sex abuse was and therefore still must be everywhere. That this very appropriate boundary has been crossed for countless people — in short that men are vile bastards. The truth is, sex offenders and paedophiles exist and society as a whole MUST take a very strong stand against crimes perpetrated against children. But when it comes to matters of historic child sex abuse, we must stem the tide of popular opinion, develop strategies to assess with some serious accuracy what the veracity of claims actually are, and ensure that justice is done for all.

To fail to do so will lead to what may well be the ‘next wave’ — where those falsely accused come forward to fight against convictions, where no one believes the genuinely abused again and where we have an entire generation of men living in fear.

Sue Jones, who writes under the pen name Sue Parry-Jones, is a qualified social worker (BSW UQ 1982) with a special interest in Narrative Therapy and personal development coaching. She is a member of the Australian Association of Social Workers and the Australian and New Zealand Association for the Treatment of Sexual Abuse. She has been the developer of the Miles Away From Abuse/ Recovering Your Life social media-based recovery network for the past 5 years, through which she supports those recovering from all forms of abuse that has touched their lives.