As a child, I was terrified of everything. If I could have lived with the chooks in the back yard I would have. They understood me. I could talk to them for hours and they would nod their heads in agreement.
But of course, I had to be educated, clothed and fed so trips to school, back to the family home, to friends big and small, to town, to ballet lessons etc etc had to be endured.
The time when I met bullies were in my working life. Authority, a huge fear to accommodate. Despite all my tools of EFT, Catherine Ponder affirmation, swallowing selenium my great love water, I still get the butterflies in the guts syndrome when having to face authority and the unknown.
Now as my 70th birthday approaches at the end of the year (oh wow doesn’t time hike) I look at the advice I would have given my small self.
If you want to hide with the chooks that’s okay but when you get hungry what happens then? There is only a certain amount of apples and bananas you can eat in a day. Your diet will have to be varied. What about having a shower. You don’t like being unclean, do you? What about toilet stops? What about that wonderful book by enid Blyton that has just been returned at the library and you have your name down for it?
So my little person how are we going to manage all the tasks that lay ahead of you?
Staying with the chooks is really not an option.
I doubt if you could find the gun that you posed with as your adoptive Dad had them locked away. And you can hardly lift the gun let alone shoot it. There would be a lot of people to shoot. A lot of blood. You don’t like blood. Remember when you fell over and broke your tooth? All that blood. Yuk!
MMMMM so what do we do. You have a lot of living to do.
Actually, on thinking about the lost opportunities in my life I have a revelation: I can blame my wooseyness for not being an achiever. Or can I. That’s another EFT to look at. What have I achieved, what do I want to achieve especially now I am looking for a job and nobody wants to pay me. I am a has been that never was anyway. Oh dear tangent time.
Karen Denby A Niuean Way 