Self: Nature vs. Nuture

Her name is Millie. She prefers to call herself a healer as opposed to a therapist. I like this; it sounds more organic and, raw. I believe that some of my approaches to situations are depicted by the cuts and bruises that I have collected through growing up. Perhaps her service can offer sustenance, and even Savlon for the soul.

Why am I going?

I feel like the child in me didn’t have the development it needed over the years. I feel like he has been somewhat neglected, and forgotten about.  I almost jumped onto this adolescent train, and left part of me behind. Since then, he has been running behind, reaching out for my hand, like some old fashioned 1950’s film.

I cannot pin point the exact location of where this part of me lays dormant, but hopefully, this journey will allow for me to reconnect with my whole. Perhaps Millie will be the first step of my SatNav to self.


Just like flowers, how we grow and blossom is determined by our soil, and the environment that we are inhabited in.  I was planted in Solihull for a year, sprouted in Northampton for three; began flowering during my upbringing in Germany for four; then potted back in Northamptonian soil for another ten.  They say that an over-potted plant will focus on root growth at the expense of new foliage and flowers. This gets me to thinking; am I made up of more deep-seeded roots than I am of bloom and blossom?

Maybe I constantly feel unsettled in life because I have never experienced settlement?


I believe that I met my father in 2013. Before that, I grew up with a man who taught me to cry and not to laugh; to shrink and not to grow; and to self-loathe as oppose to self-love.  The man that I am so privileged to call my father now is someone who I can laugh and cry with, grow alongside, and share love for one another.  That little boy though, you know, the one running on the tracks? He missed that train also.

I grew up with my mother being the sole representation of love, comfort, guidance, truth and security. I depended on her for all of this. She knew this.  What a daunting responsibility to demand off of someone. The same warmth was cherished from all the women in my family including my father’s mum. She gave me so much love and affection, and respect; things that my father would of envied seeing as these were inexperienced in his own upbringing. That must have been hard.

I have watched both of my parents, who you disregard as people and promote to Gods and prophets, fall at their own hurdles, and experience struggle and pain. At first, it is hard to watch, and somewhat horrifying. How can these pillars fall? They are made of stone, structure, and sanity! Then you wake up and realise that; we are all people. We were all children. And then it hits me.

I am all or nothing. I always have been. A piece of chocolate? No. It’s called a milk TRAY isn’t it? Glass of wine? No. Always a bottle. Go on a date? Sure, let’s get married tomorrow instead.

I fluctuate from love and hate. I love myself; I hate who I am. I love my life; this is not the life I want. I love the choices that I am making; I am always making the wrong choices.  Some days I speak to myself like my Father did, and others, like my Mother had to. Suffer and Soothe. I am all or nothing. All the while, this little boy is in the middle, battling with these conflicting opinions, crying in confusion.

I feel that it is time to get off this train. It is fine Ben, don’t worry, trains run all the time. I cannot have this conversation with myself on this train whilst a part of me is disconnect, left behind on the tracks. I have tried to keep connected with him through dipping in and out, like a phone call; checking in on him from time to time, but then there comes a hurdle, or a bridge, and you’ve lost your network, and the connection is broken.

I feel like I am on this train, with that little boy running behind, and I have forgotten where I am even travelling to? Did I miss my stop? Where am I? There is a stop approaching, and I feel that it is wise of me to get off and review my journey. Hey, whilst I am at it, I will stop, breathe, and look around, and by that time, that little boy may have caught up with me.

So on Wednesday, I meet with Millie; The healer. Then, hopefully, I will meet with the little boy; Me.

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