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- Herausgeber: Hammersmith Health Books
- Kategorie: Ratgeber
- Sprache: Englisch
To combat physical nasties we need a strong immune system. To combat negative life events we need resilience. Here award-winning therapist Sally Baker gives us a practical guide to developing a wider understanding of resilience and to fostering it so that we have the essential perseverance and drive to emerge successfully when confronted with life's inevitable and often unexpected challenges. Sally explores some of the key family dynamics that can result in unhelpful ways of thinking about oneself which may undermine the natural development of resilience and in its place impose a cycle of self-sabotaging behaviour. Coping strategies such as heightened anxiety, non-confrontational behaviour, people-pleasing habits, along with 'adult failure to thrive', are just a few of the learnt strategies often originally forged out of powerlessness in response to less than ideal early life experiences. These strategies however can be re-assessed and the misplaced guilt, shame and self-blame that have affixed these behaviours, often for many years, can be resolved and released, making way for the getting of resilience from the inside out. Based on extensive experience and case studies from Sally Baker's own therapy practice, working with many clients over the years, this book provides gentle, perceptive insight along with tried and tested self-help therapeutic tools, free additional online resources and the expert guidance needed to take the reader through the stages from negativity to self-empowerment.
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Seitenzahl: 213
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024
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Sally’s mental health colleagues say…
I have known Sally for many years and value her expertise and insight. She is passionate about her work, especially in the area of resilience and in encouraging her clients to commit to their change and reach their potential. I have always found Sally to operate from a place of integrity, passion and supportive guidance.Dorothy Denis Executive Coach and Career Development Consultantuk.linkedin.com/in/dorothydenis
I highly recommend Sally Baker. She is insightful, experienced and a genuinely amazing woman whom I am blessed to have work with myself. Her ethical approaches are excellent and I could not recommend her enough. Thank you, Sally, for being exactly who you are.Vonnie Crosbie Ayanay Psychological Accreditationwww.ayanay.co.uk
Sally is a caring, inspirational intelligent, brilliant and highly effective therapist, truly knowledgable in her field and I am very proud to know and endorse her.Tim Phizackerley PTSD & Trauma specialistwww.ptsd-specialist.co.uk
As the associate therapist at The Hunt Academy for Young Actors, Sally has been a godsend. Her work with our young actors, either through her mental health management workshops or through her much needed 1:1s for young people that may be struggling, has transformed our ability as an academy to give a “whole person” approach to actor training. Many of our young actors, following Sally’s interventions, have gone on to achieve in ways they couldn’t have dreamt of prior to working with her. Sally Baker really has exceptional skills for unlocking human potential.Sarah Hunt Academy Director, HAYAwww.thehuntacademy.co.uk
I have known Sally Baker for several years and she is an experienced international therapist, author of excellent self-development books, an inspiring motivational speaker, a blogger and a social media commentator. Sally brings her natural warmth, empathy, sensitivity, humour and clarity to all her work. She encourages others to change unhelpful habits from the past, process disturbing emotions and find hope with happiness for the future.Keith Chadwickwww.cbt-centre.co.uk
Sally is a master of the human mind as well as the human heart. She knows how to keep you engrossed and engaged at every turn. If you want to build your resilience, you’ll, find no better guide.April Adams Emotional Health Consultantwww.AprilAdams.orgii
Sally is one of my favourite people. As a colleague she has always been a sage adviser to me in times of emotional difficulty (which have been many over the years!). I have had the privilege of hearing about her transformational work, particularly with her use of Orpheus technology, and this book is a must-read for anyone looking to build their resilience.Dr David Jay Chief Executive Officerorpheusmindtechnologies.com
I’ve known Sally Baker as a friend and trusted colleague for many years. She’s a fantastic, highly skilled therapist and the first person I call if I want a second opinion.Steve Blampiedwww.themindfixer.com
I was a regular co-contributor with Sally on a radio program that explored the devastating effects on the lives of survivors of childhood sexual abuse. Sally spoke with conviction and frequently evidenced her professional experience and how working with clients with trauma and PTSD informed with her lived experience.Chris Tuck Trauma-Informed Health & Wellness Coach, Lived Experience Activist/Campaigner re CSA/Ewww.christuckmotivationalspeakerandtrainer.co.uk
I’ve known Sally for almost 25 years. We’ve ran therapy groups together; written books together and mutually supported each other in our work as therapists. I trust her implicitly and hold her in the highest regard.Liz Hogon Therapy Specialist in Emetophobiawww.Lizhogon.com
Sally is the embodiment of integrity and resilience in her personal and professional life. She is passionate about, and dedicated to, her work and her clients. Sally draws on a wealth of lived and professional experience in helping others achieve their true potential. She has been an insightful and generous mentor to me in my Psychotherapy Masters training.Lizzie Henson Pluralistic Psychotherapist (MSc) in training
I really value Sally’s professional input and wonderful common sense. I met Sally before lockdown and she was a constant support and friendship throughout an extremely difficult time for us all. Huge congratulations on your book Sally – a well-deserved achievement.Bernie Wright NEDDE Training, Co-Director, Neurodiversity, Eating Disorders & Distressed Eatingwww.neddetraining.co.uk
iii
The Getting of Resilience from the inside out
Sally Baker
Foreword byAndy Wasley, journalist and RAF veteran
Contents
viii
More than education, more than experience, more than training, a person’s level of resilience will determine who succeeds and who fails. That’s true in the cancer ward, it’s true in the Olympics and it’s true in the boardroom.
Dean Becker, CEO, Adaptiv Learning Systems, 2002
Foreword
An anecdote.
It’s a bitterly cold February morning. In watery pre-dawn light, I stand by a dark copse of snow-dusted pines on a bleak Northumberland moor. Either side of me, clad in camouflage, my fellow Royal Air Force officer cadets shiver as the icy wind stirs up swirls of snowflakes.
‘A man’s a man, for a’ that…’ A cadet stands in front of us, reading Robert Burns’s poem aloud. The words do little to stir the soul. Soon we’ll embark on the toughest physical and mental leadership exercise of our six-month training course: a brutal slog around the training area, exercising our intellect, leadership skills and physical endurance. A test, above all, of our resilience. I’m 19, uncertain, painfully immature, and have tried and failed to pass this test already. This is my last chance.
Resilience can mean many things. That morning in Northumberland, it was all about being able to keep body, mind and spirit functioning under assault from the elements and the weight of expectation. Success meant a good chance to secure the career we were all striving for. For me, it also meant freedom from a broken family and trauma. Something kept me going, despite crippling self-doubt and physical exhaustion. That ‘something’ was resilience.
My memory of that morning is so vivid I can all but feel the wintry breeze. I’m sure you have a similar memory, of some moment of reckoning that tested your resilience to its limits, and forever altered your sense of self. I have had many such moments, in my personal and professional life: first, as someone living with the consequences of childhood abuse and trauma; then, in my careers in the RAF and as a journalist working across news and travel.
What I’ve learned from those moments is that resilience is a skill that can be learned and practised, even if it occasionally requires an extraordinary degree of self-awareness and emotional intelligence. As this book will demonstrate, even xthose characteristics can be developed if you can be mindful, pragmatic and – above all – compassionate.
I grew up in a broken home, enduring the stresses that any child experiences when their parents hurtle towards divorce. My mother was physically and emotionally abusive, regularly subjecting me to pain, fear, humiliation and isolation. My father – compassionate, loving and supportive – suffered under appalling stress arising from unemployment and our disintegrating family: I was with him when he suffered the heart attack that left him unable to care for me for most of my adolescence. I found myself forced to survive in my mother’s home, living with her unpredictable rages and abusive behaviour – and witnessing the stress and danger she faced at the hands of my mentally unstable stepfather.
I had another challenge: I was a young gay man, growing up in a society where it was still acceptable for mass media to stoke moral panics about LGBT+ people. Section 28, a vindictive law preventing the ‘promotion’ of homosexuality by public bodies, meant teachers did little to address the homophobic bullying I faced at school. The very idea of falling in love and living a full and happy life seemed absurd.
These were heavy burdens for a young man to carry, and I still feel their weight. I have struggled with my mental health, and been diagnosed with attention-deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD), a condition that is especially likely to be expressed in people who experience childhood trauma. Years of therapy and medical treatment have helped me to understand the deep impact of trauma and ADHD on my life, and to improve my ability to cope with difficult times.
For all that, when I look back on my childhood and consider its lifelong impact I do so without anger or regret: rather, I see it as an apprenticeship in resilience. Without realising it, through those difficult years I learned about the one thing that I think forms the foundation for resilience: compassion.
I was very lucky to have a father who made huge sacrifices to support me. I was a flinty, angry and self-absorbed teenager, dealing with appalling mental stresses and the growing academic and emotional costs of unrecognised ADHD. My father’s patience never faltered: he championed my creativity, celebrated ximy achievements and provided me with as much stability as his reduced circumstances would allow. His compassion sustained me through those long and difficult years. It still does.
Compassion fuelled my resilience through adult life too. The RAF became a surrogate family of sorts; when I suffered from depression and anxiety, my colleagues embraced me and championed me. When I lived through the challenges of active service, as we all did – rocket attacks in Afghanistan, vigils and funerals for fallen friends, the demands of humanitarian service – our mutual support, kindness and compassion played a far greater role in keeping us all going than any notion of ‘toughness’ or ‘masculinity’.
It can be hard to receive compassion, or to acknowledge a need for it, in a society that values a stiff upper lip. Even harder, sometimes, is the challenge of self-compassion, which loses out easily to shame and regret. My shame springs from the traumas of childhood abuse and growing up gay in an era of state-sponsored homophobia. It’s boosted by the struggles I face due to ADHD – emotional dysfunction, professional failure, broken relationships and a deep sense of incapability. Self-compassion tells me I have done well in life despite those challenges, and helps me to find the will to persevere. Without it, my resilience falters and I struggle to keep going.
Compassion, of course, can flow two ways. Showing compassion can be just as valuable as receiving it in building up our resilience. The Mental Health Foundation reports that people can experience mental health benefits when they are kind to other people. Acts of kindness can even activate a ‘helper’s high’, making us feel better physically and mentally.
Certainly, my own experiences with compassion, both offered and received, convince me it is the key to my resilience. I’ve hugged civilians who had lost everything in a devastating hurricane; been comforted by strangers when I’ve suffered from bereavement or trauma; and learned to find compassion for myself when I’ve felt useless or alone. It helps to know that each episode of compassion has added to my store of resilience, enabling me to face challenges I can’t foresee and to engage with past traumas in a healthy and self-fulfilling way.xii
That morning in Northumberland, I couldn’t shake off the fear and shame I’d carried into the RAF from my childhood. Now, I can look back on that 19-year-old cadet and feel proud of his resilience – because it made me who I am. You deserve the chance to build up your resilience and be your best self too – and you will find a good companion in these pages.
Sally Baker has a lifetime’s experience of offering people practical ways to build resilience into their lives. Through her therapeutic practice, she has helped people in appalling distress to find the means to be kind to themselves. Her act of compassion is to offer this guidance to you now. In these pages you’ll find solace and encouragement and, I hope, the understanding that resilience isn’t something intrinsic and unchangeable; you can develop it, and learn to face life’s challenges with greater resolve and confidence.
Whether you’re facing strains at work or at home, or looking out for a friend or relative, this is a book that will forever change the way you look at life and its difficulties. If you came to this book feeling cheerful, I hope it gives you more reasons to smile. But if it’s open now because you’re struggling, be assured that in Sally’s words you’ll find reasons to look ahead to brighter days.
Andy Wasley Journalist and RAF veteran
About the author
Sally Baker’s therapeutic approach is integrative, drawing on a range of theories and techniques, including Emotional Freedom Technique (EFT), Humanistic Therapy, Brainwave Recursive Therapy (BWRT) and Neurolinguistic Programming (NLP) -based approaches. She puts a high value on having a collaborative relationship between therapist and client and adapts her approach to meet the unique needs and goals of each individual.
As a clinical supervisor, Sally provides support and guidance for other therapists to ensure they are providing the best possible care for their clients. She is also an experienced writer and has appeared in various media outlets discussing mental health topics.
Sally believes that everyone has the ability to improve their mental health and wellbeing and is committed to helping people live happier, more fulfilling lives. She is passionate about breaking down the stigma surrounding mental health problems and promoting the importance of seeking help when needed.
Acknowledgements
I am grateful for the love and forbearance of my husband, the painter Arnold Dobbs. I am grateful for being loved and included in four generations of his extended family. I am grateful for my son Eliot Oswald-Baker and his wife Sarah who I humbly watch raising their son Jarvis with great kindness and care. I am grateful for the Irish wing of my family and the care and love they give me without a moment’s hesitation. Makes me feel blessed.
I am grateful for my long-time friend and wise mentor, the Melbourne-based therapist Liz Hogon, with whom I co-wrote my first two books. I value her in-depth knowledge and inspiration as well as her unfailing generosity, encouragement and love. I am also grateful for the open dialogue with my professional colleagues working daily with clients struggling with complex mental health issues, especially the support of Siobhan, Bernie and Lizzie.
I am grateful for my friend and PR Manager, Carrie Eddins, for her expertise and unerring faith in me with her ‘Why not you?’ mantra, reminding me not to play small. She regularly has me head-hunted for guest television appearances and expert comments in the media on human behaviour the world over.
This book was a long time in the writing, longer than I or anyone else thought or had initially hoped. I would like to thank my publisher, Georgina Bentliff, for her continuing faith and forbearance, especially at times when I faltered.
My story
My family background makes me think about all the things I am versus all the things I am not. One way to illustrate this is with my name: Sally Baker. I was born Sally Baker to a father named Harry Baker or Henry Jackson. He was born either in 1912 or 1914. He was the same man who just happened to have two names and two dates of birth on two different birth certificates. Over one hundred years ago, during the Edwardian period, confusion over family lineage was not unusual in the working class. So, although, in theory, there was a 50:50 chance of my being called Sally Jackson, I grew up oblivious to that possibility for a long time as Sally Baker.
In the Baker family, ambition was not encouraged. My mum took books away from me as I was growing up. She said I spent too much time reading and that nothing good ever happened to a girl who knew too much. Hey, who knew? I recall my father often telling the teenage me that what would make him proud was if I trained and qualified as a nurse. Note not a doctor, as that would have been unthinkable. He had me pegged to be a nurse, and that was that. (That is not to say that being a nurse is not a worthy ambition; it is an exceedingly tough training and of course much more professional and based on scientific knowledge now than it was when I was growing up. It was the lack of ‘either/or’ that was so limiting.) But what hurt me the most was his lack of stretch and the lack of aspiration for me. The fact he didn’t aspire for me to be a doctor made me believe there was something unworthy about me.
So, parental ambition to succeed at all costs wasn’t my pressure. I felt the inverse pressure from a lack of expectation that my parents had vested in me.
As it happens, this has been one of the most challenging subjects I’ve attempted to write about. Childhood trauma may require a lifetime’s vigilance to know how those experiences can undermine resilience building. The whole process of researching the latest thinking about resilience effectively highlighted where my old negative self-judgements lurked and where my lingering self-sabotaging habits hid.xvi
Like many others, I’ve been challenged with ‘the getting of resilience’ for myself. I have had to find my way through the tangled web of negative feelings I developed growing up, including limiting beliefs I took into adulthood. I had also developed entrenched beliefs that I was never good enough or worthy of happiness. I’m a prime example of how growing up, even in a functioning and loving family, doesn’t always protect one from the outside world.
My seven-year-old self’s world fell apart when I was sexually assaulted by two teenage brothers who were the sons of friends of my family. There’s an old-school photograph of me in a summer dress, looking directly at the camera. When I look at that image of me, I try hard to determine whether this is a before or after picture. I still acknowledge that sexual assault changed my perception of myself and how I understood my place in the world.
In retelling this story, like many survivors of abuse, ingrained minute details of what happened are still vivid in my memory. Ask me which day of the week or year, and I’d struggle to be accurate. But everything I’ve written here is true. That kind of disparity typically double-binds abuse survivors in law courts and stops them from being recognised as reliable witnesses.
These family friends were unlike any other friends of my parents. My Dad felt an old allegiance to stay in touch with the boys’ father as they had fought in the same regiment in the Second World War. My dad’s friend had been disabled in conflict and had barely been able to work since he was de-mobbed. They were conspicuously poor in many ways. Their home looked make-shift, with a collapsed sofa, old curtains as throws over the armchairs, and the furniture worn and mismatched. Looking back, we visited them two or three times a year and probably neither my father nor mother wanted to, but it had become an expectation on both sides.
On one of these Sunday afternoon visits, the elder boy, who was around 17 or 18 years old, asked me to ride with him on his new motorbike. My mom categorically said no, but I must have bugged and annoyed her until, in a fit of peak, she said, ‘Oh, go on but stay on this road and come straight back.’ He took me to the rear of the house, where an old utility room had been roughly converted into a workshop with a workbench under the window. The room was littered with engine parts xviifrom motorbikes and cars. It smelt of oil and dust.
Once I was separated from my family, he acted quickly. I can’t remember if the motorbike ride ever happened. I can remember being lifted onto the workbench and his slightly younger brother holding me down as they sexually assaulted me. It could have been hours, but it was minutes. The older one spoke close into my ear so that I could feel his breath. He said this was what I’d wanted, and it was our secret.
I was mute and frozen in fear. My mum had gone to the front door to look out for me on the older boy’s motorbike, and when she couldn’t see us on the road, she began walking through the house, calling my name. She had interrupted them, and they lifted me back down from the workbench onto my feet and pushed me towards the door just as my mum appeared. She looked at the two young men and pulled me by my wrist. She was angry and confused about why I was in that room with them, but nothing else was said. I remember her saying I should stay by her side for the rest of the visit. I remember standing still and silent beside the over-stuffed armchair where she sat chatting with the adults. When I caught her eye, she looked away, obviously angry with me.
The incident was only referred to weeks later on one Saturday afternoon. I was in the living room while my mum finished some decorating. I remember her standing on a pair of step ladders when she casually announced that we would visit that family again the next day.
My bottled-up and unexpressed fear must have gushed out of me as I began to sob loudly. I felt inconsolable, almost unable to breathe, gagging with hysteria at the thought of returning to that house and those men. I remember my mother rushing down the step ladder and trying to contain my thrashing arms as she held onto me, trying to quiet and comfort me. She knew now that something had happened that day. In a raised, urgent voice, she asked, ‘What did they do to you? What did they do?’
I can’t picture what words I used to describe the assault. I was seven years old. I knew nothing other than the language of Mum and Dad’s tickles and hugs. I don’t think I even had a name for my vagina, but without words, my mother still xviiiunderstood. I know she held me for a long time. I know that she cried with me, and then she sharply held me away from her at arm’s length and ordered me, ‘Do not tell your father!’ At that moment, I told myself that it was because this had been my mistake and was my shame to bear alone.
