The Synergy Game E-Book

Georgia Clare

• Herausgeber: WS
• Kategorie: Ratgeber
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 181

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

The Synergy Game is a journey through healing, resilience, and self-discovery. When life as she knew it crumbled, Georgia Clare turned to the tools she knew best: writing, gratitude, meditation, yoga, music, and more. In this deeply personal guide, Georgia shares how each practice became a vital step in reclaiming her life, rebuilding her spirit, and discovering the strength she never knew she had.
Written for anyone who has felt lost or broken, The Synergy Game is both a memoir and guide, offering the wisdom Georgia gathered from the darkest times in her life. Through practical tips, reflections, and the art of finding joy in everyday rituals, this book shows how the power of small, consistent actions can light even the dimmest paths.
Whether you’re facing heartbreak, seeking direction, or simply ready to deepen your self-awareness, The Synergy Game provides the roadmap to living a life of intention, authenticity, and unwavering self-love.

Leseprobe

THE

SYNERGY

GAME

GEORGIACLARE

Copyright©2024,GeorgiaClareAllrights reserved

To Candace and Lara, the motivation and inspiration for everything I do, and to Robert who helped me see the books inside me, who showed me how to dream the impossible and who helped me discover myself and my purpose.

CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION

CHAPTER ONE WRITING TO HEAL

CHAPTER TWO EMBRACING GRATITUDE

CHAPTER THREE MY JOURNEY TO STILLNESS

CHAPTER FOUR YOGA: MY PATH TO STRENGTH

CHAPTER FIVE THE HEALING POWER OF MUSIC

CHAPTER SIX RHYTHMS OF RELEASE

CHAPTER SEVEN FEEDING THE SOUL

CHAPTER EIGHT CIRCLE OF STRENGTH

CHAPTER NINE SMALL WINS, BIG CELEBRATIONS

CHAPTER TEN FROM PEN TO FLAMES

CHAPTER ELEVEN RELEASE TO HEAL

CHAPTER TWELVE PATHWAYS TO PEACE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN NATURE'S EMBRACE

CHAPTER FOURTEEN BEYOND BELIEF

CHAPTER FIFTEEN WORDS as ANCHORS

CHAPTER SIXTEEN STYLED FOR MYSELF

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN LIFELONG LEARNER

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN VIBRATIONAL HEALING

CHAPTER NINETEEN CREATING MY SANCTUARY

CHAPTER TWENTY REWRITING MY NARRATIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE THROUGH THE LENS

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO FALLING IN LOVE WITH ME

INTRODUCTION

Whatdoyoudowhenyoufeellikeyoudon'twanttolive,youhave lost everything that you lived for, and you can't seem to find even the smallest sliver of joy? When the days are endless and grey, and you can barely summon up the energy or the inclination to get out of bed. When youfeelsolostyoudon'tthinkyouwilleverbeableto findyourselfever again.

Youstop.

You remember.

Youdigdeeper than youever thought youcould.

Youfinda reason.Thereisalwaysoneifyou lookhardenough.

Therewasa distantthoughtinthebackofmymind,sodistantthatI could barely hear it. But it said what if? What if I gave up and I missed out on being happy again. What if I could have a future? Even though I didn't see how or if that could happen, there was the nagging feeling in those far away corners of my mind that had that little thought. What if?

What ifIcouldsurvive this?

That little thought became a constant drone in my head. I'd survived before, nothing as huge as this, but maybe I could. I gave myself a few more days to wallow, un-showered, hiding at home between my bed and the sofa, not caring if Iate or not, drank or not. Idecided that Monday I would rise again. Monday would be the day when I gave living another shot.

Monday came around, and I showered and made myself a list (I'm abigfanoflists!).Shower,getdressed,drinktea,write,meditate,eat, and walk intheforest.EachtimeIdidsomethingonmylist,I'dcrossitoff,feeling quiteasenseofaccomplishment.Ididthiseverydayforweeksandweeks, adding more things to the list as I got stronger.

So many things helped me to survive the worst year of my life, the year my marriage to my best friend and soulmate broke up, the year I never would have imagined I could survive. This book is a compilationofallthosethings,howIdidthem,howtheyhelpedandwhat I still use now. I learned so much that year. I learned who I was, deep down,discoveringmyselfforthefirsttimeinmylife.IlearnedthatIwas alotstrongerthanIeverimaginedIcouldbe.IlearnedwhatIneeded in my life and what I could live without, not what I thought it would be. We think we know ourselves, but until we have been broughttorockbottom,havebeenthroughsomethingthatdevastatesus andmust decidewhetherwewantto giveupcompletelyorrisefromthe ashes, we are coasting through life. It may be a good life, a relatively happylife,butdeepdown,dowereally knowourselves?Ifoundoutthat I didn't. I had spent most of my life making sure I made other people happy.Ithoughtthatwas howtomakemyselfhappy.ButwhenIlostthe only constant and steady thing in my life, I was adrift and at sea without direction or purpose. I didn’t know which way to turn or what to do. I had a panicky feeling that I had never felt before and thankfully never havesince.TheworstthingIcouldeverimaginehappeninghadhappened, and I could barelybreathe,never mind think. Butattheback of mymind were those two words – what if.

IrealisedthatifIcouldsurvivethis, I might helpotherstodo the same, to survive what seems impossible, to survive what you are not even sure you want to survive. I've come through this with so much determinationtorebuildmylifeevenbetterthanitwasbefore,andIwant to share my journey with you. I realised in the middle of it all how much comfort I got from other people’s words. To feel that there was someone out there who understood made a huge difference. That's why I'm writing this book. When we feel most alone, we need to know that we are heard, understood and supported. It makes all the difference. What I found is that when you have sunk even further than rock bottom and when the light at the end of the tunnel is not there, it’s the little things that matter that make the difference. Lots of little things all put together. That’s what gets you through.

This is howI did it.

CHAPTER ONEWRITING TO HEAL

ScribblingMyWaytoSanity

"IwritebecauseIdon'tknowwhatIthinkuntilIreadwhatI say."

FlanneryO'Connor

I think writing literally saved my sanity. When I really thought I was losing it, when the questions just wouldn't stop whizzing around in my head, I would write about it. By writing, I would make sense of things, of my world that bore no resemblance to any world I'd ever been in before.

Letmejustbackupabit,though,andtellyouhowIgotintothewriting habit. Yes, it is a habit, and like anything good for us, it must become a part of what we do, who we are, a habit. When I was a child, I always kept a journal and wrote endless stories. Then, as life got busier, marriage, children and work, I stopped writing. Well, not completely, but I wrote sporadically. A few years ago I started to learn more about spirituality and how it related. I learned about gratitude, and the suggestionwastowriteagratitudejournal.SoIdid.Itseemedlikeagreat thing to do; I had a lot to be grateful for, and I could see the value in reminding myself of that every day.

I researched as I always do when starting something new, and read somewhere you should get yourself a journal that you look forward to writing in. I'm tactile and visual, so I liked the idea of Moleskine notebooks as they feel nice and come in pretty colours! I now have a cupboard full of them, like a rainbow of the last ten years of my life.

At first I would list ten things I was grateful for right then, in that moment. Sometimes, I wrote the same things every day. Gradually, though, my mindset changed. I didn't need to force being grateful, I just was. It was literally changing me, this simple habit. I have neverbeenanegativeperson,butItended toworryanddwellonissues. A side effect of dwellingonallthethingsIwasgratefulfor, was that Ibecamesomeone whoalwayshadasmileonherface.ItgavemeconfidenceinwhatIcould dobecauseIwasalwaysthinking abouthowmuchIalreadyhad. Then it just became who I am, my paradigm, and I didn't need to write about it anymore, I lived it.

ButIstillwantedtowrite, andthetimingwasnotacoincidenceeither. I thought I would write about my life, or more accurately, my feelings about my life. I was in my early fifties, and things were rather challenging.I'dhadissueswithmyfamily,whowerenothappyaboutthe directionmylifehadtakenandsomechoicesI'dmade,andsohaddecided to cut me off and not talk to me. (I'd left a religion that I'd been part of my whole life as I didn't agree with the policies.) Those family members were my mother and my brother, so it was traumatic to deal with their rejection and shunning.

Istartedtopourmyhurtandsadnessoutintothepagesofmyjournal, and the effects were amazing. First, it was getting it all out of me, releasing it from my mind and body. It was like a therapy. The second benefit was that I often wrote things down on paper before I'd understood them in my mind, hence the quote at the beginning of this chapter.Ididn'talwaysthinkaboutwhatIwrote,soIwasaccessing my subconscious and finding out how I felt about things. I kept remindingmyselfthatthiswasforme,nooneelsewould read it. That meant I could be honest and pour my heart out.

This turned out to be excellent practice for what came next when writing each day became my lifeline. When I had to let go of what was inside before I exploded. I had spent two years writing about what was going wrong with my marriage, how frustrated I was feeling, and how it felt to suddenly seem invisible, to feel old and unwanted. It was through writing that I realised whatI had to do. Itwas by putting my jumbled-up thoughtsdownonpaperIsaw whatmylogicalthinkingmind wouldnotletmesee.Isaw thatIwaslosingmyself,losingmy dignity and finally seeing what I hadn't wanted to see, everything had changed.

So I left to come back to see my daughter in France. I came back to our home here, and two weeks later, my deepest fears were realised, and my world fell apart. I finally faced what I'd known for some time in my subconscious, what had been making me sick for the last two years, the chronic stress and stomach problems that I'd put down to menopause. I foundoutmyhusbandwashavinganaffair.It'sasifthedistance(hewas inAsia)hadgivenmetheclarityIneededtoseewhatwassoobviousonce I'dseenit.WeweretalkingonFaceTime,andIjust knew.Desperatethis time for the truth, I just couldn’t take it anymore, I begged for honesty. My intuition, sharpened by reflections penned over the past two weeks, had already revealed what I sensed to be undeniable.

I don't think I've ever needed my writing practice as I did in those nextfewdays,weeksandmonthsasheturnedinto,orratherIwasseeing, themanthatIhadlovedforoverthirty-fouryearshaddisappearedandin his place was someone I didn't know. I was more scared than I'd ever been in my life before. It was a suffocating fear that I had never felt before.AsifIwaslostatsea,allaloneandcertainIwould die,there wasnohelp. Iwassuddenlyfacedwith alifeIdidn'tknowhow tolive,a house I didn't know how to fix (we were 2/3 of the way through a renovation)andacarthatIhadnevertakentoagarageorhadtomaintain.

So I wrote about all my fears and my sadness and pain and devastation, and astheweeksturnedintomonths,Imade sense ofthingsthatmadenosense.Isaw beyondwhatIwasfeeling. My writing gave me clarity and helped me make decisions. It was while I was writing one day, on our thirty-third wedding anniversary, one of the saddestdaysofmylife,thatitcametome thatIwantedadivorce.There wasnofixingthings. Hewouldn'tevenspeaktome, pluswhatkindoflife would it be for either of us if we got back together? He's late home one day and what am I instantly going to think?!

No,itwasover,andIwantedclosureandtotakecontrol.Ididn'tfilefor divorcestraightaway.Iwasn'tstrongenoughforthat,butI'dmade the decision.

Overthenextmonths,asIwrote,Igotstronger.It'slikeIunderstood myselfbetter.Whenmymarriageended,Ididn'tknowwhoI was. Who am I if I'm not his wife, his partner, his friend? We had been together for so long that I wasn't even sure of my likes and dislikes anymore. I don't mean I acquiesced to all his wishes; our relationship wasn'tlikethat. Forsolong,wewerebestfriends and lovers.Butmy identity was all wrapped up in him. We did everything together, worked together, travelled together and had fun together until we didn't. So, to actuallyfigureoutwhatI liked,justme,notconsideringanyoneelse,was tough.

I remember being in the supermarket one day, and I was putting theusualstuffinthecart,andIsuddenlythought,hangon,doIevenlike this food? I had to relearn all over again who I was as just me. What clothes did I like to wear, what did I like to drink, what did I want my house to look like, and the big, huge one, what the fuck do I want to do with the rest of my life? Guess what helped? Writing! I wrote about how I felt about all the newness, which was now starting to feel like freedom. AndthemoreIwroteaboutitthemoreIfoundoutwhoIwas andwho I wanted to be.

Oneday,asIwaswriting,Iwroteabouthowniceitwasnot tohaveto think about what someone else thought of how you looked. I'd tried everythingforthepreviousyeartogethimtonoticeme:new clothes,new lingerie,newhairstyle.It wassucharelief tolook inthemirrorandthinkyes,Ilookgoodforme.IlikethewayIlook, andIdon'tneedtowonder ifanyoneelselikeswhatI'mwearingtodayor how I've styled my hair. It was one of those times when my writing told mehowIwasfeeling.Like FlanneryO’Connorsaid,“Iwritebecause I don’t know what I think until I read what I say.” When I first read that quote, it was like a hug from a close friend. Someone had put into words exactly what was happening when I wrote. It was another one of those times when I felt heard and seen and understood, a connection.

As I entered the dating world after a very long absence, writing helped me to figure out what I wanted in a man. I'd never thought of it before. I fell in love with my husband in my late teens, I didn't think too deeplyabout it!Hewas myfriend,wefellinlove,wehad lots offun, and we liked the same things. He was also very good-looking and dressed nicely. All things that are so important when you are in your teens! But now,whatwasIevenlookingfor?IrealisedIdidn’thaveaclue.Ilisted all the qualities I wanted in an ideal man. I took quite a while tomakethelistandIsurprisedmyselfwithwhatI cameupwith.Things like I want him to be kind, thoughtful and generous, not just to me but to other people. I want him to be healthy, something I’d never consideredbefore,butatmyage,manypeoplehaven’ttakencareoftheir health, and whenyougettoyour50s,itstartstoshow.IwrotethatIwanted someonewhowasagoodcommunicatorasthatwasoneofthefactorsin the breakdown of my marriage, maybe of all marriages. And I wanted someone with some of the same interests as me so we could, above all, be best friends and not just lovers.

When I went on dates, I wrote about it after. I wrote about the attentionIwasgettingandhowitmademefeel.Ilikedbeingseenagain. Ilikedfeelinglikeaprettywomanagaininsteadofamiddle-agedinvisible wife. I wrote about the possibility of falling in love again and how it terrified me, and then I wrote about my not being ready to date. Asfunasalltheattentionwas,Ineededtobemeforawhile.Ineeded to finish discovering who I was before I could give my full attention to someone else. And so, for the first time in my life, I became truly single.

IstartedtowriteabouttheincrediblefreedomIhadforthefirsttime in my life. How it wasn’t as scary as I thought it would be, but it was soveryliberating.Mychildhoodexperiencesofsexualabusemade sure Iwasawareofboysfromayoungage.Myfirstcrushwaswhen Iwasaboutfiveorsixonaboyatschool,anditneverstopped. Therewas always someone I was in love with, and then I got married at twenty. So, to be completely man-free was a new experience and one I desperately neededformygrowth.Throughmydailyjournalling,IrealisedthatI was enjoying the freedom of not looking for a date or waiting for someone to text me back or call me. For the first time in my life, I was just me.

Andthat'swhenIstartedtowritethisbook!

*Therearemanywritingresourcesonmywebsitegeorgiaclare.com.Tips on how to start and what to write when you decide to journal, ideas and prompts to get you started.

CHAPTER TWOEMBRACING GRATITUDE

FromDailyRitualtoLifeline

“Be grateful for what you already have while you pursue your goals. If youaren’tgratefulforwhatyoualreadyhave,whatmakesyouthinkyou would be happy with more?”

RoyTBennett

I first read about the idea of practicing gratitude many years ago. I knewaboutbeinggratefulandthatmy lifewasprettygoodcompared to many. I'd travelled enough to see that. But actually making itadailypractice,somethingthatIwasconsciousof doing,thatwasnew. I thought it was a good idea, so I started keeping a gratitude journal.IwouldwritetenthingseverydayIwasgratefulfor.Itwasn'thardatthetime,asmylifewasrunningpretty smoothly.

IstartedwritinginMoleskinejournals,justa pageadayfor a while. Sometimes, I would even write the same or similar things each day. It didn't matter, as writing was helping impress on my mind what I was grateful for. It reminded me each day of my blessings.

It had a few benefits. As I always did it first thing in the morning whileIwasdrinkingmytea,itwasagoodstarttotheday.It'sdifficultto have a bad day when you've started off thinking about how many great things you have in your life.

Secondly as this became my regular practice, I found I was noticing more things to be grateful for. I was becoming more mindful, more observant. So, I wasn't just showing gratitude for those ten things I'dwritteninthemorning,Iwasnoticingthingsthroughoutmydaytobe grateful for as well.

It wasn't hard at first. That's why you should never delay startingthispractice.Becauseit'sgoodtobeinthathabitifthingsbecome challenging, which happened to me. A couple of years after I started doing this, I made a major life change. I left the strict religious group I had been a part of for my whole life. Why I did it is irrelevant here, but the consequences of doing itmeant that myformerfriendsnolongerwantedcontactwithme.Mymotherand my brother also cut off all contact and wanted nothing more to do with me.

Suddenly, I needed to find ten things to be grateful for everysingleday.Ineededtofocusonthegoodinmylifesothepain ofalltherejectiondidn'toverwhelmme.The rejectionby my mother was the hardest to take. That broke my heart. I have two childrenandIspentcountlesshourstryingtoimaginewhattheycoulddo that would make me want to never speak to them again. I couldn't think ofanything.Iimaginedtheworstcrimestheycouldcommitorthemost horrid things they could do, and I would still want to be in their lives. I would still love them. I'm their mother FFS! So, not comprehending why my own mother would follow some manmade rulesandputthatfirstratherthanme,herdaughter,stilltothisday is something I will never understand. It hurt, it hurt so much.