When my son rings in sick to his job, after having a little “too much” fun last night (our local football team had a very successful night), I feel the old (long-ago conditioned) worry immediately bubble up.

“Oh Nathan” I sigh down the phone, my disappointment falling squarely on his shoulders.

And then, of course, I realise it’s my problem not his. Despite the fact that he has probably already internalised my disappointment in him, without even knowing that he’s done it (nominating myself for the mother of the year award again).

I was brought up to believe that you never missed work/school/any commitment unless you were on death’s door. And that hangovers didn’t count. You showed up no matter how ill you were because otherwise, you were a work-shy shirker. And so this is a battle I wage with myself on a near daily basis.

See, nowadays I am well and truly work-shy. And so the disapproval I felt for him is the same internalised disapproval I often feel for myself. If I’m honest, even writing this now, I am aware that there is a part of me forcing the issue so that I can at least tell myself that I’ve done something productive today rather than just lie around in my jarmies reading tweets and waiting for inspiration to strike (in fairness though, I am back in my jarmies, despite it being after noon; although I did have a bath and wash my hair)

My life now is so vastly different to the life I was living 10 or so years ago, when I was working upwards of seventy hours a week, while raising two kids and completing my undergraduate degree as a mature student.

And never taking a day off other than properly authorised annual leave.

In fact, sending my kids to school dosed up on Calpol when they were under the weather, unconsciously hammering home the story that stopping and resting was not allowed (I know), while making sure that I didn’t have to stop either.

And showing up to work, relentlessly, even when I was exhausted with (usually minor but nonetheless debilitating) illnesses and sometimes just the sheer fatigue of impending burnout.

And now I question, “Why?”

Why is it so important that we never show weakness? That we never stop? That we never be human?

My sense is that this story, handed down by the “ruling” classes to working class folk, like me, over many generations, was propagandised to keep us in line. To keep us in fear for our livelihoods and of the public ostracism of being singled out as shirkers.

For, just as surely as the police officers, who killed Tyre Nichols a few weeks ago, are both guilty of horrific brutality and murder, and are victims of a system that has conditioned them to suspect and vilify and turn on their own (to align with those in power), so the working classes of the UK (and no doubt many other places) have been conditioned to do the same (wow, I didn’t see that connection coming).

See, we have been trained to work ourselves to death. And to turn on the folks who (we suspect) don’t. To stay on the right side of (what we’ve been conditioned to believe is) right.

And thus, as a working class woman running a business I love that takes very little effort, I am trained to turn on myself for not working hard enough. And to turn on my son for calling in sick.

This is not a case of disempowerment. It’s a case of training (that dates all the way back to my earliest childhood) kicking in faster than my own truth.

This, my friends, is the work.

I mean, they are, of course. But what I mean is that I think they’re going to kill themselves.

Intentionally mostly. Sometimes by sheer carelessness.

I really started to notice this in the last couple of years when my 19 year old son started to become a little withdrawn.

He still had a full social life and had a lot of laughs but I knew something wasn’t right.

He was being incredibly reckless: getting crazy drunk on nights out and unable to get himself home (leading me to drive into town at 3am repeatedly over a period of a few months); blowing his wages at a rate of knots; struggling to deal with even minor interpersonal conflict; and was unable to sit still for more than 5 minutes.

So when he came to me almost a year ago and said he was struggling, and after a number of conversations decided he’d like to try counselling, I was pretty sure he was feeling suicidal.

And thus, a few months later, when he came to me and confirmed this, I was both horrified and vindicated.

On (what feels like) the other side of this experience, I can see that my son was scared of these suicidal thoughts and I recognise that is a really good thing.

He was keen to overcome them. Willing to seek help. And has made some significant, positive changes in his life since then.

Of course, he’ll still face challenges in life, and may well seek help again in the future, but – for now – he seems much happier and has much more purpose that I've ever seen him.

Which brings me to my daughter.

She’s just gone to university a few hours away and she’s struggling.

Used to being the brightest of a motley bunch at her Ofsted-rated, “requires improvement”, working-class school, where few go onto higher education, she’s suddenly found herself one of the average attainers in a community full of A* students from mostly “outstanding” middle-class schools which send the majority of their pupils on to undergrad study.

And she feels “not-good-enough”; inadequate.

A feeling that she always feels, mind you, even when she is attaining at the highest levels, but that’s a story for another day.

For now, let’s just say that she’s finding it difficult.

And my little habit of assuming death is always lurking is now trying to take over my life.

So every time she messages to tell me how horrible it is I desperately want to dash to the phone to reassure her. To talk her down off the cliff edge. To soothe her.

Fact is, my daughter most likely isn’t going to kill herself. I say “most likely” because we can never truly know what is inside of someone else, and because part of me is afraid to put this in writing in case I'm wrong and have made a horrible mistake, but let's just say that I am pretty confident when I say this.

Because, yes, she holds herself to impossibly high standards (which is no doubt down to her early years parenting by me – but again, a story for another day).

Yes, she’s afraid to fuck up or fail (yup, probably me too).

Yes, she’s young and naïve, and not used to being on her own, and trying to find her feet.

But suicidal. I don’t think so.

At least, my grown up brain doesn’t think so.

But that less mature part inside that says, “but, what if… [every horrible thing imaginable]” is twittering away at me every time I let it. And I do let it.

And so I often find myself fawning over her to keep her “choosing to live”.

Despite her giving me no reason to think that she would choose anything other.

Unless you count the “FML”, “wanna kill meself”, “am coming home” texts that I get all the live-long day. Though mature me knows her ability to share these outbursts are exactly why she won’t kill herself, and actually it’s time for me to back out and let her find those feet of hers.

So then I cast my mind further back.

I note that I’ve had several coaching clients tell me that they’re afraid that things would get so bad they’d end up suicidal and, though confident dealing with it in the moment, ended up doubting myself after the conversations and having my own coach review everything I’ve said and done to make sure I haven’t made matters worse.

And, when I asked my (now civil) partner to move out of our shared home a year ago, I was afraid he would kill himself.

He had attempted it himself some years ago during a period of depression, and he lost his dad to suicide when he was just a toddler.

Further back still, when I suggested ending my marriage of 15 years back in 2012, I was afraid my husband would kill himself and thus rescinded my suggestion because I was so scared for him.

Again, I had reason. He had suffered depression for much of our marriage and had battled with suicidal thoughts.

In both of these cases, I held back with my own needs because I was afraid of what they would do to themselves.

Not because I think that I’m so important to them that they would kill themselves over me, but because I wasn’t confident that they were emotionally stable enough to handle me wanting something other than my relationships with them.

So then I had to stop and ask myself, why do I keep on creating this?

Why do I keep on stepping into relationships with emotionally unstable people, or projecting emotional instability onto my loved ones.

The truth, which I only finally got at in the last 6 months or so, despite holding curiosity around this for some years, is that my inner child had a story.

A story that my mother was going to kill herself and leave me.

How accurate my memories are from back then (we’re talking 3-5 years old) is unclear. But it doesn't really matter.

Because the fact is that my child’s perception of it (or what I’ve been able to recall to consciousness thus far) is that my mother was very sad and very tired. A lot.

She cried a lot.

She and my dad verbally and physically fought, a lot.

She slept a lot.

And within myself I discovered the story (hidden away by my ego, because it was so potentially damaging for me to know) that I believed I was not enough for her to want to live for. And the story that it was my responsibility to make her happy. To keep her happy. And to get her to keep on choosing to live.

And thus I walked on eggshells and fawned and reassured and held many of my own feelings inside. I abandoned myself to serve my mother. The most important person in my world. Like a good little soldier.

It’s important to note that there is no blame here.

She was a very young mother doing the very best she could in very difficult circumstances, and I can see that she loved me with a fierceness and desperation that comes from feeling inadequate herself.

I know this feeling well, for I have, and sometimes still do (see above) the very same with my own children. Even though I know much better than she did back then.

But this story that I am so inadequate that my own mother didn’t think I was enough – a faulty story forged by a tiny child who had no concept of the nuances and complexities of human behaviour – ruled my life unfettered, for almost four decades.

To be honest, it made me, not so much a people-pleaser, but a people-avoider. A person who felt frustrated by people who wanted me to take responsibility for them or to make me the centre of their world. 

I avoided commitment at the emotional level.

I left myself quite disconnected from the "dangerous" reality of loving people.

I have this specific memory, in a moment of despair a year or so after the birth of my daughter (second child), breaking my heart over the pain that I had allowed into my life by having two babies that I couldn’t emotionally disconnect from (fuck knows I tried).

Babies that (it seemed at the time) I would have to spend the rest of my life desperately trying to keep safe and alive. The idea that I would forever be terrified for them, no matter how old and capable they grew. And look at how this piece began to see that this is still true for the disempowered parts that still live within.

Of course, back then, I didn’t realise that my horror was rooted in this story with my mother. But it is so clear to me now that it was.

And let’s not even get into how being so emotion-avoidant stifled my professional life, my business, my ability to make it rain money.

And so the point of all this rambling? I don’t know really. I just wanted to write a longer piece on this.

Mostly just to say that the stories we (all) create in early childhood – stories created from very limited and largely mis-understood data, sitting in our unconscious. that we can’t even remember – rule our whole entire lives without us knowing a single thing about it.

These stories are why our egos (the gatekeepers of our supposed failings) are birthed into our inner world in the first place. To hide the truth about everything that is “wrong” with ourselves. From ourselves.

But there is light at the end of this tunnel. For there is always a choice to change the rules of engagement.

You see, we have the power to free ourselves from these unconscious commitments. From these habitual programmes.

And with time, patience and compassion, we can lovingly coax them into the light of day and begin to heal them.

Begin to free ourselves.

“That’s just asking for it”.

My wonderful, nurturing, beloved, kind and generous, 84 year old Nan said this to me recently.

For context (in case you’ve been living under a rock), “it” is being attacked and/or raped.
And how, pray tell, was I “asking for it” exactly?
Well, that would be the rape/attack worthy *sin* of walking alone, at night, through the park next to my home.

Specifically, because I’m a woman.


She didn’t hurl it as an accusation.

And yet it is, right?


Really, she meant it as a plea for me to stay safe,

stick to well lit paths

(something I would ask my own daughter to do,

but nonetheless,

the message was clear:


If a man

(for she did mean a man)

attacks or rapes me while I walk through that dark park at night,

it will be MY fault.
Because *I* asked for it.


It almost seems an innocuous point of view.

One that we throw at the young women we’re raising all the time.


Perhaps not, exactly, “you’re asking for it”…

But…

“You’re not going out dressed like that…”

when we deem the skirt so short that men will not be able to help themselves but rape and pillage.


Or…

“Well, she was drunk and dressed provocatively…”

together with a sage look,

when we hear about a woman attacked after partying.

She was “asking” for it.


But what message does this send to our daughters?
That it’s their fault if they get raped while drunk and wearing a short skirt?

That their uninhibited bodies can bring such shame that they need to be hidden away


Hell, what message does it send to our sons?

That the drunk ones in short skirts are fair game?

That they can’t be expected to control themselves if a woman is drunk and/or baring skin?

That it’s our (women’s) fault they feel so aroused and it’s our responsibility to “take care of it” for them?


And isn’t that why Sarah Everard’s murder, last year, caused such public outcry?

Because she fit the “good girl” criteria?

Because she was deemed to NOT be asking for it?

Because she was *just* walking home from a friend’s house in a well lit area?

Because she did everything “right”?
Implying that drunk, partying, promiscuous even, is doing everything “wrong”.

It really hit home for me a few years ago when I was dabbling in youth work.

I found myself in the blistering heat of a summer residential

listening to senior youth workers telling young women to “put more clothes on”.

That they could “practically see their flaps hanging out”.


And when my daughters school held a non-uniform “fun” day,

while prescribing exactly what the *girls* were allowed, and more importantly NOT allowed to wear.


The belly baring tops that were my (then 16 year old) daughter’s staple wardrobe weren’t allowed.

Nor strappy ones that might expose a parallel line of bra strap.
No such rules for the boys, of course.

She went in her uniform, instead,

because she decided it wasn’t “fun” if she had to wear stuff that she “wouldn’t be seen dead” in.


So, anyway, I asked my Nan, with compassion,

how is walking in a public space at night “asking” to be attacked or raped?

How is it *my fault* if a man can’t control himself?


She couldn’t really answer.

Said that’s not what she meant.

Told me it’s just not right,

not safe to walk alone at night like that.

I know what she meant.


She was trying to protect me.
Like we all try to protect our loved ones.

Our daughters.


Repeating what was passed down to her from her own parents.

Her mother.


My (great) Nanna Mason

- another amazing woman I had the pleasure of loving -

told her that being out alone in the dark was “asking for it”.

To *protect* her.

Like her mother told her.


Because for as long as we (and our parents, grandparents, great-grandparents, etc) can remember,

we have been told it is a woman’s responsibility to not do anything that might excite a man.

Unless we want to get (forcibly) f*cked.

And so for my nan, and her mother before her,

that has been integrated into her psyche as FACT.


And this is not just limited to octogenarians.

Many of my daughters now 18 year old friends are still told this by their parents today.


Not that it stops them wearing what they want and partying like it’s 1999.

They just do it in secret, is all.


And it’s a struggle, right?

Because you want to keep your daughters safe.


And here’s the thing:

I do too.


But I’ve had to realise that policing her body, is not the way.

That telling her what to wear (or not to wear),

or expecting her not to party with her friends,

is both unrealistic and unfair,

AND puts the onus on HER to not get attacked

instead of the onus on our sons/husbands/brothers to NOT do the attacking.


And anyway, who the hell am I to dictate how she adorns and enjoys her beautiful body.

I don’t own her.

I never did.


So now she and I focus on her plans to get home safely,

to not leave her drink lying around,

to stick with her friends even if she feels unwell,

and to call me if there’s any kind of problem,

instead of what she can and can’t wear and do.


And, more importantly, we talk about how

you really can’t eliminate the risk of attack/rape/worse.


That women (and men) also get raped and attacked sober,

with no skin bared,

and sometimes by their own loving partners and family members.



And, that if the worst were ever to happen

it would never, in no way, EVER be her fault.


You see, the patriarchy does NOT persist because of pale and stale men in high places.It persists because WE, the mothers (and fathers),in our attempt to protect our beloved offspring,keep pouring it down their throats.

Because we tell our daughters,

in subtle and not-so-subtle ways,

that they are responsible for the crimes that might be committed against them.


Because we tell our sons,

through our actions and reactions,

that their sex drive is a victim of provocatively dressed women.


Because we take their power away from them.

When they’re too impressionable to know any better.

And we give it away to patriarchal thinking.


So what can you do, if you see that you too have fallen victim to these beliefs?
Well, first of all, give yourself a break.

We were all raised to think like this and detoxing from patriarchy is f*cking hard work

(I would know, since I’m still challenged by it on the daily).


And congratulate yourself for starting to notice.

That’s an enormous first step.


Next, ask yourself, “who REALLY benefits from me passing this belief on?”


And then, perhaps, start opening the door to a different kind of conversation with your children.

Even if they’re already grown.

Jo xx

​If you’d rather put your head in a blender than create another marketing post, know this:

Actions (like the decision to market or not to market, for example) always follow emotion.

And emotions always follow story.

So that feeling that you’re *so fcking tired* of showing up is coming from a story that your ego is creating (to try and protect you).

Bc that is ALL that your ego is here to do.

Not to help you evolve and grow.

Nor to make money.

Not even to bring you happiness, love, admiration, or anything else..

Just to block you from the pain of discovering the things about yourself that you,

as a little kid,

were compelled to disown,

bc you believed them to be proof

(from your child’s under-developed perspective)

that you were faulty, unloveable, inadequate.

See, your ego is afraid that when you show up fully… authentically… empowered…

thar you run the risk of uncovering the very things about yourself,

that were so intolerable to little you,

that you already decided to disown and bury them deep in your unconscious behind a wall of ego.

And she does NOT understand that those very things that she’s hiding from you are not “bad” at all.

But are, in fact, the key to your next level purpose,

evolution,

and, ultimately,

your actualisation through the radical loving and complete acceptance and integration of EVERY part of you.

So, rather than allowing yourself to be deactivated (or over-activated by desperation), try this…

NAME the emotion lurking beneath the decision to act (or not act).

And then explore the story sitting beneath that emotion.

For here you’ll discover lies that go something like…

“Nobody wants this”

“Folks are sick of listening to me”

“Who do I think I am?”

“This isn’t what I’m supposed to be/do/have”

“I’m just not meant to have it easy”

“People don’t like me”

And so on.

Then, with acceptance, curiosity, love and compassion, ask your bravely beloved protector (who remembers all the things that she’s trying to “save” you from),

“where did this story come from, my love?”

Bc, one thing is for sure:

It did NOT come from your grown-ass powerful self.

And this is where the magic happens, my friend.

For here you will discover that what is *actually* demotivating you,

in this very instant,

is NOT that these stories are true for you right now,

but that they are a bastardised version of something that you *believed* to be true

when you were still innocent and pliable enough to believe that fairies were exchanging milk teeth for money.

And thus it is from this place,

of understanding the unconscious commitments that are ruling your inner world,

that you can finally start to rewrite the stories,

alchemising them into fuel for your empowerment, evolution and…

what do you know…

the DESIRE and MOTIVATION to show TF up even more fully than ever 😉

and call in even HIGHER-CALIBRE soul-mate clients than ever before ❤️

See my love, your ego RUNS so much of your inner world.

And so the sooner you can build trust with her,

the sooner you can discover and create EVERYTHING you desire.

And lover, I’m talking about a whole lot more than *just* the money #iykyk

Jo xx

To my friends, seeking to raise empowered daughters, a reminder:


We are raising women, not girls.
Love and support them
(no matter what they throw at you).
Encourage their ambitions,
their independence,
their desires.
But do NOT seek to control them.


Our bodies are our temple,
created for our own pleasure and utilisation,
not for others approval or gratification.
Empower her to approve of herself
whatever her shape, size, features,
to wear what she wants,
to do what she wants,
to say what she wants,
and (for the love of god) to pleasure herself.
Frequently


Make sure that she knows her route to fulfilment is an inside job
that cannot be achieved via a “good” education/job,
riches (or a rich husband),
a Pinterest-worthy house,
a beauty-industry-standards conforming body/face,
nor a gaggle of babies,
- although any/all (or none) may feature along the way.


Show her that we are different to men,
but that does not make us less than them,
and that our differences are there to be celebrated and leveraged,
not used against us.


In a similar vain,
let her know that we are different to folks of different races, creeds, gender identities, sexualities, ages, sizes, abilities, and more,
but that does not make us more (or less) than them,
and that those differences are there to be celebrated and leveraged too,
not ignored, demonised or used against anybody.


Lead by example and always put yourself first.
No matter what.
For she will follow in your footsteps,
and you don’t want your girl to grow into a woman
who spends her life resentfully giving from a half empty cup,
while wondering, “when do I get mine?”


Explain that emotions are our friends.
They are neither good nor bad.
They are our teachers, our compass, our guide.
Embrace them.
Approve of them.
Learn from them.
Express the joy and the rage.
The pleasure and the sorrow.
Feel ALL the feels.


Let her know that there is no such things as mistakes.
That every experience,
every perceived failure,
every heartache,
every decision is for her evolution.
That you can never put a foot wrong,
when you learn to listen to your gut and trust yourself,
over everyone else.
And that sometimes, hearing and interpreting your own intuition is easier
with a trusted yet impartial mentor
- which may, or may not, be you,
since, let’s face it, it’s difficult to be impartial when it comes to your loved ones, right?


Teach her that we don’t see things as they are, we see them as WE are,
so that she can understand that perceptions and opinions are merely a reflection of the person sharing them,
and therefore there is no need to create meaning around others perceptions and opinions
(even when they’re about her).


Be discerning,
teach her to question everything
(except her own intuition),
to think critically and independently about what she believes,
what she is asked to believe,
and for whose benefit those beliefs are.


Empower her to use her voice,
to speak up,
to serve herself and her passions
even if that causes discomfort for others
(including you).


Remind her that she is powerful,
a creator,
a limitless being of opportunity,
and that whatever she wants can be hers
with focus and dedication.


And show her that LOVE is always better than fear and hate.
That everyone is equally, and wholly deserving of love.
That being different isn’t less than.
That life is not a zero sum game.
That many people have fewer privileges and thus require more support.
And that, because the universe is pure abundance,
that support does not have to be at the detriment of someone else.


And teach your boys the same.


Teach them that respecting and supporting women,
rather than trying to control them or keep them “safe”,
is the key to a better world.


Teach them to embrace and celebrate differences,
of every kind.
Including when it is they who are different.


Teach them discernment and critical thinking.


Teach them that it’s ok to f*ck up.


And teach them to feel all the feels and approve of them.


For not approving of their feelings is the biggest cause of suicide among young men,
and the only people who can really change that are empowered parents raising empowered adults
(which our children have the opportunity to become).


You see, we can make this world a better place.
A kinder place.
A more understanding place.
A more generous place.
A more loving place.


One newly empowered adult at a time.
Jo xx
P.S. what would you add to this list?