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The lands of my youth

Recently, I've been travelling with my family in Western Australia. 

It is a return trip for me, and my wife has been once before, 14 years ago when we spent about a week in WA after our wedding. My children have never been to the west coast of Australia physically.

I've spoken at length about my experiences growing up near the beach, and regailed them with stories of my adventures and mischief so it's like they've seen the place in their mind's eye.

The first sight of the Indian Ocean is a breathtaking experience for anyone, but I'm certain that my children have fallen asleep ruminating on surf, sandhills and salty winds. To say they are excited is an understatement.

And of course, so am I. 

Perhaps it is for a different reason. 

For many years I've stayed away, not confident that my path away has established myself as different from the person I was in my youth.

I didn't like who I was in my youth, and I so I feared sliding back. 

I did not want to return to my old ways.

Probably trauma in the somewhere...

To be honest, there's definitely trauma in there. 

And I know it's there, but up until now, I've been unsure how to address it and resolve it. 

So it's stayed 'down there', well masked and avoided.

Until now.

I realise it's storage and capacity that need to be reviewed, assessed, and dealt with, and if I don't, my family are going the bear the brunt of my unconscious avoidance and denial.

Although I have been building this up for a few months now, I'm already feeling the filters getting cleaned out and the "junk" coming to the service to be acknowledged and defused.

There is more to come, I'm sure.

Earlier today, I visited one of my favourite magical places on the south west coast. I've spent many days and nights here, caught many waves, shared laughs and smiles with good friends and pushed the edges of my strength and endurance. The place has a deep personal meaning. 

It looked different to my mental image, but it "felt" the same - remote, rocky and raw, with a dash of rich brine. The stroll across the sand and boulders was cathartic, and I relished the opportunity to hop along the rocks with my children while the rolling waves threw themselves against the rocks. 
Watching the sun set, I felt the layers of onion unravelling. 

I know which ones to keep.

I know which ones to discard.

And the sun comes up again tomorrow.

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