Coming out of the weird closet

Part 1

‘Coming out of the weird closet’

is an apt description of a large chapter in my life that has led me to where I am now: a very happy, intuitive, animal-loving, countryloving, travelled-the-world entrepreneur. As an award-winning therapist and animal communicator, I live in the countryside with my two dogs, two cats, and partner, living from my heart, embracing my intuitive gifts, and doing mainly what I love every day. It is a life I am continuously grateful for, and I sometimes have to pinch myself when I wake up, even with the difficulties I face each day.

Yet, it has not always been like that, so this year, let me take you on a walk through some of the ups and downs, adventures, and real-life stories that led me here.

I used to be a corporate girl, wearing pinstripe suits and high heels, driving a sports car, and smoking cigarettes.

I had teams across southeast

England delivering-multi-millionpound contracts to some of the largest high street names.

My mottos were ‘Work hard and play hard’ and ‘Sleep when you are dead.’ I chased money and status and rarely cried. If I wasn’t working, I was partying; if it wasn’t one, I was at the gym lifting weights, cycling or working out. I never stopped.

Inside, I held myself back from so much that life has to offer, caught up by the modern trappings of capitalism and a consumerism society where it is all about keeping up, concerned about shallow ideals such as identity, how big one’s house, or paycheck is and I was right in the middle of it all.

I had to make some big changes to my life inside and out, yet I felt caught in a trap and couldn’t get out. It was not an easy ride!

Firstly, I was born into a bit of a wonky family; my parents divorced early, and it wasn’t the best start. I witnessed things that were traumatic for a young, sensitive girl with one loving yet troubled older brother.

I grew up around angry outbursts, emotional instability, violence, and narcissism, as well as hedonism, selfishness, and poverty. I was born early in 1977, a very different time to today, especially for divorced women.

I grew up with a small black and white TV that had to be turned over by a dial, a small gas fire on the wall with a metal guard as central heating was not standard, our shower was in the corner of the kitchen, and the bathroom was nothing more than a tiny loo and sink stuck onto the outside of our 2nd floor creepy flat.

I remember the stairs feeling weird, and I never liked going up and down the bottom turn on my own or in the dark.

Some may say this was the usual fear of the dark that most kids experience; however, I had more than my share of ‘weird’ encounters down there that made for a spooky element to my childhood.

If the landing at the top of the stairs did not feel so nice in contrast, I would believe others too. However, this contrast from creepy to sunny started my ‘energetic education.’

My bedroom was at the top of the landing on the sunny floor; my older brothers were on the mid-floor, which had questionable energy to it; in particular, one corner felt horrid, like there were things stuck in the alcove and then there was the basement/ground level which felt dark, slimy and sinister, even the cupboard under the stairs had the

weird creepy energy. My parents’ bedroom was off this part of the flat. It was a funny old building built around two shops; one my Mother had run as a dry cleaners and gents outfitters, and the other was a lovely pet shop.

We had two black and white cats, Minnie and Scat. One used to love to ring the doorbell and wait to be let inside; the other was a lot more nervous and afraid of little children. I used to love to sit on the varnished cork tiles of the kitchen floor and look up, watching the cats sitting on top of the pale green melamine kitchen units, looking at me with their golden eyes, practising my slow blinking, hoping one day Scat would be brave enough to be my friend. Minnie was a typical cat and was my friend on her terms, standard aloof catness!

One day, Scat went missing, and I remember my Mother being upset about her whereabouts; I was about 3.

She turned up a few days later, dragging her limp tail, looking all sorry for herself. It turnout, according to the vet, that her injuries were likely caused by being hit by a car.

I remember this as I didn’t have a lot of words; I can remember the feeling of observing her.

I felt like I had a tail, and it was so numb that I couldn’t feel the end of it.

The midsection felt slightly numb, and the base felt slightly tingly but not functional. It made me feel sick to my core. Not having any language to describe things, I was at a loss.

To my amazement, I watched her change. Something strange started to happen, and Scat began to come to me to stroke her; I remember gently running my hand over her coat, feeling so happy that she came to me, slowly feeling her plush fur from head to toe.

She started to do this often and would rub up next to me when, one day, the end of her tail came off in my hand. I was so distraught; my Mother comforted me, saying that, sadly, her tail was dying and the vet had expected her to lose it and that it was okay; I hadn’t done anything wrong.

This experience with Scat left me curious and intrigued; cats were my first love. Closely followed, I have to say, by the pet shop next door.

I would often pop in and visit; they always had such wonderful animals so well cared for, and the couple who ran the store loved to rescue animals, so they often had some new rescue in store as they rehabilitated it to others they had to keep safe and provide extra care.

As the years went by, I was told to go and get a job. At age 11, I popped into the pet shop and asked them if I could work for them. The work was just a couple of hours a week after school, and I had to do all sorts of little jobs, bagging up pet food long before big supermarkets or conglomerates arrived.

This was 1988 in the UK, after all.

I was cleaning out the birds, rodents, or reptiles, stocking up shelves, cleaning, feeding, and generally looking after the animals and customers using our old-fashioned till. I loved my time in the shop and learned so much, including some pretty colourful language from a coral rescue Cockatoo called Charlie; I remember the store owner rushing downstairs one day: “Cover him up, cover him up, what will your mother say?”.

To be continued…..