Sunday Bloody Sunday

Northern Ireland in the 1970s was a terrifying and messed up place.

A quick history lesson, the Protestants in Northern Ireland were to remain a part of the United Kingdom, and the Catholics wanted Northern Ireland to leave the United Kingdom in favour of a United Ireland. Not precisely that straight forward but it would take me a whole lifetime to explain "the Troubles".

I was born in 1971, which was the year of the deadliest attack of the troubles. In 1972 almost 500 people were killed, most of whom were everyday people like you and me. 1972 was the worst year of the entire conflict. It was the year of Bloody Sunday when 13 unarmed men were killed by the British Army at an anti-internment rally, most of you will know the day as referred to by the U2 song "Bloody Sunday".

The IRA gained more supporters after that, and one thing led to another, the UVF - the "other side" started to play up, and the troubles went on for many years up until the Good Friday Peace Agreement was reached in 1998.

The troubles affected people in different ways. Some of my friends had parents who were "in the forces" which could mean anything from The RUC (the police force), the Army (referred to as The Brits by the Catholic population) and the Navy (which my brother was in) or the RAF (which my Uncle had been in).

If you were "in the forces" you were a walking target for the IRA (because you were in support of the United Kingdom) and if you had a family member "in the forces" you were at risk because if the bad guys wanted to take them down, they wouldn't care if they took their entire family with them.

I also know people who sat on the proddy bad guy teams, also might I point out here I am not and never was on anyone's side. I seriously do not give two single iotas what side of the fence you come from; all I care about right now is telling you about my story.

The town I was born and raised in is an affluent seaside town. We were definitely not in the middle of it all, and not too affected by shootings and bombs all of the time, but you never knew what was going to happen next.

It was the world I was born into, a dysfunctional Irish family and a society instilled with fear living through a conflict. My parents had no idea how to navigate their way through any of this. They grew up in post-war times, and they too were victims of generational trauma.

My Mother tells me to this day, "your Grandfather came back from the war a changed man", "he was angry and flipped out at the drop of a hat, there was one night he took the axe to the furniture and chopped it all up while yelling at my Mother". She tells me that he didn't harm the kids; there were 5 of them.

What I remember of the troubles was all a bit vague until later in life when I was to learn that this is "normal" in people with complex trauma and PTSD.

I remember that my Mother had a real hatred of "Catholics" yet my best friend even to this day was/is catholic, so I couldn't understand why my Mother was so nice to her yet then she said at other times that all Catholics were evil bastards.

Talk about stuffed up messages received as a child. I remember being told to not talk to strangers, don't tell anyone where you live or where you are from, don't tell anyone your name, don't tell anyone what school you go to, far out, there really wasn't very much I could tell anyone.

I always kind of felt like I was living in some sort of upside-down world, yes stranger things reference intended, but it is true. I was being force-fed Christianity through the Methodist Church that we were members of, and learning about God and Jesus. It was drilled into me "for God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son that whosoever believeth in him shall not perish but have everlasting life". Like what the actual hell?

I believed this propaganda when I was at Sunday School, and I really wanted to believe that the Jesus man and his Dad the God dude would come and save me, but no, this was not my experience.

After church, we would go to my Nannies and get a cup of tea and a scone or potato bread. She would give me my comics that she had bought for me during the week. I loved The Beano with Dennis the Menace, and I loved Asterix the Viking. She would always have mints on her, in her triangular-shaped navy handbag with the stiff gold clasp that snapped her purse open and shut.

Nannie would never keep too much in there for the size of it, I have smaller handbags, and you should see the amount of shite I keep in them, but I digress. My nannie would keep, a little cotton hankie with an embroidered corner of a little flower, some polo mints, a Vicks inhaler, a copy of the Gideons new testament and a red leather coin purse.

She was always a sad type of person; she didn't smile very much. Once I found a book that someone had bought for her called "The Power of Positive Thinking", I think my nanny was bothered with the black dog, and back then there were no anti-depressants and talk therapy like there is today. Regardless of her sad demeanour though, I would love going to her place on a Sunday after church, but I always felt anxiety when it was mentioned that it was time to go. I knew what was waiting for me at home.

Once we were all back home, my sister would go out with her then-boyfriend who went on to become her husband and my brother would go off on his motorbike to see his friends, and I was left at home with my parents.

Some Sunday nights weren't too bad, but if my Father had access to any of his Bushmills Irish Whiskey leftover from the night before then, I knew there would be trouble. If my Mother got stuck into the Vodka, it indeed was the makings of another night from hell.

So, as you can see, all these things I write about with great transparency gives you an idea of the issues that were at play for me from a very young age.

Anxiety was already starting to present itself when I was just six-years-old and now that I know that depression runs in the family (my Nannie and my Dad) it makes sense that I would be more vulnerable to developing some sort of problem with it.

The dysfunctional parents' bit came with the territory, it was Northern Ireland, it was the 70's, and it was "The Troubles", nothing was safe, and there were bombings and shootings daily. I honestly wouldn't change a thing because if I did, I wouldn't be where I am today, writing this, having developed an MBA stress management programme for people who want to perform at their best every God damn day.

Take care

NM