So You Think You Know Fear?

From Bullied to Black Belt. Digging deep when it mattered.

So You Think You Know Fear? I learnt avoidance from a very early age, and it was a discovery fuelled by fear. Childlike punches and kicks, accompanied by spiteful spit, came my way from my classmates. And so, after months of enduring, I begged my father to let me move schools, and for a while there was peace. It didn’t last long.

A new school soon produced new enemies, and they spotted a young teen who couldn’t stand up for himself, and so they latched on to me. The abuse upgraded to knives; the punches and headbutts now became a regular, almost daily occurrence, and so my journey into panic attacks would soon start.

Any help from the home front was few and far between.

“For God’s sake, son, learn to stand up for yourself. You are a coward,” was the advice my dad bestowed upon me. Thanks, pop, tell me something I don’t know. But of course he would also take his turn in the queue of people waiting to beat me up, belittle me, make me feel small.

Sometimes, after a few pints, he would make amends, apologise, blame the pressure of his business, but as often as not, if you added whiskey to his beer, well then things might be different.

“Where the hell have you been until this hour?” he would yell, and the neighbours who had joined him for a nightcap would look away embarrassed.

“Dad, it’s only eleven o’clock. I am eighteen for God’s sake.”

“Don’t take that tone with me, get up those stairs!”

The neighbours would leave their gin and tonics untouched, offer me sympathetic smiles and retreat to their own homes.

I wake the next morning to my dad standing over my bed. “Sorry, son. I just had too much to drink.” And everything would be expected to go back to normal, all the family as one again. Except behind closed doors, we really weren’t.

I got used to it, because as I left the house and headed for the local pub, my stomach would churn. Who would be in there today, and what excuse would they use to belittle me? Would it be the son of a parent my father had sacked, seeking revenge, would it be a hardcase who didn’t like the colour of my coat, or would it be a local thug who didn’t like the fact I got on with his girlfriend? Choose a number, take your pick.

And then, from seemingly nowhere, the cavalry arrived, and her name was Julie. This young girl gave me strength, hope and confidence, gently suggesting I try my hand at Karate again. After all, it must be better than the agoraphobia that now had me in its grip, left me spending all my spare time lying on the couch in front of the television, terrified to go outside.

Fast forward, years and years, and with several Black Belts to my name and as many books, I had, with the help of some truly beautiful and brilliant people, managed to turn my life around.

If you are struggling with fear, panic attacks, abuse or poor mental health, then perhaps From Bullied to Black Belt is something you may wish to read, and you can get it in paperback or download it tonight at https://www.simonmorrell.com/books