The distance between – letting go of the past and finally being free

I had a realisation today; a very good realisation. It centred around the idea that a distance of eighteen years was enough.

I think I probably need to fill in some detail here. Those of you who have read my autobiography which was published in 2006 will know that for around three and a half years, between the ages of 20-25 I was a prisoner. When I speak of people about this now they are kind and understanding – there were mitigating circumstances, they say. They explain that my sad career began because I had a boyfriend who was much older than me and a dangerous criminal, I was bullied in school, I didn’t understand consequences….while these things were probably all contributing factors I have to take more responsibility than this. Crime is a social issue certainly but there is always the element of personal choice. I made bad decisions, I hurt people – physically  and emotionally. My parents went through the kind of hell I can scarcely imagine and yet they stood by me after every stupid destructive decision and supported me when I eventually decided to make my life something less horrific.

My criminal history is now between 23 and 18 years old. When I decided to change my life, this concept of the distance in time was a constant presence in my mind. One year out and I had enrolled in university, but the man from the autism employment service who used to be a police sergeant told me he couldn’t work with me because I would go bak to my old ways. Then another police sergeant told me, a mere six months after the employment service person, that my dodgy days must be over – it was very conflicting to have such different assessments. Which was right? I thought it must be up to me. I carried that huge and rather useful sense of responsibility with me for so long, I was  – and remain – the epitome of ethical.

It was three years out and I was in university trying to change my little bit of the world for the better by learning and putting education and time between me and what I now saw as my ‘past’. It was five years out when I met Donna Williams / Polly Samuel. She told me I needed to write my story for all those parents of autistic young people in similar circumstances to where I had been so very very recently.

It was six years out when that book was published – my positive point of no return. But still every day that clock counted each minute between me and prison. I believed it wouldn’t take a lot for the Jeanette who I was terrified of to come back. I was afraid of my mental illness recurring and dissolving all those inhibitions and  barriers that I kept around myself as a fortress against the oh so recent past.

It was seven years out when I got my public service job. The pre-employment police check filled me with anxiety and the saving grace was probably that lovely book I had so recently written. I was amazed and relieved when my new employer said ’yes’.

It was ten years out and I needed to get a working with children card – more anxiety and soul searching. Between eleven and sixteen years out people told me it didn’t matter. It was ancient history. But to me it was almost clearly visible if I just looked down the years. Seventeen years out – last year – and I made a decision not to include the ‘where I came from’ slide in my talks in addition to  ‘where I am now’ slide. It wasn’t me but even then that history was still tethered to me by an invisible chain.

In September last year 18 years came around. I didn’t think much of it. Another day. The first time that I hadn’t devote the day to reflection and anxiety. And today I knew it was gone. My memory of that time is all that remains. I am not held down by it. It does not define me.I understand now what was meant when my friends told me it was ancient history. They were right but it took me a little longer to catch up to their understanding. After eighteen years I am finally free. It is lovely. I plan to enjoy freedom. It was hard won and not just by me. My path is an unusual one. Sadly so many people get caught in that web and never escape. There is nothing hugely special or impressive about me. I think the things which enabled me to escape that world were the support of my parents and a few others. My own discipline and determination helped – most social extroverts wouldn’t deliberately throw out their address book but in 2000 I knew I needed to do that because it contained people who were still stuck. I am quite good at willpower when I need to be. I have a fair brain but  think the key is that I do to blame or hold grudges. I never have really. Some truly horrific things happened in that time and sadly many of them were the result of actions taken by those supposed to be taking care of me. I have always said I live in the moment. Trauma will follow me but when it comes to specifics I can move past it quite well. I have never held onto hatred of anger for any of the things which happened. When they were no longer happening I moved on. The only anger and blame I held onto was against myself. That one took eighteen years to overcome. I am happy to bid it farewell.

Being free is lovely. This afternoon I realised the distance in time is no longer relevant and what happened in the 1990s is still there but I’m not. I finally knew I don’t need it and it doesn’t need me. It is as gone as a childhood toy abandoned in adulthood as no longer needed, relevant or interesting.

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An actual glimpse at the 1990s – 23 year old me and my Dad

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