{"id":4254,"date":"2025-07-03T16:40:35","date_gmt":"2025-07-03T15:40:35","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/blogs.canterbury.ac.uk\/partnersinlearning\/?p=4254"},"modified":"2025-07-07T17:30:06","modified_gmt":"2025-07-07T16:30:06","slug":"falling-upwards","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/blogs.canterbury.ac.uk\/partnersinlearning\/falling-upwards\/","title":{"rendered":"Falling Upwards"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

By Tom Delahunt, the #Hobopoet<\/em> and Leann Nyamande<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe familiar and the comfortable are not always your friends. Sometimes, what seems like falling is actually flying in disguise.\u201d \u2013 The Hobopoet<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

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There are moments in life when everything we\u2019ve clung to\u2014the known roles, the structures, the stories\u2014begin to fall away. What remains is not a descent, but a strange kind of ascent. It doesn’t always feel uplifting. In fact, it often feels like grief. Like loss. Like chaos.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But in this reversal, this paradoxical movement of falling upwards<\/em>, something essential breaks through. For those of us living with hidden disabilities, there\u2019s a raw truth in that image: that to be broken open is to become light enough to rise. I have prided my educational methods on a foundation of honesty and the transformative power of what Richard Rohr calls “falling upward”\u2014the idea that failure, vulnerability, and descent are often the necessary conditions for authentic growth. Rather than shielding students from discomfort or complexity, I try to create spaces where mistakes are welcomed as integral to learning, and where self-awareness takes precedence over perfection. As Rohr states, \u201cthe genius of the Gospel is that it reveals that it\u2019s in the very falling that we learn to rise\u201d (Rohr, Falling Upward<\/em>, 2011). This philosophy has helped shape not just more resilient learners, but more compassionate human beings who are better equipped to navigate both the academic and emotional terrain of their lives.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I, the Hobopoet, have walked many hospital corridors with the scent of antiseptic in my nostrils and the ache of unspoken grief caught in my throat. I have watched students come and go\u2014bright-eyed, overwhelmed, brave. Nicola Kingsley was one of them. But she was never just a student; she was the echo in my ribs, the other heartbeat in this poetic nursing heart.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Since she qualified, I have kept close\u2014not to supervise or shadow\u2014but to witness<\/em>. To notice the subtle ruptures that appear when the world of theory collides with the practice of care. And what I\u2019ve seen is someone willing to be harmed for others, to love in the open, to resist the slow freeze of apathy that can overtake our profession. That takes guts. That takes poetry.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sometimes, I struggle to define what it is I actually do\u2014I can\u2019t always see the impact of holding space, sharing conversation, or offering quiet moments of decompression and awareness of oppression. But then, like a reflection in the pond, something surfaces. A message, like this one from Juvert\u2014a student from 2021\u2014reminds me that these shared moments matter. Juvert wrote to thank me for the guidance offered during our study days, saying those moments helped shape their path, from working in respiratory and cardiac care to now managing a ward at the Royal London Hospital. I don’t do this work for praise, but in their words, I glimpse the ripples.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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The Post-COVID Rebalancing<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

During the pandemic, the world retreated. In fear, we hoarded pasta, loo roll, flour\u2014as though material certainty could fill the void of fear, uncertainty, spiritual and emotional unravelling. And perhaps it had to be that way for a while. We curled into survival.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But now, there is a stirring. Not a thunderclap, not a shout\u2014but the quiet murmur of people remembering their neighbour\u2019s name, gifting tomatoes from the allotment, passing poems across tables, daring to cry together again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This blog is part of that re-emergence. A return to gifting. A reclaiming of altruism as radical action<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We write together not as authority and student, but as twin wings. Light and dark. Yin and yang.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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This second image is the heart of The Hunter Moon<\/em>, my next children\u2019s book. Inspired by Jung\u2019s fire and ice, by Nietzsche\u2019s void, by the dance of opposites that define both trauma and healing. It\u2019s about learning that we hold both light and shadow, and only when they meet can transformation happen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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<\/p>\n\n\n\n

creative therapeutics is not a retreat\u2014it\u2019s a revolution<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Don\u2019t believe me? Then maybe listen to the words and the art of my wonderful student Leann\u2026..<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Innocence \u2013 Light and Shadow<\/p>\n\n\n

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The world teaches us to wear different faces. It\u2019s a lesson I never wanted to learn. But transitioning into adulthood has forced me to adapt\u2014unwillingly. Around different people, I wear different masks. With each interaction, I tweak and adjust parts of myself I feel shouldn\u2019t be seen. Especially the vulnerable ones. No one wants to hear the doom and gloom. No one wants to claim the darker parts of their story.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019ve come to understand the Japanese philosophy of the three faces. Now, I consciously hide the parts of me that might be judged by society\u2014even when those parts reflect trials I\u2019ve already overcome. The second face, the one meant for close friends and family, shows a more relaxed and honest version of me\u2026 but not entirely. That\u2019s been the hardest part to accept. For a long time, I was convinced I was an open book. And in many ways, I still am. But there are moments\u2014fleeting, quiet moments\u2014when I catch myself filtering what\u2019s really going on. Out of fear. Fear of judgment. Fear of being misunderstood. Fear of being reduced to the stories I share.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Very few people have access to my inner world now. It\u2019s not something I\u2019m content with. In truth, I sometimes feel bitter about how difficult it has become to express myself. The second face has slowly started merging with the first\u2014hiding the \u201cugly\u201d that people tend to shy away from.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then there\u2019s the third face\u2014the truest version of myself. I\u2019ve learned to meet that self through journaling. Through capturing moments, honestly and imperfectly. Through being okay with admitting fault and naming the chaos.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As Jordan Peterson suggests, chaos and order are fundamental aspects of human existence. For metamorphosis to occur, both must be present. Like the Taoist symbol of Yin and Yang, I believe in the necessity of duality\u2014complementary opposites that form a whole. Neither light nor shadow is more important than the other. They need each other to keep the balance. Understanding this, I believe that it is important to accept yourself than be in conflict… Because internal conflict breeds denial. Denial breeds deception. And deception\u2014especially of self\u2014leads to destruction. I\u2019ve seen it happen, especially in workspaces and social interactions. People become unconscious monsters\u2014aware, but unaware. Here we are conscious but not knowing…<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Escapism Through Creative Therapeutics<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cPainting is a metaphor for control,\u201d said Niklaus Mikaelson\u2014a complex anti-hero whose words linger within me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I used to create purely for expression. It came naturally to me\u2014until it didn\u2019t. In many ways, I am privileged and blessed. I thank God for that. But the complexity of the adult world\u2014and particularly the world of nursing\u2014has stripped me of that innate ability to create freely.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Nursing has amplified the pain of creative silence. The long, emotionally and physically draining shifts have pushed me into dissociation. I\u2019ve trained myself to forget. To let go of difficult moments instantly, almost instinctively. But this has come at a cost. Burnout. Waves of anxiety. Silent breakdowns. I remember once crying on the phone to my best friend, also an artist, who lives in Australia. It was the first time I openly shared how difficult nursing had become. The pain people don\u2019t talk about. The part of the profession that can turn people into monsters\u2014or push them away entirely.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It hurts that my ability to create has been perverted. Once a source of joy and beauty, it\u2019s now often driven by frustration, distraction, control or escape. Art is no longer just expression\u2014it has become survival. My saving grace.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

However, though contradictory, through different forms\u2014drawing, writing, observing, listening\u2014art revives my soul. It reminds me of why I chose this path. It helps me dare to dream again. Music has become my lifeline. Especially driving to and from shifts. Beach House\u2019s Rough Song speaks to that raw desire to escape: \u201cI want to forget all that wasn\u2019t right \/ I need to leave.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

RY X\u2019s Salt brings healing. Fink\u2019s Berlin Sunrise brings hope.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Will I ever break out of this cocoon?\u2028Will I survive the gruelling demands of this profession?\u2028Will I build the life I\u2019ve envisioned\u2014through caring for others?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

These aren\u2019t questions. They are desires. The artist holds on to desire…holds on to dreaming…<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Symbols \u2013 The Butterfly and Faith<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019ve always loved Kendrick Lamar\u2019s to Pimp a Butterfly. That album stays with me. The butterfly is a powerful metaphor for the exploitation of something beautiful and pure for personal gain. In many ways I resonate with this. I often relate with the lyricism that explores the pains of systemic issues while trying to metamorphosise and find my purpose in this world. Being exploited for personal gain… I resonate deeply with that image.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In Mortal Man, Kendrick says:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“The caterpillar is a prisoner to the streets that conceived it…<\/p>\n\n\n\n

While consuming its environment<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The caterpillar begins to notice ways to survive<\/p>\n\n\n\n

One thing it noticed is how much the world shuns him<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But praises the butterfly<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The butterfly represents the talent, the thoughtfulness and the beauty within the caterpillar<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But having a harsh outlook on life, the caterpillar sees the butterfly as weak<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And figures out a way to pimp it to his own benefits…<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The caterpillar goes to work on the cocoon<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Which institutionalizes him<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He can no longer see past his own thoughts, he’s trapped<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When trapped inside these walls certain ideas take root, such as<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Going home, and bringing back new concepts to this mad city<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The result?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Wings begin to emerge, breaking the cycle of feeling stagnant<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Finally free, the butterfly sheds light on situations<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That the caterpillar never considered<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ending the internal struggle<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Although the butterfly and caterpillar are completely different<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They are one and the same”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

What’s your perspective on that?”…<\/p>\n\n\n\n

What’s your perspective on that?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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The pain of navigating systemic issues. The internal struggle of metamorphosis. Feeling like a caterpillar in a mad city\u2014trying to survive while slowly building a cocoon, hoping the transformation will come…<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Faith Isn\u2019t a Choice \u2013 It\u2019s the Essence of Life<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Faith is not something I choose. It is the core of who I am.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My relationship with Christ has been central to this journey. It would be impossible to talk about everything else and not mention Him. Trusting in Jesus has often saved me from the pain of placing my hope in people. A truth that might sound cynical, but one that has brought me a peace that surpasses understanding…<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His teachings have shaped how I practice grace and understanding\u2014two qualities that are essential in nursing. Prayer has carried me through countless 13-hour shifts. Journaling to Him has served as both healing and surrender. My walk with Christ continues, because the battles haven’t ended.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Conclusion \u2013 Falling Upwards<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As I step into my final year, I carry mixed emotions. Gratitude, first and foremost. Grateful to have had this opportunity to learn and grow. Grateful for the beautiful souls I\u2019ve encountered and cared for along the way.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But I also carry fear. The fear of being solely responsible for another person\u2019s life. As a student, there\u2019s always someone to defer to. But soon, that safety net will vanish. My fear isn\u2019t failure\u2014it\u2019s failure despite good intentions. Still, I return to the earlier reflection: failure is part of growth. My approach has always been to stay teachable. To ask questions. To lean into discomfort. And I won\u2019t stop doing that.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Confidence is the monster. Imposter syndrome makes me question whether I deserve the nurse\u2019s pin. Whether I\u2019m enough.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But I return to my core beliefs. I choose to move forward\u2014dancing with both light and shadow. I tend toward light because that\u2019s what\u2019s often accepted. But true healing requires embracing both. How can we change that in the nursing profession?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

How do we, as a community of healthcare practitioners, create space to fail? To heal? To extend grace without crucifying one another in an already emotionally demanding field?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Light alone is performative. In performing, we risk forgetting our purpose. As the saying goes:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Don\u2019t let success get to your head. And don\u2019t let failure get to your heart.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Am I ready?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Am I enough?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

These are not questions. They are desires\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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The Butterfly Flame<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n

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There is a fire that doesn\u2019t consume\u2014it transforms. It\u2019s not loud. It doesn\u2019t demand. It flutters and glows, and when you catch it in your chest, you know: this is what healing feels like.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The butterfly flame is the centre of my PhD, and the metaphor that lights every project I undertake\u2014from forest schools and children\u2019s books to trauma-informed nursing education. It\u2019s what I pass on to students, and what Leann now tends to in her own way.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We are hidden, yes. But we are also ablaze<\/em>. Our disabilities are not deficits; they are portals. Through them, we fall. Through them, we rise. As Campo (2025) rightly suggests, poems, art and creative expression is a counter balance to what \u2018Foucault\u2019 1963\/2003 calls the clinical, scientific objectifying gaze.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Reference List<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Foucault, M., 2003. The birth of the clinic: An archaeology of medical perception<\/em>. Translated by A.M. Sheridan. London: Routledge. (Originally published 1963).<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jabbar, A., Abdulaali, W. (2025). Poetry, healing and medicine itself. Journal of Poetic Therapy<\/em>,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lamar, K., 2015. To pimp a butterfly<\/em>. Top Dawg Entertainment.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Peterson, J.B., 2018. 12 rules for life: An antidote to chaos<\/em>. London: Penguin.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rohr, R., 2011. Falling upward: A spirituality for the two halves of life<\/em>. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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