u/Impossible_Potato491

I think our beloved Youri just needs something a bit catchier, and this should be it:

So here's to Youri, Youri Tielemans,

Villa loves you more than you will know,

Woah, woah, woah.

God bless you, please, Youri Tielemans,

Villa holds a place for those who play,

Hey, hey, hey... hey, hey, hey!

What do you think?

[Edit to add]

Whilst I'm at it this would be spectacular for Ezri:

https://open.spotify.com/track/1mrSHPNTDdMkXpR4BiSiD7

Ez-Ri-Kon-Sa Ez-Ri-Kon-Sa Hey-hey-hey Our guy!

[Edit again to add]

How about to the tune of come on Eileen:

Tie-le-Tie-le Tie-le Tie-le-mans. You'll hum this tune forever....

Come on, Youri! Oh, we swear (what he means), At this moment, Rules our midfield team!

​In Claret and Blue, he still plays it right through, Almost thirty... Ah, come on, Youri!

Come on, Youri! Oh, we swear (what he means), At this moment, Rules our midfield team!

​In Claret and Blue, he still plays it right through, Almost thirty... Ah, come on, Youri!

Come on, Youri! Oh, we swear (what he means), At this moment, Rules our midfield team!

​In Claret and Blue, he still plays it right through, Almost thirty... Ah, come on, Youri!

Repeat lol.. infact maybe skip the too ra loo rah ayyye tie-le-tei-la mans part - can't see the Holte end hitting that high pitch 🤣

I guess this could be helpful. I know I certainly had no clue if what I was experiencing was 'normal' when I started this process, so here I am sharing my experience of starting work on low SUDS (1-2/10) memories via my journal/stream of consciousness style of writing. Perhaps it may resonate, or perhaps not, but I hope it gives you a giggle.

01/04/26 - THE APRIL FOOL (@thesleepingPC)

Yesterday was EMDR day, back again after the mild relief of the therapist being on leave last week. I’ve definitely got an awkward relationship with it, so much of me wants it to work for me, but I feel like I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing and moreover, if what I do end up doing is actually right.

Despite the reassurances that you can’t really do EMDR wrong (as the client that is, I’ve no doubt the practitioner can chuff it up), I feel like I put this intense pressure on myself to make something happen. It feels a bit like quackery at times; like how does this processing just happen unless I am putting myself through absolute torture. It just feels ‘too easy’. I’ve spent a lifetime pushing through pain and challenges with a sense of stoicism that would have made Marcus Aurelius proud. So when this process seems to be working to detach me from memories in a way I can’t quite comprehend, with little pain and effort, it feels like I’m likely just convincing myself that it’s working because I want to be the perfect student. A performative measure, which is triggering a placebo response, born from my keenness to impress.

This most recent encounter felt different to the previous two, perhaps because we were revisiting the same ‘low risk’ core memory, of my childhood pining for ice cream being met with mockery, for a second time. But I really just didn’t feel much when I thought about it, and that didn’t sit right considering that at the first visitation I’d fallen to pieces over it? My brain cannot compute the efficiency of the process. The lack of struggle feels like an easy way out that is likely to bite me on the ass at a later date.

That said, in partial explanation, a day or so after the first ice-cream-fury EMDR visitation, in an out of the blue lightbulb moment of insight I’d come to the conclusion that my father laughing at me bawling my eyes out was not in fact him taking the piss, but an ill-thought-out distraction attempt to try and cheer me up. It suddenly all made a certain kind of sense, and with the return of logical thought, rendered my upset and confusion a gross overreaction that has lasted the previous four decades.

And there it is, the self-judgement re-enters the room as I immediately move towards this, somehow, being my fault for misinterpreting something that now feels so obvious for forty-bloody-years. How could I be so stupid?

I just can’t fucking escape my internal lack of self-compassion.

So in yesterday’s session, revisiting something that I’d just convinced myself was as a result of my own poor assessment of the original situation, was distorted and felt difficult in a way I struggle to describe.

The result was that I convinced myself that the most plausible response was that I needed to cry, which for me triggers a rather hilarious back and forth internal conflict between my Id yearning for the release and my Superego dictating the rules around when it’s okay to cry, which in case you’re wondering is never. And with each BLS set I add distinct layers of admonishment for how stupid this battle really is. “Just fucking cry you twat, what harm is it going to do? You know you'll probably feel better afterward, so why not?” Vs, “What the fuck are you even doing here? This is a ridiculously hedonistic self-indulgent act and you need to forget about the past and just move the fuck on, you’re not a helpless toddler anymore!” It’s not a fight I can win.

My internal voice is scornful and vicious in its attacks, and I note, also swears way too (fucking) much.

There’s something mildly fitting about writing this on April Fool’s Day. There’s a part of me that can’t help but feel like the joke’s on me, though I’m not entirely sure when the punchline landed.

~ AH

Original piece here: https://open.substack.com/pub/thesleepingpc/p/the-april-fool?utm\_source=share&utm\_medium=android&r=5dxtba