This has got to be the best and the worst time of my life. I am realizing the fruits of my hard, excruciating labor. Everyone’s imploding around me – I stand tall n steady. Dead nuts steady as an island in a tormented sea. Waves, winds crashing from all sides – yet I breathe. Because I know. That it’s all just. Temporary. And I’m fine. Finally.
I’m an observer. A family of origin- tornado observer. As life fucks the unhealed. Numerous family members who’ve passed up every opportunity to dive deep. Their Spirits, their Higher Selves wanting them to finally swim in the healing waters…they claimed they didn’t know how to swim, the water was too cold, too deep…Excuses. Now they’re drowning, slowly. Publicly.
I should be that – but if not for for the grace of God – I would be that. I should be crushed by the weight of the dark history. But yet I wear survival gear and cling to a life vest. As a result, I am unscathed by the shredding winds. I am whole. As I have already seen many-a-horrendous storms and been sucked up in the torrent – 20+ years fighting for my right to be here, to be seen, be victorious.
The worst part, watching as the trauma screams for acknowledgment, validation, to be seen and heard. The wall being built higher, more reinforcement needed to close it out, shut it up. Fortify the fortress of Denial Palace. My family of origin lives here. It’s occupants smile, gladly welcoming amnesia, loss of sight and hearing as insurance/loyalty to the fairytale. The once upon a slime childhood.
Guests are welcome in the Palace – butlers offer tall glasses of shut the fuck up with a side of “smile even when you’re dying inside” crackers and “let everyone know how loving your mother is” cheese. Secrets guarded as my siblings and maternal influence, inside, are imploding. Keeping the beast quiet and alive and salivating. The old evil licking it’s lips, eyes locked on the newest generation. Ready to feed off the misery, hiding from daylight.
The best and worst playing simultaneously. On the same reel. Sadness and elation. Devastation and joy. No longer experiencing but observing. I cannot go to the Palace. MY acceptance of fake and shallow and control has expired. I don’t fit. Maybe I never did. I can see. I can see the ugly beyond it’s fancy decor. My heart breaks for all of them yet rejoices for ME…
My heart. Wasn’t always tender. It couldn’t be. It had to hide out of sight. Huddled up next to my breath and closed eyes. Corner cozy. Middle of the room too exposed, heavy with anticipation of slaughter. When I was sure no-one was looking, I’d let it out, on a short leash. But never to fully let go. Never to fully catch my breath or settle into deep ones. Never to allow my eyes to be seen actually seeing anything.
So today, the tenderest of hearts is bleeding. And I won’t stop it. That would be more of the same. Instead, I encourage it to hurt, to grieve. It’s safe now. I craft the sweetest, loving alter. For it. Holding it with all my love pouring forth to strengthen its fabric. To nourish its lack. To wish its wholeness into existence. It’s on me. It’s in me.
But it just wants to bleed. So I let it leak and gush. Whenever it gets touched. Mostly in grief these days. Tragedy is so abundant around me. Right now. Still. My family of origin struggling, finally. The long term effects of unhealed, ancient sexual abuse. They’re drowning, not fighting to survive. Not stirring to action. Wallowing in tragedy disguised by addiction, co-dependency and self hate and so much more. My heart physically hurts for them. So I turn to self healing. Only for me. My 20+ yrs of intensive deep dive finally coming to fruition. A stocked toolkit I have gathered. Dipping into my spiritual 401K.
As peoples lives implode around me, I am standing in my center. Compassionate yet separate. My heart whispers, yes, this is it. This. My heart has so much to say. And I listen. And I listen. She’s kept it all in and now she can’t stop expressing. When I sit and check in, she oozes with sadness. Decades of betrayal, shame, loneliness, no right to exist, gaslighting, control – absorbed and stored in my body. The thaw is now.
I put my hand gently to my heart space. Letting her know that I will never leave her. That I will always protect us. And make time for her to express and ease the heaviness. My tender heart. For this awareness I am forever grateful. I am gifted a greater awareness and appreciation of why I’m here. Alive. A greater knowing of what life is about and how I can be there for others without losing myself in the process. Like a tree that is flexible in the storm. An observer, not a victim.
When your opener is “Not for nuthin” fasten your seatbelt for some down n dirty. The segway to the land of misfit thoughts. The ones that don’t belong in our plastic, positive “be kind” -or else- society. The back alley, censored and tabled for just a moment like this.
Not for nuthin proceeds personal truths too racy for public display. The dirt, the OMG, the bedazzling. The real, caged in the back alleys of the mind. These patient opinions wait for release. Purging aliveness and authenticity. Selfish? Sure, refreshing? Absolutely.
Oh the bone pain, the freak out of incapacity. Having to rely on those with fake compassion. Bedside medical procedures without warning or explanation. I was frozen. Frightened. Wise and alone. Surrounded with smiling haters. Reliant on the living dead.
I was 19. With an undeniable thirst for victory. Mixed with a contempt for my own existence. Which would rise to the top, only time would tell. Armed with a deafening fuck you, a hardened shell ready to battle for my life. Stupid familiar territory. To show you that despite your impenetrable cold, I am victorious.
You broke me, now I’m am physically broken. This too, again, also, will break me down, this too, will devastate me. Defeat me. Because it has to. Because that’s what I’m here for. I signed the contract. To get me to do the inner work. This is the way it works. Bring it.
But. It will not. Own me. Extinguish my breath. Keep me down. Physical limitation fucking irrelevant to the drive inside. Just another mountain, jagged, inhumane, punishing, here to slay any signs of life. A life that is present but absent, just like yours.
But I don’t, won’t, can’t see it. Just like you. My life force stronger than the weight of tragedy then or now. Stronger than the weight of you. Inevitable. Predictable. But something needed to crack me open. Something.
So pregnant with dysfunction. It was time. On the brink of oozing the generational secrets. From a higher place, the universe spoke. A tragic accident, the undeniable catalyst for awakening. Spiritual awakening like a tsunami. Like someone left the truth dam open. Higher forces prodding the reluctant, like me, to visit with the emotional trauma beast within. Behind the dimples and unassuming sweet teenage smile…
Wild beasts of recovery and revenge running amuck. Their stories unearthed, audible. However difficult, we digest or reject. Each painful. Each useful. Over time we choke out the dark, discarding the lies and betrayal and other nasty reminders of remnants on evictions doorstep.
Thankfully the flight of graceful, here. The angelic realm poised to embrace my broken, trembling body, providing a safe haven in a sea of lost. Where it’s free to NOT be ok. Freedom to feel even the darkest of feels. Freedom to express the rage and terror, shame and shock. Openly.
Physical recovery parallels emotional. The unlikely victor I’ve met in me. Snatching back what was mine. Taking back strength, power and unearthing buried resiliency. Bones and emotional strength unbreakable, unstoppable, opaque, dense, unyielding. Like a bone that mends with fortification – now protected, safe and dependable – like no other bone. Unable to return to its previous condition. Maybe even stronger.
I’ve forever severed my dependency on the unstable and instead focused my reliance on my own inner wisdom. My own fortress of sanity, house of rock, walls of protection. Brokenness calls for attention to our unfinished places. So we may live our best versions of ourselves. Our most authentic lives. Without apology. We survive. And thrive.
I’m in love with sleepy smiles. Gently spreading east and west. Following a long night’s rest. Transforming the expressionless. An open invitation to hang out deep as shoulders sag. Head tilt welcoming each moment without expectation.
The glistening morning sun sweeping across my tired face, caressing my smile with golden warmth. I lie still basking, breathing, planning. Nothing. Existing fully in my expression. Of pleasantry, of nothingness, in the space between thoughts.
The gentle childlike energy swirling amidst my unassuming grin. Keeping me whole. Wanting me present. Between my lips, gracefully ushering in the newest, sweetest oxygen. To be ushered out in turn, discarded purposefully. Taking with it, everything challenging the grandest of facial postures.
I would have denied it had someone told me this 20 years ago. But with eyes wide open now I clearly see how healing your traumatic past, without a doubt, fucks your life. The tragedy of healing is the cascade of eventual loss. It takes years to materialize…The falling away of everything as you knew it. The crumbling of excepting things at face value. The dismantling of living an “as if” life. The loss of what was once tolerable.
Truth has a way of rendering you lonely. Busts up your friendships. The people we’ve surrounded ourselves with are our friends/family for a reason. They’ve allowed us to play small, safe. Supported the same ole same ole you. But we were never meant to be stagnant, unchanged smallish beings. Unfurling from our childhood wounds, we stretch and grow in ways we couldn’t see coming.
This makes our closest people, well, squirm. Like underwear that slips up your asscrack every once in a while – you keep it around because it’s familiar, the material is soft and you’re too lazy to go out and replace it. You make peace with the constant irritation. Same with your friends/family, they may be the underwear or they may be like you, wearing the irritating version of YOU.
In my experience, people are generally adverse to excepting anything different than the present version of you – what they already know you as. If they went along with the newer parts of YOU that would mean they’d have to change THEIR ways also and that’s prob going to be met with kicking/screaming. So once you grow, there some of them go.
Enter deep healing…As we unravel our structure, a stranger is born, outgrowing the familiar. Our voice heavy with truth may be seen as righteous and self serving, bold and threatening. Finding and using our “voice” no longer renders us selfless and complacent. This is the price.
This is the the fucked aspect of healing…at least initially. It’s ok that not everyone shares in our revelry. Not everyone will be overjoyed that you are healing and growing, especially those inner circle folks. As we’re walking through the fire they’re hurting and groaning – and you’re to blame for their discomfort. Your presence awakens the creatures, usually dormant, in the caverns of their unconsciousness. 100% not going to travel deep with you.
So as you’re trying on all these new tools of self awareness, having needs, opening your heart, exercising personal boundaries, on your journey to greater sanity- it will feel mean. Super mean. Self reliance, honoring self, intuition and listening to the drive from your higher self to UNFUCK your life are NOT what we were taught.
Your “closest” people will resist and act like you’re killing THEM, doing something TO them. Getting healthy, doing the right things for your own mental health ripples out to everyone. Your people may get angry with YOU as they’re going to feel the waves of your higher vibration which will make it tougher for them to hold against their own darkness. Facts.
This is the lifelong challenge of healing childhood trauma. Navigating our path while creating a support system around us that doesn’t irritate our soul or dampen our Spirit. THIS is how we unfuck ourselves. Healing does have a difficult twist in the early stages. One of tremendous loss. Of great sadness. Of isolation. Of self doubt. As we lose who we thought we should be. All part of the process. All necessary on our self healing journey.
If you have a car you are familiar with the CHECK ENGINE light. If you have a body you might also be familiar with the same kind of warning. The warning might come in the form of swollen joints, fever, chest pains or any other sign there is a security breach of wellness – inside your castle.
The early warning beacon, letting you know that you need to go in for service. Probably skipped that last service appt as things were going well. Why fix what’s not broke? 2 weeks ago my CHECK ENGINE siren went off in my chest.
I awoke with chest discomfort. A cramp of sorts that I just could not ignore. It had been less severe during the week but this was different.
Of course, I fast forward to my funeral. Have I made a difference? Will anyone miss me? When will my heart stop? Will it hurt? Then, the pain disappears just as quickly. Relief. But will it return? Will this be it?
As I wait for my appointment, I live my best life, wondering if each hour could be the last. Waffling between panic and satisfaction, I carry on. For the next 3 days I reflect on my life, how I’ve been able to bust up my FOO (family of origin) and continue to stand tall atop the rubble.
I am flooded with pride, my love for myself spilling from my pores, a purple mist entering my heart space. A healing mist, mist of comfort and knowing and grace. Angel’s exhaled grace holding my heart in tender appreciation.
I’ll be fine. My heart is fine. Scarred? Yes. A thorough exam and stress test reveal normal function. A beautiful, typical pitter-patter. Nothing wrong they say. My heart whispers, “there was never anything wrong with you.”
My check engine light is off for now. I resume normal function. Listening to my body, everyday. Slowing down to take notice of my needs. My self heal modalities cued up. My toolkit brimming. Self-talk extremely important. Ready for this to happen never again.
All our lives we just want others to make us feel whole. To save us to fill in for what we lack. When we get older we realize that we need to do that for ourselves. Grieve what you didn’t get and give that very thing to yourself.
The usual walk into work. Breathless, no minutes to spare, still swallowing the last of my morning tea. Bags and baggage rolling down the icy, brown, salt stained sidewalk. My work cart trailing behind me. Announcing my morning arrival with quite the ruckus.
So little of the snow covered path visible to me because, well I CAN’T really SEE where I’m going. Mask up to kiss my glasses. They meet and conspire to steal my view. Then this voice, this smugful tone rises above the sound of wheels on crunchy snow. “You only need to see what’s in front of you” ok gotcha!
The wisdom comes when you’re not looking for it. Like a dog that appears out of nowhere for a scritch-scratch, reminding you to slow down, be present or some other profoundness. So, only see what’s right in front of me huh? Ok, got it…so I can’t spend any time thinking about the what if’s tomorrow, next week, next month, next year?
Nope! I am to stay contained today, in this space, in this me moment LANE. I am thankful for this reminder. I am thankful that I know to heed tiny messages such as this. I am thankful to know that if I don’t, the message might not be so sweet the next time. I know this. D
Irritations always get our attention. We wish to choke them out as quickly as they show up. But don’t. Their message comes from a higher place. We might not notice the message if life carried on seamlessly. But the piss-me-offs? Just like that annoying person at work… always keeps us growing. Happy Friday everyone!
So I met a stray. More like he met me. His tragic accident cracking open our ancient connection. Felt like we had always known each other. Lifetimes ago reflected in this immediate recognition. We had always know of each other. For this was absolute.
The promise of wholeness, never yet realized, in our glances soul deep. The most intriguing of wanderers. Beckoning me to live deliciously, gate wide open. He felt expansive, this stray. Roaming the back alleys and dimly lit corridors of my heart.
I offered my heart willingly. With no care but blind trust. For in return came psychic connection, honor and dedication driven by forces larger. Much larger than ourselves. An energy strangely familiar – like blue electricity, supercharged and exhilarating. Remote viewing, lucid dreaming, visions, Clair-cognizance, clairvoyance the newest gifts.
So high I was. Like a runaway train. Breathless foot chase through crowded streets. Dizzying, bottomless highs. Out of bounds, out of body, higher. I spiraled. We filled our empty spaces, drinking from this supercharged fountain while unknowingly foraging for and excising ancient wounds. Fears and insecurities darkness and unhealed trauma ushered in.
The Stray, a catalyst of transformation. He could not be owned, relied upon, trusted, or changed. Yes, such a beautiful soul energy underneath the rough exterior. monstrous life lesson. An excruciating, scarring chapter of lie down on the train tracks despair.
A lesson I needed to look into the eyes of. The Stray was the perfect currier. Of loss so great, my tender, protected heart ripped and spilled out. Leaking everything held close and hidden. Everything awesome drained out as our human lessons came to the forefront.
Our insides turning outward. As he began to pull away. Run. Hide. Deny connection. Deny it was anything but attraction. The Stray simplifying that which was set to unseat his darkness.
Our eyes meeting was almost too much to bare, ripping into each other. Danger, danger Will Robinson. Visual electricity igniting the wick on old wounds waiting for expression. Triggering my every sad story of not good enough, being invisible and objectified- I was just an entertaining, energetic plaything. The deepest most profound disturb as he began to pull back. A psychic, well wisher, a tender hearted cheerleader.
Aloof and unaware, I attempted to wake the Stray. Insistent that he see what I saw. He HAS to. But you, Stray, clouded by narcotics and years of bad decisions, owned nothing but the present moment. Floating, attaching to rocks on your path but always one foot untethered. Breaking away suddenly, like it meant nothing at all and was normal to have SUCH A RELATIONSHIP.
Leaving devastation/heartache in your path. Blind to the worth of the connection. Fucking blind. The possibility of transformation, until the connection was lost. You just scratched the surface Stray. Taking a lick and reserving buy in. Never totally selling out, never totally opening up for the demons awaiting expression.
The Stray likes to tread water, not deep dive. Even when the amazing is at your feet…the aloof sets in, comforting sleep and you’re off running again. Shattering hearts that feel something more. That are willing to open to both painful and moving truth.
Strays are best honored from afar. The trap is reel. Like a trout that circles the hook, rubbing on it, smiling, smelling, present but careful to contain/conceal their desire for fulfillment. Stray, you were a master at running and not being seen, never getting caught, owned – greater than the desire to stand and feed your primal hunger. Hunger to be whole. You’ve lost your appetite.
So I do honor my Stray. This vehicle of unbeknownst divinity. For opening my eyes to self love above all else. For never again will I love someone more than I love myself. That is dangerous. Keeping all my goodies close, never again reaching outside of myself to merge with those who are unavailable. You taught me that my dear Stray.
Lowering my expectations of others and filling my OWN holes. YOU taught me that, my dear Stray. Not looking for external fixes. That too. Not desiring others to be any diff than who they are, to reach out of THEIR comfort zone and rescue me. Lastly, I learned to honor another’s slumber and not wish for them to excise their demons they cannot see and/or may deny.
So with fondness and gratitude, Stray, you have a beautiful Spirit. My wish for you is for YOU to see what I saw. The magic, the energy of healing wisdom, the essence of unconditional love and pure reverence. If just for a brief moment. Through the pain and pleasure I was most absorbent, healing and expanding into myself. Although I rarely think of you today Stray, if/when I do, you will always be remembered with the utmost respect and honor. Forever in my heart, Sir.
A Fish Named Karen 