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It’s About Healing

*Note: this post includes strong language not appropriate for children. And might be a trigger for people who have suffered from abuse.

When I started this blog, it’s purpose was to chronicle my healing from an abusive childhood. But a person doesn’t have to have been raped or molested or verbally sliced and diced to have been hurt. When we are young, especially under the age of six, our brains are in a state that is very open and allows us to learn at an incredible rate. Could you imagine having to learn at the rate that a baby learns? Because we are taking everything in, something could happen to you, that if you were an adult, might barely affect you. But as a young child, you would take this on deeply.

An example is if your parents divorced and you are four. Before their divorce, you hear through the walls of your home, the arguing and raised voices. You don’t really, exactly know what’s happening; but as a child, your intuition tells you it’s not good. And when Dad moves out, you automatically take on the blame for the divorce. If only I’d been a good girl, Dad wouldn’t be leaving. This assumption of blame is very common for young children.

And it doesn’t even have to be something as significant as divorce. You might have been told something by a person of authority, something that’s not necessarily right, but you take it in and believe it because they are the almighty grown up.

Each time things like this happen, you lose a little piece of your spirit. You also develop your beliefs. Many of your beliefs are true, but some are not. When Dad moved out, you developed the belief that you are not good enough. Because if you were, he wouldn’t have left. Or, you develop the belief that Daddies leave. When someone made a comment that made you think you are not the most beautiful creation- and you truly are beautiful just because you were created by God- you create the belief that you are not pretty; or not pretty enough.

As you go through life and take on a variety of blame, shame, sadness, resentment, anger, and a host of other negative emotions, if you don’t find a way to work through them, or if you take them on for keeps, they find a place inside your body to get cozy and settle in. And usually, where they choose to lodge has meaning.

I have recently (over the past few years) began to understand that we are energy. A solid object is merely an energy pattern. And emotions are also energy patterns. When the energy of emotions stops moving through our physical bodies and gets stuck, it blocks the flow of other energies that need to keep moving around and through our bodies. Over time, stuck energy creates dis-ease in our energy bodies. If this isn’t released, the pattern in the energy body moves into the physical body, creating disease and chronic illness. Things like arthritis, heart disease, often times cancer, bad backs, and cranky necks.

So, I’ve learned things like this from reading many, many books and from watching people speak on YouTube videos. I’ve learned this from teachers and from classes. But it’s one thing to believe something because you’ve heard it from ten different sources, and they all say essentially the same thing, and it resonates deeply in your heart. And quite a different thing to experience something first hand. I have had healers work on me, to help old and stuck energy patterns (emotions) leave my body. I have experienced significant reduction of back pain, knee pain, and elimination of lifelong issues with chronic constipation. I have let go of layers and layers of hate, anger, shame and resentment. My heart is much more peaceful today than it was 3 years ago.

And now I am learning to discover this dis-ease in my own body and learning how to assist my own healing. From a recent class, I have been able to ask one of my knees that is swollen and hurts lately, what is going on with it. I asked intuitively and got an answer.

The scenario is that I am still healing from summer surgery on my right foot. Aside from some persistent swelling, the foot is healing. It is getting stronger and more flexible over time and with physical therapy. A few weeks ago, my left knee began to become stiff. The more I pushed my body to become stronger, the more aggravated my left knee has become. It is now pretty swollen and hurts from time to time. The question I asked is, what is holding my body back from healing? Why is my knee now acting up? A medical doctor would tell me I’m too heavy and would want to put me on a diet. My intuitive answer is that when I was young, every time I tried to put myself out there, my mentally ill mother would verbally cut me down. The knee has to do with bending and being flexible and also moving forward. I get the sense that my mother would verbally cut me off at the knees.

When I was on the acupuncturist’s table, I asked myself the same question: what’s going on with my knee? What came up then was a lot of anger towards my older brother (the one who molested me). I was so pissed at him and wanted to hobble him. But knowing that I couldn’t hobble him, I hobbled myself. That’s what a kid does. They turn everything inwards.

I learned at an early age that it is not safe to speak up for myself or to put my opinion out there. If I exerted my independence or challenged my mother in any way, I would get squashed or I would get in trouble. So, for decades I was a doormat and let people walk all over me. This translates into my adult life as, when I am ready to step forward and put myself out there, some old programming deep down still inside of me starts sounding off: “No! Stop! Don’t do it! It’s not safe! You’re going to be hurt! You can’t handle it!” Lots of messages come up and even my body is willing to cooperate in this self sabotage.

So I now understand that there is a belief that is still very active in me that is telling me it’s not safe to move forward in my life and that I am actively hobbling myself. How to heal that? I took one step today. I wrote a letter to my older brother to take back my power. I had been all nicey nice about some family estate business, and I was letting him walk all over me. No more. He can kiss my ass. I basically (and yet tactfully) told him to go fuck himself and to take his wife with him. I told him that our baby brother needs to be told about our ugly family secret. That creating this secret was not my doing. I had absolutely NOTHING to do with my being raped, with my becoming pregnant, and the whole idea of keeping it quiet. It was him, my older brother, who repeatedly molested me, fucked me, raped me, got me pregnant. And it was my parents, mostly Dad, out of fear, who made me give up my daughter and who made us all keep everything a secret.

I DID NOTHING WRONG!!! IT WAS NOT MY FAULT!!! I am taking my power back. This is just the sort of thing that I love to use hypnotherapy for. And I’ll most likely do just that in the next few weeks. And I’ll let you all know how that goes.

In the meanwhile, I’ll be sending messages of love to my cranky left knee. Messages telling it that it has done a wonderful job of physically supporting me for decades. And I’ll allow the crud that has been safely stored in it, beliefs that were formed when I was a child, beliefs that no longer serve me well, to leave. And then I’ll send it more and more love, recognizing that my body was perfectly created as an amazing self-healing vehicle that houses my spirit.


My Earliest Worst Memory

A while back, WordPress had a writing prompt of writing about your best or worst memory. I decided to write about the earliest worst memory I have.

My memory for my life as a child, is crap. I don’t have a lot of memories. There are a few here and there. There are some good memories, and then there are the ones that I can bring back as if it were just a few days ago.

The earliest one was waking up in the middle of the night to my mother downstairs in the kitchen wailing. I dragged my groggy body out of bed and stumbled down the stairs. All the lights were out except for the ones in the kitchen. There she was, with a bottle of Galliano or Midori, drunk and crying. I was about 12 years old.

I don’t remember what she was crying about, other than her life. I remember being upset and crying too. Finally, Dad came downstairs and joined the party. He would gather Mom up and get her back to bed.

Don’t ask me how long this went on; I have no idea. It could have been a month or a few months, or a year. I do remember getting tired of it. And telling my father to “Put your wife to bed.” I can only guess that her body finally decided to cycle out of depression, up into mania, and it stopped.

Probably within a year, one day, my Dad asked us kids to join him in the basement. That he had something he needed to tell us. As he was collecting us up, I stood in the cellar waiting. Something about the whole situation; the tone of voice, the energy in the air, I don’t know exactly what, and in a moment I knew what was happening. Dad was leaving.

He told us that he was moving out for a while, that he and Mom were separating. He said that they weren’t getting along, and that they needed to be apart (or something to that effect). I said, then Mom needed to move out. Dad said that a mother needs to be with her kids. I thought, not this one. Even though I didn’t know Mom was mentally ill, I could tell that things were not ok. She wasn’t going to be diagnosed for another year or two, when she had a complete break with reality. So, Dad left us with a woman who was severely mentally ill and was heading for psychosis. He left me with a brother who routinely molested me. Life was hard. And that was just the beginning.