When being still is over

I have accepted and learned to be still in discomfort. Also in comforts I have yet to tell about. All of us have camped together on a very…

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With this post I have reached the 300 signals to find my way back home to myself.

I have accepted and learned to be still in discomfort. Also in comforts I have yet to tell about. All of us have camped together on a very small space. Every little issue and every little pain has unconditionally been welcomed in.

So it has gotten a bit crowded and I don’t want to be still anymore.

I want to explore now and reach outside this little camp. To go and meet the world may be to use too big words at this stage – just a minor stretch for now.

I can always go back right and I know now I actually do still breathe and keep on living after even the biggest fears really happen and to correct mistakes and short comings are not being doomed for failing in the first place.

Life unfolds and we course correct.

As part of exposing my own new journey in different ways I have decided to add also the strategic options and choices I have to do. This includes stepping back out in the world with my head high and let a larger amount of people take take part in my work.

It also includes reviewing, evaluate and re-choose and re-evaluate again and again.

In the same way that I have picked gold nuggets from here and there I hope that any one, who may be in a similar situation, could take advantage of mine. AND. And this is a big and – then there is a money side to every story.

But that is for another day.

Today is about that minor stretch for now.

Be brave and step out.

300 signals to go.

The shadow of shame

…the feeling that has tormented me my whole life. Been the shadow behind every act and every decision.

The feeling that drove me almost to subconsciously rather …

3 weeks since I last  went for my healing combined therapy.

It wasn’t suppose to be this long, but life came in between. Relatives visiting and those type of things. Even now I even overslept…2 whole hours…rescheduled and went 3 hours later.

It was good energy to work with this day she said.

To be on the safe side I arrived 15 min too early and had to sit outside and wait.

From being a very closed person I have cracked. The right word and it takes 5 minutes to have me sit there in all my…let’s be civilized and call it…pain.

This time we talk about shame. The shame of being rejected. Of experience abandonment. The shame of knowing your parent is wrong and you are powerless to do anything about it.

We talk about truth. Betrayal. Distrust. The inner child. The pure innocence we all once were.

As I am suppose to offer comfort to this little girl I feel helpless, unworthy somehow. Who am I to comfort and protect her.

I don’t know if it is her not wanting to be hugged, or me being too uncomfortable to reach out, we silently agree to just sit beside each other. A feeling of complete overwhelm flows over through me. Am I really equipped to take care of her?

I see her innocence and the strength in her purity. It is admirable actually.

We hold hands.

To my surprise it gives me peace and support. All that I wished to give her she is giving me.

I am the weak one.

That is all that is needed – that hand holding me – and that old wise soul looking up at me.

It holds no doubt, no uncertainty – no shame.

Only love, joy and with a shy smile… happiness.

I breathe. I drive home. I fall asleep at my desk.

I wake up early without an alarm. There is a strange peace.

I survived staying in that feeling since my early childhood. The feeling that has tormented me my whole life. Been the shadow behind every act and every decision.

The feeling that drove me almost to subconsciously rather kill myself…

I am saved by my own bell.

I am coming home.

301 signals to go.

Image courtesy to Evgeni Dinev at www.freedigitalphotos.net

From deep blame to blessing

All self-help-talk in the world, life does happen – all by itself – sometimes.

Bad things.Seemingly bad things.Things that shape us.

It causes pain, turmoil and an instant feeling of unfairness…

All self-help-talk in the world, life does happen – all by itself – sometimes.

Bad things.Seemingly bad things.Things that shape us.

It causes pain, turmoil and an instant feeling of unfairness.

Why me? Why not her? Why does it have to be me all the time?

Well, obviously me is the only person who I know to the extent I could even say that. Or feel that.

And then there is that story. The story about what happened. How we portray it, how we paint it, how we summarize it, how we identify with it – and how we keep telling it again and again, so even if it wasn’t true to begin with – by now it is, because by now it is the only version we memorized, so we know it by heart.

We justify this story with the r-e-a-l facts. Those that can’t be questioned. We are not that type of person are we – we don’t lie, tweak or leave out anything – these are facts!

So we tell ourselves and everybody else anyway.

Now this story, however, has become like a chain we tied ourselves to and we don’t seem to be able to move on or release ourselves from it.

Painfully I am discovering and looking closer at these family stories.

My mother used to complain no one was around really during her growing up. Sure she got an expensive education, but no one never really taught her anything, or at least she considered it, that she didn’t knew anything really properly, having no professional diploma of any kind.

I think no one never taught her how to handle emotions and life – hence numbing it all off with alcohol and pills seemed quite logical.

Obviously I can list hundreds of “facts”, that will justify my pity song of growing up with one single parent who was addicted – however – would her “view”of life really supported me if I took it on? Her way of living catapulted me to over-drive, but it also gave me an incredible creative freedom (no one ever bothered me…) and an undisturbed reliance and trust in myself. Yes, again and again I surround myself with people who wish to take me down – but – deep down that is still my core believe – I can do anything. If she hadn’t been in her comas that wouldn’t have been the case.

It is a blessing.

I was free – and now – I can choose.

Choose to empower and not victimize.

Going home. 303 signals to go.

Image courtesy to Maciej Secowski at www.dreamstime.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

Divine Storms

All possible chaos, pain and hellish things. All thrown in the blender of life, getting mixed up, complex and saucy. No clarity, no beginnings and no ends….

Divine Storm – I loved the word the moment I read it [Mastin Kipp’s blog].

All possible chaos, pain and hellish things. All thrown in the blender of life, getting mixed up, complex and saucy. No clarity, no beginnings and no ends.

I believe everyone who has either been in one, come out of one or is heading for one – knows exactly what storm I am talking about.

The storm that either kills you or wakes you up.

Someone once told me that people that has been there in general are becoming better type of people. They no longer take things for granted, avoid judging and carries their humbleness on the sleeve. Bad things, and especially those that doesn’t related to you directly, are not bad.

The strength with which we have built the storm is just a fraction of the divine strength we have when we work with the universal system and not against it. Just imagine.

The older I gotten I have also come to consider that in the end of the day our emotional experience is really a far larger part of the picture and we take it too little into account. Both regarding ourselves, but primarily how we inter act with others.

In can stay in the eye of the storm – in the calm safe vacuum – and I can see my life swirling around me. Round round. Things upside down, apart, in the air, without direction, without connection.

I attempt to reach for something and instantly it is like a gravity that would pull me back in to it.

I sit back again. Look again. Choose again. Try again.

In this place I can take back a few things. Those that are really mine. The rest can wander off with the storm. It does no longer belong to me.

I don’t walk out of my prison. I let IT walk out on me.

It is not hard. It is not tiring. I can stand up and I am free.

Everything is fresh and light around me. Like the air after rain.

A reset to start again.

310 signals to go.

Time for surrendering

It is releasing, comforting and grounding at the same time as it is deeply painful. I cry even when…

So here I am, a few weeks later, attending my first facilitated session.

Yep, to really get this, whatever it is out of my system, I figured I couldn’t do it alone. I simply couldn’t see myself for all my selves so to speak.

So this is what I do now every Sunday. Clearing my energy and do facilitated meditation combined with healing conversations.

It is releasing, comforting and grounding at the same time as it is deeply painful. I cry even when meditating. Tears swimming over and very slowly rolling down my face. I don’t even try to catch or stop them.

To me meditation is like bubbles coming down from the sky to greet you. Slowly they surround you to eventually encapsulate you in their safe white light. They become so many suddenly it is like you are sitting in a whole sea of them – bubble bathing.

When I breathe through my heart it bleeds and colours the bubbles pink.

I sit.

Very still.

In the pain.

My intellectual side can’t entirely figure it out. I want it to be obvious and clear and something I can fix. But I can’t. It has been with me almost since my first memories as a very young child. This sorrow my mother hated so much. Or at least that was what I thought she did. Maybe she simply just didn’t know what to do with it…

So we sit.

The pain and I.

“Universal”, the facilitator says.

Still doesn’t clear anything. Like I am my own riddle I can’t crack.

“Trust that you are guided and it will come to you”.

I get that this is the pain that drives me. That I seek it to heal something. That I hide from it when I can’t handle it anymore. It is why I have the life I have. Why I made all those good or less good choices.

When I leave I am very grounded. Cleared. I parked a bit a way, so I would get a natural walk afterwards. The word unity echoes in my head. It was mentioned in a by passing sentence, but it has stayed with me. And I don’t like it. I don’t want it to be unity. It feels trivial and pathetic somehow.

Surrender women. Surrender.

I keep on walking.

When I come home I reflect that it looks like nobody lives here. Somebody sleeps here, but nothing else. I feel a bit bad about it, but encourage myself that I at least reflect over it. That must be a good sign right?

I feel like I am 12 years old and starting all over again. But I am starting.

Everything has a first step.

312 signals to go. On my way home.

Image courtesy to 9comeback at www.freedigitalphotos.net

When worry invites itself to the party

I keep forgetting how fragile this process is. The minute my logical mind kicks into gear I think I have all solutions and answers figured out – and then someone tries to push me and I stand my ground (I think) and then, when the moment has passed and I am alone again I sink together and cry…

I keep forgetting how fragile this process is. The minute my logical mind kicks into gear I think I have all solutions and answers figured out – and then someone tries to push me and I stand my ground (I think) and then, when the moment has passed and I am alone again I sink together and cry.

All emotions on the outside. Painfully.

And then all other worry invites itself to the party and it becomes really a crying party.

I have a history with one of my children, which includes really nasty custody battles. Yes -more than one and for many many years. But that is a separate story.

Those incidents created an experience of that being a parent was always up for questioning and even when the years have passed from time to time it still can catch me off guard.

So it is one of my big things I worry about when I am on my knees.

I have had social workers stating I was such a role model doing my work and being able to work internationally and have my kids with me – to those claiming it was not normal for a mother to earn like a man – then I could not be a good woman… Of course I rushed over the first and memorized the later…

So whatever I do is never really satisfying everybody somehow.

I never really understood when people say they do what is best for the children when they clearly suffer – what child is not feeling that? – nor have I understood why we do this and then pretend it is all good and honky dory and never talk about it?

It rips your heart out. Just the idea sometimes. To be apart from your child when it is not out of choice.

Being a single parent, with sole custody and without extended family – this is a constant worry of mine. What of something happens to me? Where would she go? Who would tell her about me? Would she be financially secure? Am I ever enough? Have I done enough? Prepared enough?

Creating memories,  teach her tools to manage life and never go to bed without knowing how much I love her – those are my daily to dos with her – walks and talks.

We are ok.

Again I have to trust Universe doing its part and me doing mine…

We are coming home. 333 signals to go.

Image courtesy to Stuart Miles at FreeDigitalPhotos.net