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…

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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

 

 

 

 

 

 

Happy Sunday!

Today, almost to the day, is the day when I decided that instead of stumbling through life that I would be still…

Good Morning and Happy Sunday!

Today, almost to the day, is the day when I decided that instead of stumbling through life that I would be still, feel what I was feeling, call things by their right word, use the word in the right way and re-learn life and di-tox my mind. Whatever that could possibly imply.

In my case this all took the form of some type of slow-motion falling. Or maybe it was everything else falling (you know how the mind can play tricks on you ;). And I am still in motion and still falling.

If you ever been into gymnastics or maybe sports of some sort you there is a moment when you know you are about to fall, when you can’t resist it, and you have to either keep at it and take a hard and painful hit – or – you simply give in, curl as a ball and simply role with it until you know you are of safe grounds again.

I did the further for about 40 years until my logic concluded that couldn’t be sanity. So I let myself fall…and keep on falling…and falling… The first seconds of freedom are amazing and you feel like you can conquer all and be on at this high forever. And then the insanity thoughts kick in and you ask yourself what you did – but then it is of course too late to turn back.

I am now in the landing phase. With stop marks, scratches and all. Painfully feeling the consequences of gravity and waiting for everything around me to finally be totally still. The breaks to finally stop crying after a long and too hard pull.

Recovering addicts talk about the year, the month even the day they started sobriety. In my words that would be fear-driven-life vs joy-driven-life. So today is my 1 year of joy-driven-life. (Wow felt really awkward saying that loud ;). Last year I devoted it to go back in time to find the sources of many things and to explore spirituality on my own terms. This year I will continue that discovery, but I will add writing. Writing fiction. Writing non-fiction. Writing about life, about joy and writing to release.

There is nothing special about my stories nor my life, however there is a process in healing and in sharing that I have come to learn as – if it can help just 1 other person then it will be well worth it and we will both know we are not alone in the world. I have found myself thirst for genuine support, sisterhood and deep friendship and to hear the voice of my tribe.

So this is my calling. My song. My whistle in the dark. Signalling to find our way home.

351 signals ahead 🙂