My Journey: Householder Path

Healing Our Sh!t!

Okay, so long-story-short, really though because it’ll take a book to get into the details…

2009 was the year of my radical awakening. The year I committed to authentic healing. I will never forget the moment I realized I had to deal with my sh!t. I was standing in my living room, seven months pregnant, haphazardly staring outside as my attention kept being pulled inward. I touched my elaborated and consecrated womb and I knew. I knew in that moment that if I did not deal with my sh!t it would be passed down to my son.

What do I mean by sh!t? I mean, every behavior that’s spilled out of me that I would most certainly feel guilty about later. Where did the anger, fear, hate, criticism, self-sabotage, victimhood, lethargy, powerlessness come from? Why was I so bitter about life and an easy target for shady people and drama; which would of course, would make me even bitterer about life? Like in a hamster wheel, I noticed I would periodically and unconsciously set myself up for disappointment, victimization, conflict, and failure. I knew that I would not want to model that for my child much less make decisions for him that would prove to manifest the same childhood experiences I had had.

Despite our seeming gender difference, my sh!t WOULD be handed down to him. On rusted platter, in fact. One coated in platinum by my fruitless attempts to be a non-existent perfect parent just to cover up the shame of feeling broken and worthless deep down.

You see, by then I began to understand that just following the best philosophies, modalities and advice out there was not going to be enough because how can model what I cannot embody? I know it’s a process and trying to model or pretend at something is a good start. For me, however, I wanted it to happen yesterday and for good. This was a change that would need to happen on the most intimate of levels. One wherein even my genetic structure would not be left unaltered and somehow I could feel the truth of that in my bones.

So in that moment, I prayed. I prayed deeply. I prayed for a healer to come into my life. One which could reach down into the roots of my being. A powerful, loving person who could guide me back in time to help me save myself from all the ways in which I had been stunted by trauma. And that’s exactly what happened! About a month later, I met her. The sparkly blue-eyed, spunky, complex yet simple lady who would prove to be the only validating source in my life outside of the glimmer left inside myself. She knew right away that she could help and so we met up. She’d come over and we would do great inner dialog and inner child work and I was good at it. I thought, “Hmm, six months of this and I will be in the clear!” of course, I was mistaken.

This is where my son came in. My birth experience was a micro-cosmic reenactment of every unhealthy pattern of in my childhood; they call it “when survivors birth”. Every experience of disharmony and violence, of subjugation and every misguided lesson in insalubrious sexuality was triggered and any pain I had repressed in order to live in “normality” came bursting out much like my waters. The pain was very physical. I felt like my heart had been broken open and agony poured out like ooze freeing itself from a broken glass jar; and just as pain-staking. Mostly, because it never turned off. I was processing deep sh!t 24/7. Even in dream-time. I had to master what is now coined as Shadow Integration.

With that all said and if you’re still with me, as much as the pain insisted there too was a mystical breaking open. Not quite magical in the unicorn or pixie sense. But mystical. Dark and light. My very connection to God and oneness was periodically palpable with events that would happen whenever I was completely alone or alone with my newborn. This would fluctuate, of course, being replaced by shock and periods of what felt like being comatose. Yet, my son would bring me back into practicality and along with my ex-husband’s loyalty and sensibility, I would clench my teeth and waver back into the realm of normalcy.

Yet that was only the beginning. Only my initiation into discovering what purification, psycho-spiritual healing, authenticity and reality really means, as it would take nearly three years of digging deep and hanging in there to return to some semblance of inner stability. Some would call it postpartum depression and PTSD, some dark-night-of-the-Soul, I know I have called it both and more. The classic journey of a Wounded-Healer. And a healer I have become. Because, when you deal with your sh!t, you can accompany others in healing theirs too if need arises.

Moreover, the purification process clears out the static that keeps us from embodying our balance, ideals, intuition and omnipresence. My “magic” came online in wonderful ways. When I can touch a person and see their traumatic memories and watch them transform in front of me, well, magic is an understatement. When I adjust my inner-state and that completely changes the behavior of my children in real-time, that’s inspiring. When I can feel into my children and their fever dissipates it’s a small miracle.

Yet, it turns out, the miraculous is in our nature. It’s as human as taking a dump. We are powerful beings and we are as powerful in the light as we think we are flailing about in the dark. Well, the dark is also our messiah. Our shadows serve to show us the way into this power. They are KEY to living in the Light. Go toward the dark and into the shadows of yourself on the daily as they are sacred, a gift, and the answer to our inner turmoil. All of this, I found out, thanks to a radical awakening.

So, I am grateful for my awakening and this perfectly imperfect path. I am grateful for the mundane. My, “normal-not-so-normal” life. I am grateful for my children as only they could have inspired such an adventure. Only they have been a strong enough pull back into my light as they continually offer remembrance and connection.

My children are always calling me back to my center knowing—as we once knew—that I am, too, an extention of God. That as miraculous I believe them to be in every thing they are and do, my soul feels the same way about me. Even when I am wiping faces, changing diapers and sobbing after bed-time they SEE me and they remind me that I am a permutation of the Divine. I am a Mother. This is my Yellow-Brick-Life and my path of healing my sh!t.