One foot

One foot in front of the other – Faith, Belief and Vision 

Little did I know, the day I started 362 lights home, that I would have an almost 4-year detour on the way forward. Maybe detour is a bit strong word, since it did fill a purpose and more importantly put food on my children’s table, gave us a possibility to find a new and improved home as well as putting my back on the working market. 

The faith however, hasn’t always been with me. Sometimes the view been so mudding and I so tired I didn’t remember the path I was on. Where I was heading. Looking back, I can conclude though, that my belief must have stayed steady. One foot in front of the other every single day. I am back on MY path again. 

We survived.  

We grew up. 

There have been days when I have asked myself – were we spoiled? Catered or something? Or why did it all become, so hard suddenly?  I have even believed it in periods. Telling myself what an idiot I must have been. My mother must have been. 

While the truth is, we were just not prepared. 

Prepared for any such curveball. 

Prepared for generating everything ourselves. 

Prepared for every single little consequence being on us. 

But we did it. 

Hard lessons and hard work. 

Not even taking it away would be easy – because now we know – and we are prepared. And we have a Vision. A next chapter.   

We know in our hearts of hearts, that if we belief and stick to it will happen. We will reach whatever we set out minds too. 

Dreams and wishes turned into goals and accomplishments. 

Things I even forgotten, but remember now looking back. 

School diplomas. Animals saved. New languages. Qualify for a credit card or loan. Being able to buy chocolate every day if we wanted to. New town. New friends. 

Looking forward to the next chapter – this is what they call faith isn’t it? 

297 signals to go. On my way home.

Photo by Clem Onojeghuo on Unsplash

A 1500 days later…

1500 days later there are still 298 signals to go to “come home”.

1500 silent days of not thinking so much and just put one foot in front of the other. Putting food on the table. Convincing kids to go to school even when it doesn’t feel like having a point. Getting a job. Create stability. Keep the job. Move to another town. Start over. Maintain the job. Surviving. Set new standards. Get a set back at work. Make progress at work. Leaving work. Starting something else.

On and-on-and round and round and here I am. Writing. Again.

Taking inventory and doing my own accountability.

Maybe it is a crossroad or maybe it is just time to go deeper… like a submarine…deep dive.

These days, with curfews and all, do we dare to look within instead? Do we dare to ask ourselves if we were part of this? Of its creation? It’s birth?

Silence.

Yes.

Yes, we were.

We create even when we don’t think we do. When we don’t know we do.

1500 days I had to numb off a bit. Shut down the inner voice to just stay on it. Reaching the breakthrough. Reaching solid ground under my feet. No more free-falling.

So, let us see what we can do now. When the tables are turned. When the page is whiter than before. What can we do? What will we do? Knowingly. Unknowingly.

The journey home continues. 298 signals to go.

Photo by Nick Hillier on Unsplash

90 seconds on reality

So I am stepping out slowly but surely to the reality. Back to school and back to work and all that.

Somewhere I read that we only hold emotions for 90 seconds… then they blow over.

So if we can only survive those 90 seconds – not responding with another terrorizing emotion or action – we will be grounded back to life again. Which of these lives now – that is…

So I am stepping out slowly but surely to the reality. Back to school and back to work and all that.

Somewhere I read that we only hold emotions for 90 seconds… then they blow over.

So if we can only survive those 90 seconds – not responding with another terrorizing emotion or action – we will be grounded back to life again. Which of these lives now – that is…

I found that I am either conditioned, or shaped, into believing that emotions are good – that is what life is about in fact. The bigger the better. There are 2 backsides to this reasoning however.

One being I only seem to be big on the negative stuff and can barely separate the difference or define the positive ones…

The second is society seem to prefer we are not emotional at all. It is disturbing apparently.

And then the given that once we finally get that we are more than just this body and just this life – then there is the children…and they didn’t ask for neither the way kids don’t.

Is functioning the same as being numbed off and in survival mode? Denying pains, grief and regrets?

Getting stuck in one owns pains or of others is simply overwhelming. To be eye to eye with real suffering is hard. Rape, war, money disasters, death…just to name a few that landed in my inbox this Monday morning. It feels  like one could throw up, call in sick and go and hide under a pillow – but that is not an option in my reality. I can dwell in the 90 seconds and that’s it.

Resourcefulness means something else here. One way or the other you have to move yourself forward. Plant the seeds. Nurture and nurture and nurture again and if everything goes well harvest at some point. Nurturing can also be hard. Children, animals, work, self, family…

So I hold that breath for 90 seconds. Sit in it all and when i let it go I am so out of breath I can’t take another one fast enough – and whatever moment has passed and I can re-focus.

Going home. 299 signals to go.

Image courtesy to Coward Lion at www.fredigitalphotos.net

 

 

 

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

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