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