Here We Go – The End of the Darkness, Return of the Light – The Winter Solstice

Words have not been a release lately. Not like usual. There has been a lot of inward and hidden processing going on, and I haven’t felt words just waiting to be poured out. I have stopped working on my book, well I stopped about two months ago, and have yet to pick it back up.

Words are not the safe space I’ve previously known for working out and processing the shit within me. This is a new space for me to be in. It doesn’t feel familiar and sitting down to write this today is the first time in months I’ve felt words waiting to flow out through my fingers.

A lot has happened, but I also am not entirely sure what exactly has happened. Today I feel so deeply the final descent into the darkness as we approach the Winter Solstice in a week and a half. I spent the entire month of November buried under my own illnesses and those of my children. I believe the final count of drs visits and ER visits ended up with 5 drs visits and 4 ER visits. It nearly broke me seeing my children so sick and feeling so helpless to “fix” them. We were hit so hard with viruses that I felt like we were all drowning under them.

My mother wound was ripped open during that time. My younger selves felt fear and abandonment, crying loudly as I struggled to take care of my own children and then myself. They have been loud and continued to be loud until I started realizing it was them who was causing the extreme physical anxiety I have been feeling and the immense sense of loss that has been utterly overwhelming.

I can feel this sense of being in a space of waiting. “Just wait, it’s almost time” keeps swirling around me. Just wait, it is almost time. This waiting is being surrounded by the last of the weight of this year settling on my shoulders. I can feel how much my younger selves and current self is tensing up for January. I am deeply hoping to not repeat the past 4 January’s health emergencies.

January of 2019 saw me heading in to an emergency CAT scan on January 31st (my youngest’s birthday) with the whispers of cancer surrounding me. April 2019 saw me heading into my 6th surgery in less than 4 years. It was also the most helpful and most significant surgery. It also revealed that what I had suspected about my body was true. My body was in serious near fatal shape and with the help of the specialist I saw, I am no longer at the risk of having a single blood clot ending my life. The summer was full of self discoveries and at the end of the summer, I came face to face with the teacher I’ve been looking and longing for. The teacher at whose feet I will be sitting at and learning from for 9 months come January 2020.

My body feels wrecked. It feels worn out, and I feel an exhaustion that reaches to my soul and makes it difficult to breathe. I feel like the things within me that no longer serve are dying off and it’s a painful process. It is an isolating process. Especially as I am finding words are not my friends right now. My partner reminded me last night about just how significantly improved my health has become since a year ago. Even though I don’t feel it. It’s so hard to see progress when I’ve been in this chronic battle for so long. The past week has been particularly difficult with having some massive hormone crashes and trying desperately to ward off a panic attack. I remember so vividly how utterly sick I felt a year ago. I don’t want to go down that path again, I don’t want to feel like my body is dying.

A year ago this month, I chose my words of the year for 2019. My word for 2018 was Reckoning, and whoa was it a year of reckoning. When I faced 2019 and considered what it was that I was bringing into the year, the words *Dancing* and *Triumphant* came roaring in to me. As usual with the words I choose, those two were almost thorns in my side as I traveled down the path of 2019. But the pure beauty of holding those two words with me is the realization of how deeply and wholly I found myself laughing with joy and feeling truly happy with who I am and what I’ve become. For the first time in my remembered life, I have been able to truly feel happy and laugh with joy this year. It makes me teary eyed just thinking about how that feels in my bones. It is a certain kind of healing where words tend to fail.

The word *Jubilant* came to me a few months ago and I wrote it down feeling fairly confident it would be my word for 2020. I felt like maybe it was a good segue from *Dancing & Triumphant.* But things have shifted. I have been preparing for this transit into the new decade for the past three months in particular. Since just before Samhain, I felt the deep pull to “just wait, it’s almost time.” And as friends have started talking about picking their words for 2020, it became clear quite quickly that Jubilant was most definitely not my word.

As I’ve turned my gaze back on 2019, the heart wrenching despair I felt at the beginning of the year stood out, as well as the sobbing relief it transitioned in to after my birthday in April, and then the moments of actual pure joy and happiness made me just want to experience that more. I faced a second round of childhood sexual abuse memories coming back in August, and I am still here and feel more whole than I ever have. I have a burning in my spirit to fight even harder and with more precise purpose for those who do not have a voice. I feel that anticipatory burning of “just wait, it’s almost time.” My soul, my body, my heart is on fire and ready to explode with a dragon’s roar. Despite the heaviness; despite the tears and loudness of my younger selves fears and anxiety. I am waiting and it is almost time.

I am waiting yes, but I am also preparing – physically and spiritually. We already have several massive changes and shifts lined up for this next year. And they are going to be big changes, changes that will probably threaten the peace for a bit until we get settled. But I am actually hopeful. I feel hope and expectation of being blessed and having my awareness being expanded of what it means to feel joy and happiness. I want that, and I want to claim those beautiful things for myself, my children, my spouse, and chosen family.

So as I’m sitting here writing out this post, my two words for 2020 have burst upon me like a thunderclap.

* Burning Hope *

For someone who struggles with hoping for fear of things going wrong, this feels like an detonation in my heart. I am choosing to lay aside my fears and the fears that were confirmed as a child, and I am choosing hope. I am choosing to face the future with anticipation and excitement as I wait to see what Fate brings me. I am choosing to believe that I can do this, I can keep healing from the trauma wounds and abuse scars of my past. I am choosing to believe my younger selves and to give them all the gentleness and love we never received as a child. I am giving them the hope that as ripped so viciously from us.

I have no plan for when my next writing offering will be. I am allowing things to shift and move around me, and as this space isn’t providing much room for written releases, I am not turning to this space as much right now. But that being said, thank you for reading and following along when I do write!

Here’s to a brilliant, bold, and explosive shift into the new decade! It’s going to be an absolutely powerful shift!

Mothers Who Can’t Love

Content Warning: sexual abuse, rape, incest, emotional abuse

Three and a half years ago, I published a book about my childhood, deconstruction from Christianity, and how I had begun transitioning into the mystic. Barely a year later, I was hit with a massive wrecking ball – memories of having been raped as a child by my own father returned.

I know I’ve had another book sitting in me and waiting to be written. I am two years from those memories returning, and I know it is now time. For the past week I have been starting to slowly re-piece together my story in book form. By doing so, I have realized just how much I wrote about having been sexually abused but not consciously being aware of the truth. I used to hold the believe that my mother was just as much of a victim as I was against my father’s abuse. When my memories returned, an entire story line burst open. A story of how my mother never loved me. How she bent over backwards to make sure I hated my life; hated myself. A story of how she used every opportunity to take her jealousy and disgust of me out on me.

I had all the pieces of what she did to me, but I couldn’t see the whole picture. I was missing the thing that tied it all together; my childhood rape. I thought she was just lashing out at me because of how my dad treated her. The trickle down effect, ya know?

Through my mother’s treatment of me and the things she’s said to me, I thought I was just a despicable child. I knew there was something wrong with me. I knew I was disgusting and I was terrified if she actually could see into my mind. Besides, she constantly reinforced the idea that I was a disgrace to her.

As the missing memories began to fill in the gaps in the story of my mother’s treatment of me, I felt like I had been sucker punched. But also deeply validated. I firmly believe that she knew that my dad had raped me. But instead of standing by me and fiercely defending and protecting me, she took her disgust and anger at what he had done out on me.

I have no memories of my mother being affectionate to me. I have no memories of receiving hugs from her or feeling safe and warm or feeling protected. It was me against the world and my own house wasn’t safe.

And yet, I somehow am managing to not repeat the same cycles with my children. They are teaching me about giving and receiving affection just like I am teaching them that it’s okay to say no and to protect their boundaries.

Acknowledging and holding space for the damage my mother’s abuse caused is difficult. I’m doing it anyway, but I am holding space for my younger self’s heartbreak. It’s taken over 2 decades for me to get to a place where I’m okay with my body. I don’t feel like it’s the disgusting thing my mother always said it was. I love the shape of my curves and the fact that my body has created two new lives. I cry though for the pain my younger self experienced daily, and the self-doubt and belief that she was the cause of all of the family’s problems. My heart wrenches as the echoes of that pain still touch me to this day.

I wrote several thousands pages in the new book yesterday. I woke up yesterday morning at 4:40am with the last words of a dream ringing through my head. My mother was in the dream, but I was separated from her the entire dream. There was this weird kidnapping scene, I was with a sister, but not one of my sisters in this life time. We managed to escape and made it to where my mother was supposed to be. We were met by a personal assistant kind of person who kept going on and on about a bunch of weird details. I finally stopped her and asked her where my mother was. She just looked at me and said “oh, she’s dead.” To which I then woke up.

This is the not the first dream I’ve had of my mother dying or being at death’s door. The feelings that ripped through my body as I lay there in bed trying to process was of tearful relief. I believe the dream was pushing me forward to finish these last layers that exist in my mother wound. I felt like I was walking around with a bleeding and gaping wound on my back yesterday. I did a Lion’s Gate tarot spread yesterday, got some amazing cards and direction, but felt prompted to pull a 9th card.

I pulled the 9 of wands – the card of the final challenge, battle. The card of picking yourself back up, wounded and broken, and still continuing to fight to victory. It’s a fire card too and I certainly felt that burning fire ripping through me, burning away the pain and leaving the ashes behind for something to start anew.

So I’m standing tall, pulling myself up and facing these wounds and the deep dark pain. I’m going to do my younger self proud and give her the respect and space she always deserved but never got.