I sit here, at a crossroads forcefeeding myself the truth and reality that I have had to mother and father myself in ways I deemed impossible. Accepting my intuitive abilities only made the lack of connection between me and my parents more obvious. I had a spiritual awakening a few days ago and sat with how much trauma my family has gone through, how much my mother has gone through and how each of these traumas danced their way into our relationship.
I dare not bore you by revealing details from my childhood, so instead I'll say that being raised by a single mother who birthed me at 16 meant that we grew up together, so to speak. For some people who were raised in broken families and endured the ripping pain of trauma, this meant that their kids became the outlet for their unmanaged emotions. Each of us hold our ancestors' DNA and with that their oppressions, wounds, traumas, and afflictions. Growing up, I felt it all in every way possible. Being teased and bullied at school by other kids was not even half of my story. The other portion was dwelling in a place of fear at my nesting ground. Fear of never truly being loved in every way possible by my mother and father without the stinging and bruising that came after. I lived in fear that what I felt were beatings would continue to manifest because karma felt that I had deserved to be slapped around, yelled at, called out of my name on multiple occasions, having my hair pulled, having my nose busted a couple times, and many other things I will not mention here.
You see, these events played out before I was 18. Yet, somehow I managed to see the beauty in my parents and see the beauty in other individuals because something about them reminded me of my own essence. I used to believe that this made me a naive, habitual idiot because of my undying love for others despite their needs to express their shadows in my light. I grew to believe that my traumas weren't a part of my reality due to being reminded of other's traumas and past experiences. My detriments would be compared to others and now that I am more conscious, this was their way of venting and validating their own feelings while simultaneously breaking apart my foundation of self love and support in hopes that my falling would heal them. I dare not compare my traumas to others because pain is subjective. But, to use a subjective experience as fact in order to diminish another's experiences is narcissistic in my opinion. Because of these perpetual issues of oppression and generational trauma, I bowed to this way of living and became subordinate to others in hopes that I could somehow heal them and myself. I was willing to meet my demise if it meant I could heal my loved ones, my community and the world. I became a slave to other's expectaitions of me and fell each time I tried flying with their wings. I allowed myself to fall victim to their dreams and met my unbecoming.
I accept the fact that my traumas are indeed real despite how minuscule they may seem to others. I sit at this crossroads and realize that those who are destined for greatness are often the shamans of their family and are here to break the chain and bring healing. These people have strength birthed from affliction because they are destined to bridge the gap between worlds. This does not mean I put myself above anyone. The universe works to bring balance. Therefore, I accept the fact that although I may never have the relationship with my parents the way I want, that I am to transmute these traumas into treasures to help heal the world. Forgiveness is not for them, but for my own emotional, mental and spiritual well being. Their traumas are not their fault. The same applies to me. To us.
Here is a letter I wrote in my upcoming book called "Eden". I hope you enjoy this read.
It was during those times where you bruised my skin and left me to heal in an ocean of crying sheets. I longed for your understanding and patience, but my ignorance demanded a seat beneath the window of your tolerance. You knew no better. For survival and the ghosts of your innocence whispered chants to you that were carried by your mothers. It is through your reflection that you sculpted me into a mold that mirrored your own afflictions. Perhaps I was the holy cloth soaking in your raging rivers of distress waiting to be led ashore. Why was I not more? Did I not deserve to eat the fruit of your guidance during those times? I longed to be vulnerable with you, but I was forced to dance in the depths of our fears instead. My upbringing exposed your deepest torments and afflictions, yet you covered them by convincing me that you only wanted me to live my highest best. This was only half truth, however. You needed an outlet for your cries. You wanted to be heard, felt, understood, seen and validated. You validated your wounds and masked your faults by convincing me that my perception of your actions were warped and exaggerated. I tried many times to express my fears to your crying heart, yet it only seemed to draw you further into your own sea of bones. It would be foolish of me to deny the times you tried your hardest to see with reason. There were days you shocked me by simply listening. Giving you chances was like flipping coins for life or death. Life because I could see the light of your potential. Death because each time you scorned screamed and physically hurt me, you dissolved a part of my life force.
I have grown to realize that it is your spirit that is wounded. Your soul is fighting to shine through, yet the darkness that resides in you has too much power and control. I spent many moments hating our family for what they had done. Not just because you passed down these hurts to my spine, but because you were simply hurting. Because you needed people and everywhere you turned no one else was there. Even I made you feel as though I hated you. A part of me did. Yet, someone had to break the chain.
Because you know nothing of you, I now accept the duty to voyage to the land of my own truth. My truth as a woman. This truth will melt the chains that have bound me to your despair. In this truth, I will be freed. I will bask in the light of my newfound power and shower in the abundance of my gratitude. My knees will tremble with the fires of my accomplishments. My eyes will rain and storm with joy. My heart will soar through the cosmos with fulfillment.
My dearest, I hope to find you there in that land waiting for me with arms spread across the horizon, healed by the sun as he defrosts the ice beneath your rib cage. Will you be there waiting for me? Should I not find you there healed and vulnerable, I will rejoice for you. It is through my songs of freedom that this curse will be lifted. That, my love is truth. I love you.
If you’ve read this far, I speak love over you and want you to deeply feel the understanding I have for you and your situation. Those around us are doing the best they can, whether it is good enough for us or not. Do not feel obligated to accept anything less than divine from ANYONE because of your yearn to be loved and accepted. I want you to sit with yourself and realize that despite what the world has told you, that your gifts are needed for more than just you. You are a survivor and that in itself is a gift. You ARE a gift. And you deserve a life worth thriving.
I love you guys. Bask in your power.