*Trigger Warning: self-harm, sexual assault, domestic violence and f-bombs*
Spirit Story of the week, “When I was 19, I walked into my parent’s kitchen and told them that I no longer wanted to live.
Nothing in me wanted to stay in this lifetime.
My Mom started crying. I don’t remember what my Dad was doing.
I sat down at the kitchen table completely destroyed. I was cold.
Only a shell of my former self existed and I could never find any warmth inside of her.
There was too much pain.
ALL of the time.
I had been molested, beaten, raped, spit on, kicked and worst of all, made to believe I was trash.
I was the definition of damaged goods.
My Mom called my Therapist and before I knew it, I was being driven to a psych ward.
They admitted me immediately and diagnosed me with two serious disorders in about five minutes.
Oh great, more labels. More reasons to feel fucked up.
Being called crazy was nothing out of the ordinary, though.
After an ‘intake’ that I don’t remember, I was placed in a yellow room with only a bed. It was like a holding cell until my room for the next two weeks was ready.
I looked around at the blank walls and saw bars across the singular window. It was dark out. I was left completely alone. Time stopped. The silence was deafening.
Finally, I was placed in a room with two other beds. One was occupied with a much older woman who sized me up as I put all of my things away in a locked cabinet.
The other bed was empty.
I was broken. Done.
I really didn’t care what the hell happened anymore.
Numb and exhausted, I sat as the Director spoke about therapy groups, art class, individual therapy, med checks, rules, etc.
Afterwards, I was given something to make me sleep and I was out.
Suddenly, I awoke to someone wailing in the corner of the room.
Bed number 3 was no longer vacant.
A girl about my age had been transported in the early morning hours to her new temporary home.
She was not OK.
I was not OK.
The next morning, I woke up in a fog. Where the hell was I? Who are all these sad looking people? Why was I here?
Oh yeah, I wanted to kill myself.
I had already tried once and so my parents knew that I meant business.
I guess the real story of why I ended up in a psych ward began long before when I was only 5 ½ years old.
That was the day I was forced to give a hand job to my male babysitter.
I think that was the first time I ‘left’ my body.
Little did I know that what started as dissociation (even as a child) would one day become my SUPERPOWER…leaving my earthly body and having my Soul fly to alternate realms in the Spirit world would become my niche.
My childhood sexual molestation lasted until the age of 11.
During my teen years, more darkness ascended.
I called on it.
I WAS it.
And, I could only attract more darkness…the self-hatred was all consuming.
At 15, I met my first abusive boyfriend and dove head first into a teen-dating violence relationship.
Oh yeah, I forgot the one thing that threw me over the edge and landed my in the psychiatric ward…I was raped at a college frat party a few months back.
Why did I keep forgetting everything?
I do remember it was around Christmas time and someone sent me a poinsettia plant.
They immediately took it away in case I decided to eat it.
I also remember the humiliation of being watched in the shower as I shaved my legs in case I decided to use the razor to end it.
Funny the things that stick out in our memories from traumatic times.
I remember thinking…is this really my life? Really?
I was 19, but felt 90.
After 3 weeks, I was released to my parents. This is when my father told me that he was taking me to his martial arts, healer friend of his.
I didn’t resist as I had no fight left in me.
Well, this healer turned out to be one of the most powerful Shamans in the world.
When I first met the man that would change the course of my entire life, I was ready to rumble. I trusted no one.
Strangely as I sat down across from this ‘healer’, I instantly felt like I was in a vortex where time didn’t exist anymore. We were in a different dimension.
I had entered an altered state of consciousness without even understanding what that meant yet.
Just sitting down in his office…the energy shifted. I felt this.
I had always ‘felt’ energy. I had always ‘seen’ Spirits. I had always ‘heard’ the Souls talking to me.
How did this man understand THAT without saying a word?
I didn’t trust John at first, though.
I trusted no one…but, for whatever reason, I felt SAFE.
John didn’t want anything from me.
We barely spoke that first meeting…but, I left there knowing something BIG had just happened.
Well maybe my human body didn’t, but my Soul did.
My path as a Shamanic healer had been solidified in that first one hour session.
Dr. John Myerson was a Harvard educated Psychologist, Acupuncturist, Herbalist and a Shaman.
But to me? He was the first ‘safe’ man in my life.
And, only when we feel safe and relaxed in our body can we heal ourselves.
Still, it took me 5 more years of violence, two children and a brutal divorce before I went back to John to do the healing ‘work’.
John taught me how to do a Shamanic meditation and the rest is history.
30 years later, here we are.
Shamanism and my Shaman saved my life.
So when you are feeling completely lost…maybe that is exactly the path that will lead you to your purpose!
Maybe all the pain that you have endured is actually a part of your PURPOSE.
You are here for a reason.
You are meant for MORE than what you are currently going through.
One day, you may just turn your pain into your power!
Want to learn how? Go here for healing: www.shamanicsoulcoaching.com