The Choice To Heal

I come from two long lines of intense trauma. Both my mother and father were born into poverty and raised Catholic by teenage parents. Both sets of my grandparents were also born into poverty and raised Catholic by teenage parents. Does anything more need to be said? Shame and addiction have plagued my Ancestors for God knows how long. Until me.

I believe I was born to heal this lineage.

Not once do I remember ever fitting in to my family. I always felt I was different. Being born highly sensitive, I knew and felt things that were not only not encouraged, but vehemently denied. At a very young age I learned how to hide my true self and do whatever I could to receive love.

My parents were unhappily married, and unhappy in general. My mother was a rage-aholic and my father a manic depressive. Although they didn't marry and have kids as young as their parents, they were still young, and both of them chose this path in the first place, not for themselves, but for their parents' approval. The resentment was tangible. As a child, the message I received was that love meant suffering, sacrifice, self abandonment and pain.

My memories before highschool are few and far between. Disassociaton is a common coping mechanism for children who live in abusive and neglectful environments. Leaving the body is one of the only things you can do when you have no control over your surroundings. Terror, humiliation, shock and conflict are the main emotions I experienced as a child.

In the summer of my eigth grade year, before I started high school, I began throwing up my food. Binge eating was my second coping mechanism for unprocessed emotional distress. The weight gain caused my already extremely low self esteem to plumit to a level where I could barely even stand myself. Making myself throw up was the logical next step in my determination to gain control.

In my ninth grade year I started drinking heavily.

In tenth grade I started snorting oxycontin and cocaine.

At the end of my tenth grade year I tried to kill myself.

My mother told the doctors, when I awoke in the hospital, after the pills I took knocked me out and my stomach had been pumped, that I was doing this all for attention. This is my only memory from the experience.

Maybe I was doing it all for attention. Maybe I thought if I could show how much, h0w deeply I was hurting, then my parents would be able to see me and love me. Quite the opposite happened. They became even more angry and ashamed of me.

My parents had a very ugly divorce when I was seventeen. Soon after, I moved to Los Angeles with my twenty-four year old boyfriend. He paid for my admission into fashion design school, as neither of my parents would, and I got in.

Although it seemed I was ripe for a fresh start, my pain body was like a monster incessantly clawing at my back. At the time what I knew best was how to turn to drugs in an effort to numb and control my emotions. Los Angeles was a breeding ground for my demons.

After nearly eight years in L.A., working in the fashion industry, fueled by caffeine, alcohol, cocaine and cigarrettes, the luster of it all wore off. As a production manager in domestic and overseas apparel production I was witness to the brutally eye-opening destructive nature of how clothes for the masses are made. Partying with the privilaged became predictable and boring. In the end it all felt fake and empty. It was time for something new.

A little girl sitting next to me on the plane leaving L.A. drew a picture of a sun and two flowers, on it she wrote "I like you" in her cute little handwriting, folded it up and gave it to me. This little girl, and her precious note, brought me a deep sense of knowing I was on the right path, and that everything was going to be ok.

Over a decade later I can now proudly say I am sober and closer to my authentic self than ever before. A wide variety of alternative healing methods, a lot of guidance from the unseen realms, different kinds of teachers and a very special few close friends were my allies in what felt like a battle to win myself back from the pain monster clawing at my back. I will be thirty-five at the end of January.

I am now embracing my highly sensitive nature and practicing energy work, writing my stories as a form of soul retrieval, gardening, living in a Gypsy Wagon under huge Cypress trees, sharing land with two people who have been with me since the beginning of my healing journey. The relationships in my life are all loving and supportive. I am working with kids and making art. Life is good.

Never in a million years did I ever think I would survive past my twenties, much less be pretty close to thriving.

I could have chosen to stay in the numerous abusive relationships I was taking part in, including my relationships with my family members. I could have chosen to follow in my parents and grandparents footsteps and settled for a life that made me feel miserable. I could have chosen drugs. I could have chosen to give up on myself completely and leave this world. Instead, I chose to heal. What I've learned on this path is what you heal inside of yourself, you also heal in your Ancestral lineages. I can feel my Ancestors celebrating.

When I first started learning about healing work I made only one wish: "I just want to love myself". Back then I wasn't even aware of how much I hated myself, how deeply I wished I was different and how much work it would take to find my own love for who I am. Loving yourself sounds so cheesy, so cliche, so simple and yet for me it has been anything but. Looking back now I feel a deep pride for my fighting Spirit. There is no more worthwhile fight than the fight for love.