My last few posts have opened up a wound I did not realize was festering so much. Lately, it seems I have been triggered big time by the new Trump movement stirred up as another election campaign begins. It seems we are in a constant flux of campaigning in North America. It never seems to sleep, this dragon which is eroding our democracy.
Over the last few days, I have started to feel as though my mother’s spirit has come alive in me, guiding me to speak on her behalf. This seems quite strange as she has not been a strong presence in my life during the years before of after her death.
Not long ago there was a great need in me to feel her hug me, just to hold her, something which makes me cry as I write this. Perhaps this was the beginning of her spirits active participation in my life – just getting used to the idea has proven to be a challenge. As I have said over the years, acceptance of my father has been very easy, his presence always a welcome moment. Learning to love someone who essentially abandoned you as a small child, despite the reasons, not as easy as one might think or hope for.
There are times now though when I feel her graceful presence moving through me, which I suppose sounds strange. The combination of her grace and my fathers strength of conviction seem to be taking up permanent residence in my soul, giving me the strength to fight for myself, for my story. Whether someone else believes or doesn’t believe in what I’m saying does not enhance nor diminish the feelings in my heart based on what I know are my true memories. Can any of you understand what it’s like to carry these memories, images and the consequences of having them? To be continually reminded of the possibility they may not be real, yet the impact affecting my life so greatly leads me on.
Because no one has proven I’m wrong or even suggested I’m crazy tells me either no one is actually listening (the most probable) or they cannot find a reason to discredit what I’m saying. Some have questioned how it is possible, something which goes around in my head a lot – it is the feelings of great comfort which are attached to certain memories which stop those thoughts. In truth I kept hoping someone would tell me to stop, this is too crazy to believe, let it go. I wanted someone not only to prove me wrong, but help me understand why this happened to me. I have prayed often for a sign all this has taken me in the wrong direction. I believe my friend Miguel attempted to do so when he took me to Quito that day over 2 years ago to meet his friend who was a psychologist and empath. I felt that meeting was as much for him as for me, he hoped he could give me peace and allow me to move in a different direction with her recommendation. She believed me though, but warned me to be careful who I shared my story with as it was dangerous. This warning has been common along this path, but I’m tired of being afraid of my own life.
At times I feel my posts are actually just me thinking out loud to encourage banter, yet there is only silence on the other end. So if there is anyone listening, please talk to me, I would like to hear from you. What has hit me squarely in the face tonight as I finish writing this post is that the most important part of my writing, is the actual act of writing. For some reason this explanation, something I have felt in the past, has really found home inside. There is comfort with knowing speaking about all of this, voicing my thoughts, rather than hiding them, is behind its purpose whether anyone reads what I say or not. There is no importance laid on the aspect of others reading it at all – just speaking my truth after it has lain dormant for so very long. It’s a good feeling to end the day with.
I’m no longer troubled by the Trump situation either as I now understand it has been recognizing the behaviour of so many others in my life just like him which has been triggering me. I just needed to see how big the persona was with respect to the power and control of similar people in my childhood, of everyone who forced me to forget and suppress my life story. Everything about him reminds me of my childhood trauma……absolutely everything. I can’t erase him anymore than I can erase my own life, so it is now important to conquer my responses, lesson at the very least the triggers associated with him. I’ve said my peace, relieved the pressure and now can move on, or back to centre.
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