I am my own now
The following is a journal entry from this evening. I’ll provide a little bit of background before I share the entry. I have been going through an amazing process of healing with an amazing woman. She is helping me dismantle so many years of limiting beliefs and ancestral trauma. This last week we discussed the women in my family. The following entry is my brain processing all of the information that I took in. As I read over what I wrote I laughed a little because the revelations or “AHA” moments only carry one sound, “DUH!” I can honestly tell that you that often times the things I have been so afraid to confront have resulted in that response. Sometimes it guts me from the inside out and other times I laugh at myself and think, “THAT is what you have been avoiding?” Before I get to long winded, I will just share the entry now. And if you are currently working on healing your heart from trauma, I see you. I honor you. The light in me recognizes the light in you.
Tuesday, August 18, 2020 New Moon
I am my own now. As Julianna guided me to say those words I started to cry. Up until that moment I had never uttered such words before. It was foreign. I am my own now. I am my own now. What does that even mean for my life moving forward? Years and years of generational beliefs released in the amount of time it takes to utter five words. Here’s the thing about generational and ancestral DNA, it was never mine. It was never theirs. And still it’s handed down like fine china. It’s who we are. Right? I don’t know how many times I have heard myself say, “I am who I am because of the women who went before me.” That’s the thing. How could I be something that was never me to begin with? The bitterness? The suffocation? Every time I shoved my feelings down deeper? Or the fact that I am familiar with the salty taste of my own blood because I bit my tongue so hard it bled? Each time I have muted myself to make others more comfortable? I have done this since I was a little girl. We are strong women I was told. If you can’t say something nice don’t say anything at all. Keep your suffering quiet. That’s what women do. Deny yourself every day. That’s what good Christian girls do after all. Feel nothing. And when you do? Be quiet. Swallow the lump in your throat. That’s far easier than opening your mouth and using your voice. Don’t make waves. It seems these beliefs run far deeper then my own mother. Or even her mother. These skewed narratives have been apart of our DNA makeup for a very long time. Too long. The moment I released these ties to these women in my lineage I felt an immediate sense of relief. I am my own. Over the last few days I have been so emotional and incredibly sad. Sad that these women who lived before me have been so shut down. When things became uncomfortable for my own mother she left. That is incredibly heartbreaking. My sadness very quickly turned into rage. Holy fucking rage. I am here present day wading through the darkness and the rubble to heal what they could not. To be my own. To heal for them. To heal for myself. I am doing this incredibly difficult work so that one day my great, great, great granddaughters can be proud of where they came from. So they will truly know that they are were they are because of a woman who became her own. A woman who healed the ancestral cycle. So they will never suffer in silence. So they may never deny themselves for any person, religion or thing. So when they do suffer (for we are human after all) that it’s done in the loudest, most obscene manner. So they never know the taste of their own blood in their mouths. So they may KNOW themselves. So they use their voices. LOUDLY. So they never have to wade through the wreckage. So they know their worth. So they realize they don’t need to make waves because they are the god damn ocean itself. SO THEY ARE THEIR FUCKING OWN. Just as the woman who cried over those very words and felt the relief for the women who would long come after her. “I AM MY OWN” will be the words echoing in the hearts and mouths of these women for years to come.
When turmoil hits I often think of that proverbial puzzle. You know, the one we liken our lives to once we have it all figured out, once all the pieces fit together leaving us with a picturesque view of the ocean or a snow laden mountain top. So what happens when life happens? When our life is blown into smithereens right before our very eyes? Our once perfect picture is stained and unrecognizable. We don’t know where to begin. We try frantically to create a new picture. To find new pieces to fit together to give us the same sense of security and hope we once felt. We see the pieces that once were and we shutter. They are ugly. They are painful. They are grotesque. They are dark. They are hopeless. They offer nothing to us. Except the painful reminder that life will never be the same. No, those pieces will never be what they once were. So we begin to move through the rubble of our lives and attempt to re create. To reinvent. To reestablish. But can we? Can we actually piece back together something that is irrevocably damaged? Can we recreate it to be exactly what it once was? No. Our lives will never be the same. We will never be the same. So what do we do? We start over. We take a step back and survey the wreckage before us. The shattered remains. We realize that the puzzle will never again look as charming and delightful as it once did. We begin working. We begrudgingly grab the remains and wonder to ourselves how pieces so small and so ugly could actually create something worthwhile. Something whole. As we move and work we notice that the puzzle we are creating is coming together. Piece by piece we are creating something new. Something abstract. Something different than we have ever known or seen before. We step back and admire our work. And that is when we get it. We understand. We acknowledge that our work was created from the rubble. And it is with this recognition that we see. We see our new reality. And we are full of gratitude. Why? Because we know that our beautiful, abstract puzzle is whole. And we have an even deeper knowing that our ruin and destruction is what created this beautiful masterpiece. We understand that if our life had never crumbled beneath us we would not have been able to create such a piece of art. I think that is the answer to life’s biggest puzzle. Finding beauty in the ashes. Choosing to see that the heartache we endured was meant for our highest good. Choosing each day to wake up and to continue trusting and having faith. Understanding that life was never meant to stay the same. Change is bound to come. Some change gently arrives and then other times, it violently crashes into us swallowing us whole into the waves of grief and loss. During tumultuous moments we need to remember that they are just that. Moments. Sure they can last years, but when the shift happens and our hearts have expanded we will sit down with a cup of coffee and take a deep breath. And with that out breath comes the acknowledgment that we survived. We made it. We are renewed. We are whole. We are changed. We are grateful. And we laugh. A hearty, full laugh. Why? Because we had the audacity to question our strength.
mandy cate 