Anger will set you free

Anger. What thoughts and feelings does that word elicit in you? Growing up I was taught that anger was not good and most certainly not productive. It was sinful. I needed to let go and let God. Anger was an emotion that was unholy. It was destructive. Dangerous. Not to be felt and most certainly not to be acted on.

As an adult woman I decided to leave the confines of the church I was apart of. More notably, I decided to leave the ideals of organized religion completely. So it wasn’t surprising that I found myself apart of a “New Age” group. The feel good ideals were just what I was after. The idea that I could manifest the life that I wanted by simply imagining it was incredibly appealing. It was magic! *insert laughing here* Along with the feel good ideas of creating the life I wanted came the belief that my thoughts became my reality. I found this idea to be completely fascinating. As fascinating at it was, it was equally terrifying.

Unresolved anger had been apart of my daily life for years. My anger was unfelt. My wounds unhealed. The trauma just sitting in my body. So the idea that my thoughts and feelings became my reality scared the shit out of me. Once again I found myself shoving the anger down deeper. I did this with the aide of positive affirmations, crystals, self help books and guided meditations. PLEASE do not misunderstand me when I tell you that I still use affirmations. I still carry crystals. I still read books that better my life. And I still meditate. There is nothing wrong with any of these practices. In fact, they are vital to my personal well being. I also still believe and hold tight to the truth that we DO have the personal power to create the life that we want. Any time. Any place. There was a very important key that I needed to obtain to access this portal of possibility. A life of freedom. An abundant life.

As the years progressed and my collection of crystals and oils grew, my body started sending off serious alarms. My old friends anxiety and panic disorder came back for a visit. I didn’t understand. I was doing all the things and working so hard to create the life I wanted. I was devastated. I was frustrated. And I was ANGRY. The mother of my heart watched me struggle and suggested I get in touch with an energy worker that specialized in generational trauma. A lot happened to get to this decision of getting outside help. That’s a different story for a different day. 🙂

As I started to work with this angel I realized that trauma is passed down through each generation like diabetes or high blood pressure. It made so much sense to me. The trauma I experienced at the hand of my mother and father was trauma that they inherited. I realized that their parents carried this same trauma and loved my parents from their own wounds. This only created more wounds and more trauma. This cycle has been perpetuated for years. This was such a freeing concept to me.

As the weeks progressed and I went deeper within to excavate this trauma I became angry. Viscerally full of rage. This rage was something I had never experienced. Here I was working through my trauma, choosing to face the darkest parts of myself, doing what these people CHOSE not to face. This left me angry. So I got angry. I got fucking angry. With this recognition the rage permeated every part of me. I was wild. Untamed. Feral. I was a lion and the allowance opened the cage door. I ferociously went in search of the younger versions of myself. Once I found them I stood in front of them, protecting them. For the first time ever. I was like a rabid animal in a corner. Seething, foaming at the mouth just waiting to pounce on the first person to threaten the safety of my inner children. I spoke with them, ensured their safety and vowed to never allow anyone to hurt them ever again. I promised to continue on the path of healing. For me and for them. To free them from their own cages.

Once the anger was freed I realized something that rocked me to my core and challenged all of the beliefs that I had carried to this point. Anger was the key to free me from the bondage that I felt for so long. It wasn’t positive thinking. It wasn’t vision boards or affirmations. It wasn’t even forgiveness for the terrible things that happened to me. I had forgiven my parents. I had actually done that work. I could accept and even understand why they couldn’t love me well. Forgiveness and anger are two very separate things. Forgiving our offender does not free us. Let me repeat that. Forgiveness does NOT free us. Forgiveness is the catalyst for healing. It allows us the freedom to heal. Anger is what we NEED to actually heal. Anger validates. Anger frees us to feel. All of it. Our trauma is real and our wounds are deep. They are open and oozing. They are infected with fear, feelings of unworthiness, and shame. Anger is the salve needed to heal these wounds. We have to allow the anger to cover these wounds. We must allow the rage to take us to the darkest places in our minds. When you allow the darkness your Spirit will meet you there. You will then realize that your Spirit was always stronger than all the anger, horrible thoughts, and darkness. With this recognition you will be met with one simple and very profound truth: anger IS productive. It IS holy. It IS sacred. Don’t let go. Hold tight to that anger. I realized anger was destructive. But not in the way I was raised to believe. Anger, with it’s holy and purifying flames, burnt. it. all. I rose from the ashes. Renewed. Healed. The only thing dangerous about anger is not allowing it.

I will spend the rest of my days foraging through trauma of some kind. And so will you. We are human. There is no rush when it comes to your healing. Just allowance. This is what we are here for after all. To feel and to heal. Trust your anger. She’s holy. Listen to her cues. She is your guide. And once you heal? You will truly manifest the life that you desire and are so worthy of. And to think that ANGER was the key. Who would of thought?

to the mama in quarantine

To the mama in quarantine,

How are you? Are you okay? How are you holding up? Are you drinking enough water? Are you making sure to eat? I really want to know. I know what’s going on with the weather. Yes, I saw that crazy political post on Facebook. Yes, Target was out of toilet paper again. I don’t care for small talk. I want to know the honest truth of how you are. I don’t care how ugly, obscene or “inappropriate” your truth is. I want to know it all. I am here. I see you. I am you. I know how much you love your babies. I also know the sound of their voice is like nails on a chalkboard right now. Which I am sure you have in your home because you are now their teacher. So, not only is their incessant chatter driving you to the brink of insanity you are now responsible for their education. You are amazing. I know you don’t feel amazing. Your hair is greasy and you have indistinguishable stains on your cute loungewear. Those little fuckers. You would think with all the hand washing going on it would be nearly impossible for there to be stains anywhere in your home or on you. A mom can dream right? I know how hard you work to keep your home picked up and tidy. I am fully aware that those dishes are piling up and in spite of your best efforts the sink will never be empty right now. That’s okay. Your home is messy because your children don’t ever leave right now and your sink is full because you are cooking three meals a day. And we can’t forget about the snacks. Oh, those fucking snacks. I know you are wondering if your child is an alien because the amount of food they can consume is a phenomenon. Rest assured, they are little aliens. You love them anyway and you find yourself on Pinterest searching for the healthiest snack and the cutest way to present it. Girl, throw some celery and peanut butter their way and let them create something. Count it as art for the day. One word: DOORDASH. You’re amazing. I hope you are beginning to see just how amazing you are. I know how much you love your husband. I also know that some days you want to throttle him because he left for work and left you home with the tiny aliens. And if you have teenage aliens? He’s an asshole for leaving for sure. 😉 You know he has to go. You are even thankful. But you are also a little resentful. That’s okay. I know as much as he tries to understand he just doesn’t. He’s not a mom. The weight he carries on his shoulders is so much and you honor that. The load you carry is just as heavy. I hope you honor that. You carry that load along with the multiple loads of laundry. Can we talk about the damn laundry? How is it possible that you have as much laundry as you do and these tiny aliens haven’t left for months? Another fucking phenomenon. I know your partner worries about you sometimes and wonders if you are depressed because you are tired a lot of and express that often. He’s just worried. The truth is you are fucking tired! You remind him you are raising and educating his children during a global pandemic. It’s okay to be tired every damn day right now. It’s okay that some days your motivation seems to be missing in action. It’s not. It’s playing hide and seek with the tiny aliens. It will surface. I promise. I know how much you miss going out and getting dressed up. I know it sucks that no one gets to see that sexy shade of red lipstick you purchased on a wim at Target. I also know that the highlight of your week is heading down to Target. I know that seems depressing to you. It’s okay. Girl, get you an iced coffee and strut up those isles like it’s a catwalk and you are the star of the show. Because you are. I also know how much you miss your friends. You crave connection. Your children and husband cannot provide the type of connection you need. You need the women in your life. I long for the same connection. Please make sure you make that time for yourself. FaceTime is a wonderful tool. I have been spending a few days a week chatting with girlfriends and it’s life giving. For both of us. I know how fearful of the future you are. I also know that you are fully ready for whatever comes your way because you are a damn Oracle and you are in tune with your intuition. What a phenomenon. I see where you little aliens get their magic. You don’t know what the next year will look like. Hell, you don’t know what tomorrow will look like. That scares you a little and it’s incredibly overwhelming. But your faith is beautiful. Your perseverance is something to marvel at. Your ability to rise with the sun each morning and choose to see the goodness life has to offer is inspiring. Your light is luminous and your spirit is breathtakingly magnificent. Even on your hardest and darkest days, especially those days. For there is a woman who allows herself to just be. In all her obscene, messy, raw, and vulnerable glory. That is the woman who is teaching her children how to navigate 2020. And more importantly, life. I love that woman. I hope you do too. She’s fantastic. She is the woman who will check in on her friends even when she is struggling. She knows sisterhood is everything. She doesn’t like small talk. She craves real and messy. She is you. She is me. You aren’t alone my friend. I am here. I always want know how you are. You will be okay. We will be okay. We can do hard things. Hang in there. I love you.

Signed a fellow mama in quarantine

the day my soul died

Growing up I never imagined a life without both my mother and father in it. As a young child I imagined how my life would be. I would get married, have children and enjoy family dinners and holidays with my children’s grandparents. I imagined what my parents would be like as “Grandma” and “Grandpa”. So when my father died at the age of 52 it threw a wrench in my well thought out plan. I was 21 years of age and had only been married 5 short months. How could this happen? I had envisioned the future since I was a little girl and now I was trading family get-togethers for a family gathering with a funeral coordinator.

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My dad was always there for my most important days. My wedding. June 2, 2007.

My dad died on a chilly day in October. Halloween to be exact. I was picking my children up from football practice when I received the phone call that no 21 year old new bride would ever expect to get. The man on the other side of the phone informed me that my father was in critical condition at St. Bernadine’s hospital. As the tears streamed down my face I questioned how something like this could be happening. I was supposed to be celebrating Halloween with my family. Through sobs I pleaded with the kind man to give me more information. He politely told me that was the only information he could offer and that I needed to get to the hospital immediately. I quickly made arrangements for the boys and proceeded to the hospital with my husband. When we arrived the receptionist led us down a white and terribly sterile hallway that seem to go on for miles. When we got to the end of the hallway she proceeded to lead us into a special family waiting room. Growing up with a mother who cared for terminally ill children I knew exactly what this room represented. I refused to enter. To this day I do not know how my husband persuaded me to walk in. But there I found myself sitting on a hard chair in an extremely cold room wondering if my father was alive. The doctor and his team arrived moments later. It felt like hours. He sat down and looked at me. He was silent for what seemed like an eternity. The silence was deafening so without thinking I opened my mouth and blurted out the words, “Is he alive or not?” Taken back by my brazen attitude he replied, “No. We did everything we could, but his heart was just too weak. He suffered a massive myocardial infarction.” Considering my heartfelt commitment to “ER” I knew that was the medical term for a heart attack. In that moment I was hoping I was dreaming and I that would wake up with a vague memory of George Clooney in a white coat wandering through a television set. But it was not a dream. It was a nightmare. A nightmare, that within the amount of time it takes an individual to utter 19 words, became my new reality. I didn’t even get to say goodbye. How was I going to tell my 17 year old sister? My mother spent nearly 25 years married to this man when they decided to end their marriage. How was I going to tell the woman, who created life with this man, that she would never see him again? I was paralyzed. It was sheer supernatural forces that lifted me from my chair. When your world has crashed in all around you there is only thing to do. Go home. And that is what we did. The next month was spent going through mounds of paperwork and a lifetime of memories. The day I laid my father to rest was the day I buried my soul.

My experience over the months that followed my father’s death is personal and I have shared it with few people.  Up until this moment in my life I had never navigated through turmoil without the aide of a substance. Anti-depressants were my therapy. I did not want to go down that road this time. I was not fully aware of the journey that I was about to embark upon, but I knew that I wanted to truly experience every stage of my grief. I told my husband my plan and that at some point I would come to him and beg him to take me to the doctor to get a prescription. I informed him that no matter how desperate I became he was not to let that happen.

My first panic attack happened while I was watching American Idol. I thought I was dying. I could hear the contestants trail off in the distance as I quite literally crawled up the stairs to our bedroom. I couldn’t breath. It felt like ice was coursing through my veins and the walls around me were closing in. My husband followed me upstairs and met me with a cool rag. He placed it on my forehead and gently held space for me as I found my center. Once calm, I fell asleep to have it all start over the next morning and it continued for weeks after that. I went from being a happy, carefree spirit to one who lived in constant fear of dying. I was afraid to drive. My solitude had always been a source of inspiration and renewal and those feelings were now replaced with fear and anguish. My husband became my chauffeur and whenever he left the house I went with him. This went on for months. This was all so hard on my husband and yet he never left my side. He held space for me. He believed in my power even though at this time I could not comprehend that infinite source. I became isolated and depressed. I didn’t want to live. The pain and anguish was unbearable. This was no way to live. Who was going to save me from this pit of despair that I was in?

As I surrendered to the idea that I was going to live the rest of my life in between anxiety attacks something happened. I became pregnant. We weren’t even trying.  I was then struck with even more panic. I was in no way ready or willing to bring a child into the hell that I was living. As I let the news of new life sink in I realized I had two choices. I could continue to let fear control my life or I could pull up my bootstraps and trudge through the shit. I had no other option. With loins fully girded, I began my journey of healing. For my husband, for my children, for my unborn baby and for myself. The promise of new life was just the inspiration I need to find  myself again. She was the motivating force, but I had to do the work. I had to be the one to save myself. No one could do that for me.

As the months past and my belly grew so did I. I woke up early one morning and was greeted by the sunrise. Along with its grandiose greeting the sun brought with it a beautiful reminder. It always returns. I closed my eyes and let the warmth envelope me in hope and faith renewed. I felt alive for the first time since my father died. I had learned something invaluable through my anguish. I learned to just be. I learned not to resist my emotions, but to invite them. I learned to see the despair with new eyes and perspective. My suffering reminded me that I was indeed alive. I had learned to let the grief was over me like rain. I still had rough days, but when those days came I knew that they would pass. My feelings saved me. They taught me how strong I am. They taught me to let others in and help. I started to face my fears one by one. In becoming reacquainted  with solitude I became friends with someone who I thought I would never see again. Myself. She was always there. The soul. My soul. She was the voice I heard in those dark nights. She was the one who was gently beaconing me to look within. As American poet Robert Frost says, “The best way out is through.” And that is the only way I was able to heal. I had to walk through the turmoil, I had to crawl through the heartache. And at some point I found my bearings and I could see light. It was dim, but I could see it. So I ran. I ran like hell to it’s warmth.

It will be 7 years that my dad made his exit from this world and looking back over these years I can see how clearly Divine my experience was and that I had a host of angels guiding me through it all. Through these years I have learned what faith really is. Faith in my Higher Self. My dad is not gone. His soul is very much alive and I believe him to be my special angel who guides me and protects me. I give great thanks for this experience. It was through my father’s death that I was born. Born to live the life that I was meant to live. Which, in my opinion, far exceeds any vision that I could have ever imagined for myself. I love you Dad.

Much love,

MC

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This is how I will always remember my dad. Carefree and laughing.

 

 

 

her and the ocean

To her, water was life. It was how she learned to breath. While others found themselves drowning in the powerful riptide she found her strength. She became fluid. She had found her direction in the seemingly still current. With each deafening crash of waves she had learned to listen. For some the ocean was a place to drown out the repetitious and unruly thoughts of self doubt, but for her? For her the ocean was a place she went to awaken the thoughts of love and self assurance. The ocean was her home. As a girl she would stand in the shallow waters, plant her feet firmly in the sand and as the tide rolled in she curled her toes into the sand even further and allowed the waves to crash right into her legs. FullSizeRender-1

It was in this moment that this little one had learned the art and power of standing still and finding balance. In a world that was so uncertain and daunting she always knew that if she could find her way back to the ocean she would be ok. She would survive. She would become buoyant. And her worries would wash away and vanish. But what if she couldn’t find her way to the body of water that had rescued her so many times before? What would she do? Who would she become? Time had passed and she had grown older. She had seen heartache, death, new life, more death and more heartache. And even in the midst of those tumultuous days she saw love. She saw happiness. She saw bliss and she saw joy. She fondly remembered her time as a girl skipping and frolicking along the shore line. She returned once more in search of those feelings of balanced fluidity. And what she found shook her to the core. She had never left. For she was the thunderous, deafening, expansive, powerful force. She was the ocean. She was water. She was always the one who gave her Soul, her Higher Self direction. And with that recognition she was humbled. There was only one left to do. Float in the deep waters of gratitude. And so she did.

Much love,

M