Lessons of the Past…
To anyone whose ever studied psychology, or for that matter, lived here on planet Earth for a while, there are many theories on how exactly to deal with the past. Some scholars will tell you that it is best to put the past behind you, to not give it a second thought. Others will suggest that you journey back to each previous trauma and pick away every gruesome detail to further understand your psyche.
From my own experience, NEITHER of those work! At least they don’t work for me.
I think we make life a lot harder than it needs to be. We want to analyze things and logically divide them into categories and subcategories and compartmentalize our thoughts and feelings. It is so much easier to put things on hold rather than feel them within the moment; express those irritations that crawl under our skin and into the depths of our minds. With all the distractions of life happening around us, it is simple to find something else to hold our attention or even better, to numb us to the pain.
All that dullness, though it may serve its purpose in the moment, eventually catches up to you in one form or another. I can’t tell you the number of people I deal with that have developed serious illness and dis-ease because of past experiences they could not sort out. There is only so much that can be pushed down before something explodes to release the pressure.
I am very open about my past sexual abuse as a child. It is not important for me to share the horrid details, but it is not something I hide. I don’t wear a sign on my chest and shout it at the top of roof tops,because I never want to be perceived as a victim. To me, any adult who takes advantage of a child in that fashion is a monster, and is completely responsible for any damage created by their actions. I take no responsibility for what happened to me, other than the fact I chose to incarnate at this particular moment in time.
Your past always catches up with you, and it hit me smack dab in the face. I blocked out my early childhood trauma because that was how my mind chose to help me to survive. I thank God for opening my senses to the unseen world at such a young age because it focused my attention on other things. However, the abuse memories stayed dormant in my body for years but would surface within the physical in the form of “female problems” resulting in surgeries and high degrees of physical discomfort. The memory of the abuse was triggered when one Summer evening, a trusted family member was at our home, and while he was intoxicated, cornered me in my bedroom, told me he loved me, and pushed me down onto my bed. Funny how in one instance, your whole perception and concept of life can change.
I turned to friends and family for support. Some were understanding, while others were not. I was called a liar by some very close to me and it created a block in our relationship. I couldn’t understand why they didn’t believe me. I gave them details that they themselves could verify and confirm, things from when I was 3 and 4 years old. But still they doubted me.
I also sought out people in the metaphysical field for counseling and healing. Being in the business myself, I had several trusted peers that I felt I could count on. I put my confidence and trust in one person that I should not have ever done. He used his skill and knowledge to make promises of helping me heal the wounds of abuse. He had experience with helping others through such things and I had no reason to doubt. I was vulnerable and in pain and wanted to believe there was a light at the end of the tunnel. In that moment, I gave away my power. He used his manipulation and authority as someone I respected and looked up to against me. He raped me.
He raped not only my body, but my soul. I could not move. I froze up completely. It was as if time stood still and I was four years old, laying on the bathroom floor looking up at my uncle once again. Only this time, I couldn’t go into some other dimension of space and time to escape. And this time, I was a grown woman who should have known better.
I spiraled into deep depression and anger. I hid the truth. I doubted every intuitive gift I have. I doubted myself. And the horrid shame of it all slowly began to eat away at me. My health went downhill, I pushed those who were closest to me away. I contemplated ending my own life and begged God to take me home and put an end to my pain. I went to therapy and healed many layers of trauma, but I still hadn’t told my husband. It took years for me to tell him. And when I did, though he was supportive and loving, it reopened all those feelings I’d been pushing away for so long.
I didn’t want to think about it. I wanted it to be a closed chapter in my life. But it manifested within me, like a slow moving infection, weighing me down. I had to allow myself to feel it, to put voice to the guilt, the betrayal and the shame. As I granted myself the space to cry, scream and wail, the darkness within began to lift. I wish I could say it was easy, but I can’t. As I began to heal, I began to claim my power back.
I share this not for you to feel sorry for me, for I want no sympathy. I ask that you look inside yourself. What are you pushing away that you don’t want to feel? Why won’t you feel it and let it go?
I thought if I ever expressed the rage I held inside that my physical body would literally explode. But guess what? I’m still standing!
What’s the greatest lesson of the past? For me, it’s just feeling it, releasing it and learning from it. I don’t ever want to be tied to emotional stress so much that it manifests as illness within me again. I’d rather honor myself and my emotions fully and completely without fear and without judgment.