Everything hurts. I crave gentle kindness. Earlier this week, I received information from my guides while meditating that some parts of me — which hadn’t landed back in my skin due to trauma in this and past lifetimes — would be coming home to roost, returning to my body. “I’m just looking for a place to sleep,” one of them said.
So they came home, and it’s been like downshifting — a period of time of going slower and integrating them so I can once again expand. Spiritual teacher Matt Kahn says that periods when we feel out of sorts slow us down. So I guess it’s okay; I try to be okay with it.
As a manifesting generator (in Human Design), I’m most happy and comfortable zooming from wonderful thing to wonderful thing. As a human divine animal though, I need also to have days where every act feels big, where I love myself around every little thing like I was a sick child — where I care for myself and don’t say “Giddy-up!” I say instead, “We’ve got this. It’s okay. Take your time. It’s okay to feel how you feel, including lip-quivering fragile.”
As a young woman, I had no idea how to be gentle. I was determined to move beyond my limitations come hell or high water. I knew that the issues I carried from childhood were false beliefs, but why should they also serve as prisons NOW? So I tried to overcome them by force of will, or sometimes, alcohol. What I succeeded in doing instead was to was to kick myself out of my own operating system. I catapulted by force beyond what they call a “Ring pass not,” my own border of conscious understanding.
I thought I’d fallen into hell. Everything I’d read about hell made me think it was a eternal. I would have to exist the rest of my Earthly days in hell, but once I died, the sentence would continue on for infinity. Me thinking I was madness embodied and in hell caused it to happen in real life. By not knowing my power but throwing it around in fear of imaginary demons, I somehow manifested them. I know it sounds crazy. I was lost.
After my mental health breakdown, I began to learn how to be gentle.
I’ve minions of selves now inside me that I’ve have healed using tools I discovered from a gifted healer outside the mainstream medical model, after it failed to help me. Saturday’s new “arrivals,” my trauma refugees, have apparently deemed my current life and self safe enough to return to. I hope they are recovering well. I hold them safe against my chest. We have time. We have all the time we need. Shhh. Rest.
My selves respond to my own kindness with wonder. Have they ever known such tenderness? Especially from me? It’s brand new. One of the best lessons I’ve learned from Matt Kahn over the past few years is a deepening self-love. First, through healer Trise Ruskay, I learned how to make peace with those selves who misunderstood my experience. I’ve waged countless peace treaties with them to discover new methods to protect me that don’t hold me down. My mission now is to become the best friend, ally, advocate, parent, and lover I can be to myself. Matt’s taught me that self talk can look like encouragement. It’s a wonder for those of us who’ve beat ourselves up for lifetimes. To perfectionists, too, this compassion feels astonishing and to be honest, I think we worry that we’ll fall over and not get up if we stop whipping ourselves to go farther, be better, and do more.
Today I count the moments without lashes. I wander over to a rock and I sit on it in the quiet dawn. I wrap a blanket around myself and hand myself a warm cup of tea. I inhale the air, cool and fresh and free of fires. A bird calls and my heart feels so much affinity for it that I melt. Thank you. I turn to myself, bringer of tea and blankets. I’ve never felt this much kindness from you before. Thank you.
I am so glad to love you, to love me, to love all of we.
Welcome, dear ones.
Welcome home.
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