A season that I will never forget: the emptiness that can occur after a major trauma purge. I had just completed a past life healing. In this meditation, I was a priestess in Egypt and was being held captive while my inquisition was being burned. My skin literally felt on fire. I left the meditation in hysterics. Big, ugly, gasping-for-air cry. I felt lost and confused. Empty and ugly. Right here, healing felt meaningless. My life was this black hole, where the trauma would never end. It would just get deeper and deeper. So what was the point?
I called my healer after this session with my morbid reflections. I sounded suicidal, though I wasn’t. Just empty and lost. I thought healing was the pathway to my pursuits. If I healed, I would find success. If I healed, I would heal our financial troubles. This was literally my conversation with source/soul/goddess, “What do I need to do to grow my business?” heal, heal, heal, heal. So many versions of that. So, yes, I was anticipating a correlation. Otherwise, what was it all for?
You know when you move out of a place? Everything is packed up and you stand there looking at the empty space. That bittersweet feeling? That stain on the carpet that you tried to hide by re-arranging the furniture is now evident. All of the dust bunnies are everywhere. Dirty floors and dusty countertops. Random items that still need to get packed up or sent to good will. This is now the terrain of your body. It’s not exactly what you think it’s supposed to look and feel like.
It’s been several years since that session. I took time off of healing. I took time off from working. The pandemic happened. I’ve died and have been reborn several times since then. I’ve created content, launched programs, opened up my client work. I sent my kids back to school (and brought them back home again). I have done ayahuasca, temazcal, and sacred feminine sexual healings. I have built new friendships and watched old ones die. None of it in vain, all of it very mindful, soulful, careful.
I essentially moved back into the landscape of my body. I repainted the walls, cleared out the dust bunnies. I hung a new painting up and then replaced it with another that I liked better. I bought the furniture that was more my style rather than what someone else told me looked good. And I keep it spacious. I regularly clean out what’s no longer serving me. I don’t want to bring anything in that isn’t really me. I open the windows to let in the light and fresh air. I am home. Really home.
The seasons still occur. Winter comes as does Summer. There is laughter and are tears. Grief and joy. There are questions and doubts, as well as faith and inspiration. But it’s an entirely different atmosphere. I am fully me. I feel me. Steady in me. Strong in me. In love with me.
I sit here now in my new literal home. One that could use a bit of tidying but where the walls were painted and furniture carefully selected to my liking, where my kids are being kids in the forest that is our backdrop, but where all of our bills are paid with money in the bank and financial worries at bay. All of the tears, healing, and emptying out intricately woven together to create a life that is so far beyond what I could have imagined, because not only have those initial prayers and motives been healed an answered, it is all laid in the steady foundation — the one that was laid by my heart.
This is healing. Real healing. Do it without motive and watch the majesty. I feel too, that I am just at the beginning. That this light and space was never for me, it’s simply the space that I get to pour out from.