Once upon a time, I was a rageful, sad little girl who smashed things and tried to tear others down when they exhibited happiness. It was a crappy time in my life, and for a long time I wasn't even prepared to accept that things were as bad as they actually were. I couldn't get close to people because I resented and feared their attempts to help me. I was scared of being honest about what I really wanted to achieve in this life, and I believed that people were poised and ready to mock and berate me if I was honest about those deep down burning desires..
I self-harmed for many years, using blades to produce temporary escape hatches for my pain and confusion. I wanted to share close, meaningful relationships with people, but I told myself that those relationships had to be about a complete dissolution of the individual self in favour of a maddeningly intense, 'Siamese' connection with the other person which, from the outside, looked like a bad case of 'folie a deux'. This led me to be attracted to people who possessed the kind of scalding intensity which I felt mirrored my own, and those people were often more than willing to manipulate and use me, leaving me even more paranoid and insecure than I was when we met.
Home life during my childhood and early teens wasn't good. At all. By the time I was fifteen, I was twisted up into a tight little shape with no clue how to get myself out of it. I have some great memories of my teens, for sure.. Memories of discovering music, art, philosophy and poetry which really spoke to the red root running through the centre of my humanity. Memories of the pinnacles of the friendships which shaped me. You know, the ones which involve sitting up and talking to each other all night about everything, watching the sun rise, making collages together on the floor.. I have memories of emotions, much of the time, too. Memories of how I felt about my own potential. Memories of how I felt about being young and realising that there was something magickal about it.. Something that no one could snatch from me in that moment - something that counted.
But I also have memories of becoming increasingly mentally unsound and feeling unable to talk to anyone about it. I have memories of long nights with just my razor blades and my rage. I have memories of realising that I wanted to end my life. I have the memory of the night that I did try to end it.
When I look back at the timeline, few things seem to matter to me as much as the fact that the journey has led me here, to what I do now. The journey has led me to putting things out into the world which I hope can be that hand reaching out into the vortex to touch the hand of someone who is reaching out into that blackness too. When I became interested in shadow work, personal power, self-love, the inner child and all that shizzle, it was because I needed to become fluent in that psycho-spiritual language for my own good, because I was out there in the void and I suddenly knew it. I wanted to come home to myself. I was willing to sit up and pay attention to some of the ideas which seemed as though they could help me get there.
They did help me get there.
It's now a privilege to pay it forward.
I hope that you enjoy my latest video.
Stick around and read some more..
- A Wounded Healer and Her Recipe Book
- 7 Things you Should Know About Spiritual Counselling
- Do You Need to be Permanently Healed in Order to be a Healer?
- I Am An Acquired Taste - Maybe You Are Too, Honey!
Other videos to check out over at my YouTube HQ:
- Owning Your Personal Power
- Getting Clear and Unstuck
- Spiritual Counselling and Tarot as a Tool
- The Negative Side of Positive Thinking
- You Are An Empowered, Conscious Co-Creator