It Might Sound Crazy...But...

I find myself saying this a lot lately.

It might sound crazy but I’m going to Peru.
It might sound crazy but I’m not taking my husband. Or my kids.
It might sound crazy but I’m going to the Amazon to take part in an Ayahuasca ceremony (or four).  

I’m booking a trip for me. Spending money on myself. Taking 10 days away from my daughters and my husband.

Just so I can go to the jungle and drink a hallucinogenic tea? Yep, I’m saying yes to Peru.

Earlier this summer I felt the call of plant medicine. I felt an urge to learn about the abundance that surrounds us. It made me think of ayahuasca, after all, what stronger plant medicine can there be? When the chance came to go on an 18 day excursion, I didn’t take it.  I was too worried to leave my daughters. It was a hard decision to say no when the urge to go felt so strong. But when a recent trip was changed to 10 days, I immediately said yes. YES, YES, YES!!!!!!!

This trip is all heart. My head says it’s crazy. How can I leave my girls, how can I spend the money, shouldn’t I prioritize family first, am I not afraid of spiders (though I’m not sure what spiders are in the amazon but my guess is there are many),  and am I seriously going to do ayahuasca?

But the call is so strong, I won’t deny it. On the last day of the Healing Grief and Trauma program the message to me was clear, “The time has come to make your own medicine”. And with that I saw a red bag, a medicine bag. I immediately thought of Peru. How perfect that on this trip we will begin to make our own medicine bundle.

Want to join me? Check Sarah’s page for details. https://www.facebook.com/events/227056404138508/

MOMMY!!!!!

This summer we did some work with the Gitxsan near Hazelton, BC. We decided to turn our second trip into a family vacation. As we made the long drive west we passed by an ancient forest just outside of Prince George. I couldn’t wait to stop. How amazing would an ancient forest be? I explored the boardwalk with my 5 year old and my husband. My daughter was as excited as I was, she raced down the boardwalk taking in everything (and talking non-stop). I’ll be honest, I wanted to yell at her, “SHUT UP!!! WE’RE IN AN ANCIENT FOREST!! MOMMY WANTS TO SOAK IN THE MAGIC OF THIS MOMENT!!!” Didn’t she know? These cedars are ancient, with deep roots and magic in their branches. I stopped to wrap my arms around a tree when my Zen was pierced “Mommy, Mommy, MOMMY!!!!” I looked at her as she danced along the boardwalk and for a moment I put aside what I thought was most pressing and I started to play. She had seen the magic of the forest, in her mind we had both sprouted wings, two fairies flying amongst the cedars. I played and giggled and chased her under the branches.  

My daughters are two of my biggest teachers. As I dive more into what spirit means to me, my biggest challenge has been bringing those lessons home. Home from the quiet of solitude. Home from the top of the mountain, where Spirit feels so close that I blend seamlessly into the universe. Where I feel whole, light, love. How do I bring this feeling home where it is most significant?

One of the biggest lessons I have learned in motherhood is allowing myself to set aside time for me. Because the role of Mommy can be all consuming. In the beginning I could barely stand to be apart from my oldest for even an hour. It was hard to discern where she ended and I began. But that pull was unsustainable. I started to remember that I wasn’t just “Mommy”, I am a separate being and I long for my own time. At first I didn’t take a lot of it, it felt selfish, especially because my children clearly NEED ME! But, I harken back to that all important airline safety message, put your own oxygen mask on first before you help anyone else. And sometimes, when I am drowning in little hands, I desperately need oxygen. Oxygen and maybe and a nice glass of red.

Another lesson in motherhood has been about fear. The fear that something terrible will happen to my daughters. I once heard having children described as having a piece of your heart running around on the outside. How true that is. And how humbling to know that despite my best efforts I can’t protect them from everything. As I navigate my own healing and my own path I am strengthened to know that pain brings the opportunity to learn. And that we truly have the capacity to heal ourselves from anything. While I don’t wish hardship on my daughters, I try to honour their path and know their resilience runs deep.

My daughters. Two amazing gifts in my life. I truly believe that on some cosmic level we chose each other. They taught me about a love deeper than I knew existed. They remind me to pause, have fun, run and play, laugh, be wild and silly and dance with abandon. They test my limits, remind me to find grace and to strive to be better. For this I give thanks.  

 

My Agenda Meets the Universe

 

In April I went to my first Healing Grief and Trauma workshop, hosted by my Mentor Sara Salter Kelly. The weekend was spectacular. Six months later, when I saw that Sarah was hosting another weekend I asked if I was allowed to attend again.  I had some things coming up that I knew I wanted to work on and setting a weekend aside would allow me the time, concentration and depth that I really needed.

I had an agenda set for the weekend. I had already clearly heard the trauma that I needed to connect with. But as the weekend unfolded I soon realized that the universe had another plan for me. The trauma that I thought was so unresolved in my life seemed to melt away, as I was given clear signs in meditation that I no longer needed to hold onto the guilt I was feeling. Instead a couple of themes emerged for me over the weekend.  

The first was choice. Exemplified beautifully by one of the other participants I realized that it really is that simple. That we truly do have the power and the capability to simply choose differently. Even when, as children, we have been dealt the worst of hands, we have the ability to choose differently as adults, and in the process stop generational trauma.

Secondly, I faced the voice in my head. The liar. My inner critic. The one that has told me I am not good enough; I am not strong enough; I am simply, not enough. That voice who I have spent hours of my time debating. The voice that has drained me of time, and energy, and sanity. I came face to face with that voice. Although it may have started as another, as those who have helped to reinforce my negative perceptions of myself, the strongest and loudest has really been my own inner critic. This weekend I felt the full weight of it lift off of me. And since coming back to the “real world” I am hyper aware of it. When the liar starts talking, trying to rob me of my time, I simply acknowledge it and tell it that I will not play its games any more. It is a liar, after all.

Lastly, this weekend was about silencing that critic and standing firmly in who I am, who I am becoming. It was putting aside my notions that by standing firm in myself I am somehow distancing myself from God. That my connection to nature and spirit go against the teachings of Catholicism and Christianity I was raised with. And what if they do? My way of knowing is so true and so complete that I cannot be separated from it any longer. This weekend I assured myself that it is okay that I believe in a magical and wonderful world. That when I hear the voice in my gut, my inner knowing, I can trust it completely. I saw that it is time for me to gather, and trust, in my own medicine.

I give thanks to Sarah, for her amazing ability to facilitate this weekend. To all of the other participants that shared so openly and so deeply. To the circle. To the eagle I met at the lake. To my Grandmothers. And lastly, to myself, for having the courage to set my agenda aside and find something so unexpectedly beautiful.

For more information on Sarah’s programs see www.sarahsalterkelly.com

Inspired by Number 14 - Part Deux

Healing Grief and Trauma runs in a group setting. The first night a lot of people openly shared their stories and while I knew exactly why I was there I couldn’t get the words out. They were there, on the tip of my tongue but I couldn’t give voice to them. And I claimed to be healed.  I won’t go into details about the whole weekend but it required a lot of sharing, spending time outside and really connecting to my feelings and anything that was unresolved. It was powerful for me to finally be able to talk to the group and to give voice to the abuse. I had never done that before. I joked that while it was okay to talk about the abuse in my counselor’s office, I rarely ever discussed it at home with family or friends.

The biggest impact of that weekend was the fire ceremony. We were instructed to make a shadow doll, something that represented our trauma that we would put into the fire. I struggled at first, but in the end I constructed a doll, it represented me as a child. As a final touch I constructed a paper backpack for her and filled it with shit, real shit, rabbit and moose that I had found in the forest. Then I bound it tightly to her, wrapped her in twine. Wasn’t that how I felt? Bound by this shit I was carrying?

On the final night we opened sacred space and sat around the fire. I felt compelled to go first so I circled the fire giving voice to anything that was still unresolved. I talked to my abuser. I talked to my parents. I talked to myself. I talked to my community. When I felt I had everything out I sat before the fire and prepared to toss the doll in, only I couldn’t do it. Instead I cried, I wiped my tears into her and held her. I don’t know how long it took but I was finally able to throw her in and watch her burn.

That night, I travelled back in time. The adult me held the little me. I comforted her. I told her she wasn’t alone and that everything would be all right. I held her on my childhood bed in my old room. She clung to me as I clung to her. I told her she didn’t have to worry anymore and I let her go.

That night I stopped carrying the little, hurt me. I laid her to rest, and in the process I found a new, vibrant me. When I see myself as a little girl now I am buoyant, running, excited. I am FREE. On that night I realized how tired I really was. How tired both of us were, big me and little me. She was ready to go and I was finally able to release her.

That weekend was a life changer for me. I’ve worked “helping people” for much of my career. Sometimes I cried with people. Okay, not sometimes, a lot of times. I thought it was because I could empathize, that I could feel their pain. But I was feeling mine. It was like an exposed nerve, when people shared with me they brushed up against that nerve and I couldn’t help myself. I don’t do that anymore. I can actually hold space for people because it’s not about me anymore. It took me over 20 years but at last I’m here. That weekend was a lot of magic wrapped in hope and it helped me to believe that anything is possible.

For more information on Sarah’s programs please see her blog www.sarahsalterkelly.com

Inspired by Number 14 - Part One

My husband recently got to meet Number 14 himself, Theo Fleury. I was beyond excited. Not because I am a hockey fan but because I deeply admire all of the work Mr. Fleury has done for survivors of sexual abuse. I threatened to crash the meeting but in the end was satisfied to get my book autographed and sent along a personal note to let him know how much all of his work means to me.

I started my blog to talk about my journey of healing. It’s been full of highs and lows but I finally feel connected to my purpose in life. As I reflected on my husband’s meeting I thought about how sexual abuse has affected me.

I was a victim of sexual abuse as a child.  But I was a SURVIVOR! Or so I told myself. The truth is I made a lot of excuses, “the abuse wasn’t that bad”, “I’ve been through counseling”, “I am a completely well-adjusted 30 something, with a job and a family and a white picket fence”. But I couldn’t even say the words “sexual abuse” out loud. When my oldest was born I felt the fear and shame of it like a vice grip. Years ago my counselor had told me it would probably be like this, at significant life events I may feel the pain of the abuse again, over and over, and she was right. As I navigated the many changes of adolescence and adulthood I would come face to face with it. I went back to counseling here and there, but mostly I told myself that I was over it, I was better and I was healed.

I didn’t fully heal until very recently. In fact, writing this is a part of that healing. Why am I so afraid to add my voice to all of those who are brave enough to stand up and say they were abused but they won’t be victims any longer?  Why do I feel fearful that people might think differently about me? I thought a lot about Number 14, about how brave he was just to bear it all in his book and in his life.

For a long time I told myself that the abuse wasn’t that bad, but as a mother when I look at my daughters would I really tell myself that a grown man touching them was “not that bad”. And it goes well beyond the act itself, it’s how someone you know and are supposed to trust can betray you in the most hurtful and personal way. It’s how they show up at your house and eat Sunday dinner with your parents. It’s how they act like you are somehow special to them, chosen, when you feel dirty and disgusting. It’s that, despite knowing you should say something you remain silent, as if insignificant gifts and candy are somehow enough to buy your loyalty. It’s that they pretend to be a fine, upstanding and educated citizen. When you come from coal miner parents.  It’s that they are somehow entitled to you and can have you if they want you. Its deception and deceit and secret keeping. Its thinking that I am less than, dirty, used and insignificant.

When I started working with my Shaman, Sarah, all of this came up in one of my sessions. I believe she asked me why I felt I deserved to be betrayed. I heard the answer clear as day in my head “sexual abuse” but I shut it out and assured myself that I was over it. I didn’t tell Sarah what I had heard, though I am sure she knew, and instead sat with it for a few days at home before finally telling her. After that I attended a program called “Healing Grief and Trauma”, a program Sarah had designed, aimed at helping people work through the trauma in their life. That program changed my life.

That Year

Three years ago my husband and I took an opportunity to work on a community development project. At least that is how it was described to us. We were going to work with youth from a semi-remote First Nation community.
It was an exciting time for our family, we moved our then two year old daughter, our dog and a few of our belongings from our 4 level split in the suburbs to a 12x60 trailer on the reservation. The next 12 months were perhaps the hardest of my adult life. We faced a lot of obstacles and I was completely unequipped to fully deal with them. Firstly, there was our living situation. For 6 months I felt totally unsafe and worried constantly about the wellbeing of our young daughter. What had we done? Was the salary and the experience really worth the toll it was taking on us? In 6 months our new “home” was broken into 6 times. Once right at the beginning of our stay when the culprits broke in and stole all of our electronics, throwing our clothes from one end of the trailer to the other. The majority of weekends we tried to leave the community, get a breath of fresh air and center ourselves for the next week but inevitably we would come home and find a window smashed, our food eaten and a mess in our home. We started taking our televisions and anything deemed valuable with us when we left. I worried about what people would be doing with access to our trailer all weekend. Did they spit in our food? Have sex on our bed? I felt violated every time and then had to face the very community (and likely the very culprits) on Monday morning when I returned to work. There was also just the general sense of uneasiness I would feel if we happened to stay for weekends. Sound travelled easily from one end of the community to the other. We would hear parties but be unable to discern where they were. I am sure we heard gun shots once or twice. For the first month I don’t think Hubby or I slept a wink, we were on edge. We were also strategically placed on a busy trail that people frequented on their quads. Who had decided this was an ideal place to put us? Quads would rip by our trailer at all times of the night. The trailer, like most, had the bedrooms set up on either end, with the door in the middle. After the first night we decided there was no way our 2 year old could be at the other end of the trailer. What if someone came through the door? We compromised and either all squished in the bed or Hubby slept alone on the other end. I can only imagine how stressed he was, having to carry the idea of “protector” with him. In what was surely a budget saving move we were given a real “home” to spend the next 6 months in, a teacherage, just outside the reserve. And by outside I mean, a few steps onto the municipal side. Yet it was quiet and peaceful. A completely different world.

And then there was the work. We were sold on this opportunity as a chance to get down and dirty and work in community. Although neither of us are exactly novices when it comes to community work, and working in First Nation communities (Hubby is Cree and I am Metis). We were excited in the beginning, this program was supposed to be innovative, we could build some of our skills and if it worked maybe bring it back home. The “program” was a disaster. I know pilot projects need work but there was basically no program at all. We faced barrier after barrier in our attempts to pull together curriculum, overcome technology issues and make the course work. It seemed every person involved in the project had been sold a completely different story on what its goals and objectives were.  I had a serious distrust of the person who put it all together.

Not that it was all bad. I certainly loved the people in our program. I still do.  But it was a lot to handle all at once. I remember coming back from Christmas break. I was feeling good, I’d had some time away, gotten to see family. I was re-energized. And then we did our welcome back sharing circle. I gladly shared a few of my Christmas stories and then my students started, among 15 of them there was not one happy Christmas tale. Most of it was parties gone awry. I left the circle feeling depleted. And this was a lot of my time spent with my students. One step forward, ten steps back. The drinking, drugs, sexual abuse, physical abuse. The stories would rip my heart out on a regular basis. I stopped feeling and frantically prayed every weekend that none of them would die in a car accident or an overdose or a beating. Thankfully, none of them did.

The isolation was a killer too. I’m a loner. I have only a few close friends, though I am working to get better at it. But we were so isolated. Who could I talk to? I met no one that I could connect with. I remember playing outside with my daughter (because really what else was there to do) when a local mother walked by with her two young children (think under 5). She was swearing something fierce to them, something to the effect of “don’t be so fucking stupid”, followed by about 10 more f-bombs and more put downs. I took my daughter inside.

When we left the community I was but a shadow of myself. Although, I’ll admit, when I got there I think I was at 60%, maybe 50% on my weakest days. There was a lot of pieces of myself that I needed to work on. Maybe the work just sped up my eventual fall. When we left I found myself at my weakest point. Way down in a place I have never been before. I would love to write a narrative about how I went and lived in the bush and was transformed by ceremony and a return to the land, but the truth is that part came much later. When we left I was 6 months pregnant with my second daughter and I was beyond exhausted. Instead of building my relationship with my husband parts of it had been ripped to shreds. I hated everything to do with the community and started to question whether or not I really wanted to continue to work with Aboriginal people and communities. Up till then that had been my one goal in life, my north star. But did I really want to ‘waste’ my time and my energy? It was a lot to think about.

I tried to continue mothering my daughter when I got home but all I wanted to do was stay in bed. I was spent, emotionally and spiritually. And I was incubating another human being. It took me at least a year to get back to feeling 50%. Building on that I found a really awesome therapist and I started connecting to my spirituality. Although I was raised Catholic, church didn’t appeal to me. Instead I found an incredible Shamanic Healer, Mentor and friend whose ceremony and programs have helped me immensely. And here I am. Three years later, (it’ll be exactly three in March) and what a world of difference there is in my life. I am still struggling with some parts. I find marriage and mothering to be hard work. As is finding my “path” in life. I used to refer to our time away as “the worst year of my life” but now I frame it as “transformative”. I still have a lot to process from that time and I haven’t completely gotten over how painful parts of it were. But I’m working on it.
When I started to put myself back together I realized how far I’d put myself on the back burner. Meditation, prayer, smudging, ceremony, friendship and therapy keep me grounded. This is my story. My story of finding myself again, or maybe it was for the first time, and then trying to keep a sense of being centered as I navigate motherhood, marriage, my career and my life.