Healing

  Healing is so weird, especially when working on yourself.

I'm not just talking the physical healing. It's the mental and emotional, too. It's the ancestral trauma that has followed many lives and lines. It's the bad stuff that happened in this life that we chose to not yet work through. There's so much to healing yourself, it can get a bit heavy.

But it is SO worth it.

I've been working on these many things for a few years now. Each time there is a breakthrough it feels as if I can breathe a little easier.

And how do I know it's working?

Well, one sign is my memories of my childhood are starting to reappear. 

For most of my adult life, if I didn't have a picture to look at, I don't remember my early childhood. Even with pictures, I just relay the stories I've been told with them. Lately, however, more and more actual organic memories have been surfacing. Memories of playing. Memories of friends. Memories of getting in trouble, my first failure, my first trying something to see if I got caught. Those are instances where a camera wasn't around. Yet I can now sense them. After being in the dark for so long, it is an amazing feeling to be able to go back to these.

And what a concept! With so many threads and timelines intermingling in an infinite amount of ways, I still have those memories. I truly thought not knowing was just going to be my normal. 

However it isn't all sunshine. I now have to do more work to get through the things that caused the lapse in memories. I have to face harsh truths about self-inflicted traumas and the reality that I so desperately tried to hide. My whole life since the 7th grade was a lie. It was all to cover truths I hated about myself. It was a negative form of self transformation. It is difficult to face the fact that the reason I had no true friends was because I was so untrue to everyone--family, friends, and mostly myself.

Looking back as a fully formed adult, I can see that it all was a scream for help. Screams that were vastly ignored or misinterpreted. Help that I didn't know how to ask for. Emotions that I didn't understand, and I couldn't communicate to others. I now have many chats with my inner child of teenage years, reminding her that she is loved, safe, and got the help she needed, though for many years too late.

As I grow older, I often reflect on the fact that that phase in life is no longer "most of my life" anymore. My young childhood plus my healing adulthood now takes up more space in this life span. And that gives me a form of comfort that I've always needed.