Timing is Everything (6.13.18)
I woke up this morning and felt like crying which is not “normal” for me. It was raining, therefore I wasn’t motivated to sit out on the balcony and meditate. I used to walk every day, rain or shine, but walking is not an option for me at the moment due to my injury from Goofy at Disney. I felt urged to send information to my parents and brother. The past 2 years have been more challenging for me psychologically, emotionally, physically, and spiritually. I feel like I’ve been going down deeper and deeper into childhood wounds to clear them out intentionally and unintentionally. This work is harder than it has ever been. And I’m a worker bee at healing myself.
I told my husband 2 years ago that I felt like I needed to let my parents know more details about the childhood sexual abuse so that they could better understand the conflict that I live every day. My husband cautioned me to not send the communication, and for whatever reason, I listened to him which was significant, because I typically act on sensations like this immediately. I’ve worked on writing my parents and brother “the email” off and on for the past year or so. I kept getting derailed. Every time I worked on the email, I was addressing yet another physical illness. I was managing another challenge. I wanted the email to be thoughtful, organized, complete. In between the bits of writing, I wondered if the urge to send them this email would go away, disappear, melt, dissolve. Many counselors claim to write letters to express yourself to people and then never mail them. That wasn’t my mission operandi up until that point. I would send the shit.
The #metoo movement surged this past year. I felt huge nudges in my soul to purge more and more layers of shit – pain, depression, anger, guilt, sorrow, rage, shame. One day my daughter Rachel, age 14, who was significantly shaken by the USA Gymnastics story concerning the perpetrator Larry Nassar said, “Mom, you need to tell Nana, Granddaddy, and Uncle Doug the details about your sexual abuse. Sexual abuse just sounds like words. They do not really understand what you went through and they need to ‘get it’.” Gheez. Okay. Thanks for the extra nudge Rachel.
I was planning to address this email during my next writing retreat. The writing retreat has been delayed since January, because I keep putting my immediate family’s needs first. Yes, I matter, but I also have responsibilities as a mother and a wife. And then I got injured by Goofy at Disney in April (sprained pelvis and sprained ligaments – a 6 month healing process) which is requiring a boatload of time and energy to heal. This morning the Universe said, “Enough!” I was guided to send a brief email explanation to my parents and brother today followed by the various versions of emails I had created to them up until today. The emails were not complete. Most of them made sense, but the truth is sexual abuse is ugly. It’s not neat. It’s not organized. My message to them needed to happen and not be tied up in a nice box with a bow on it to express myself to them. Check, check, check. Done. I did it. I sent the shit out and hope and pray that all will be well with my world. I love my parents. I love my brother. I want to have the best relationships with them that are possible. I trust the Universe and hope and pray that God will help me with this next stage of healing. I hope and pray that God will help my mother, my father, and my brother receive this information and learn whatever lessons that their souls need to learn in order for them to heal and to fulfill their life’s purpose in this lifetime. I know for a fact that we are healing generations of dysfunctional energy (i.e., alcoholism, addictions, sexual abuse, psychological abuse, etc.) in our family system. The work is hard. The work SUCKS. And the work is worth it, because LOVE is worth it. God help us everyone.
P.S. My mom sent me 2 emails after receiving “the email” this morning. These notes are precious to me. My mom acknowledged me. She recognized me. She validated me. She told me that she loves me. The healing continues. Thank you God.
P.P.S.S. (Is there such a thing?) I kept hearing the song “Tomorrow” in my head after I sent “the email” this morning. Thank you God. Thank you Angels. Thank you Universe. A-women.