I sat there, in that meditation room, with deepest apprehension. No memories of my life. Nothing good. Nothing I wanted to remember. Despair. Confusion. Others could remember their stuff. What happened to them. How they processed it.
I came up empty every time I searched for it. Just a black hole. Nothingness. It felt good to me. If I would end up a fucking mess like those others why would I want to remember?
Yet, I couldn’t escape what remained hidden. It was the key to everything I was seeking. In that meditation I knew it was not lost, it was not gone, it was not locked away forever. It was right there, in that darkness, in that space, in that cloud that seemed to hover above me and I was reminded of that movie about the bones and the girl who was missing, that one with her being never found and thrown in a swamp…
I was there, like I was her, hovering above and yet in and yet underneath the heaviness of that black cloud, space, whatever it was.
Emotionless, as always, I knew my work, my world, my healing, my life, my memories was inside that darkness. I knew I had to take the journey, that I must unpack it, explore it, see it was in there.
I couldn’t stop it now if I wanted to. I had been peeling back and unpacking for some time. Mindset, thoughts, focus… but not this. I was a master at changing how I felt, switching lights on and off, presenting what the world told me I should be, hiding the scars and wounds and covering up the imperfections, making perfect, making pretend, too scared to look, too frightened at what I’d find, too afraid I couldn’t make it throught it, that I’d end up a robe wearing, bible thumping, can’t function in this world woman.
I was scared I was the one who was drawing the short stick. I wanted to peel it back and lock it away forever all at the same time. I wanted to know and I didn’t want to know.
So I did what I always did. I pushed it away and went on. Too focused on my goals, my aspirations… but the universe had a different plan. I had opened the door, I had the seen there was box of truth somewhere there. I had the keys but refused to use them.
So the universe took away the walls, the house, the blinds, shades until there was nothing left but the box of darkness.
And when I still looked away and make nice, it exploded into the air, laying in ruins everything I had stuffed down. I knew if I had opened the box earlier it would have been easier but I had no one who could teach me this, no one who had done this, no one would knew how to guide me through this, this way, this stuff, this unpacking.
I pieced together what I learned from others. I found new mentors, books, coaches, programs, retreats. I was determined to pick up the pieces. I refused to just sit in the mess and wallow in the pain.
Until that was the very thing I had to let myself do. I had to let the cries out, the sobs, the anger, rage, hysteria. I had to let it bleed, to air out, to let it run it’s course like the infection it was.
As it was destroyed, cried, burned out of me, I remembered things about myself that I had forgotten, I forgot I was powerful, good, vibrant, energetic, capable. I forgot I was a no fucks given didn’t come here to put up with bullshit, leader, change the world change maker.
I remembered that I was born in the pain, born of the fire. The pain didn’t define me, what I did with it defined me. I wasn’t scared of the fire, I was the fire. As I reframe and redefined and understood my experience and why it all happened the way it happened, I stood up.
Spitting blood and wiping my lip, ready to fight for myself, who I am and what I wanted. I was ready to fight for other women, to help them know that the blackness isn’t to be feared, it’s where we lost ourselves, locked ourselves up, where we traded ourselves, denied ourselves, hid ourselves, where were conditioned, made sensible choices, common sense choices, gave up ourselves, gave in, lost our creativity, our instincts, our wildness.
It was not to be feared. It was to be explored, reclaimed.
It was where the truth lived. It was the fear, the punishment, the bad girl, the one who doesn’t conform or listen, the one who needs to be taught a lesson, the one who is too wild for this world, the one who poses a danger to society, to the paradigm. She is the one to be feared, to be hidden, to control and contain for she is wild, unpredictable, not controllable.
The most dangerous creature of all is a woman in her power for she is not owned, she is not fearful, she will not live in a box, under rules and conditions. She will not live your version of good and bad. She will not destroy, she will create. She will not follow, she will lead.
As I unpacked the truth, I realized I believed the lies, the drama. I knew in my heart that I was unfairly treated. I knew I protected myself, gave up my wild ways, put away my fun, the gleam in my eye, the sparkle that was me. I knew I made the right choices, the sensible choices, I gave up my wildness, my free spirit. I gave up me.
Not even for security or promises of being taken care of. I don’t even know why. Naivety? Love. The pairing up and off. The social conditioning. I promised myself I wouldn’t but I did while I was telling myself I wasn’t.
Our ability to look away is profound, to not see, to deny… This isn’t a gift, it’s a curse, a nightmare, that which allows us to give up who we are as though we are second rate and second class citizens, as though we are the problem, the cause, the devil inside of us, as property, ownership transferred from one man to the next.
Looking away doesn’t change anything, it just adds more to the box. And it prevents the wildish instinctual nature from shining through. I don’t know why I kept looking away, making nice – social conditioning I guess. Abuse. Who knows exactly but I do know hiding wasn’t making better but looking deeper and asking better questions was.
As I unlocked deeper truths, more painful experiences, more awareness of what wasn’t real or true and what was heartbreakingly real. And how I filed it away, believing, that it was me that was the fault, believe the constructs, the socialization, the trauma and the blame that if I had been different, if I had heeded warnings, if I continued to just put on my lipstick and smile, instead of opening pandora’s box.
I got more than I bargained for and that’s the fear of keeping me in line. But I don’t line up anymore. I don’t steady the boats or calm the waters. Wild women allow themselves to see the truth, open the box, take the journey into the darkness place because wild woman know that when the call comes, when the knock comes, it’s answer or shatter.
For there is only so long one can deny until it all crumbles down and you have nothing left but the boxes in the closets.
Unpack the truth. Peel back the layers. Air out. Unhide. Reclaim. That’s the way to the truth. That’s the way to the best version of yourself, that’s the way to your freedom, creativity is through the truth you seek you hide and make nice.
Stop making nice. Rock the boats, set the fires, stand in the truth of who you are and what you know. Because once the truth is unpacked from the boxes you will find parts and spaces and deepest of knowing, the deepest intuition, the reclamation of your wildish nature, your divine feminine, your power.
And that, wild one, is worth every step in the dark, every tear in the purge, every scream that releases from your buried, too tired, too angry, too sore, too hurt soul.
As you purge it all out of your system, uncaring what others think or believe, you will stand, too, taller, stronger, vibrant as you take back what you already know and release what holds you back.