To The Edge and Back

Photo courtesy of Pixabay

2004

After 12 hours of labour that finally concluded in an emergency C-section, the doctor laid my baby boy into my arms and my entire world smashed down with alarming force.  As I looked down at his flawless skin, my eyes welled up and nothing would ever be the same.

For the five days following my sons birth, I cried.  I cried because I was tired.  I cried because I had just completed the most difficult task of my life, which was giving birth.

And I cried because I realized how fucked up my childhood really was.

As I held my baby, my childhood played out like a movie.  The flashbacks of an angry mother washed over me like waves.

My childhood scenes of being thrown down hallways, and being hit and kicked by my mother, jarred my brain.

Memories of being smacked until I see stars swamped my mind.

The abuses I endured during my childhood, that had laid dorment and I had managed to push down for so long, now bubbled to the surface at paralyzing speed.

I couldn’t breathe and I couldn’t see straight.  Over the next five days as a new mother, I swaddled my baby, kissed his cheeks and whispered a promise into his ear, “I will never hurt you.”

The six months that followed my baby’s birth was a living hell.

I knew I wasn’t ok.  My childhood hung on me like an old, tattered robe.  I knew it was there, but without the knowledge on how to deal with this pain, I just forged forward.  Trying to forget it existed.  Willing it to change.

But slowly, my life started to fray.

Soon, I became riddled with Post Partum Depression so deeply, that I was barely recognizable. The fears I carried of, even accidentally, hurting my precious child created a space for me to close off.  I raised him up with kit gloves, so incredibly cautious never to hurt him.  I was terrified that I would abuse him so I pushed him away.  And my husband away.  All in an effort to push this fear away.

(Don’t get me wrong, I fed him, I nursed him, I rocked him.  I did everything I needed to do.  But I did it all behind a veil of self preservation.  All behind a cloud of fear that abuse would sneak out of me.  So I remained diligent to never get angry or frustrated or tiresome with him)

I had nightmares of someone hurting my baby.  Every whimper or cry, I was on high alert.  I started to hallucinate.

I was terrified and felt dreadfully alone.  And embarrassed and ashamed.  Why couldn’t I do this?  What the hell was wrong with me?

Yet, I kept my promise to my baby… “I will never hurt you”

I went to my doctor, who prescribed me with anti-depressants and I created appointments with a psychiatrist.

I attended sessions faithfully, showing up completely, willing to try anything to keep my promise to my baby boy.  After a year of sessions and meds, I stopped going.  The sessions started to make me angry and I didn’t feel any better at the end of each one.

Sure, the doctor was very nice, yet no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t wrap my head around the concepts of anger management or forgiveness.  For whatever reason, the concepts did not reasonate with my soul.

I know it sounds strange, but I just didn’t “get” it.  No matter how many homework assignments I worked through, I still couldn’t find my way.

That being said, I knew I was better than the year before.  So I quit the sessions.  Moved forward with my life.  I felt that although I hadn’t shed the tattered robe of my childhood completely, I understand the presence of it and had made peace with its presence in the very least.

2010

Medication can be tricky.  Slowly as the years ticked on, my immunity for the drug grew and as a result, so did my dose requirements.  After years of doctors appointments and med changes, I was finally settled in on 300mg of Effexor a day.

And then due to severe night terrors, I was also swallowing 150mg of Trazadone a night to sleep.  I used to joke with the pharmacist that it was my personal tranquilizer.  Within 5 minutes of taking it, I was asleep.  Knocked out cold.  But it was a small price to may to keep the night terrors at bay.

By now, our family had welcomed a second baby into our lives.  Another brown eyed baby boy who was so gorgeous and bright and he just never stopped smiling.

By the grace of god, I had managed to keep my promise to my oldest son “I will never hurt you”  AND, now I had another son to keep the promise for too.

Slowly, the meds stopped working.  I say they stopped working, but the truth is I just started feeling again.  All the childhood stuff started bubbling again, and because I didn’t know how to process that it created severe anxiety.  I was nearly always panicked and shaky and just plain off balance.

Finally, one day, as I sat in my garage smoking a cigarette, I thought to myself, “I wonder if those rafters would hold my body weight. I wonder if I could call it.  It’s been a hell of a run.  I could call it.”

Yet, as I tossed the idea around in my head, my promise to my sons reared up as a reminder.  I couldn’t do that to my babies.  I couldn’t make that their story of their mom.  I had to stay.  I had to keep fighting.  I had to find my way out of this.

So I went back to my doctor.  As he reviewed my chart, I sat with my hands clasped, waiting patiently for the little white paper slip with illegible scribbles on it.  My paper of safety.  That little prescription note with a higher volume of meds was going to be my ticket to freedom.

Yet, I was wrong.  That day as the doctor closed my file, my entire life would change again.  And it would never be the same.

As long as I live I will never forget the heated rush of nausea that surged through my body as my doctor said these words to me, “Lana, I cannot give you more meds.  You are on the highest dose of Effexor we can give you right now.  Unless you agree to a psychiatric evaluation.”

My breathe was cut again, big fat tears fell down my cheeks as I tried to grasp what he had said to me.

“I honor your decision here, Lana.  But I have procedures I need to follow.  So in order to increase your medication an evaluation needs to be performed,” he said, yet it was delivered with an intense kindness which only made my tears gush faster.

 

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A timeline was created that day, as it was a Friday, that I would call on Monday with a decision on how I wanted to move forward.  As I made my way out of the office and into my truck that afternoon, a million emotions clouded my mind.

I was angry at mother for doing this to me.

I was angry at myself for not trying harder to be ok.

I was angry at the medical system for their stupid fucking rules.

But more importantly, I was sad for all of us. My mom, myself, my kids and my husband.

Divine Intervention

That weekend by the grace of God himself, I was slated to go to a tradeshow for a home based business I was a part of.  This tradeshow was a Body Soul And Spirit Expo.

I had worked for months for preparation for this show.  Although the show concept seemed quirky, I stealthily maneuvered my business offerings to surround the shows concepts of self love and acceptance.

This show would ultimately change my life.

The public attendance for the show was lower than what one would deem as a successful trip.  Because low attendance generally means lower sales, under any other circumstance, I would be upset with a show of this size.

However, due to the decision I needed to make on Monday, I didn’t have a lot in my tank and was incredibly distracted.  So the slowness of the show was actually a gift to me.

It offered me the time to go and explore the other vendors.  It was during this time that I would meet my first Intuitive Coach.

After about 15 minutes of chatting with her, I had spilled my story about my night terrors.  Because I never shared any of my struggles with anyone, I immediately regretting it and  I outwardly cringed as I braced for judgement.

Yet no judgement came, only a story about past lives and reincarnation.  Which admittedly confused me, however deep inside my soul, I recognized what she was saying.  I could feel it  – I could “get it”

She said as an Intuitive Coach she could help me.  She could allow me to work through all the things that were clouding me.  Hesitant I told her, “I would think about it.”

Upon my return from the show, my husband and I decided to forgo the Evaluation and instead roll the dice on this Intuitive Coach.  While her methods seemed unorthodox and her rates seemed staggering to me at the time, my husband and I both agreed, I wasn’t getting better with current methods so we had nothing to lose here.

The Road Back

For the next year, I would work with my coach every single month.  I wouldn’t miss a session.  She taught me about energy and the laws of attraction and past lives and cellular trauma and manifestation and many other things.

My first session will always be something I hold very near to my heart.  She completed a round of counselling with me. A session that during the entire time, I was literally thinking, “What the hell am I doing – this is crazy”

But then something incredible happened.

Following the session that afternoon,  I picked up my boys from school and day care and they asked to go to the park. Regularly I would say no to such a request, because I was so exhausted from trying to get through the day.  But this day, I agreed.

As my oldest son ran ahead down the walking path, I pushed my youngest in his stroller. And I began to look around and that’s when I noticed — everything!

For the first time in my life, it was like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders.  I could hear the birds in the trees and the sound of the water rushing through the stream.  The wind in the trees was incredibly beautiful.  It was as though I was seeing this all for the first time.

In that very moment, I recall thinking to myself, “Wow! Does everyone see this? Does everyone experience this?  No wonder why people want to live.  This is incredible!”

From that day forward, it was easy for me to continue to work with the methods and concepts she shared.  Not only did I feel better, but they MADE SENSE to me.

Life as an Intuitive Coach

As my time with my coach increased, so did my own personal Intuitive Abilities.  In fact, they became so prevalent in my life, that in October 2012 I opened my very own Intuitive Business.

I have been med free for nearly three years. Not without a lot of work and determination.  The withdrawl of the drug alone was a difficult battle, but as a result I celebrate everyday for the Divine Intervention I received in 2010.

I opened my business for so many reasons, but the main reason is best summed up by my saying this to you:

I get it.  I understand the hurt.  I feel your pain.  I know you hurt so damn bad.  And you don’t want to hurt anymore.  Yet, you have no idea what to do or where to turn or how to fix it. 

I know you are tired and exhausted and can’t understand why everyone can’t just leave you sleep.  It’s not sleep you need, my sweetheart, its freedom.

Freedom of your traumas and pain.  Freedom from your hurt. Freedom from the programs that are running in your brain. Freedom to be you and love you and appreciate you for YOU!

That’s why I do my job.  For anyone who is hurting.  I know how it feels.  I’ve been to the edge and back again.  I promise you, life is meant to be beautiful and incredible and you are meant to have everything you want. 

So I ask you to consider working with me —  an Intuitive Life Coach.  You can book a session with me OR You can find someone else who resonates with you.  Just honor you.  However that looks. 

You are so beautiful and bright and I promise you , your life is as well.  Please allow yourself the gift of reaching out and trying something different.  Because sometimes even if it’s different, we have nothing to lose.

Thank you for sharing in my journey!

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My Apologies for my disappearance…I was abducted

It’s been three months since I hit publish on my last blog post.  A short enough time span that you all remember me (I hope), but long enough that I owe you an explanation.

I don’t owe explanations, per say! I mean, I guess we all go through some shit and schedules shift and what have you.  But I also have remained transparent throughout my blogging time.  So this time will not become the exception.

In order to give you my explanation, I need to share with you a little story.

It’s late fall of 2016. As snowflakes began twirling and falling silently, the first signs of a Canadian winter are becoming present.  And our house took an, albeit united, still very annoyed breathe.

My kids and I are fair weather people.  We don’t mind winter, as long as the sun is shining and it’s not cold.  Which, as many of you know, these such requirements do not bode well for a Canadian winter family.

(My husband, however, loves winter, as it allows for him to ride his beloved snowmobile.  Actually ride it, instead of just walking around it, looking at it and buffing his precious baby, with a diaper)

As myself and my three kids gather around the picture window of our living room and watch the snow accumulate, C actually says “Awe crap!  I hate winter!”  I chuckle, because who am I kidding – we were all thinking it!

And in that moment, I make my kids a promise, which I thought would make a great “pie- in-the-sky” dream for someday.

I say, “Guys, if I make $__,___ dollars per month on my blog, I will buy us a winter house in Phoenix.”

B, forever the accountant says, “What about Dad’s job?”

I assure him, “Dad, could take the winters off and that number I stated would cover everything!”

A cheer erupts in our house and a dream is born.

Now time for the transparency:

For many months prior to this, individuals/companies have been contacting me and stating “When you are ready, I would be interested in advertising on your blog.” and I have placed this information into my back pocket.

So, a few days after I created the Phoenix winter dream with my kids, I sit down and set to work.  Forehead in my hands, which is always how I do my best thinking, I set to create and scheme and plan.  I decide all the avenues and opportunities I could propose to companies and individuals in order to monetize my blog.

I work feverishly, only stopping for smoke breaks, filled with daydreams showing more revenue avenues for the blog.

Four hours later a plan is complete and ready for action.  All possible scenarios have been devised and a general revenue plan has been reached.  So it becomes time for the add up.  I sit with calculator in hand and add up all the avenues and revenues I have created.

And then something happened.

As I pressed the equals sign, and my projected monthly grand total flashed across the tiny screen, my body jolted!

I had it.

The number I stated to my kids days earlier, I had it.  In fact, I had it ALL – PLUS an ADDITIONAL $80!

It took me a minute to realize what that meant, that we could have it.  Plus we could have MORE than that.  This monetization plan I created wasn’t spectacular.  In truth, it was incredibly basic.  Nothing mind blowing or difficult to obtain, if I can be brutally honest.

I’m not saying it wasn’t spectacular so you can tell me it was, instead I’m saying it wasn’t spectacular because, to me, it was just basic common sense ad placement and revenue opportunities.

Nothing a standard business person wouldn’t figure out too.

In fact, the monetization plan made so much damn sense, that I knew it would actually work!

So, I reacted the way I always do.  I gathered the white scribbled up pieces of paper into a pile.

All the projections, budgets and opportunities were now neatly stacked.

And, being the mature adult that I am, I walked into my sitting room, pulled my blanket over my head and hit the brakes – HARD!  I hit the brakes on the blog, I hit the brakes on my dream, on my kids dream of a winter free winter, but most importantly I hit the brakes on me succeeding at something I love and created.

The blanket was so luxuriously safe.  So I snuggled under.  I pulled the blanket tight around my head and my body to make sure no monsters could get at my feet.  And I laid there, telling myself crazy, made up stories about what I actually deserve.

I would tell myself things like:

“Who are you to have that kind of money per month?” 

“You will never commit to that.  Its impossible and as a result, you will surely disappoint someone!”

And my personal favorite (saracasm noted here)

“That seemed way too easy.  You clearly have missed something.  If it was that easy, everyone would be doing it.  You had to have missed something important”

While the world continued forward, and the days turned to weeks and the weeks to months, I stayed under my blanket.  I stayed there so long that my blanket breathe was no longer comfortable.  In fact, it was creating an uncomfortable sweat reaction in my body, much like when I was a child in a blanket fort.

Yet I stayed.

I stayed because now my discomfort was my personal punishment for not following my dream.  My punishment for hitting the brakes.

I know the laws of attraction.  I do.  I can recite to you every single energetic requirement to attract money and wealth into your life.  And I can manifest a plan or sit in the space of creating a dream with very little effort.

I even can tell you that it’s your birth right to have anything you dream.  In fact, I know enough to tell you if you can dream it, it’s already yours, the universe will move everything for you to have it.  You just need to decide that you want it and it’s done.

I know, impressive, right!

My hang up is always the self worth.  The feeling of deserving to have anything you dream.

Don’t get me wrong, I have worked hard over the past six years to grow.  Therefore, I could proudly say, I have a higher self worth than I have ever had!

Even so, sometimes when I’m not looking the lack of self worth sneaks in.  It grabs me around the neck, pulls me from under my blanket fort and forces me into submission.

Meanwhile I’m left trying to remember all the training I took in preparation for this moment.  Much like a shocked mall cop, when he deals with his first aggressive shoplifter, and therefore gets to use his handcuffs for the first time.

Because, still, sometimes even with all the knowledge I have, self worth, takes me down.  Drops me to my knees.  Cuts my breathe and stands over me, staring at me.  Snarling at me.  Hating me.  And making me hate myself.

In the beginning of one of these episodes, I play nice with my self worth abductor, by telling myself it hurts less if I just go along with it. I also say things like, it’s probably for the best this way because that dream would never work.

Slowly though, as the hours tick by, I grow to hate my ugly, angry captor.  So I pray to whomever is listening.  The Universe. Creator. God.  The title is irrelevant, yet the job is the same for all of them. “Help me get the fuck out of here!”

Suddenly I hear a ring tone.  It’s a ring tone, that fittingly is entitled, circles.  A ring tone that signifies help.  It signifies strength and assurance.  Acceptance and love.

I fumble around the darkest, recessed corners of my prison cell, proding and searching for the cell phone that has miraculously found its way to my silent hell.

I furiously pound my fingers on the screen, until the message comes to life.  It’s my  coach, Jodie, with these words:

“Everyone gets scared.  Everyone hits the brakes sometimes.  It’s those who decide to come back to the table that are the truest winners!”

I stuff the cell phone in my pocket, lean against the cold wall of my cell, and devise a plan. A plan of escape. For weeks, I watch the landscape and the patterns, and like a hunter preparing for a kill, I sit silently and patiently, until my opportunity for freedom presents itself.

I eat intuitively, take care of my body, get rest, move and shake and raise my vibration to a place that I know is my normal.  And each night as that bastard self worth checks in on me, I nod and smile.  A fake smile, but it doesn’t seem to notice.

And the day arrives.  It’s time.  That morning, as self worth does it rounds and ensures I am still under the spell. To ensure I’m still it’s prisoner, I lurch forward.  I push hard against the door, as self worth tries to slam it in my face.

I am stronger because of all the things I have done to take care of me and I am able to push Self Worth to the ground.  There is a million things I want to say to it, like to never, ever find me again, but I know my window of escape is limited, so instead I leap over it, run up the rickety stairs and to the front door.

I fling it wide open and run down the sidewalk.  The sunlight hurts my eyes, but still I run as hard and as fast as my legs will carry me.  My breathe is pulling in deep chugs from my lungs. The air rushes my face and tears escape my eyes, I’m terrified, but, damn it,  I’m free.

The escape has happened so fast, that I can’t help, but check over my shoulder periodically.  But it appears  my captor is either not as crafty as I gave it credit, or it doesn’t care that I’m gone!

With shaky knees, like that of a baby fawn, I return back.  Back to my self, back to my kids, back to my house, back to my blog and back to my dream.

With sweaty hands and a rapid heart, I compose a blog post apology.  Because isn’t that what victims do, always apologize first.

As I hit post, I say a silent prayer that my followers will understand.

I also send love to anyone who has been taken down and locked away from the captor that is self worth.

I’m back at the table!  And it’s a huge honor to be back here.  I may not feel like a winner, but I’m gonna try my hardest to be one!

Now, if you will excuse me, I am off to retrieve the white, scribbled papers from the pile in which they were stacked months earlier.  I think they deserve a review.

Thank you for sharing in my journey!

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