Finding my Power

Light in the Hands

I have been thinking about a popular quote by Marianne Williamson the past few days.

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light not our darkness that most frightens us.”

I am a huge fan of Marianne Williamson, so I have heard this quote many times.  And honestly, it has never been my favorite.  I have always found it counter-intuitive.  Who would not want to be powerful beyond measure?  Of course, when I ask this question, I am defining “powerful” using our standard societal norms.  Powerful means money.  Powerful means importance.  Powerful means influence. Continue reading


The Dark Side


Everyone has a dark side.  Of course, some are darker than others.  My dark side is pretty dark.  Countless rapes and beatings can turn a heart cold.  I have known about my anger for many years.  I am comfortable with my anger.  I know how to express it safely.  Nobody gets hurt.  I acknowledge the anger.  And eventually, I am able to integrate those feelings.  And I feel a little more whole.

My latest memories are dark.  After 6 years of recovery work, these memories are exposing a level of rage that even surprises me.  It is definitely not my standard anger.  It is different.  I don’t feel mad.  I don’t feel anything at all.  There is no empathy and compassion.  There is no acknowledgment that others have feelings.  This rage doesn’t care if others live or die.  It is scary.  And it is probably what drives a person to murder. Continue reading

I Forgot What?

Puzzle Mind

A couple of weeks ago, my external life took a back seat to my internal life.  Although my external life is pretty good these days, my internal life is pretty ugly.  It is a series of traumatic experiences with emotions to match.  When it is time to pay attention to the internal life, it means my childhood memories are coming back.  And I had better pay attention.  I had better be ready for some depression, some sadness, some anger that rivals a toddler’s tantrums, some anxiety and some intense exhaustion.  Needless to say, the external life starts to slow down a bit.

Don’t get me wrong, the basic stuff still happens.  The kids eat.  They go to school.  I go to work.  But phone calls get missed.  The emails pile up.  And obviously, the writing just doesn’t happen.  There are entire nights of staring at the wall.  There are a lot of naps.  There are many self-care visits to therapeutic practitioners.  Over the years, I have learned what it takes to face the memories.  These coping mechanisms are critical to my recovery.  If I don’t do them, there will be one result.  I will get sick.  I will get so sick that there will be no external life.  Everything will stop.  And as a single mother, that is simply not an option. Continue reading