“I Hate You!”

I did—I hated her so much. I learned to hate her more every day.

I hated how she valued approval over self-worth and how she let other people treat her. I hated that she put up with that sh*t and never spoke up to defend herself. How she only believed what they told her about herself.

I hated how she saw her image distorted and flawed. The guilt and shame that she carried for others and for herself. How she tortured and loathed herself and her life more with each passing day.

The hate won out in the end.

She had lost her shine and ability to “fit in” with everyone else. I hated her in that moment. I despised everything about her.

Enough was enough. She broke!

I felt a false sense of safety when this occurred. She wasn’t a threat to me anymore. She was quiet and behaving.

To be honest, all I felt was relief.

She wasn’t being treated poorly. People were paying attention to her and loving her. She was being such an obedient young woman. She was showered with positive attention. She was accepted by her peers and her family. And she didn’t have to shine anymore—she could rest easy.

The only issue was, she lost her connection to her soul, and I hated her the most for that.

For she was me. I hated me.

I learnt at an early age to “dull down,” to not stand out for any reason, or:

>> There would be punishment.

>> Love would be taken away.

>> I would be rejected, judged, or laughed at.

>> People would ridicule me for being different.

>> I’d look stupid, or worse yet, called stupid.

Ugh! These were the undoing of my soul and my being, to the point I completely lost myself. I had been devoured and spat out by people and life—or so it felt to be that way in this haze of existence.

It created a vicious cycle of unhealthy ways to self-sooth—eating, alcohol, television, losing myself in work, depression, anxiety, self-isolation—to the point I couldn’t even go outside.

I lost my voice, my direction. People forgot I was even in the room at times. I was slowly fading away into nothingness. I could feel the darkness shrouding over me. It was so heavy. I could barely breathe.

I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs: “Look at me! See me! Hear me! I’m here! Don’t let me die!” Only I couldn’t. There was a huge dark hand over my mouth, my vocal cords felt ripped out and I was weighed down by an enormous boulder. I felt frozen. Dead.

So what did I do? After trauma incident number 100, I fought back. Fought back against the cruel words spoken to me, against my own mind, feelings, and beliefs. What people told me I was and was not. How I saw myself. How I treated myself, and how I was treated by others. I fought back against it all.

In turn, I chose me. I chose my healing. I picked my ass up and I rose!

I then went on to:

1. Create healthy boundaries for myself and with others.

2. Explore my heart and pain a lot (ongoing).

3. Use my voice and have hard conversations.

4. Take accountability for my own actions.

5. Find inner love and build self-worth.

6. Create wonderful affirmative and supportive relationships.

7. Focus on what truly brings me joy.

8. Find my passion and how I am to be of service.

Through these times and the pain that rippled throughout my mind and body, many blessings were received.

They brought me to a place where I learned:

>> To accept myself and others, trust, have faith, and surrender to what is.

>> That there are forces beyond my control and that choice in life is the only control we have.

>> To choose differently and include myself.

>> How to keep my heart open.

>> The extent I am able to read and feel people’s hearts, souls and the true depth of their suffering.

>> My role in service to others.

>> I am beautiful and it’s safe for me to shine my light.

>> How to use my voice.

Most importantly, I’ve learned to love myself again.

It has enabled me to connect effortlessly to my own and other people’s hearts and souls. It has helped me find my purpose and my passion. I feel joy in life and have created my own business.

It has strengthened my relationships, especially the most important one—with me.

Our pain, I’ve learned, is the prize; it’s our trail of crumbs to our freedom. It’s our road to magic and miracles, and it’s priceless. It’s linked to our expansion and purpose.

It’s our phoenix rising from the ashes moment of glory bringing us back to who we are!

I pray for your healing and a victorious resurrection that would make even the phoenix itself jealous.

Together we affect so many others and give them the strength to do the same.

I am grateful to walk this path together. Much love on your journey. Be gentle with yourselves.

In the end, all that matters is how much you loved, and that includes the love you have given yourself.