Hiding behind the scars.
How do you talk about things that make you vulnerable? That is a question I have been struggling with all my life. I’m guessing I am not alone in that regard.
My childhood was difficult. To put it mildly. Eventually the state had to intervene, but the damage was already done. I experienced many forms of trauma, which have followed me in adulthood.
Oddly enough, I have never had difficultly talking about the abuse I experienced. It is easy to tell people that the woman who adopted me, took pleasure in inflicting corporal punishments for the smallest infractions. I can distinctly remember having my head shoved in a sink full of soapy water, and dirty dishes, because I wasn’t washing them fast enough. Having my dinner tossed in said sink, then being forced to eat it. Having a cigarette put out on my thigh, for daring to go pee before my older sibling. Having my arms, legs and mouth, duct taped while being beat with a 2×4. I no-longer reacted to being spanked with a belt.
I don’t share this with you all for sympathy. Talking about these experiences is so much easier than talking about who and what I am. It’s easy to show my scars. They hide me, and protect me.
They hid me so well, it took me years to understand a very important truth about myself. One that lingered in the back of my mind for as long as I could remember, but I never allowed myself to embrace it. Out of fear. Of what people would say. One that I have only recently allowed myself to realize, and believe. I am a psychic Empath.
I have always been deeply affect by the moods of others. Feeling emotionally drain in large groups of people. Wanting to be social, but also craving more and more alone time, to recharge.
I don’t recall when I started feeling the energies around me. If is something I was born with, or it was something which developed over time. The earliest memory I have of premonition, was in second grade. I tried to hide something, and knew the moment I did, I was going to get caught. I did it anyway, and I got caught.
Over the years, I have experienced many instances where I, inexplicably, was able to know something was going to happen, before it actually did. For example the time my grandma found a 6 pack of Smirnoff Ice in the cabinet in my bathroom. It had been there for weeks. Forgotten all about it. I was literally a mile from home, smoking a cigarette, and I suddenly knew I was going to be in trouble when I got home. I knew she found my stash.
I had always thought my intuitions meant something, but living in the household I did, there was always a scientific explanation. I did not allow myself to embrace or believe what I knew in my heart. I have always been drawn to magic, and Wicca. Reading as much as I could on the subject, but always holding back. Between the “witchcraft is the devils work” mentality of my grandma, and the get your head out of the clouds mentality of my Grandfather; I kept telling myself it wasn’t real in practice. Using it more as tool to help curb the unexplained, an escape into a fantasy where I could allow myself to comfortably explore my gifts. ‘Knowing’ what I was feeling was not real.
Writing, the gateway drug.
My journey really began a few years ago. It started as research for my book. In order to write about magic, I had to understand it. Which is were things really get good.
I started reading about alchemy, healing spells, herbology, and chakras (Because writing a believable character involves extensive research.) While I was still unable to bring myself to actively practice. I began picking up on my own power. Slowly understanding what it meant. Allowing myself to consider that practice was not, necessarily, out of the question anymore.
I am going to take a moment here to explain that I have, and will always be, very practically minded. I base my ideology on scientific facts, and studies. Spirituality is more faith based than fact based. This knowledge makes it hard for me to reconcile these two aspects of my personality. Having always been a skeptical believer, basing my studies on theory not practice. It makes it extremely difficult to wrap my mind around this new part of me. To the point that I litterelly only told my husband, whom I’ve been with for 17 years, about my discovery, last week. And no, he isn’t a believer, but he accepts me and that’s all I ask. I really can’t blame him, I’m 37 and only just now beginning to believe, and I’m seeing it with my own eyes!
So, there you have it folks. This is me, in all my terrified, yet excited, glory. Dropping my shield, and baring my soul for the world to see. Ready to live my life as authentically as possible. Hoping I don’t scare anyone one off, and I haven’t made a huge mistake by sharing myself to this extent.
Thanks for reading!