I woke up tired that Sunday. He who shall remain nameless was on the phone obviously with a family member who was in town. I heard him make plans with the person to meet for lunch later that day. instead of greeting me with the happy news of his visiting Aunt, he told me I needed to dye my hair because I was not fit to be seen by his aunt today - looking like crap. I started to cry so he ordered me to “stop crying – stop being a baby.” Then he ordered me to “hurry, get dressed so we can go buy hair dye.” We got into his red convertible, and he drove me to the beauty supply store. We were early - it didn’t open until 11 on Sunday. There was a line forming outside for people waiting to be let in. He continued to berate me – performing rude and deliberately loud enough so that those gathering at the door could hear.
“How could you let yourself go? How was I ever attracted to you? I won’t let you meet my aunt looking like a skunk!”
The door opened; he pushed me out of the car and said “Hurry up! Go get it! We only have 2 hours.” I walked in the store wiping tears - my eyes were blurry as I tried to find the chemicals. Just then a 60ish lady dressed in her Sunday dress approached me and put her hand on my arm and looked into my eyes. She reminded me of the fairy godmother from Cinderella.
This was what she said in a sweet yet firm voice:
“Sister, you don’t deserve to be abused like that. If he treats you like this in public, I hate to think about what he does behind closed doors. Honey, you need to get away from him now.”
She gave my arm a little squeeze. Smiled reassuringly and went on her way. But did I listen? I did not. Instead, I bought the hair dye and returned home. I never did use the dye that day because that was when he decided to throw me out. He started throwing all my things down the stairs, I began picking up my items and putting them in the back of my car. That’s when I heard the voice of the angelic woman in my head again saying: “Sister, you don’t deserve to be abused like that.” I began to feel my courage rise in the moment for the first time. I left by his bidding but I chose to never, ever look back. I began my journey of self healing that day and learned to love my pussy and myself.
That was the year 2000. I was 42, miserable, perimenopausal and alone. The voice of the Messenger inside the beauty supply store was the alchemical fuel for my journey of transformation. This was the exact day I knew there was no going back; no more martyrdom or victimhood for me. There are many stories of my 20-year journey back to wholeness to tell.
My materia medica included (in order):
I re-started keeping a dream journal. I managed to get a bachelor’s degree in psychology 4 years before my dark day of the soul. I had a Jungian professor, Bart, who taught me how to analyze dreams. I have been dream tending ever since 1996.
I found Traci Bautista, Artist, and began reclaiming my creative roots from childhood;
I found Catt Geller, Artist, and learned Cosmic Smash-booking and became a Certified Cosmic Smash-booking Guide;
I found Amber Kuileimailani Bonnici, Artist, and learned Intentional Creativity;
I met Shiloh Sophia, Artist, and became a Certified Intentional Creativity Teacher;
I met Sue Bayley, Artist, and we co-founded the Tangled Tree Tribe Community;
I found Cat Caracelo, Artist, and became a Certified Creative Depth Coach.
I found the Centre for Applied Jungian Studies and earned a post-clinical certificate in Jungian Studies. I also participate in the yearly Secrets of the Golden Flower program there. I plan to continue doing it each year.
I'm now 66 and semi-retired. All the coaching work I do with children and adults is voluntary, or by donation only. I am consciously connecting to the new place I moved to last week. I plan to dig deep and immerse myself with what is going on in my community. I firmly believe every individual can make positive change in the world by getting involved in activities going on within a 5-mile-radius of their place in the world.
This is the first time I've shared a vulnerable true story from my life. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. I just realized I shared nothing about therapies or somatic practices I went through or how and where I learned them.
I’ve got writing to do!
I had to pay lots of money for many years of therapy to be whole again. Is it weird for me to think I might write a teaching memoir that may save humans years of time and big money?
It may be idealistic.
I feel called to try.
Wow. I am gladdened you made your way through that. And it was uplifting how you told it.