Breaking the chains and freeing the divine feminine. It begins by sharing my journey into detachment from feeling—a generational cycle of abuse and beliefs that has allowed for the hijacking of the feminine. I am healing these wounds and breaking the cycle now. There is a push towards acceptance of these lifestyles as these shadows come to the surface to be seen and integrated. Pedophilia is being treated as a sexual orientation, and not caring for your children is being considered a lifestyle. As the light shines, so does the darkness in this dualistic reality. Until we heal, integrate, and return to neutrality with love and compassion moving beyond dualistic perceptions, this warping and pain will continue. What I heal in me I heal in all generations. I will share my journey in several parts through this blog over the coming month. It is not easy reading, so if you are a spiritual bypasser, read no further. It will make you uncomfortable, and you might have thoughts that project your shadow towards me. If you are ready to understand how the divine feminine is highjacked generationally from my perspective of experience, read on.
My life experience was based on the duality between being considered a whore or a saint. My experiences in the reactions of others have always been I am either TOO much or NOT enough. As a small child in poverty recruited into modeling and that failed career as a child laborer to becoming a stripper as soon as I turned 18-years-old, I worked toward having enough in and out of jobs as a teen mother, high school and college dropout, a cycle of life always based in lack. Striving for what I perceived was happiness I worked several jobs over the next 20 years to acquire just enough money for the husband, car, house, inground pool, and children. Until I suddenly got a glimpse, Maslow’s hierarchy is a crock of shit! Maslow never accounts for trauma, and we are a traumatized society, each of us to certain degrees. I recognized that though I had gained these material goods, I was still terribly unhappy, there was still a hole I was using drugs and alcohol to escape. But I needed to understand why. Can we reach esteem and self-actualization without healing our wounds and discovering, reattaching to the true self? NO! Maslow does not account for the fact that we believe we are the story, and that is the biggest missing piece.
In this awareness and unawareness, I continued to plummet into despair over the next few years as I detached further once my doctor prescribed opiates. Yes, my doctor, with his Hippocratic oath, prescribed me hundreds of Percocet when I came to him and said that pain meds helped my emotional pain. I would later find out he was also using pain meds in the same way, let’s call that off label use. My use of opiates spiraled quickly over the next four years, but that awareness and support from a loved one provided the rope I needed to begin my climb out of my personal hell. This brought me to the place where the real awakened journey could begin. This blog is the story shared through the perceptions of a wounded child who finally discovered who she is and continues to evolve into the best version of herself through self-mastery guided by reattachment to the authentic self and the divine feminine.
I am the product of several parents, one biological mother, and a removed bio father then adopted while in first grade by my mother’s husband, all who had dysfunction, emotional and sexual abuse carried with them into my upbringing. The saying hurt people hurt people was created, in reality, they are often unaware of their suffering projected onto others.
My mother was terribly ungrounded and moved a lot, chasing men in my early years. Her parents abandoned her in her childhood years through a lack of protection and acknowledgment of her wounds. They then finalized that abandonment physically by moving across the country and leaving her to care for me alone but provided a roof over her head by leaving my mother their home to reside and raise me. This roof came with strings; she had to perform to their standards. When my mother decided to date an African American male, this represented safety to her; white men had only abused her. Her parents promptly removed that roof and any perceptions of security she had left. Even with my mother being pregnant with a second child from a previous relationship, they abandoned her yet again because she did not perform to their standards. A practice my mother repeated with me and has mastered in her life. The non-racists teachings of her parents did not apply when it was their daughter dating an African American male. My mother’s sexual abuse and abandonment issues would become the foundation of my raising. I would learn the same ungrounded and seeking behaviors.
Please know I do not blame anyone; we are all only doing what we know how to do to survive. I have observed generation after generation repeating the same cycle of wounds. I am bringing light to how our unawareness and survival state of being are continuing the trauma, causing a detachment of the true self. It is only through compassionate and honest exploration that we can change the energy of the systems and creations of belief culturally, and otherwise.
There were several attempts for my mother to become stabilized; we moved all our things into a home only to have it burn down before we began living there. Though we had stayed on and off with my mother’s friend and her child, who was the same age as I. Once homeless after my grandparents kicked her out, my mother and I stayed with that girlfriend longer term. This was not a great scene, my mother’s friend was wildly physically and emotionally abusive to her son, and my ability to perceive someone in pain projecting even at this young age did not sit well with her. She had a rage in her that my mother did not protect me from though I did not receive it as much as her son.
My mother was pregnant when meeting her African American mate, and we shortly moved in together. He had a good job but had wounds of his own, which he escaped through drugs and alcoholism. In a custody battle with my bio father and my sister’s father, the court gave my mother and her African American boyfriend thirty days to get married. My bio father now remarried with two new children, a good job, and all the amenities of life did not want ani infiltration onto or to ruin his new stable life. Then on wife number two of what would be eight wives who fiercely despised me was made apparent through their actions. He made choices based on his upbringing of abuse and trauma as well. Again, a repetitious cycle as his father had remarried and done almost the same thing. Shortly after, he signed his rights away, paid my mother and her husband, and her new husband adopted me, now considered my father on my birth certificate. The girl whose father did not want her became solidified, and I evolved into the white girl with the black dad. I was literally sold and bought for escape money. Like my new father’s ancestors before him, I was a commodity.
I always looked up to him, he was wicked intelligent and often called an uncle tom, he didn’t quite fit in, something he passed on to me. Of all the gratitude I have for him, not fitting into the box was something I truly appreciated. And he was my dad, a man who was a veteran, lost his job due to alcoholism, but fought in his moments of sobriety to finish college obtaining a decent job to care for two white daughters who were not his biological children. I consider this his most significant accomplishment due to his self imposed imprisonment. His own wounds never allowed him to safely attach or trust; he was distant all my life, a prisoner of his own brilliant mind that continues to struggle with alcoholism to this day.
At five years old, we as a family moved to the projects and began living amongst other terribly traumatized people. My mother began allowing me to stay the night at the home’s others. As far as I can remember, my sexual experiences began around five or six years. I would play outside and be gone all day; my mother never knew what I was doing or who I was with. The needs of children did not come first, and I believe that she learned this from her own parents. At five years old, I stayed the night at several friends’ homes; my mother was never caring or concerned. These were the homes of some of the most traumatized and abused of society. Let’s just say they were not healthy people creating healthy environments.
At six years old we met a photographer who took pictures of me when I was in a school play. He exposed my money-making potential as a child model and the relationship with him began as my agent and photographer. Though he was an agent of much more and to this day I am uncertain how my mother did not see that. My mother had experienced sexual abuse by the hands of her brother and was not protected by her parents. The same cycle would repeat as I was sent to stay with this thirty-year-old single man for weeks sometimes months at a time when I was only six years old. This practice would become normal over the next five years of my life.
It was at six years old when I learned how to make that final detachment from my authentic self. This man even in the sexual abuse was caring for me. And he took really good care of me, giving me the stability and nurturing a young child needed. But with everything I had learned so far, it came with a price, and that was the price of my innocence. And at that age, it was not my place to make such choices, yet I was forced to do so, and the trauma cycle continued.
This was the moment my divine feminine became imprisoned within my body and mind. I learned to survive through detachment using my sexuality and distortion of the feminine, a practice I would carry through most of my life. The pattern of behavior and beliefs begin through the experiences. The frequency of this experience would attract its match for many years to come.
to be continued…