I am co-facilitating a retreat in February 2027 called “The Home Within”. The idea for the retreat occurred while talking to my daughter on the phone one morning about retreats in general. I started to hear myself express strong opinions and ideas to her on what a retreat that I created would look like. Until then, the possibility of hosting a retreat was there but loomed slightly out of reach; the clear idea appeared through our conversation. I can still feel the exact moment when it happened. Right away my colleague Monti popped into my mind and that same day I messaged her to see if she wanted to co-host. All I knew at the time was that this retreat would be trauma-informed, “guru-free” and focused on reconnecting within. We would be guides, not experts, leading the members through their unique journeys and ensuring safety. In less than an hour, she texted back saying, “Yes!” We decided on a date within days and put a deposit down on a retreat venue in Montezuma Costa Rica for February 22-28, 2027.

Where did the name come from?

The name comes from the idea that we can always find safety, or “home”, inside ourselves, no matter where we are located. When we feel safe within ourselves, we begin to realize who we are at a deep level: what works for us, what doesn’t, what we need in our lives to feel safe and supported, and perhaps most importantly, what messages our emotions are telling us. Another added benefit that comes with cultivating safety within is an increased sense of intuition.

Our retreat company name is called Rest & Renewal. Rest is the first and most important ingredient in healing and precedes Renewal.

Why is it important to feel safe within yourself?

Monti and I both operate as clinicians and as people with the belief that within us all is an “inner healer”; a wise sage aspect of ourselves. We believe that within each person lies the answers they are seeking. The more safe one feels within themselves, the more this “inner healer” potential comes into light. Through life events and trauma - especially childhood trauma - this wise sense can diminish or go fully unconscious until the person begins examining themselves and identifying patterns and thoughts that served them in childhood to stay safe (as in cases of abuse) but as adults they are too limiting. When we aren’t operating from a “safe base” within, then our trauma and old patterns run the show.

How do we build safety within ourselves?

When we begin to cultivate safety within ourselves, we become our own best friend. That’s the easiest way to explain it. We learn how to repeatedly show up for ourselves like a passionate, devoted and honoring partner. For most, this means increasing boundaries and saying “no” to people, situations and dynamics that do not serve us. Learning boundaries is especially critical for those with complex trauma, a population that Monti and I specialize in.

You mentioned “what messages our emotions are telling us”. Can you explain more about what that means?

Yes! Our emotions are so important to our well-being. It is true that if we could go back and see the reasons behind our emotions, they would make sense. Emotions are truly messages from our body and nervous system and indicate how we are doing each day (and more). Every emotion is valid and worthy of examination. Emotions are our guides and work in collaboration with the inner healer.

For instance, “anger” is an emotion that many were taught to ignore or at the other end, indulge. Perhaps in your upbringing you received the message that anger is “bad” or “wrong” ; maybe you learned in a spiritual circle that anger is “unholy” and that you must forgive, despite your feelings of readiness to do so. Maybe you learned that fighting when angry is what keeps you protected.

Where there is anger (or any other strong emotion), there are always good reasons. And these reasons, these “messages”, must be felt, understood and released. When we aren’t conscious of where our emotions originate and why, we fall prey to old patterns that limit us and keep us from living the life we desire.

How does the above information translate into the retreat?

This is our framework for how we view healing and people. The retreat is based on these fundamental concepts that will be incorporated into the experiential exercises we do in the mornings (the afternoons are free!) As guides, we help participants identify and remove what is blocking them from their own deep connection to themselves. The natural setting in Montezuma also plays a role in physically and energetically supporting the healing process.

What does trauma-informed mean?

Being trauma-informed means being collaborative in our approach. In circumstances of trauma, a person’s autonomy has been violated, often repeatedly. Being trauma-informed literally means “do no harm”. We meet and accept each person wherever they are and allow them to make the choice that is best for them. With our trauma-informed position, we reflect back and honor the ‘inner healer”. We believe each person makes the choice that is best for them; there are no required activities on this retreat.

Will there be any down time?

Yes, lots of it! In fact, the down time is where all the magic happens. Our schedule will be meeting as a group for 2-3 hours each morning with the afternoons free to rest, process, socialize or explore the area. There will be one full day of “expanded state breath work” that will last all day but the following day we have the morning off.

What is expanded state breath work?

It is a connected breathing practice that when paired with chosen music can shift brain states into non-ordinary states of consciousness. The practice supports the releasing of emotions, trauma resolution, and deepens personal insights.

Is this retreat based in any religion or spiritual belief?

No. The only requirement is that you arrive at least slightly open to possibilities within yourself.

Are you hosting other retreats in 2027?

Yes, we are also hosting Healing Through Loss of a Child, August 4-10, 2027.

How can we find out more information about these retreats?

Our retreat page is on Facebook and Instagram @restandrenewal. Follow the pages and reach out to us with any and all questions!

In closing, here is a quote that reflects the spirit behind The Home Within:

“The real love story was always you and you. It was how you walked alone and learned what you needed to carry. It was how you began to see through your own eyes, and not someone else’s. It was how you began to dig joy out from beneath your cynicism, how you slowly built your desires into form. It was how you learned what you like and don’t, and what you came here to be. The real love story was always how you opened your heart to yourself.” Brianna Wiest

If you haven’t read The Visitation, Part 1 click here.

I decide to tell our housekeepers, Yerling and Dani. It would feel disingenuous keeping it secret, especially since we have an established friendship and will be in the house together for the rest of the afternoon. We’ve discussed energy and spiritual concepts before and I know the subject is both familiar and natural to them. They listen to my story and inform me that my property is in the middle of a 1 mile stretch in our neighborhood where orbs and celestial bodies are frequently seen. Ahhh, this makes sense. A few months ago, my friend Holly who lives two properties over saw and filmed an orange orb hanging around her home at around midnight. She watched it float around for a while until it pivoted and she sensed that it “saw her”. She stopped filming at this point and went back inside.

It is now mid afternoon. Sandy, who checked to see if others nearby experienced anything unusual, reported to me they all had some kind of sleep disruption during the night: anxiety, paranoia, disturbing dreams, restlessness; one person heard a tinkling glass sound in her kitchen. Whether or not any of it was related to my event is unknown. The friends she checked with all live within 1-2 miles of me.

Fortunately I have no client appointments until the following day, giving me time to spend integrating this unexpected reality. I check for fingerprints and footprints outside and on the sliding door. I don’t notice anything. I am restless, pacing around the house, thinking of more and more questions and details for Yerling and Dani. They report not knowing of anyone who has experienced the beings directly.

The aching sensation in my stomach is increasing as the day goes on. I am able to eat only a bite or two of food. My head feels heavy and overused. I really need to talk to someone to help me sort myself. Lauri comes to mind. She is my brilliant friend who has experienced alien phenomenon several times throughout her life; she is also a spiritual counselor and someone I feel uniquely bonded to. I send her a short text and we wind up talking for 1-2 hours. We take turns listening as the other shares. As I question whether or not I was intentionally hurt, Lauri reminds me that I know what evil feels like. She also offers alternative ways of framing the event and that a healing took place.

As I move through this conversation with her, my anxiety melts as it sinks in that I’m not in danger. I don’t know quite how to explain how I came to this conclusion, but here is my best attempt. During the conversation I begin to feel the distinction between my feelings of violation vs. my gut check on the danger level of the being. I have deep, deep feelings of violation from the unwelcome home invasion AND I do not feel that I was or am in danger. I am able to feel the difference in those two positions when before they felt fused.

Two additional points worth mentioning that reinforce the belief that I was not nor will be in danger. One: I believe that Spencer, my son in spirit, was a part of the experience and I trust that there is a good, albeit unknown reason for it happening. Two: when I told Brooklyn (my daughter), she stated that while the event sounds extremely frightening, she does not feel concerned for my safety. This is significant because Brooklyn worries about me and will let me know if something I do feels dangerous to her, like swimming too far out in the ocean, for example.

I write out a declaration to the alien visitors, something that Lauri suggested to set a boundary. I write: “I appreciate that you would like to be in contact. It can’t happen like last night. It can’t happen inside the house. I require time to rest and recover from last night. My home is my own space and you are not to enter it. I will respect you in the same way.”

Going to bed that first night, I leave more lights on than usual and ensure that all doors are locked. I go to bed late but sleep well. The following day I have work appointments and I am unusually exhausted, as in I am sleeping in my bed in between calls, all day.

Two days after the alien visit, Cherry and Natalie arrive from Texas. We have been close friends since high school. I decide not to tell them about it because I don’t want it to scare them or make the trip uncomfortable for them in any way. Once they are at the airport on the way back to Texas, I send them a text message that I want to schedule a phone call once they get back because I have some news that I couldn’t share while they were here. They immediately text back that they want to know now, so I promise to call them once I finish grocery shopping. In the meantime, I tell them to try and guess what I am going to tell them. Their guesses are pure comic relief, ranging from I am dating or having affairs with various off limits people, I am bisexual, Spencer’s life is being made into a movie, I have a book deal, I am moving to Chicago, I am a professional mermaid…to name a few. Only one guess was warm: there are ghosts in the house. After that, they guessed I was kidnapped by aliens. From there I said, “Almost, but not quite”. They finally guessed it with “aliens in the house”.

In closing out this piece 8 days later, I am a different person than I was before this event, like it shoved me into a new mode of existence. Maybe my soul asked for it, maybe Spencer knew I needed it, I don’t know… but I trust it. I believe Lauri was right about the healing.

**The girls guessed I was moving to Chicago because I introduced them to the song Chicago by Sufjan Stevens; I feel Spencer in it:

“You came to take us, All things go, all things go,

To recreate us, All things grow, all things grow”.

On June 16th, I wake up in the middle of the night to my cat Winnie’s loud meows. She has jumped off the bed where she usually sleeps at my feet and is needing something. Her meows are relentless and I feel annoyed. I notice that Brisket, my young Costa Rican mutt who usually sleeps with me on the bed has also jumped off and is sleeping elsewhere. I feel - awake and stimulated. Moments later I notice that Curly, another furry friend in my bed, is preparing to jump off. I know what that means and I get up to let him outside.

Curly decides to wander out into the yard and is in no hurry. I close the door and notice Brisket sleeping on the couch ottoman. I snuggle next to Brisket as I wait for Curly to appear at the sliding glass door in front of us.

I realize I have to use the bathroom. I walk over to my left into the large bathroom that faces the side yard and pool; it has several screens lining it, allowing the fresh air and jungle sounds to flow in and out. As I stand up, I hear a sound that I have never, ever heard and have no reference for. It sounds like a mix of beeping, tingling, humming and whirring all at the same time. I am sure it is nothing organic. It sounds electric, like a mysterious machine running outside somewhere, out past the pool, I speculate. I stand still, wondering at its bizarre sound. My curious wondering comes to a screeching halt as an ice cold chill races down my spine. The message is crystal clear: get away from the noise, now. I fetch Curly who is at the door and hurry back to my room.

I curl up under my covers and begin talking to Spencer, my son in spirit. “Spencer! I feel so unsettled. Spencer, I feel SO unsettled. What is going on, can you please help me? I don’t feel right, I feel unsettled.” I know that Spencer hears me, as this isn’t a new thing for me to talk to him like this. I know in my cells that he hears me and that he is helping. I drift into a half-sleep.

In this half-sleep state, I find myself out on the living room couch, where I was just sitting a few moments before with Brisket. I am looking down at my lap. As I raise my head up, I see an alien being standing right outside my sliding glass front door. It has skinny arms and legs, a larger head and is wearing no clothing. It looks about 4 feet tall. Red-hot terror plunges through my body as I register what I am looking at (and what is looking at me) and I leap off the couch to my left, never taking my eyes off the being who is still standing there right up next to the glass. I run as fast as I can past the door and into my bedroom, shut my door and curl up under the covers. A few seconds later I hear my sliding door open. A few more seconds later, I hear my bedroom door open. At some point in all of this I hear Brisket barking. I black out.

I wake up in the morning to my alarm. It is light and the sun is shining. I think about what happened. I get up to meet Harry who will be arriving at any moment with my ATV that he took to repair the day before. It is a very short meeting; I feel completely fake talking to him. I return to my kitchen to make coffee. I text two friends and speak to one of them on the phone, telling them what happened. They express support and concern; neither one of them invites me to question what I experienced. One of them messages her friends in the area, asking whether they experienced anything out of the ordinary during the night.

I realize I am extremely dissociated and feel cortisol (the stress hormone) coursing through my body. It is Tuesday. I usually go to aqua aerobics class at 10am. I decide to go, as the teacher is one of my close friends and it would be good to move around to release stress. I call my daughter to tell her the news in the meantime. She is both shocked and interested.

I walk into the hotel where the class meets. I make a beeline to Kali, the teacher, leaning in with a hug and a whisper that I just had an alien encounter; I promise to call her later with details. Her eyes get huge and I see the depth of her concern.

As the class proceeds, the enormity of the event feels more and more - real. It feels as though its heaviness is merging with my body as I dance and twirl in the water. My eyes fill with tears and my stomach feels like there is a gaping, bleeding hole in it. There is no doubt that I have experienced a major violation. I finish the class and quickly say my goodbyes, promising my friend a phone call to explain.

I drive home wondering whether or not to tell my housekeepers who will be showing up within an hour at my house.

Stay tuned for Part 2 of The Visitation.

I am inspired today by an ongoing conversation with a Sister who reached out to me on Facebook after reading a few of my Whispers articles. She and I share a similar history of familial sexual abuse (and more) that was fully repressed until midlife. For the past month, we have been messaging back and forth about how we live, diagnosis/medications, our families, childhood histories, the perpetrators, dreams, therapy, what’s helped and what’s harmed. She, like me, became a licensed therapist after her memories returned. This piece is written in deep gratitude for this rare new connection and to honor the beloved others who are like us. We are truly an odd breed.

There are people like me, whose body contains traumatic memories and experiences that are not corroborated by our families of origin.

There are people like me, who must choose between believing our body’s wisdom or believing the story of our abuser (this is how imposter syndrome develops). Both choices involve a death of what we once thought was true; when we choose to believe ourselves, we also experience a rebirth.

There are people like me, for whom the “facts” of our family’s crimes will never be known.

There are people like me, whose bodies are like haunted houses. We don’t know what scary thing is waiting for us around the corner.

There are people like me, whose experiences scared our professional helpers into unknown territories of human experience; instead of being open and curious, they responded with disbelief.

There are people like me, who wish the helping community understood that our body and psyche respond to trauma in many different ways, extreme states and spiritual awakenings being among them.

There are people like me, whose family foundation was built on lies and secrets we were not allowed to know or speak of.

There are people like me, who have never known true safety inside a family; instead, we learned to cultivate safety within ourselves, paving the way for future safe connections. It happens!

There are people like me, whose history is so fundamentally upsetting to others that we don’t ever talk about it except with our therapists (and in writing).

There are people like me, who can sense a predator a mile away. This is a priceless benefit to healing the nervous system; we become “allergic”.

There are people like me, who due to chronic trauma have become accidental actors .

There are people like me, who told the truth when the memories returned, only to be not taken seriously by our families and friends. When traumatic memories return, the experience sometimes looks extreme, paranormal, or like the person is “psychotic”. We are not.

There are people like me, who have directly confronted our family members about the abuse, only to be told we have imagined it all.

There are people like me, who sense dishonesty and secrets within a person with astonishing accuracy; another priceless benefit of healing the nervous system.

There are people like me, who have learned to trust our bodies over and above what others tell us is true.

There are people like me, who live with a wicked case of imposter syndrome (self doubt). After all, we have been unintentional liars for much of our lives!

There are people like me, who many years ago created a community of helpers within, to compensate for the lack of safety and community in our external lives.

There are people like me, whose family members are criminals and will never face charges for their crimes. In many cases, these family members have good reputations and clean records.

There are people like me, who spend their lives wondering what else they are not remembering about their past…and if anyone else knew what was happening.

There are people like me, who when an old friend of the family emerges, we immediately wonder if they knew about the abuse and whose side they are on.

There are people like me, who wish those we trusted could have kept us safe while holding enough curiosity about our experiences to allow them to happen, staying by our side as we go through them.

There are people like me, who did not mean to know what we know.

“I can feel your presence here with me, suddenly I’m lost within your beauty” lyrics by MercyMe

Transmutation is the process of changing one thing into another. Traditionally speaking, the definition refers to a scientific process such as changing metal into gold. Another example of transmutation is when someone changes their personal pain into… a thing of beauty.

The first time I recall transmuting was during the early stages of a personal crisis nearly 20 years ago. I was facing an extremely difficult and complicated reality that I wasn’t able to fully understand yet. It was a lot to face and there were many unknowns.

The crisis situation involved spontaneously reliving memories of sexual abuse that no one could corroborate. My level of psychic pain was extreme and akin to feeling myself suddenly blasting into a million glass pieces inside. This experience also caused severe internal confusion as I sought an explanation from my family that never came. It was like dying over and over again then being told I was somehow wrong, mistaken.

Since I could no longer trust my family, I leaned way, way, WAY into the spirit world for support. My connection to the spirit world began as abruptly as the memories did, and to the many who were watching I looked “crazy”, yet my well-being today is due to these unusual supernatural experiences and connections that continued long after the initial crisis.

Over the years I relied on my otherworldly connections to remind myself of who I am as a soul; and, despite this life-giving connection, I still had to endure enormous amounts of psychic pain. The spiritual connection did not mitigate or remove this pain; I was still a human being living in a human world with human pain.

An important step in healing involves “facing and feeling the emotions”, including those that may have been tucked away for many years. This aspect of healing is one of the most dreaded, and for good reason. It’s a tall ask for people to feel their own suffering and yet, the only way out is through. Standing in stark contract to my pain, I have felt the other side: the unbelievable beauty, lightness, freedom and endless love that resides there. The juxtaposition of these two extremes created a pathway to transmutation.

My first experience with transmutation was creating scenes in my children’s bedrooms with their toys. This happened within the first 2 years post crisis, during which time I faced the sharpest blows; I was merely an infant in terms of dealing with my familial abuse and betrayal. I felt powerless to the massive spells of both confusion and heartbreak as my loss of innocence was realized for not just myself but for my children; our family was not the family I thought it was. I felt myself simultaneously splitting apart while still showing up as a parent; a seemingly impossible task.

I could not control my feelings of pain. I took an SSRI for depression and anxiety to help offset some of the depth, but the swings of hard emotions continued as I lived more and more into my reality. I was stuck with hard feelings and confusion and stuck with my insane reality. And, I wanted to show up for my two children who gave me purpose, focus, determination and a reason to keep going in my healing journey. Facing my situational realities, I began to learn transmutation, borne out of the most unbearable circumstances and feelings of pain.

I began to create places of innocence in our home. Brooklyn had a collection of teacups. I set up place settings with stuffed animals, dolls and decorations. Every item had its place, and it evoked a sense of playful animation and wonder. Both kids had large collections of stuffed animals. I would arrange them in various places and positions in their rooms and on their beds, as if they were interacting in scenes. I enjoyed spending time in each room, creating havens of safety and visual delight, knowing it would have a positive effect on them. This began my practice of creating something of beauty with my pain and the reassurance that I was still able provide my children with experiences of delight, of imagination, and of innocence.

The transmutation practice expanded over the years to include extra-thoughtful home decorating, a dedicated collage practice, creating alters for specific purposes and people, energetic writing, and becoming, as best I can, a person who restores innocence for myself and others.

I dream of creating an earth world that is as close to the heavenly realms as possible. I am Returning to Innocence.

In this article, I use my own dream example to illustrate how dreams teach us about ourselves. My belief is that all dreams come in the service of our ultimate health and wholeness.

The Zelda in my dream is a character from the 1989 horror movie, Pet Semetery. She is known in horror film genre circles for being one of the most frightening and provocative of characters. I saw the movie as a teenager when it came out in theaters and I remember the scenes with Zelda were terrifying. My friends and I agreed at the time that she was the horror movie character at the top of our list for being “the scariest”.

I have documented and studied my dreams on a regular basis for many years, trusting my “theatrical dream team” to create timely personal performances for me to puzzle out. I keep a journal of my dreams and include as many details as possible: time of day, colors, setting, tone, emotions experienced, clothing, whether or not there is eye contact, sounds, associations with the people and places in the dream, and anything else I deem significant. I also title every dream, as it helps with recall and referencing later.

I have a therapist friend Christina whom I meet with on a regular basis to work through dreams together. Our time is a high point of my week and I always come away from the meetings feeling abundantly inspired and supported; and no matter who’s turn it is to share the dream, both of us gain additional insight about ourselves. I’ve also participated in dream groups over the years and studied dreaming as part of a PhD program in 2015. One of the most impactful statements I took from my dreams professor Jeremy Taylor was this: “A dream never comes to tell you something you already know.” Gulp. What does the scariest of all horror characters want me to know?

On the morning of April 1, I wake up with a surge of fresh energy, curiosity and possibility after my dream with Zelda. I message Christina right away, announcing my “big” dream and how I can’t wait to work on it together. I use the term “big” to mean it’s a dream that feels unusually important and meaningful in its presence.

There are three reasons why this dream feels “big” to me: who Zelda is (described above), what she symbolizes and the date of the dream.

Zelda’s symbolic message is a loud and obvious one. In the movie, Zelda embodies “the family secret”. Grotesque, deformed and bedridden, she is kept out of sight in a back bedroom as she suffers from spinal meningitis. Zelda is the older sister of the character Rachel, who at times was expected to feed and care for Zelda. Zelda dies at age 10 while their parents are out and while Rachel, age 8 at the time, was left in charge. Rachel admits to her husband that she didn’t try to save Zelda from choking that night because she had wanted her to die. Rachel is haunted by this experience and Zelda later returns as a ghost in the movie.

April 1st is an important date for me. 16 years ago on April 1, 2010, I had planned to face my childhood sex abuser in a scheduled therapy session. It was a monumental decision for me and one that pushed me to the very edges of myself. The confrontation did not end up happening that day (he couldn’t make it) yet that date remains a loaded one for me especially as “April Fools Day” (I wonder who the fool is). The session was rescheduled for a week later where he did show up and denied the abuse, as I had expected he would.

Since 2008, I have been experiencing previously buried memories of childhood sex abuse.

Dream title: Being Zelda in a Movie, dreamed on April 1, 2026, journal entry as written in italics

I have the lead role in a horror film as “Zelda”, the character from the film, Pet Sematary. It is my first acting job ever. I am excited and nervous. We are filming in a one story cottage-style home that is unfamiliar but has similar colors and features of my home in Costa Rica. It is daytime. There are many people in the cottage who are working on the movie. I walk inside to make coffee and someone is showing me how to make the coffee but there isn’t time and we are ushered into the living room area of the cottage. I have invited my friend Diana to come watch. I see her across the room and I notice when we look at each other there is some kind of communication breakdown between us that is unspoken. In the next moment it shifts and there is a felt sense of understanding and connection. I am happy she is here with me as she is a source of warmth and connection in the dream. I met Diana when we were in graduate school for counseling together. She is still a good friend today.

Interestingly, I do not realize the gathering is a movie set and that I am the “star” until after this exchange with Diana. I marvel at how I landed an important part as a lead character with no real professional experience; I also feel self-conscious about this fact. I feel confident in my abilities to act, yet am worried about what I will look like on camera in interviews (my face is very expressive and cartoon-y).

As I am preparing for filming to commence in the living room, I find myself standing directly in front of Zelda in the center of the room. We are standing on large gold colored tumbling mats. She is moving in her distinctive manner, hunched over and intense, and we lock eyes, like she is teaching me how to be like her.

I am not scared of Zelda. I feel honored that I have been chosen to play her in this film. I want to know her more. I wake up feeling a surge of energy and excitement in my heart.

Relevant events post dream:

On April 4th I feel the urge to begin writing in my memoir again after weeks of needing to leave it alone due to feelings of overwhelm. I was able to write with ease and minimal discomfort. I feel certain that the dream is helping me prepare for the writing and showing me I have support.

On April 9th after meeting with Christina on the 6th, I venture back into the dream via meditation. I go to the scene where Zelda and I are facing one another. Our eyes meet and we reach out for each other’s hands, looking at one another like long lost sisters. I feel my heart swoon with this clear connection. A feeling of YES comes over me. Connecting with her equals connecting with my most honest writing voice.

On April 10th a previously unconscious memory involving sex abuse bubbles up. Zelda is without a doubt the holder of this memory and represents me, “the family secret”.

On the other side of facing pain is: new energy and creativity.

This post is inspired by a client session yesterday morning who stated through tears that she is “living in recovery”. A discussion about what this means to her followed for the remainder of the session.

My clients remain a constant source of hope and inspiration for me.

What do you think of when you hear someone saying they are “in recovery”? Alcoholism and substance use addiction are common answers. Most people associate the term “recovery” with AA, “working the steps”, etc. In today’s world, the word “recovery” encompasses many things: recovery from domestic violence, child abuse, self harm, eating disorders and codependence, just to name a few.

To simplify what any type of “recovery” means, it is living intentionally to heal wounds and beliefs that keep us trapped in lives and patterns that we don’t want.

I returned to Costa Rica on Monday after being in Texas for 3 weeks. As I’m reintegrating back into life here, a deluge of awareness has burst through, highlighting my growth and how my life abroad IS “living in recovery”.

I would describe myself being in recovery from transactional, draining, objectified, one-sided relationships. This can look like a person not seeing me for “me” due to their own blindness of themselves, or a person does see me for “me” and exploits me. My history includes growing up in a sexually abusive home and being subsequently sex trafficked. I was set up to fail, like many others who grew up in a similar situation. In fact, one of my practicum sites in graduate school was a homeless shelter where I counseled women; without exception, every one of these homeless women endured sex abuse in their home as young children.

Children are by far the easiest population to manipulate and make the perfect victims. When this happens in one’s family of origin, the trap is especially complex and embedded.

Back to life in Costa Rica…

I had a rough first year here. Granted, I wasn’t in the best mental shape as my 17 year old son had just died and I was existing with a giant, gaping hole in myself. I seemed to be a magnet for the most toxic, opportunistic people around. Over and over, I would encounter these people and once I realized what was going on, I took immediate action to end the relationship or at least limit my personal contact with them as much as possible. It was like bleeding out around sharks; they could smell me coming and would lose all control, exposing themselves to me with their projections and entitlement. My reaction to this type of behavior is obvious and painful, like an immediate whack across the face followed by a sick poison feeling that oozes into my chest. There is a recovery time involved after the revealing encounter, ranging anywhere from an afternoon to a few days. I have developed an allergy to these kinds of folks, which is a positive result of my healing.

When we heal ourselves from abuse, we become ALLERGIC to those who have similar abusive qualities such as the need for control, entitlement, and exploitation. The allergic reactions leave no question as to whom and what needs boundaries.

Despite so much negativity, I follow my instinct and buy a home here after living in Costa Rica for 9 months, setting the stage for a huge life shift. My breathing slows down, the stress begins to dissipate, and I can finally begin to experience myself within the natural beauty of my land. I still had a few more difficult folks to encounter, but I had grown wiser and was starting to build something brand new inside of me that until the move wasn’t possible.

Several months later, in the fall of 2023, a new set of unconscious memories of abuse began to surface. I had been living through memories coming back like this for well over a decade, yet these were new and held within them a frightening clarity. Side note: I already knew I had more to remember since I had had glimpses of related memories that made no sense and involved other people I did not recognize. I was also aware of some behaviors and tendencies of mine that did not make sense, indicating a blindness within. Additionally I made the final cut off to an offending family member and within a day or two of me cutting them off, the memories began flooding into awareness. I was finally ready to see and understand the entire picture of what I had lived through as a child. It is my firm position today that had I not moved so far away from where the abuse took place (Austin TX), and completely cut off the offending family member, the recent set of memories would still be buried. If there is one thing I’ve learned beyond all else, it is that our nervous system KNOWS when it’s safe for us to let go. I was, finally, in a safe enough place to know much more.

As I integrated my new (old) reality, I’m simultaneously living into and creating a home from this new “mode” of existing. Homes are always physical and energetic extensions of their owners. My home has become an extension of me - the me who knows the full story of my past - who has endured massive confusion, pain and loss - and now finally knows: Renewal.

The creation of my home is a representation of the me I’ve spent years seeking.

This is my life in recovery. I bow in gratitude to Spencer, my son-in-spirit who lead me here, to the Nature that helps hold all the pain, and to the home that is both my creative outlet and safe haven.

Now I will close this article with the predictable, trite but fitting phrase, Pura Vida. I am living it, in recovery, in Renewal. Namaste.

I completed a journal writing prompt today on “The Gift of Time: How will you use this gift of time today?”

Subscribe now

What follows is my unedited answer to this question as it relates to the death of Spencer, my son in Spirit:

The gift of time. Time is a funny construct for me due to my unique life experiences. I don’t experience linear time like other humans. I like thinking of time in 1 day increments.

Due to my - way of existing - it is easy for me to stop and be in trance, or a state or mode of receiving. It’s a way of stopping time - of stopping the chatter in my head and to be here now. So 5 minutes to me can feel like a little trip to another world, one where I am safe and free.

It is perhaps the most important part of my day: to intentionally connect with Source and receive the ever-present love that is always here for us. It is never a “waste of time” being present. I never regret the practice.

Why do I equate time with presence in the here and now? I think I don’t feel the “pain” of loss as much. It somehow acts as a balm for that - loss.

The Soul Collage card this connects to is Spencer’s death (photo) which is earthly, not spiritual. He exists outside of earthy time - yet within it too because I know he’s still here.

I can’t imagine the day when I can be with him again.

In fact - he is now the person closest to me out of everyone. I pray to him, I ask him for help, and he is present and available in my life. Human life is constricting, and I have so much more of him now - our relationship has changed completely. He has become who I am most intimate with - he knows me best and I’m still learning about him.

I would like to know more about him and all the things he’s doing in other realms. It might boggle my mind to know what he’s capable of.

I can feel his guidance each day. I know he is behind the Spirit Messages I write each morning.

Spencer I think you are making me more Timeless.

Who needs time? We don’t.

Spencer, estoy aqui contigo.

“I am large, I contain multitudes”; a quote from Walt Whitman’s poem Song of Myself. This line is also a foundational theme in the Stephen King short story and movie, The Life of Chuck.

Subscribe now

The condition of DID, or Dissociative Identity Disorder, is what occurs within a person who is being chronically abused by their caregivers. For this condition to occur, a person is extremely young and is living with or is in frequent contact with caregivers/those in positions of authority who abuse them.

Wherever there is a case of someone with DID, it is a clear sign of total community failure.

Community is a basic human need we all have, no matter how big or small it may be. We are spiritually created to rely on and help one another. At the center of every healthy community is the core law to protect children. This need for community does not go away when we are victims of chronic abuse. It manifests inside of us as multiplicity, or the experience of having “multiple selves”.

The manifestation of DID illustrates the concept of community existing within the person. Our community failed us, so, we created one within ourselves. There is even a therapy model called Internal Family Systems (IFS) that proposes that we all have communities within, regardless of a diagnosis of DID, and that healing involves working cooperatively with each “part”. All parts have both a voice and a purpose to be unlocked, utilized and synthesized. IFS therapy can be beneficial for anyone who needs healing.

I was diagnosed with DID in 2011 by my therapist, a psychologist whom I began working with in June of 2009; she is still my therapist to this day. Part of my early treatment included identifying the various parts that existed within me and drawing out my system in a diagram. I have some parts who have names, others I refer to according to their function, feel or emotion. The most significant aspect to my system, and the key to how it all works together, is that it is divided into “Bearers” (as in those who bear the feelings and pain of the trauma) and “Buffers”. Buffers represent my “false” self, whose job it is to act like everything is OK, to smooth it all out. In my diagram drawing, the Buffers are drawn on the right, the Bearers on the left. At the top of the diagram, a spiritual aspect of myself that I identify as a Native American oversees it all. This coordinated structure is to ensure that the pain and truth stay hidden when I am triggered; an intelligent “layering” of my selves that happens automatically. Once the Buffers realize they don’t need to function anymore, they slide away, leaving me with the emotional pain that lasts anywhere from a few hours to a few days, depending.

The most important thing to know about someone with DID is that the entire point of it is to hide and distract from the reality of the extreme trauma. My “outside” community was not safe, so I created an “inside” community that kept everything hidden until such time came when I was safe enough to know more about what happened to me and I was no longer at the mercy of the original community. It is common for those of us with DID to have repressed traumatic memories until mid life.

There is controversy as to whether or not DID is a “real” diagnosis. I believe this skepticism is rooted in keeping the offending authorities and systems from being held accountable, in the same spirit of what is now happening with the Epstein Files. I also believe that most humans don’t want to believe this kind of childhood sexual abuse happens, especially in their own communities; it’s easier for them to not believe us, and that we are somehow confused, crazy, and seeking attention.

I think we all can agree now, with the emergence of the Epstein Files, that we need to create new systems and new communities prioritizing children’s safety first and foremost.

The time is now for our once lost voices to be heard and for communities to help bear what we as victims have carried, alone, for far too long. Only then can we begin to cooperatively rebuild something new, something safer, for our children and for future generations.

Imagine one day that your life as you’ve known it suddenly shatters. Everything you’ve thought about yourself and your family comes into question. EVERYTHING. Take a walk for a moment in my shoes…

Subscribe now

The world begins to go sideways with a few harmless but dramatic supernatural occurrences in 2008. We think our house is haunted. A few weeks later, vivid flashes of disturbing imagery coupled with feelings of terror begin to burst through my brain, causing massive confusion. How can this be true? What I am seeing and experiencing? This happened to me, in my own home? I fight with this trickling awareness and scream at God with all I have to stop showing me.

I just want to know if it’s true or not; I can’t bear to see anymore imagery.

I have never, ever felt fear, disgust and terror like this. I can’t sleep, I can barely eat. Fear is pouring off of me. My family and friends are concerned.

Not knowing where to turn, I first go to my mother. “Something has happened between me and ***” I tell her. I am not met with surprise, concern, care or righteous anger. I am met with victim blaming: Do you remember how you walked around in front of him, in your bikini? Plus a few statements that she didn’t realize were clues.

I am truly alone with this new horrific awareness. And I am deathly afraid of my family. I am an only child.

I latch onto a new female friend who is significantly older than me. She took advantage of my extreme vulnerability and made things even worse.

Talking, talking, talking and more talking in my head begins. Everything is animated. Who is talking to me? And why can I suddenly hear all these voices? Why do I see ghosts? I preferred these voices and ghosts to humans.

I swing between feeling ecstasy and death, all in 1 day. Day in, day out. Think rapid cycling bipolar (only it wasn’t). The ecstasy comes from the ghosts, voices and beings I meet in the spirit world; the death represents what I have lived through and only just beginning to understand.

I have many beautiful experiences of the heavens, of places and beings who are pure and loving and safe. I credit this ability to cross into the other worlds as my #1 resource for healing.

I can’t ever stay in those other worlds….and I slam back down into the depths of my situation, which grows worse and worse with each day. My family continues to put pressure on me to stop with the accusations. We are the victims in all of this, they claim.

Eventually, I find someone. A therapist. My first human anchor. My nervous system can let go little bit more….

….and as trust slowly develops, the real memory work begins. What I experience is both horrifying and clear as a bell. I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that I was chronically harmed and by whom. I begin to relive the pain, the terror, and the realization that I have been a victim for my entire life.

As the years go by, and I relive more and more, I realize - it wasn’t just that one person. Why am I seeing three men standing over me? I don't recognize any of them and I am terrified (turns out this was my very first trauma memory, but I didn’t know it at the time). Another one: What am I doing in a church all dressed up with these men in suits whom I don’t know? Who got me ready? I feel about 9 and I’m in this fancy white floaty dress. I feel important - special - for some reason. I don’t see any other kids around, or even any other girls at all. Suddenly the memory stops and I feel terror.

In 2022 I move out of the country. 1 year later, more memories emerge that involve being drugged and filmed. One memory takes place in the woods: I am in an outside area in the woods with other kids, girls and boys, waiting to be taken to the red plaid blanket where we will be filmed, one at a time, with a partially clothed heavyset man. I know what I am supposed to do; I feel my body responding.

About a year ago, I find out through an old family friend that I went to California with my mother on a trip to Disneyland; I have absolutely no memory of this ever happening. Both she and her mother remember me taking this trip when I was around 11 years old. My friend admitted she was jealous at the time, as she had always wanted to go to visit California. I thought my first time in California was going to see Madonna in my late 20’s at the Staple Center in LA.

The memories I describe here are a few of many, too many to count. Each new realization requires an integration period where I must “sort” the information into my existing memory base. I feel raw and vulnerable often.

I grew up in an upper middle class neighborhood with parents who were active and respected community members. From what I remember so far, the abuse and trafficking happened in central Austin in the 70’s and 80’s near the Texas School for the Blind, in Northwest Hills and in Orlando, Florida. And, I suspect, somewhere in California near Anaheim.

Up until my memories returned, at age 35, my life looked normal, ie. I had a college degree, found meaningful work as a special education teacher, married and had two children. I also had a thriving social life.

In the words of Don Henley, “In a New York minute, everything can change”. My life has taken on this theme.

There is more for me to discover, as I continue to live at the edges of profound suffering and everlasting life. I move between worlds automatically as needed; this is my healing superpower.

I am Returning to Innocence.

“Trapped in a prison, in a prism of light; alone in the darkness, darkness of white” Reflektor, Arcade Fire.

Professional actors make the choice to act. They are choosing to become entirely different people than themselves.

I am an accidental actor. I’ve never acted in anything, not even a school play. And, life experiences forced me to become an actor in order to survive my life. I became an actor without realizing it, created by the extreme circumstances of my life.

Subscribe now

In April of 2008, at age 35, I had what I thought was a supernatural experience that forever changed me from that moment on. I call it the Dream of Three, only it wasn’t a dream. I was reliving something that frightened me so much that when it actually happened I fractured, blocking it out in order to survive. The Dream of Three marks the beginning of realizing the extreme abuse I had lived through as a child. Up until then I considered my life to be pretty standard and uneventful, albeit privileged.
At the time I had no conscious awareness of any sexual abuse. I did have conscious awareness of sexual assault, although I didn’t see it as such until I began to heal. I did witness daily verbal abuse at home and I knew my dad had a drinking problem.

The months that followed the Dream of Three were more of the same. I saw, felt and heard things I didn’t understand including voices, visions, ghosts and paranormal occurrances. I was deeply afraid, paranoid, manic, afraid to sleep, and also…I had never felt so alive in my life. As frightening as the experiences were, they felt…impossibly real.

As an only child, I went to my parents for help in June 2008, hoping for some kind of explanation for the disturbing sexual memories and what I was re-experiencing. The reality I was facing felt inconceivable. I was terrified to face them. I received victim blaming, a few reveals that they didn’t realize were reveals, and more intentional confusion. This pushed me even further into fear and desperation, as no one could tell me anything about what I was remembering. And the memories kept on coming.

Along with the memories and fears that summer came a sudden connection to the “other side”. How did I differentiate between the memories and what was the “other side”? The one very obvious difference was these experiences were positive and healing and provided me with some semblance of comfort and company during the most frightening time in my life. One night not long after the Dream of Three I suddenly woke up to being surrounded by beautiful sparkling female golden beings. I could feel their love and care, in stark contrast to the fear and panic of the memory fragments. These occurrences provided me with moments of felt safety and connection to a benevolence that was absent in my earth life.

The most powerful and dramatic example of these positive “other side” experiences was the sudden arrival of a well-known actor who appeared as an apparition in July of 2008 while I was vacationing with my girlfriends in Florida. Somehow, his presence helped me feel loved, cherished, and like I had a best friend right beside me in this hellhole of a mess. The irony of him being an actor is not lost on me. He represented the outward expression of acting, as a choice; I represented the inward expression, for survival. Like two sides of the same coin.

A conclusion to draw at this point in my story was that I trusted the “other side” world more than my earth world. I was truly on my own in the earth world. I credit these “other side” experiences with my ability to not only survive this life but thrive in it.

Fast forward to 2011. I had been working with a therapist since June 2009 and I was in my first year of graduate school to become a licensed counselor. By this time I’d had many more memories return and had endured several extremely difficult conversations with my parents while in a therapy setting. One day I show up to therapy for an individual session, desperate to ask her a heavy but important question. “Do I have DID?”, I asked her; I had just seen an episode of SVU where I recognized some traits of this in myself. She took a breath in, looked at me square in the eyes and said, “Yes, but that’s not all that you are.” I have an incredible therapist.

This marked the beginning of me realizing my “accidental actor” identity.

DID stands for Dissociative Identity Disorder. It is on the extreme end of the dissociation continuum and manifests in cases of repeated abuse, usually sexual in nature, that began between the ages of 5 and 9. The most important feature to know about DID is that the child is completely trapped - and - is being harmed by those in charge. The child can’t hold both realities of their lives in awareness so one reality must disappear….until such a time occurs where said person has more mental bandwidth and feels safe enough to realize the truth.

DID is a condition (I reject the name “disorder”) that is based on a deeply held need of the person to stay “hidden”, supported by the many other versions - actors - that are created to maintain the illusion of mental wellness. Each actor represents a fracturing event that is experienced like a death.

I will close this article by bringing your attention to the collage piece at the top of the page along with the song lyrics below it, both of which represent my life experience as….an accidental actor.

**DID is not a life sentence and is one of the most treatable mental conditions due to our high degrees of natural openness, suggestibility, and resourcefulness.

Written in gratitude for what may be unseen but is always felt.

Memoir coming soon.

This is not an article about politics. This is an explanation of how trauma healing works and what makes Trump such a divisive figure for trauma survivors.

Subscribe now

I am a licensed mental health therapist through the state of Texas. My area of specialization is complex developmental trauma meaning I support individuals who have experienced verbal, emotional, physical, spiritual, and/or sexual abuse. I have been in private practice for over 10 years and have many trainings under my belt. Additionally, I am a survivor of childhood sexual abuse.

In 2016 Trump announced he was running for president. I watched a few of his speeches and was immediately struck by his initial violent statements like “grab them by the pussy”, his admittance of watching young women undress in the Miss America Pageants, his belief that he could shoot someone in the middle of Madison Avenue and he wouldn’t lose voters, and finally, his public mocking of a handicapped man. Not only does he demonstrate a lack of empathy, he thinks the rules do not apply to him, he is a bully, and he boldly objectifies women.

With each and every statement, Trump is directly showing and telling people exactly who he is. The old adage, “When someone tells you who they are, believe them” applies here in spades. These examples are all indicators of a severely abusive personality.

“At least he is obvious”, I thought then, with a belief that he would never become president making statements like this out in public. “People do not want leaders with such clear character issues. The real monsters are the ones who are much less obvious, who are more diabolical and hidden. At least we know exactly what we are getting with Trump. He will never win.”

I was obviously very wrong.

I began hearing from my clients about the problems that Trump was causing within their families and friendship circles. Another therapist told me at the time that she had 5 couples in her practice who were splitting up over the issue of Trump.

I realized that year that quite a few people around me, including family and friends, did not share this view I had of Trump (I have yet to ever meet a therapist who supports Trump). I tried explaining from both a professional and a survivor viewpoint how dangerous Trump is, over and over again. I simply could not understand how so many people could not see what was so clear to me.

For those of us who have lived through abuse and healed to a certain degree, it is obvious what Trump is. But, how do we know for sure? Aren’t we making a judgment about him without really knowing?

The answer is, NO. Let me explain how healing through abuse works.

The goal of healing abuse is the restoration of trust within the victim. In therapy, we learn how to listen to ourselves and take a consistent safe action on our behalf (like creating a boundary). If the abuse was chronic, and within the family system, this task could take years.

Here is a simplified case example to illustrate:

A woman was sexually abused by her live-in uncle when she was 5 years old. She told her parents when it happened, they believed her, and they made the uncle leave. Her parents did not get her any therapy and her memory of abuse disappears until age 22, when she begins to have flashbacks. She immediately phones her parents and they corroborate her memory.

She and I start therapy to begin processing her new reality. She begins by telling her story, which is no easy task and takes many sessions. With each session, her burden lightens, as both of us are now carrying the story; she no longer bears it alone. As we work together and her trust grows, she starts identifying the emotions and sensations in her body that are connected to the abuse. Each reaction, emotion and sensation is welcomed and examined, none of it deemed “wrong” or “bad”. Over time she begins to connect what manipulation and violation feel like in her body by listening to the cues of her nervous system. She then sets consistent boundaries in order to ensure her safety, eventually restoring faith and confidence in herself.

Through the healing process, and reconnecting to her body’s wisdom, she has learned how to identify a sexual predator with astonishing accuracy. This is the mark of someone who has healed.

By healing our nervous system, we develop an allergy to predators.

As healed people, we know that those with predatory behaviors are not safe individuals. They have arrested development and should not be given positions of power, under any circumstance, despite what they promise…because those promises are simply grooming and manipulation.

Those who have healed from abuse will not betray themselves.

Those who have healed from abuse know who the abusers are.

Those who have healed from abuse are the real threat to Trump.

**Photo taking in Monteverde, Costa Rica in the cloud forest. We traveled there in September for the 3 year anniversary of Spencer’s death.

Subscribe now

I am deep in the process of writing a memoir about my experience with traumatic memory and what happened when previously blocked memories came back in 2008. I am writing from the perspective of myself at the time as I encountered memory fragments, a house haunting, poltergeist activity and several bad influences all at the same time. If that sounds like absolute chaos to you, you are right. It was straight out of a Stephen King horror novel. The name of the book, for now, is The Cage.

I’ve known since 2009 I am supposed to write a book about these experiences. I remember when I felt this in my body for the first time: I am walking up some stairs and the feeling of awareness is so sudden and strong with conviction that I must sit down on the stairs to take it in. This moment of realization demands my full attention.

I didn’t start writing the book for 10 more years. I needed time to “live into” the book. In 2019, I felt the clear motivation to begin. I bought a notebook and began dumping out what was in my brain. I had pages and pages of notes, ideas, quotes, titles, chapter names, song lyrics, and diagrams of organization. I had also saved all my journals that chronicled my healing process. Then Covid happened and all my inspiration went on pause. My life then took an unexpected turn as my teenage son fought addiction and lost in 2022 when he died of fentanyl poisoning (another book to write). It wasn’t until October of 2023 that I joined a year-long book writing program through Booksmith Academy and began the writing process.

What do writing and books mean to me? Reading and writing are my favorite things in the whole world. Starting at 5 years old, I made book after book in kindergarten class. The books had construction paper covers with names like “The Story of the Cat”, “The Story of the Horse”, etc. Each page had a sentence and I drew a picture to go along with it. I have an entire box full of these books I made that year. I was also a self taught reader and was reading chapter books by the first grade. My favorite thing as a child was diving into a story and losing myself in another world. I didn’t consider writing professionally until mid life at age 36 while sitting on those stairs; that was my first instinctual nudge. From 2009 - 2019 I wrote out my pain in journals.

Along with the return of my memories, writing motivation and abilities also appeared.

So back to the title of this piece. How is writing about traumatic experiences different than other non-fiction writing, or fiction writing?

I made the rookie mistake of acting like I was just writing a story and realized this is not the way it works. I became frustrated when I couldn’t consistently dedicate 4 hours in the morning to writing, like a regular part time job. Steven King advocates this approach in his book, On Writing. And, he is talking about writing fiction. Writing about trauma, as demonstrated above in my years-long journey with it, is a unique process that has it’s own - life essence - that can’t be forced. Negotiated, perhaps. But certainly not forced. After all, “trauma” is what happens when our nervous system becomes overloaded and we are required to go beyond our bandwidth of coping. While attempting to force the writing out may yield a bit of writing, it resulted in more mental anguish than anything. And I refuse to re-traumatize myself.

But, isn’t writing about my trauma, re-traumatizing? Yes and no. There is a sweet spot, I’ve discovered.

By 2025 I had figured out how best to write in a way that didn’t result in constant re-traumatization. I managed to write 6 out of 7 chapters by adopting a detached “witness” persona as the writer. I felt pride in my work and wanted some professional feedback. In August I attended a writer’s retreat in Denmark called Hamlet’s Hideaway. It was hosted by two authors, Anja Klemp Vilgaard and Shawna Kenney, plus guest author Tembi Locke. The feedback I received about my chapter was positive, and also - daunting. There were red marks all over the place. They wanted to know more about this, and this, and this! One conversation written in dialogue could be it’s own chapter, they said. They loved it, it left them wanting more, and I could write a whole, 200 page book on the content in this one chapter. “This could be your book”, they told me. I just needed to “set the scene: go way deeper, tell us more about this and this, make us feel like we are there with you. Add some dialogue, SHOW US what you went through”.

GULP! At least it was crystal clear what was next. The feedback landed squarely on my heart and I felt the truth of their words. There was relief knowing exactly what I needed to do. I must take the reader from one event to the next, as if they are right there in it with me. But how?

A few weeks ago, “The Great Routine” revealed itself to me. I commit to just 1 hour a day of writing and/or spending dedicated time with my book. As a licensed therapist, I am used to the focused mental work of 1 hour increments with clients. I also associate the 1 hour time with being in my own therapy. I’ve practiced this for a few weeks now and I’ve been able to keep up with it. What usually occurs is that I end up writing for longer than the hour. And if I only write for 1 hour, I’ve met my daily commitment. I start writing around noon, after having the morning to meditate, read, journal and spiritually care for myself. This way, I am “setting the stage” for my own daily success.

One day, I did flip too far into the past and I found myself in a state of major dissociation due to writing out a very challenging scene. I immediately stop writing and stand up, unsure of what to do next. My head feels dizzy and swollen. I have greyed out and my thinking is hazy. I decide to lie down in my room, as I notice my back hurts. I immediately begin talking to Spencer, my son in spirit, and ask for spiritual help. Moments later, I feel a sudden burst of energy and I sit up in bed. An Ah-Ha moment about the scene bursts through, the fog in my mind evaporating immediately. I am able to return to the writing with a fresh perspective, feeling clear and energized.

I wrap this article up like many others to remind readers that spiritual support is always there, just waiting. It revealed itself to me in 2008 amidst all the chaos and confusion. It remains with me now as I write the memoir. It is there for you, too.

Don’t forget to ask for help.

On Tuesday September 23rd, the lights went out. We suddenly found ourselves in pitch black and couldn’t feel or sense any hope.

Who is “we”? My family and friends who sat in the 299th district court in Travis County Courthouse in Austin Texas.

It was around 5:20pm when Judge Karen Sage entered the courtroom after taking a 5 minute break to deliberate. The floor beneath me dropped away as the judge spoke. I was suddenly in a frozen bubble. My brain scrambled to grasp what I was hearing.

Subscribe now

We had been prepared by the DA for a variety of outcomes but this one, probation only and no jail, was not one of them. Not with the substantial evidence we had: convicted felon, on probation and testing positive 2 hours after selling to Spencer, multiple accounts of bad behavior while in custody, and evidence that he sold fentanyl to a man who died, and was aware of it, just a few months before he sold to Spencer.

One other point. Spencer did not have access to money. He was struggling with substance abuse, and this was one of the limitations we placed on him. The dealer, named Alex, accepted an Oculus gaming system from Spencer instead of money for the drugs.

I hear: “I also know because I have been doing this for a long time, that no number of years that I sentence this defendant to will reduce your pain in any way…Fentanyl is a scourge, and too many young people are dying. I don’t believe that taking a stand on an individual case, though, is necessarily the way to stop that.” said Judge Karen Sage, a direct quote from the transcript.

She continued speaking and what I felt coming from her words was judgement, that we were somehow wrong for wanting justice. She was speaking from a place of moral superiority and her words felt like being “schooled”. Shame and disgust erupted within me and soaked my insides as I realized what she was saying.

I hear: “I am going to sentence you to 10 years in TDC, but this sentence will be probated for 10 years…I am worried. You have messed up a lot before. Ok, I am taking a chance here…”.

My brain could not take in the information. I was hearing the words but my brain moved them out just as soon as they came in. She was going on and on. In slow motion, I looked to my right at Brooklyn, my 22 year old daughter, in confusion. “She means 10 years in jail, right? Isn’t that what she is saying?” Brooklyn is shaking her head, tears streaming down her cheeks and whispers “No jail, only probation”. She was staring down at my lap, not at me. Her deep heartbreak and loss, betrayal and disbelief were palpable.

In that moment, when I realized what the sentence was, a part of me broke. BROKE. It was like getting slapped hard in the face with a wooden paddle, dismembering parts of me as it hit; at the same time, an invisible force shoved me downward into a hellish reality. Alex, who plead guilty to “selling drugs to a minor causing death or serious bodily injury”, was free.

This is When the Lights Go Out.

I heard an official sounding voice asking for anyone wanting to make an allocution statement to please come forward. An allocution statement is a victim impact statement that is made after the sentencing. I looked over at Brooklyn and Hunter, Spencer’s dad. Their cheeks and eyes were flaming red and wet with tears. Hunter stood up first and walked up to the stand. He was speaking through his tears: “I disagree completely with this sentencing. I hope you remember who gave you this chance, it was Spencer. You better say his name every day, and remember him for what he gave you. Say his name! SPENCER!”

Next, Brooklyn stood up as if suddenly animated by some supernatural force and walked, while audibly crying, up to the stand. With shaking hands she unfolded the piece of paper and read her statement that he killed her best friend and listed how her life changed upon losing her brother. She was visibly shattered. I have never witnessed such astonishing bravery. As she walked back to her seat, she happened to glance at the defense attorney to her right who looked right into Brooklyn’s eyes and said, “I am so sorry”.

It’s been over a week now since this hearing and the lights are still out. Our pain and suffering continue from the assault in court. We continue to light candles of hope as we speak up and share.

The story of Spencer, forever17, continues.

There is a fire burning inside each one of us that knows the truth and can sense the truth in another.

When it’s appropriate, I use disclosure when working with clients. This is a practice that first helped me in my own therapy, when my therapist disclosed to me. When I came to her in tears and confusion, disbelief and heartbreak as my first official sexual abuse memory returned, she shared that she too had experienced childhood sexual abuse and blocked out the memory until she was 22 years old. When she told her parents, they confirmed that her memory was indeed correct. Memory repression is REAL. Her disclosure changed me that day, living on in my mind as an important turning point in my own healing. It marked the beginning of me trusting myself.

Subscribe now

Disclosure in therapy breaks the “fourth wall”, dissolving the invisible barrier between therapist and client, making them more on equal footing. Instead of “I have the knowledge you need”, the therapist becomes “I am like you and will join you in healing yourself”. We heal when we work together in collaboration. This is the heart of what’s known as “trauma-informed care”.

Another benefit to disclosure is it offers the client (or listener) the experience of witnessing truth. We can actually FEEL when another is telling us their hard truth. It’s the “I know without knowing the facts” kind of experience.

In stark contrast, vulnerability and hard truth-telling can bring up other, not-so-pleasant behaviors in some individuals. What follows is an example.

I make it a part of my work to be vulnerable and transparent with my clients even before we meet. I provide information about my own healing journey on my website including links to podcasts and interviews where I talk about my experience of living with severe traumatic memory. Sometimes potential clients will ask me questions about my experiences, but not always.

A woman seeking therapy services called me and we set up a consultation call. She described her troubling symptoms that fell into the non-ordinary category (voices, visions, etc.), which is a speciality of mine. As our conversation went on, she inquired about my own experiences with these types of symptoms. I shared a condensed version of my story which included her asking me a variety of questions. The call was on the longer side, lasting around 45 minutes instead of the usual 30 I allot for client consultations. We ended the call without a session scheduled and me promising I would hold an appointment space for the following week open while she decides. After getting off the phone, I noticed I didn’t feel a connection with the woman, and, that isn’t out of the ordinary and on its own doesn’t indicate someone isn’t a fit. The jury was out: it could go either way as to whether she booked an appointment or not. Emotional reactions often run high in that first phone call as people tend to be quite nervous.

After a few days of not hearing back from her, I sent her a message to see if she wanted to move forward with the appointment. She responded several hours later, saying that she would not be scheduling with me due to the fact that I was one of the most inauthentic, phony people she’s ever met, since my story was obviously made up and sounded like it was straight out of a book. Nothing about my story was true, and I had obviously stolen ideas from other’s stories. There were a few more sentences after that, all were assaults on my character.

I instantly felt a familiar poisonous feeling that grew as I took in her message.

I first felt the instinct to defend myself but knew I needed to let my emotions run their course first before making any decisions. In the minutes that followed I shrunk ALL the way down to a tiny little girl who was in major trouble. I felt intense waves of shame: heat shot through my body, freezing me into state of incapacitation and confusion that communicated to me that I was completely wrong and that I was somehow responsible for this woman’s assaultive reaction. This is the conditioning of a chronically abused person. I knew none of what I was feeling was actually true, and yet the thoughts and feelings still crashed down on me like a guillotine, cutting me off from myself, from my own truth. In that moment I had become what she accused me of being: an imposter.

The “imposter” is my arch nemesis and is the thing that I become when I experience a PTSD trigger.

After an hour or two had passed, and I was out of my limbic brain, I had a moment of searing, crystal clear clarity. Neither one of our reactions makes my story any more or less true. Neither one of our reactions changes the reality of what happened to me. Neither one of our reactions changes anything about my truth, about what I lived through. My story is mine alone, regardless of how others react to it, positively or negatively.

I experienced transformation on this day. The year was 2022, and at the time I was in the brainstorming stage of writing my memoir about experiencing severe traumatic memory. The fear of people’s reactions to my book dissolved that day as a sense of fearlessness and of unshakeable ownership of my story was realized.

My belief about this woman was that she was not able to connect with and/or recognize the essence of truth, for whatever personal reason.

I did not respond at all to her message and I blocked her number.

This mockingbird (me) will never stop singing her song.

**This article was written and inspired by the survivors of Jeffrey Epstein who held a press conference today in Washington DC. May justice reign down upon these brave women and all other survivors of sexual abuse.

*This article is written as a follow up to Amnesiac: When a Memory Returns. Please read this article first, as it provides the context for this second piece. To quickly summarize, on July 21 I experienced an unconscious memory returning from early childhood. In the previous article I recount my experience of this event in detail.

Subscribe now

Brief overall context: I have been integrating previously unconscious memories for 17 years, the first of which resulted in a tremendous mental crisis in 2008. Since then, with the help of a therapist and other providers, I have made friends with the experience of memory recovery and integration.

Part 2: It was 1 full week after the memory came back on July 21 before I was able to leave my house and be out in public again. There were two occasions when I made exceptions: once to pick up to-go food, the other to meet with my immigration lawyer who was in town. In both of these instances I was able to do the tasks with minimal discomfort and brain effort. The last thing I needed was to push myself into additional compartmentalization; being out in public or feeling other people’s expectations would have done this. My body’s orders were to be a hermit.

What I needed most was to stay in a safe, predictable environment until my cut wasn’t quite so deep. My recovery could be compared to being physically sick or injured. When we are sick with a physical illness or injury, we stay home, don’t move around much and care for ourselves like a nurturing mother would. This is no different. I was mentally vulnerable and raw. I needed to confine myself to a small, safe space with familiar comforts and care, leading me to the topic of this article, “location as medicine”.

In this specific instance, the safe environment of my physical home was my medicine. I listened closely to my heart and body for what it needed most. I cooked simple, nourishing meals for myself and ordered take-out when I needed more rest. I slept. I watched shows that reflected something about my experience of loss and heartbreak. I swam daily in the afternoons for sunshine, gentle movement and to give my body the experience of weightlessness (I felt like I weighed 1,000 pounds). I wrote. I cried. I snuggled and played with my 5 animals. I erased (most) expectations of myself until I felt less raw; I did all of this knowing that I would, in time, feel stronger and more capable. And I did. On July 28th, I carefully ventured out into public again. My ability to do this was proof that healing had taken place.

Let’s now connect to the larger view of “location”. In November 2022, I relocated to Costa Rica. Less than 1 year later, I began to experience additional memories that added an entirely new layer of understanding to my life and what I had lived through which I now realize could not have occurred had I still lived in Austin. Austin is where all of the trauma occurred as a child. Had I stayed living in Austin I would be living in the midst of my trauma. My nervous system could not relax enough to let go, as the locational triggers and people were too close in proximity. My body, my cells, knew this and stayed in a state of hyper-vigilance.

Unbeknownst to me at the time when I still lived in Austin I was still operating in fight/flight/freeze/fawn. I had discovered some pieces of my puzzle, but not all of them.

I might never have all of them.

Keep in mind that many times we, as amnesiacs, do not know we have “more memories” to integrate.

Costa Rica is known for it’s dramatic healing energy that draws in those who need deep healing. Everywhere there are yoga retreats, wellness centers and medicinal healing ceremonies, and for good reason. The nature is intoxicating and hypnotizing, drawing you into it’s lair where both nature and humans intertwine and exist as one. I understand this now at a cellular level, having lived there for close to 3 years.

When the pain we have is too much for us to hold, Mother Nature can step in. To those of us with chronic trauma, safety is absolutely found in nature.

In order to truly heal, we must identify, feel and process our emotions. What I just described is the core concept of trauma therapy, which is further described as “bottom-up” therapy, meaning it is based in the body and follows the emotional tracking/clues within the body that may show up as visions, auditory sounds, sensations, and feelings of knowing or resonance. These visions, sounds and sensations are important clues and messages from the body about “the story” and clues into what happened and how we were affected. This type of work is only possible when our nervous system feels safe enough to let go. Feeling “safe enough” could result from being in a specific location, connecting with a supportive person, experiencing spiritual assistance, or if you are lucky, all of the above. What do these examples all have in common? They are examples of connecting to “something safe and sentient”, the key to our nervous system being able to rest, listen, release and restore.

I am speaking as someone with extreme chronic trauma, and, this “prescription” applies to anyone who has any degree of relational trauma (physical, sexual and/or emotional abuse).

May you all find your “something safe and sentient” to connect with, be it a certain place, a special person, a beloved pet, a whispering spirit. Healing capacity exists within these living connections.

In a New York minute, everything can change.

These are lyrics to a song by Don Henley on my playlist. It provides inspiration for this post, along with an old friend I’ve reconnected with who lives in New York City.

Yesterday I had a memory return that brought me to my knees. And, this is maybe the 30th or 40th time it’s happened since 2008. This is how I live, as an “amnesiac”. An amnesiac is a way of describing someone who has blocked out traumatic parts of their lives that spontaneously return, most of the time with warning signs.

To catch you up, I went through a crisis in 2008 when my memories began to return. At that point in my life, I was 35 years old and had zero awareness of my sexually abusive past that included not just familial sexual abuse, but also child pornography and child sex trafficking. The memories did not come all at once. For the first 4-5 years post crisis, I was dealing with the familial abuse which if I’m speaking frankly was the hardest to endure. I felt cripplingly unable to tolerate the truth at times. Eventually I became friends with the experience of memory integration. I learned, with the help of an exceptional therapist, how to safely navigate my way through them. I could sense when it was time for one to come through, and I would prepare myself for the ride.

About 5 years after the initial familial memories surfaced, I began to have memories that included other people that I did not recognize, along with instances of being drugged. These unfamiliar, confusing memories caused a great deal of unease and as I tried exploring them in therapy, I broke down and stopped the process, it was just too frightening and overwhelming to take on at the time.

In 2018, I did a Holotropic Breathwork weekend experience. Holotropic Breathwork is similar to taking psylocybin or ayahuasca but instead of using those medicines, you use breathing techniques to induce altered state of consciousness. I was not expecting it to be as intense as it was. It was in this ceremony that I saw visions of being taken places to meet men over and over again, and at the time I dismissed it, as it couldn’t possibly be true. I also had a lot on my plate at the time with my kids that needed my attention and presence.

Eventually, in 2023, after a devastating year of loss when my son Spencer died and an international move to Costa Rica, my psyche and nervous system decided it was time for me to know it all. Additionally, I had identified some behaviors and tendencies of mine that did not make sense and pointed to more trauma and memories not yet understood. In the fall of 2023, I began to relive my memories of being involved in child pornography and sex trafficking.

Back to the present. After a day of speaking with an old friend from childhood on Sunday, whom I made a lot of connections with regarding my past and added additional elements of both mystery and validation, my brain must have felt relief, which opened up more psychic space for another memory to emerge.

So, what happens when a memory returns? What’s it like? I will walk you through my process of this recent memory as I am still currently walking through it 24 hours later:

I am engaged in an ongoing conversation with an old family friend late Monday morning; our parents were friends and business associates. We are messaging back and forth with additional a-ha’s being exchanged. I have also just spoken with my best friend over FaceTime for several hours that morning to give her an update as well. I feel supported, validated and encouraged.

Suddenly I feel very sick in my gut. It is this hallmark “sick” feeling originating in my stomach that signals sexual abuse. It gets more and more intense, and I begin to feel different throughout my whole boy. My arms and legs are buzzing with energy as adrenaline races through them. My heart is pounding fast and I am breathing is rapid. My face burns with heat (shame), I begin to feel dizzy and my head feels swollen. I recall standing at my kitchen sink leaning on my arms and saying to myself, Oh boy, here we go again. Something needs to come up.

I turn around and check in with myself as I sit down at my kitchen table. I have a few commitments and I quickly type out messages telling them I wouldn’t be making it. I begin to talk to myself: How are we going to do this today? Where do we start? I tell my body that I will follow it’s guidance, taking deep breaths in and out. My head is spinning and I am feeling wobbly and like I could pass out.

I turn my attention to what my brain is showing me as I sit down at the kitchen table. I start to see a picture forming. It’s a 4th of July parade. It is bright and sunny outside and there are many people walking through the street, holding flags and dressed in red, white and blue. I see myself with two bobbling, blonde pigtails walking in this parade. I have a red shirt and navy shorts on. I am maybe 3 or 4 years old.

I will not share the rest of the memory but that is where it begins. What follows is frightening as I relive it. I feel my heart burst and shatter in terror. I stand up and begin walking around my kitchen as my tears build up. I grab ahold of a wooden tree post in my kitchen, wrapping myself around it and letting the tears fall as my chest heaves in terror, fear and unspeakable heartbreak. The solid wood gives me something hard and stable for me to hug and I grip it with all I have. After this emotional burst subsides I become spacey, wandering around my kitchen and experiencing what comes next as my body leads me with its positions and sensations. I try writing through it in my journal. 2-3 hours have passed at this point.

My body and inner child are in charge.

After the reliving completes, I end up in my bedroom wrapped tightly in Spencer’s t-shirt blanket as the memory experience fades. Next comes the exhaustion and heaviness. It feels like there is a huge gaping hole in my heart and stomach. I change into a shirt of Spencer’s and stay in my bed for most of the evening. I turn on Homeland, a series I’m watching. Connecting with the intensity and mental challenges of the main character Carrie helps although my focusing abilities are limited. My stomach still aches with pain and emotion but I feel hungry so I bake a sweet potato with butter and feta cheese for dinner. I drink hibiscus and cinnamon tea.

The next day, today, I still feel raw and exposed. I skip my exercise class as that would require me to be cheerful and act “normal” which feels dishonoring to what I just lived through. I also cancel my housekeeping as that too would have required me to compartmentalize. I have two clients scheduled today and working feels grounding and stabilizing. In other memory situations, it is best that I cancel. Each instance is different and requires careful discernment.

The recovery for these episodes is complex and unique each time. The one requirement no matter what is that I honor my body’s needs as much as possible. Sometimes I don’t have the ability to simply shut down my entire day but if I can, and need to, I will. It’s also not something I can casually mention to people to explain my spaciness or forgetfulness. I usually just say I need to reschedule and resist explaining myself.

My wish is that my writing brings awareness and normalcy to a unique set of experiences and aids in de-stigmatizing traumatic memory. It is NOT like the movie, Split!

Do you have more questions regarding memory repression, trauma and recovery? What would you like to know? Please send me an email at lisakay7777@gmail.com and let me know your thoughts. I am writing a memoir and want to hear what you are most curious about. I am also a licensed therapist if you need more specialized help.

Namaste : )

15 years ago I had a supernatural experience in my bedroom that I will never forget, as it’s impact on me was profound. This one experience has laid the foundation for every major decision I’ve made, hard conversation I’ve had, and every relationship in general.

Subscribe now

I was no stranger to supernatural experiences. In 2008 I found myself completely shattered and in the middle of a crisis that included ghosts, voices, angels and buried traumatic memories that were emerging for the first time. The years that followed were a period of integration for me as I sifted through this collusion of trauma and the otherworldly.

At the time of this one experience, I was deep into my healing process. Back then I was meditating for 20 minutes 1-2 times daily and had a consistent journaling practice. I was also in weekly therapy and I was in graduate school for counseling. I was determined to become a counselor who would help others navigate their own pasts, especially if they included unusual factors like mine did. I knew how to sit with others in their own confusion, stay out of judgement, and not jump to solving it for them. I make an exceptional loving witness!

I was also in the midst of having many difficult conversations with my parents at the time. As my memories revealed, I had a past that included chronic sex abuse that until 2008, at age 35, I had no memory of. My parents, despite these memories, held the position that I was somehow mistaken or confused.

Now back to the experience that occurred in my bedroom. It was bedtime and the lights were off. I was absolutely dreading a conversation that was planned for the following day. I remember not having a clue as to how I would even manage to get through the conversation, and I had declared this to myself in my head. I had the TV on to try and distract from the anxiety that this potential conversation produced. I remember being on the floor in front of my bed with either a child or an animal when it happened. Suddenly I felt an abrupt change in the energy around me. I knew what this feeling meant, that someone else was there with me. A sense of anticipation and relief crept in as I felt I was no longer alone. I saw and heard the words, “Be a friend” flash before me like a lit up billboard. The words were bluish white in color and looked like they were glowing. I also felt these words as they washed over me like a warm water rinse that was also happening inside of me. The experience cut through my anxiety and gave me a position, a way to organize myself, in order to get through the difficult conversation.

“Be a friend” is about as basic a statement as it gets, and the feel and presence of these 3 simple words felt like all I ever wanted and needed. For me, what this illustrated is that friendship lies at the heart of all relationships. If there is no friendship that exists within the relationship, the relationship isn’t real or grounded and is based on something shallow (i.e. you make me look good) or false (i.e. when one is dishonest and won’t take accountability).

Much of my healing process has been navigating this very thing: who is and isn’t a friend. Who is and isn’t supportive of me. If a relationship with someone means I must self-betray, that is an indication that there is no friendship.

Due to my abuse history, the most important thing I could do for myself is to be my own best friend, period. That very task lead the way into living a more coherent life, one that reflects who I am.

What does friendship mean to you? Stop and think about this. Who supports you, truly? Who wants to see you succeed in life? Friendship, to me, means mutuality and respect. And if someone in the relationship doesn’t treat you with respect, then it begs the question, is this relationship based on friendship?

I am forever in gratitude for the resources that exist in the invisible world. There are helpers all around us, all the time.

The greatest spiritual teaching of my life is…be a friend.

There is a lot of talk these days about boundaries, and for good reason. Many of us are realizing we didn’t grow up being taught to say “no”, creating a tour de force of people pleasers who are learning this critical skill in middle age. These folks place being liked and accepted by others ahead of taking a stand, either for a cause or for themselves. These are the chronically neutral folks who fear conflict and abandonment and instead opt for being a chameleon, depending on who they are around. I definitely fell into this category up until my mid 30’s. In fact I remember hearing someone talking about me behind my back - physically - saying, “She is so fake. No one is that happy.” And while this stung to hear, they were right. I was not being authentic.

Subscribe now

The popular quote, “You’ve got to stand for something, or you’ll fall for anything” is deep wisdom and a key motivating force in my life. In my case, this specifically speaks to standing up for myself and being clear about what happened in my past. If you don’t know where you’ve been, you are less clear about where you stand, and are more susceptible to manipulation and negative influences. This quote is also why I became a therapist later in life after my memories returned. If we don’t look at our past experiences, where and how we were hurt, we are more likely to repeat them unconsciously.

We have a choice between facing our pain and suffering and addressing it through processing, conversations, boundaries and releasing, or continuing to operate from a place of blindness. In blindness, we are not learning, we are repeating patterns that run us because we can’t see them. This is also why history as a subject is so important. If we are clear about what happened in the past, we are more equipped to make better choices for the future.

Additionally, some of us may feel the emotion of “shame” when we begin to examine ourselves and choices we’ve made. Shame plays a big role in my own healing process, as I learned I had heaps and gobs of it, buried under my (former) chameleon exterior.

Shame is another word for deep embarrassment and is a screaming signpost for where deep wounding lives in us:

Yesterday morning I attempted to walk all three dogs at the same time. On a typical day I only take two together, Anita and Brisket. Brisket is still in a puppy phase and can be a handful. She is also a larger sized dog and I have to stay focused on our pacing. Our third dog, Curly, is older and isn’t great on a leash. Instead of walking him around the neighborhood with the other two dogs, I take him on outings with me where he can socialize. I felt a touch of guilt that morning as I looked at Curly’s hopeful eyes that were asking to come along. I decided to try and take him on the walk. I ignored the gnawing feeling I had that this wasn’t a good idea….and sure enough, it did not work well, and after 10 minutes of trying, I brought Curly home and continued walking with Anita and Brisket. My heart felt broken, my eyes were watering, and I felt shame, dripping and covering my insides; I hear myself saying “I can’t do this”. This event should not have been a big deal, but apparently it was to me, a sure sign of PTSD: my intense emotional reaction didn’t match the situation. I could barely stand myself not being able to make walking our three dogs work. The self judgement was fast and deep.

After dropping Curly back off at home, I continued walking with Anita and Brisket, gaving me time to process and tune back in with myself. Physical activity is one way I help myself work through these moments of trauma. By the time I got back home 30 minutes later, I was regulated and I realized what had happened.

When shame shows up, I know automatically that it’s my inner child, the part of me who couldn’t say “no” and sacrificed herself for everyone else’s needs. I lived without limits and boundaries for many years before realizing what the cause of this behavior was, until my memories returned and I saw the reason why.

So what did I tell myself on the walk? All behavior makes sense when viewed in context. There are always reasons for why we do what we do, it just may not be clear at the moment. I connected with my inner child and the feeling of “shame” she wore that told her she was a terrible failure of a person for having a limitation. I also monitored my breathing and took note of my 5 senses while walking.

The script flipped to “I can’t do this and I feel shame” to “I can’t do this and I feel OK”.

What do you stand for? Do you struggle with being what others want you to be instead of taking a stand? How familiar are you with your own limits? Are you comfortable setting boundaries? Start by standing up for your dog, your child, your friend, a cause…if standing up for yourself is challenging. If you feel discomfort, you may have more work to do around shame and your inner child.

Think about a time when you communicated with someone and wound up overly defending yourself. Or perhaps you fell into agreeableness and silence instead. Consider how you felt after these interactions. Did you feel energized or drained? Frustrated or satisfied? Both of these instances are examples of being invited into a communication hierarchy trap.

When we are invited into a communication hierarchy trap, we either respond with “going over” (arguments and defending self) or “going under” in submission and agreeableness (you are right, I am wrong). We can also physically exit the conversation. There is also one more way: resisting the invitation to go over or under and staying centered.

If I could create a spell to cast for all of humanity, it would be for humans to communicate with one another through the spirit of equality and cooperation instead of dominance or submission. For that to happen, it would mean that communication motivations and intentions would need to be kept in check, along with the corresponding emotions. What an ask!

For some people, words and conversations are a means to wield control over another person or situation. I am not talking about trial lawyers and other professionals whose job it is to persuade and provoke emotions in order to affect an outcome. I am talking about our friends, family and colleagues that we engage with everyday in conversations. Who comes to mind?

Words carry both the vibrations that come with each word’s letters, sounds and meaning, AND the intentions and motivations of the user. Each word has a style of its own: the visual lettering, the way it sounds, and the definition all contribute to the style and “feel” of a word, like ingredients in a recipe. Humans then choose the words that best articulate what they want to communicate, most of the time without much forethought; it is here where the motivations and intentions (the other ingredients in the recipe) come into play.

Keep in mind that we can’t control others, we can only influence, and only then if they are open to it.

I will use myself as an example to illustrate this exercise and concept:

I was invited by a close friend to attend a dinner with several people. One person there has historically caused me to feel “less than” through his communication style, never mind his beliefs and values (which do not match mine). I had nervousness as I approached this occasion, and, I didn’t want that one person to keep me from going to this dinner where several of my favorite people would be. In the past, this person’s communication pattern invited me into “agreeableness and silence” where I give up my autonomy and self expression. I would leave the social event feeling “deskilled”, small and unintelligent. I didn’t like who I became around this person. I dumbed myself down.

I was determined to find a way through the social occasion without feeling unbalanced. I asked for spiritual help and a diagram appeared in my imagination showing he and I in a conversation, where he invites me to challenge him (in defensiveness) or move under him (in submission and self betrayal). I saw the two of us sitting across from one other at a table, and saw the invitation flying through the air toward me. I declined this visual invitation and continued to stay in my place of equality. I said the words, “We are equal” over and over to him which helped me maintain my place of balance. He continued to send me invitations and I continued to decline them stating, “We are equal”.

I went to the dinner prepared and with the above diagram activated from my imagination. The diagram gave me some structure and a plan for the event. The same invitations were extended by this person to me and others. I can only guess what his actual motivations were, and, according to his communication patterns, he definitely was seeking dominance and control. I was able to stay in a place of balance, of equality, as I had made the promise to myself that I would. Nothing monumental occurred during the dinner, with the exception of me staying grounded and in the energetic state of “equality”. I realized that it wasn’t so much what I said, but the stance I silently took, declining any invitations to move from my place of strength. I did respond to some comments with “I disagree”, and that’s the extent of my words to him. I left feeling empowered and energized.

I believe that this style of communication, one where we communicate not from the ego but from the spirit, is a way of honoring one another, a nod to each person’s Spirit Within.

Are there places and people in your life where you could utilize this practice?

The words we use and what our motivations are - MATTER - and affect reality. Resist invitations to engage in verbal warfare.