I really love writing this book. Writing about the journey I've been on all these years is cathartic, for sure. I'm happy to say that the feedback I'm receiving from the few who have read what I've been able to pen so far is really positive.....
"Good morning. OMG! I grabbed my cup of coffee and the pages you sent me. I was at chapter 5 when I realized I was still standing next to the chair I was going to sit in to read! I loved it, thank you so much for sharing that with me, I’m truly tearing up right now." -- Katie
I'm feeling like I'm on the right track with structure and tone. The story is, well, the story and it's easy to tell. I lived it. As usual, the writing feels channeled in many ways.
What I hadn't expected was the uncovering of more emotional pain. In the past, I've compared repression of abuse to wearing a hundred blinders on at one time. And one by one, they come off as you discover, remember, and feel your way through the healing and memories.
When we first moved to Flagstaff, I had a tough time breathing. And by tough, I mean I couldn't walk briskly without puffing on an inhaler. That wasn't like me. I used to run four miles a day, four days a week when we lived in Los Angeles. I attributed my labored breathing fully to elevation (7K feet) and allergies (pine, specifically) but this was before I came to understand the abuse I endured as a child.
I've written about how I went from having to use an inhaler all the time to pretty much not at all after one hypnotherapy session with Dr. Proiette here in town.
In a nutshell, she told me that the emotion of grief is held in the lungs so she wouldn't be surprised if I would see an immediate change in my lungs after the session. I did. It was mind blowing, especially because I'm so scientifically-minded. Of all the scientific/medicinal treatments I tried prior, this was the only thing that really worked. Until I started running recently, I didn't need the inhaler anymore and it's been four years of living at 7K feet amongst the pines.
Now, four years later, I'm running for the first time since we left LA in 2012. Not just walking briskly, but running. And I'm using an inhaler because if I don't, I'll keel over in the middle of the dirt path. Again, I thought of the usual suspects: allergies, altitude, and maybe smoke damage from living in a cloud of Marlboro Red when I was in the abusive relationship.
Then it hit me: I'm writing this book and processing pain I don't even realize I'm processing. If I carry grief in my lungs, it's settling there again. It wasn't until my soul sister, Egan, brought up the specific holiday that I made another connection. In the abusive relationship, holidays and special occasions were always hard. There were always fights out of nowhere and I felt powerless to NOT upset him no matter how much I tried to not say or do specific things. Sadly, it's a hallmark of narcissistic abuse. July 4th was no exception. And memories of the childhood abuse I endured are isolated to spring and summer months. Again, holidays and special occasions when the whole family would be together. It was relief to put this together.
I'm going to continue to push myself and train for an upcoming 5K but I feel better knowing that I might be able to help release some of the energy that is making it hard to breathe by doing something unconventional, just like I did back in early 2014 with Dr. Proiette.
One blinder fell off today and I already feel lighter. Even when I'm not looking for the answer to a question, it hits me over the head, or in this case, in my lungs. Sometimes it takes the physical intuitive hits for me to make the connection. One day soon, I know I won't be clutching an inhaler as I happily pace myself on on a four-mile run, like I did when we lived in LA.
One day, I'll finally be free of the heaviness of abuse. Until then, it's one blinder at a time.