Past-Life Trauma, Present-Life Drama, and My Energy Healer

Past-Life Trauma, Present-Life Drama, and My Energy Healer

Red Calla Lillies

Apologies for leaving you all on hold after my previous post.

I started this on Wednesday but didn’t finish. I had to get up at 4:40 AM that morning to take my daughter to school for a field trip … I just didn’t have the energy to finish that day.

And the Mueller Report came out on Thursday. #obsessed

And then there were deadlines Friday.

So now it’s Easter morning. There are no kids here this year. That’s divorced life, yo. Joe just went to the grocery store to buy dessert for us to bring to Easter dinner with his family.

He also bought me some lilies. Calla Lilies. “The death flower,” I recall a woman snorting as she noticed the blooms we bridesmaids were carrying in a friend’s wedding many years ago.

But, as I told my stepdaughter the other day, death doesn’t always mean death. We were talking about Tarot cards and how the death card is supposed to symbolize change. In fact, I rather like the death card.

So today, during this day of resurrection, let’s take these Calla Lilies as a celebration of laying the past to rest and starting anew. Believe it or not, all of this relates to my cliffhanger post the other day … buckle in, kiddies. This one is heavy. And hard. And also, as so many of my posts are, a bit “woo woo.”

———-

Let us now rewind to last Monday and my appointment with Therapist #3. Just to make things easier, I want to give her a pseudonym, because it’s too wonky to just keep calling her “the woman” or “the therapist.” Let’s go with Leila.

As I mentioned before, Leila is a licensed therapist with all the appropriate degrees and credentials. Her talents for energy work and other stuff (like, perhaps, psychic ability) started coming out after she was already out in the working world. So our appointment was a mix of what felt like traditional therapy, followed by 20 minutes or so of energy work.

When we were finishing up the appointment, Leila told me about a vision she had of me as a child in another life. And the story she told was so familiar, it knocked my socks off.

In order for it to also knock your socks off, you’re going to need some context.

Yes, I Totally Believe in Reincarnation

Years ago I read a book called Many Lives, Many Masters. It was written by the head of psychiatry at a prominent hospital. The man was an atheist … until he started hypnosis therapy with a patient who kept regressing back to former lives. After each life the woman would die and then go into this weird transition state, where something would come through and speak to the doctor about HIS life. And it was stuff that this woman couldn’t have known. Eventually, the docto came to believe that something supernatural was happening. (If you’re interested in reincarnation at all, this book is such a page turner. I’ve read it several times.)

Not long after I read that book, I had a psychic reading. I asked the psychic if my then-husband and I had any past lives together. She said yes, he and I had been married before and we lived in a harshly cold climate. He went out to hunt one day while I stayed home, and then he never came back. He didn’t die. He just didn’t come back. And I waited for him, not knowing if he was dead or alive.

Later this story would buzz around my brain after we got divorced. It was a fitting metaphor for what happened in marriage #1. My ex-husband had a business that kept him away a lot—a business that I begged him not to start, because I thought it would keep him away from home too much and we had a new baby at home. But he did it anyway.

And so I was home, tending the homestead with one kid and then later with two, while he was out in the world. While he never failed to come back after going out to work, he was not always “hunting” when he said he was hunting, either. Of course, I didn’t find this out until years later.

So that’s the first thing you need to know.

Generations of Absent Men

The second thing you need to know is that is that my family on my mother’s side is defined by the absence of men. There are generations of men who were not present, by choice or by circumstance, or sometimes a convenient convergence of the two.

There was my husband, as mentioned above. Then before him there was my dad, my grandfather, and my great grandfather.

I grew up in a home with an emotionally distant father who was away a lot. He was in the Navy, so whatcha gonna do? It was part of his job to be away. But when he was home, it never felt warm and fuzzy like “Daddy’s home!” Rather, it felt like we had a special guest star visiting the house—and one who was not inclined to enjoy the presence of his boisterous children. We assumed he loved us because he was our dad and he was supposed to, but we didn’t see much evidence other than the fact that he provided for us.

In later years, things got difficult with my dad for reasons I can’t go into here, so the emotional distance expanded. (As I’m once again silent on things that have left giant gashes in my psyche, I can’t help but be amazed at how my mom, my sisters, and I have all rallied to keep the secrets of a dead man who betrayed all of us. It’s the most-fascinating form of dysfunction to hold up the fictional fairy tale of our family for the benefit of the people who would like to continue to revere my father. Someone should do a case study on us.)

My dad died four days before my parents’ 40th anniversary. My daughter was three. She hardly remembers her grandfather. My son never knew him, nor did most of my nieces and nephews.

Similarly, I never knew my grandfather on my mother’s side. He died before I was born.

My grandfather was gone for most of my mom’s upbringing. He drove a truck for a living and one day he just didn’t come home. We’re not sure if my grandmother, who still had five of her eight children at home, ever got a call or a letter saying that he wasn’t coming back.

She did, however, hear from his mistress years later when he got multiple myeloma. My good Christian grandmother went out to the Midwest to retrieve her dying, cheating husband, and brought him home to nurse him through his final years. She never said a bad word against him, according to my mom. My mom and most her siblings got to know their dad while simultaneously changing his bedpan.

And then, just last weekend I found out that my mother also never knew her grandfather on her mother’s side. He died before she was born. I don’t know much about him, other than that he was a traveling preacher.

I started putting all these puzzles pieces together last Sunday. And then Monday I went to the energy healer.

Back to the Present

So … let’s get back to Leila and my cliffhanger. As my appointment was winding up, she told me about something she saw during my energy work.

She said she saw me as a little girl, living in a fishing village with my parents and my siblings. My father was a fisherman and he was gone a lot. One time he went out to fish and didn’t come back. We waited and waited. Our livestock began to starve. We began to starve. Past-me had to beg in the streets for food. My mom died quickly because she refused to eat. My siblings started dying. I was one of the last ones left, but I ultimately starved as well. She said it was pretty awful.

By the time she was done, I was just about ready to bust. “I have something to tell you,” I said, and I recounted the past-life story from the other psychic.

“It’s the same story!” she exclaimed.

It’s totally the same story. And it is in a psychic sense as well as a completely real sense.

So smack my ass and call my Sally.

What Does It All Mean?

What does all of this mean in terms of my friggin’ ADD/ADHD, which is why I went to go see the therapist in the first place? I’m not sure. Therapy, no matter what kind, never delivers a quick win on the first visit.

During the regular/traditional therapy part of my appointment, we talked about my symptoms and how they impact my daily life. She talked about how sometimes trauma before the age of seven can cause ADD. It can prevent brain connections from forming … like those that allow executive function (i.e., the ability to plan, regulate impulses, etc.).

Thinking about it now, perhaps I was traumatized from my dad leaving all the time when I was small. Before the age of seven, we lived near the Navy base in rural Maryland, first in a cabin in the woods (which I saw as an adult … it’s literally sitting there ALONE in the woods like in a horror movie), and then later in a trailer park. Also, my mom didn’t drive until I was a toddler. So if dad went away, we were marooned in the house—my mom, me, and my older sister.

Or perhaps I was sharing my mom’s trauma from her upbringing. Considering the Pact of Codependence between my mom, my sisters, and I, I’d say this is a pretty good assumption.

Or perhaps my issues all stem from a pretty-bad skull fracture I had when I was two. My skull is literally the only bone I’ve ever broken. It would actually be hilarious if this were the cause of all my issues. Here I am, on some epic spiritual quest to cure myself of my deep-seated, soul-level issues, when really, all of it stems back to me falling off a porch as a toddler. That would be the best.

In any case, I can’t figure it all out right now and it looks like I’m committed to this journey for a while. Should be interesting to see what else happens.

Happy Easter to those who celebrate … and also Happy Passover and Happy Whatever-Else-Is-Going-On as well.

Here’s to rebirth.




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Writer/blogger.
Philosopher/raconteur.
New-age smartass.

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