In order to heal something you have to actually be able to see it first.  Otherwise you don’t even know the sucker exists.  Consciously at least.  Because it’s there… destroying your life.  But you have no idea.  Kinda like an ominous presence in a Stephen King novel…there’s something out there lurking in the dark, creating trouble, but you’ve no idea why.  Till one day during your healing process a Boogie Man jumps out of the dark, scares you half to death, and swipes it’s claws at you.  Wide eyed you stagger backwards, your heart pounding, and you keep repeating, oh my God, oh my God, that can’t be real.  Will it hurt me?  Should I run?…

The worse thing you can do is run.  You have to hold your ground.  You have to get a good look at it in the full light of day while you have your chance.  It’s where you can see how to kill it.

For years I’ve kept things that happened to me sealed up
and stored deeply at the back of the forbidden dark tower of my memories
and in the recesses of my bowels.
Things that happened and how I think and feel.
This is what you do isn’t it?
Your mother teaches you it’s wrong to hang your family’s dirty laundry
out for the whole world to see.
You keep family secrets.
You don’t even speak of them to each other.
It’s a shameful thing.
It’s the ultimate betrayal to so much as utter them alone in the dark of night…

Instead you keep them hidden… in the blackness.
Where they rot and fester.
Where mice infest and they leave stinking excrement everywhere and make nests out of the “dirty things”.
You learn to live with the filth.  The infection that sets in.  The fog in your thinking.  The demons that lurk and shriek sending your emotions out of control when you least expect and steal you of peace and happiness.

I’ve been finding powerful healing through my life couch sessions and classes.  The problem has been that I’ve dug deeply into the depths of unconscious and memory all the while either partially revealing or keeping a safe distance from certain “shut away things”.
Till the !BLAM!…
That’s when I let the vomit fill my mouth and evacuate my gut.
To purge the putrid rotting, infestation.

This tore at my stomach and sent a shutter throughout my system unearthing a good many Pandora Boxes from far reaching hiding places.  These boxes were left on the edge of my conscious and shook with the roar of the monsters that held them.
Their presence has been so frightening that I’ve no choice but to drive myself to find the key to open and unleash them into the world so I might see them for what they were and free myself.

This “drive” produced yet another !BLAM!ming however this time my mother didn’t hear it.  It was urged on by my life coach when he heard their roar.  He knew how to unleash at least some right then… I needed to say things that I hadn’t already.  He encouraged me act as if she were there and this time to call her names.

I tried.  But at first the words stuck firmly in my throat.  I stopped and said, “This is ridiculous I can swear a blue streak when I’m mad and even if I simply choose to, but without my mom even present I can’t do it. “So I took four slow deep breaths, closed my eyes, and tried again.  The words came out slowly, as if trapped by the bowel cramping the proceeds explosive diarrhea.  Then they released and poured out unable to be suppressed.  I called her every name in the book and let her know what I thought of her.  I was surprised to hear some of what I said.

I left feeling better.

But there were more boxes lying there, thundering with the earth shattering anger of the monsters they held…
That’s where I’ll pick up tomorrow…

Night, love ya,
Theresa Jane

“When the summit of life is reached,

when the bud unfolds and from the lesser the greater emerges,

then the “one” becomes two,

and the greater figure,

which one always was but which remained invisible

appears to the lesser personality with a force of revelation.”

I know that my age–45–plays into the deck.  I’ve reached mid-life.  It effects most of us one way or another.  (However I really don’t think one has to reach this mile marker for this to occur.)  But whatever the reason there’s definitely a merging taking place.  There’s an awakening mentally, psychologically, and spiritually.  I’m moving out of the one I was in the past, that was content with less.  That hide and was soaked with fears, doubts, worthlessness, and advancing steadily into the “greater“.  Merging the “two”.  This is deeply important psychologically and is very spiritual in nature.  It also encompasses me moving into the area of my personal power.  My artistic, creative side, and harnessing it.

I have to say I’m thankful.  I’m healing old hurts and issues.  I’m moving past what has held me and kept me defeated.  The results: personal growth, change, transformation, consciousness, an improved life overall and in countless areas.

With all that said it is also one of my top three greatest hopes that it assists me in healing the harm I’ve created with my children.  I would love to have a healthy, loving, excepting relationship.  My honesty is the only avenue I have to attain that.  Ergo the work I’ve been doing with my life coach and the posts here…  Honesty.  Peeling away the layers.  Looking at the yucky that stinks.  It’s only honesty that my kids will hear.  It’s what heals.  It’s what reaches the soul…

Love ya,

Theresa Jane
-it’s now 1 a.m. and the whole time I’ve sat here all slumped, fist under chin, propping myself up, but I did it  post done
-I wish I could remember where I pulled the quote from without going and scanning my books for the highlight that I know I gave it–I mark up all my books with highlighter, pen, and notes.  But I really don’t want to get up and search right now.  So without shifting my body from this space I can fairly confidently say, it was likely from Jung.  If not then it was from “Becoming Woman” a fab book for a woman who wants to come to understand herself psychologically as a woman.

I have a loooooooong history with lying.  Goes back to when I was a kid.  Lying was typically preferred to slaps in the face.  The belt across my legs.  Things like that.  I tried being truthful.  But somehow it just didn’t seem to work as well.  So if I sensed, and I learned to have the razor sharp, keen sense of a lion on the hunt, one of my parents weren’t going to be happy with a truth, I found a lie real quick.  They were happier.  I was happier.  I “wore” less welt marks that’s for sure…Oddly I found I was believed more for my lies than truth.

Then came the day I needed to expand the skill.  Use it strategically.  See when I was a teen I found this guy that made my toes tingle.  We wanted to see each other.

I was 13 he was 19. (I was always very mature for my age, had to grow up quick in my home)
We asked permission.
It was granted.
Things went along super till one day, I think a month and half into it, my step-father decided, game over.  Couldn’t see him anymore.
WHAT!?
“No way, we’ve followed all the rules, he comes to our house a ton…”
He didn’t want to hear it.  “No more…” was the firm and resolute answer.

Well, “No way,” was my resolute answer.  He was the best part of my shit life.  He loved me.  So I took lying to a new level.
I continued on with “Toe Tingler” behind their always very watchful backs…

Got caught once.
The shit hit the fan.  The street.  The neighborhood.  The town.
But I learned.
I learned what not to do.
And never got caught again.
I dated him for years.
The things I got away with right under their nose…That’s some fancy lying.

Then I married.
Not him.  Another guy.
My “ex”.
That’s a loooong story.  (Goes along with my series of posts: Peering Down the Rabbit Hole.  They began here: click here and if you don’t read any other read this: click here.  It’s specifically on the worthlessness I’ve carried and it’s impact.)
This guy, my ex, holds money till it bleeds.
Had to wrangle with him over money all the time.  For basic simple things for the kids, the house… like clothes for instance.
So, viola, whip out the lying/manipulating tool and we’re off to the races.

So.  Four years ago when John1 came up with this “Total Honesty”, let’s call it an “exercise”, so we can create more consciousness, that put me at like 36 years of lying.  What had begun as something that I used for the purpose of survival, had slowly seeped into all areas of my life.   It was littered around in small and big ways.  And a lot of the time I honestly didn’t see or think was even an issue.

So, yeah, this challenge was tough.  Add to it that John can smell a lie like a cat can a rat a mile away.  And well, can’t tell you how many times he hung up on me because I wasn’t holding up my end and being completely honest.  Holding to a shade of a lie like a dog with a bone.  Sometimes consciously, sometimes not.  But god if he didn’t know.  He insisted I see it.  Own it.  I always did.

Eventually…

Yup.
Not good.
Surprised he’s still my friend really.
But that’s what a true friend does.  That is love.  And believe me it is.  If you only knew… I’m a tough nut to crack.  I sort of resemble granite.  But he’s committed to me getting what I say I want.  The same as he wants…  Healing.  To wake up.  To become conscious.

  Happiness.  Peace.  Clarity.  And for me I’ll add: getting a life.  And finding me.  (He did those two for himself, years and years ago, lucky duck)

So back to the show…  Sex Rehab.  Needless to say I watched those people be unbelievably honest, in pursuit of getting their healing.  And that’s the part I admire.  How they just rattled off all their gritty stuff like it was a walk in the park.  I couldn’t help but be moved…

Some say Mozart moved them or a piece of art.  Seeing the Grand Canyon moved others.  Me?  A bunch of serious sex addicts moved me.  Moved me to decide a few serious things in my life.  To really walk out into the middle of the room and get real.  Publicly.  Here in my blog.

That’s what tomorrow is about. . .

Night, love ya,
Theresa Jane
-who’s going to bed and it won’t even be midnight

I could end here, but that would be disappointing.  But I HAVE to tell you something more meaningful.  It starts with this blog…

Becoming Jennie captured my attention straight out of the shoot:   The brutal honesty riveted me to her page.  I’ve been reading her for, what?  A couple weeks now.   It’s her honesty that amazes me.  It’s practically brutal.  She’s on the show Sex Rehab.  I’ve not watched it.  Time is an issue.  Then, well, I’d have to find the channel it’s on.  Those sort of things I put off.  But I did Google it last  night.  I watched clips from the show and was blow away by these people.  Honest to the bone.  Some just zipped the info out without a hitch.  Some were having a tough time.  But all wanted to be free.  And I think I’m remembering this right, all/most want to have a sincere relationship with one person.  But their addiction blocks them.  They destroy that for themselves.  Now I want to watch the show.  That means finding the channel…

After viewing them I sat back gob-stopped.   Marveling.  And inspired.  Why?  I’ve been practicing honesty for something like four years now with John1.  We’re both into awakening/healing/consciousness.  It’s our thing.  So we work together.  Read books and discuss them.  Watch movies, discuss them.  Dig into our issues.  Talk about them…

He’s like 20 miles ahead of me so he ultimately helps me more in some ways.  But we both benefit.  Well one day he came up with this new “thing” for us to strive for: absolute honesty with each other.  I’m talking the unveiled, all the time, sort of honesty.  Honesty that can hurt.  I saw the value and agreed…bush baby has this been tough to get to.  Harder for me than him.  Nothing like having a friend hold my feet to the fire!  There’s been tremendous growth.  But first I had to come to see how much I lied.  OUCH.  See, I have a loooonnnnnggggg history with lying…

That’s where I’ll pick up tomorrow.    I’ve always loved television mini-series…

Night, Love ya,
Theresa Jane
-who just looked at her clock and is startled, it’s 4:17 a.m.  eeeeekkkkkkk…

Done a lot of thinking about this.  Drummed my fingers on my desk more than once contemplating it.  Began and scrapped a bunch of prior attempts.  What am I talking about?  The part of my life I only hint at.  You know, you’ve seen the bits trickle into my blog.  Where I mention appointments with my life coach, inner healing work, waking up, becoming conscious, and all those books psychology/spiritual books that are crammed among the chick lit and horror on my Shelfari shelf…–lots of words there I know.  After all this time I myself don’t know exactly how to label this whole thing.

I’ve gone back and forth on this note.  Should I share?  Yes, I should.  Then.  No.  No I shouldn’t.  Well today I decided.  Yes.  I’ll share.  Why?  Well, this journal is about me.  About my journey into the new me–well, really the me that’s always been there, it’s just that she/me/I was on the other side of the looking glass–My trip down the rabbit hole.  My going to ask Alice.  The trek to find me in the newest of terms.  Yes to become… a business woman.  But there is so much more then I put in my “about me.”  That was the tip, hinting at more.

And today begins the “more”.   Especially since I went and did it again, had another stop business day, as I had mentioned I might do yesterday, therefore it must bleed over into my blog making it business free.  The direction was spurred on by the fact that I began my day with an intense session with my life coach.  Making it the logical place to begin this post as well as begin to take you deeper into my rabbit hole.

It isn’t by mistake that my side bar, on my Blogger Blog and under About me on my WordPress blog reads as it does.  And, as a side note, why I didn’t come up with a name for my blog that played off from Alice in Wonderland I’ll never know.  Since I have a looooonnnggg history with good old Alice and white rabbits…

In my life I’ve taken many trips.  I’ve seen a lot of our country on them and then I’ve seen a lot of, well, not our country on others.  During those my eyes were bloodshot, squinting through smoke, and you might hear me say, as I exhaled, through small gasps, “Damn.  This is some good shit.”

Once upon a time I took these trips because, being a kid, I was trapped.  Couldn’t get out of the horrid home that I lived in, so I found other ways to trip on out.  Into other unseen lands where I followed many a psychedelic white rabbit…

Back then Rock and Roll was it for me.  Loved the stuff.  Loved the whole movement it represented.  Had I piled my records from the floor up they would have reached the top of my head and Jefferson Airplane was up there at the top.  Burned holes through their vinyl.  In my mind Grace Slick was one of the greatest female singers of her time.  And her song “White Rabbit” was my favorite.  I never knew why.  I just connected with it.  When that song came on I could be in a room full of people surging with booze and drugs and I would stop dead, as if to pay homage.  To listen and sing along till it was done.

I never could explain it before.  Defiantly not back in the day.  Then it was, “I love that fucking song.”  Now, as I rethink it, I think in some strange way I was forward seeing into my future.  Preparing myself.  Preparing to be ready to tumble down the deepest rabbit hole of my life.  To be ready and willing to go…

More tomorrow, Love ya,
Theresa Jane
-don’t worry we’re going somewhere.  It’s just that in order to get there we have to sit and drink some tea with the Mad Hatter and listen to his ramblings…