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Today I was bitchy.

I wanted to know everything.

Whenever my partner Tony said something right, I resented him for knowing things I didn’t know.

It was day 7 of a storm related power outage and my sense of humor was gone.

Tony gleefully suggested we take “2 Pot Showers,” since we didn’t have hot water since our generator died yesterday. He said, “It’s so great! You fill two stock pots with water. You heat one over the stove, fill the other with cold, and use a pint Pyrex measure cup to mix a bit from each pot into the perfect warm temperature that you slowly pour over your head. You can take a satisfying shower with less than a gallon!!” He grinned.

“Ugh.” I rolled my eyes. I sneered. “Why would we do that? It sounds horrible. Wouldn’t work for me anyway.”

Unshakably kind, Tony tilted his head and squinted his eyes against my bitchiness, and shrugged, bounding away to bring more firewood in.

I knew I was being Unreasonable.

But I couldn’t stop.

I felt miserable.

Here was my choice point. I can keep making Tony wrong, or I can go inside myself and find out the real reason I’m upset and snippy.

I got quiet and went inward.

And under the surface, I felt an intensity of terror and sadness that scared me.

“Woof! If I go there, it will be way too much and never end. 

Can’t reveal that mess. 

It’s better to defend myself, let him know he can’t control me.”

That’s what the little voice said inside me.

And that’s how I knew I was dealing with an old trauma.

Unfortunately, nothing to do with Tony.

So I sat. I let myself breathe into the terror and pain.

Tears streaming. Old tears.

Those were the tears of the little-girl-me.

It took a while to get her to talk to me.

It’s hard to wait patiently for a little one to trust.

I kept bouncing out, nervous.

Making excuses, I kept letting myself get distracted.

But I finally made contact.

This inner little girl-me was maybe 4 years old.

She was flailing against the arms of my young parents as they tried  to calm her.

“Everything is fine. There’s nothing to be upset about. Calm down,” they said as their hearts raced with the panic of good parents trying to manage the feral spirit of a fully expressed kid.

In this vision,

I dove inside the skin of my 4 year old self.

I felt it all from inside her heart.

“I hate it here! People don’t care. People don’t listen. People tell lies. People don’t understand me. They don’t see the truth. They don’t see what I see. They don’t feel what I feel. I want to go home!”

I felt my despair, rage, hopelessness, loneliness, and way too much energy for my little body to metabolize. Thrashing. Raging hopelessly. Too much.

I imagined holding this little-me loosely, permissively, and letting her know I was feeling her.

Loving her.

Not needing her to act reasonably or explain herself.

She sobbed. I wept.

We merged.

My heart ached and relaxed open in my present self body.

I kept holding her as our tension unwound together.

Something dark lifted and left us.

Once she was calm, sleeping in my arms, I could reflect with my mind.

OK. How does this relate to my current resistant bitchy day during a power outage?


That little one learned to keep her “crazy” feelings to herself.

She learned to always know the answers.

She learned to always be in control so she didn’t have to defend herself to anyone.

That was her answer, and it had protected her when we were little.

Well, now I am a 52 year old woman. A business owner. A homeowner. An empty nester mom.

The strategies of that little girl turned into the unconscious strategies of my grown-up self.

Gotta do it myself.

Expect to be disappointed by others.

Expect to be misunderstood, underestimated,

and valued only for my logic.

Expect my rich emotional experience to be denigrated.

But here I am now, surrounded by people who respect me for my magic as well as my logic.

Here I am in a relationship with a man who respects and honors my emotions even when he doesn’t understand them.

Here I am, taking on projects with my land and my work that I literally cannot do by myself. Projects that require me to trust, that require me to choose the right collaborators. And I’m choosing well now.

I’m ready to move beyond my old coping strategies.

So I call my guides in deeply.

I ask my spirit team for help.

I silently ping my healers, my friends, my soul-sisters in my mind.

I set the stage and open my heart for change.

Without knowing about my inner journey (or does he sense it?), my man walks in with lavender oil and begins to annoint me.

My third eye.

My forehead.

My scalp.

Now I’m sobbing- the good kind.

He anoints my heart.

And he holds me while I feel the old tension drain out.

I feel melted. Bitchiness drained into earth. I’m open. Back in my feminine body.

Tony boils water for “2 Pot Showers” for both of us.

Candlelit. Sensual even without sexy business.

Present for every pint poured slowly over my head.

A baptism into a new level of trust.

I imagine the power will be back on soon.

Yet I’m grateful for the darkness, the cold, the trigger.

Grateful for the inner journey of darkness that guides me inward

to heal the little one, and mend the wounds of my heart.

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  • Amanda says:

    wow amazing..Your story touched me deeply…been exploring my triggers lately and this is so gave me inspiration to share very soon my trigger stories,been holding back my stories..part of me who wants to be perfect 🙂 Thank You 🙂

  • What a beautiful, honest, courageous, inspiring story! It’s a poetic reminder that connecting and loving our younger selves opens doors to understanding, healing and more love. ❤️🥰🙏🏻

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