The Fated Path

Periodically, I feel like falling off the face of the Earth. Pulling my blog, deleting all social media accounts, and just living like an old 80’s child again. That being said, I know I’ve worked too hard just to be here, free. And I honor my inner creator, not by shutting her up, but by continuing to allow her to express herself.

Social Media sort of baffles me. And the way we portray ourselves online is kind of crazy, considering most of us live fairly normal lives. We are the generation who wanted to grow up and become bigger than life. I think sometimes we don’t actually believe we are, but we attempt that feat anyway. And so here we are, screaming over one another, putting ourselves on pedestals, and wondering why the world never feels quite like the Home we had imagined.

I started my journey thinking a certain level of praise and notoriety was what I actually wanted. I have since met enough people doing this very thing (becoming popular or famous) and I have to say, it doesn’t seem so appealing anymore. The amount of ego that goes into creating a following is massive. No matter what kind of work you find yourself doing, you can often find yourself a slave to this desire to matter.

I keep saying that I want to do something that matters, but maybe I already am?

I recently adopted a stray kitten from the streets. She had never known what it felt like to have a home. The minute I held her in my arms I was inundated with her pain. It was as real as if she were actually human too. I could feel the raw hurt in her. It didn’t feel any different from my own pain when I have just been through something traumatic. She has basically slept and eaten for two days straight. She isn’t a normal kitten. She’s almost very serious and reserved, but that changes a tiny bit every day.

My son asked me, “why does she look sad?” I told him, it’s because she is sad. She had only ever known a rough life. Though she isn’t human, she still has the capacity to know suffering. She still feels emotions, and trauma is still possible.

The point I’m trying to make, is that we want so badly to change the entire world that oftentimes we overlook what and who is right in front of us. I have also been on the other end of asking someone to see me, to help me, to guide me if they can. The lesson I learned was to do that for myself. I became empowered enough to start my own journey. Another lesson I  learned is that there are so many people I’ve met on my way, that have taught me what kind of person I really need to be, in comparison.

I firmly believe that everything is made up of the same energy. You can have someone traveling the world, promoting themselves as a healer. And yet, they fail in moments, to grab hold of the hand in front of them. You can have very well known, and beautiful people doing big things in the world, but the moment they fail to honor the person in front of them as if they matter (even if they won’t get publicity for it), is the moment they turn their back on their own mission. Energy is energy is energy is energy, and everyone deserves to be treated as if they matter.

I keep thinking because my own life hasn’t taken on an aura of super successful, that maybe it’s time to do something else. Maybe it’s time to stop writing, sharing, and putting my message out there to be largely ignored. It seems people really don’t want to listen, but to talk over one another. And I have more important things to do than to compete for a role I feel was crafted by The Universe for me.

And then my guides whisper in my ear, something about building a boat, and how those who are building the sturdiest boats, take longer to build. Many people we see sharing instant success stories haven’t actually built that life on top of a solid foundation. And IT WILL all fall apart one day.

Anything you do, that is worth doing, deserves a solid foundation. That takes time, perseverance, commitment, and personal integrity.

I think part of my journey too, which has been important, is redefining what I actually hope to do for the world. Whose lives do I really want to touch? Whose hands do I want to hold in the dark? Do I need to be well known to do that? Perhaps to make a bigger impact, sure. What message am I actually interested in sharing?

And I realize all over again, that if I believe in fate, why am I so worried?




A Spark In The Dark

I can hear the heartbeat of The Universe. It sounds like, “don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me.” I was sitting on my bed one night when the greatest understanding of all time hit me, we collectively are terrified of being hurt. We have reached our limit in our personal lives, and universally.

I may not be able to offer much from my humble abode, but I can offer a listening ear, a solid word of advice, or a simple electrical energetic current of oneness when I am able to. There are no words for how lonely and hurt we all feel currently. There isn’t a single person right now who feels completely safe in this world. We are all under constant attack in some manner or another, at all times. Safety isn’t even a real thing to most of us. Even if we lock our doors at night, we have to worry about what kind of friendly fire may be headed our way.

I can’t say I have done this all perfectly, as you can read in this blog that that isn’t the case for the most part, but I have reached a new understanding. That realization is that the we all share the same heartbeat.

I see through the facades people wear even when I’m not actually even aware of it. It isn’t until I am able to see it from a dimmed down perspective that the awareness hits me. I feel through the clothing, body, and words of a stranger on the internet. Seriously, it’s not a secret to me. And I think that’s where my connection obsession comes through. It’s hard not to love someone when you are able to know them instantly, based on their personal energy.

There are beyond gorgeous women bearing their hearts, bodies, and souls online. And they are really good at what they do, but still beneath the surface beats the same heart I know as my own, and as yours too, the chant of the consciousness that is one big soul stream, us, “don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me.” Lying underneath the arrogance of a man who refuses to swallow his pride, to come forth bearing his love for you, is the same heartbeat, “don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me.”

Are we really even attracted to perfect examples of humans? I mean, look at how well we all band together to tear apart anyone who even attempts perfection! The bullying in our society is non-stop. There is always someone on the receiving end of another hurt persons lashing out in an attempt to feel better, which rarely works for either person involved. Nobody is healed by punishment. And mostly nobody is inspired by it either.

There is a man who takes care of a baby turtle who has an exposed heart. He talks about this turtle so lovingly, as if he understands that her breath is his. I love people like that. They are the ones who will end up saving lives. Maybe the world too.

I sense the energy in everything, and I know it is all the same energy! Whether that energy is what we call alive (vibrating at a higher pace than things we don’t consider living), or basically standing still energy, it is still my energy outside of me.

I can’t say that I will end up healing anyone but myself, but I know that I am becoming the kind of person I would like to know. One that my teenage self needed badly. One my adult self needs from time to time, honestly. We act as if because we grew up, because we aged, that we matured. And yet this world doesn’t offer maturity. It offers easy cover up skills. It gives us avoidance tactics. It rewards bad behavior, and rarely good, and we are all too well aware of that.

We act as if there is no punishment for being ourselves, for being different, but I assure there most definitely is. I speak for those of us sitting here on the other side of what is popular, or cool, or applauded. We know being us is punished, and not so much rewarded. We know because we watch our bullies become successful, and string people along with a false image of what kind of idol they wanted to be. We know this, because we live our lives as the underdogs.

The heartbeat of the world is inherent in both of these types of people though, and I hear it whispering to me in the dark, “don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me.”

And I just want to hold that pain in my hands, and promise that none of you will ever feel alone again. At the very least, not because of me anymore. I vow to be the connection in small moments, so that the flame that is connection has a fighting chance to grow out of control, and warm us all.


Reincarnated Reunion

Some of our greatest accomplishments will go unseen by the world at large. Some of our most graceful moments are some of our biggest triumphs. We know we have overcome the odds, and while nobody is clapping, we understand and honor in ourselves that that is our most amazing feat. We are survivors without an audience.

I have written my truth to the best of my ability. This probably hasn’t pleased some people. It might have caused even, a rift in their hearts for my journey and people I’ve written about. My intention has never been to villify anybody,  rather it was to lessen my own burden. I’d been carrying the weight of it all on my own for too long, and I couldn’t carry on in that manner anymore.

Twenty years ago last December my father passed away. It has taken me twenty years to actually forgive him.

And now I wonder what ever even needed to be forgiven. My self compassion for my own painful childhood has given me the capacity to understand his, and to ultimately forgive the sleeping for their transgressions. I don’t operate even, from my own perfectly clean slate.

It may be baffling to some how I could endure what I did, and still love this man who was my father in this lifetime. The hard earned lesson I mastered this past year was just that though. I can cut people out of my life like it is nothing. I can close doors, and push people away for being imperfect like myself, but I can’t stop loving them. And I waste my time with them when I choose anger and judgement over compassion and love.

There is always going to be something imperfect and hard to deal with in any given relationship, but to lose someone is to lose all hope of ever repairing it. Loss carries within it so many smaller losses. Losses you feel everyday. The loss of a parent never gets easier. You see your peers with their parents, and you know that is a privilege denied to you. As my brother welcomes his firstborn daughter this month, I know there will be a little bit of that loss in his heart as he holds her in his arms for the first time. I felt it too when my three sons were born. It’s a bittersweet journey when you love someone who has passed on to the afterlife, and we all have.

We think we have forever, but forever could be another year. Or less. I know, because last May I also said goodbye to my stepfather. I knew I was seeing him for the last time, and it was the hardest thing to turn my back and walk away that evening.

I see my mom’s struggle and decline in health. And my grandmother, who was like a mentor to me, losing her vitality. I never thought she’d slow down. I see my brothers battle with drugs (he’s currently on methadone, to my knowledge), and I know I haven’t the heart to be angry with anyone anymore. Or in judgement of their sacred journey’s.

This morning I received an interesting confirmation from my always spectacular guides, that my youngest son is in fact, my father reincarnated. I initially supposed he was someone else, but I see it now. And I wonder how I didn’t see it before. It’s so obvious. I feel blessed and honored to get to be his mother, because I know in his last life he didn’t pass away feeling like a child who had been loved. I get to give him that experience, and it has been the easiest love of all to give.

Ben is my guardian angel. I’ve said it so many times over the years. He simply came to love me. I call him my best friend. He’s fond of cuddles in bed with me, playing jokes on me, and still kisses me on the cheek, because I’m his girl.

We don’t always get love right. We rarely nail life. We seem to always be running a race we know we won’t win in the end. Nothing turns out right, and yet somehow it all falls together. Being able to piece together what once felt like broken life, is the most empowered you’ll ever be!

The love is forever, the life span is not.

And what I’m going to do with this life may not make history, but I’ll remember it as a journey worth taking. Every step of the way. No longer riding solo, but surrounded by love. The love of those still here, and those guiding and cheering me on from the other side.

Happy 67th birthday on this 7th day of March, dad.

Happy 8th birthday, on the 17th of this month, my son.




Salt Lake City Freakshow

A little faith from others can touch you so deeply that it shifts your entire perspective.

I have waited what feels like my entire life, just to feel good being myself. I still don’t always nail that, it’s hard. It’s hard to love yourself in a world that seems to celebrate what you are not. And in a state that seems to shame what it doesn’t understand. And in a family even, where no more than mere toleration of your quirks, is what your lifelong relationships are built on.

In my family it often feels like the more real I become, the less supported I am. I’m okay to others if I’m forever playing a role. A role that they relate to and understand. It’s when I step out of line, when I show an aspect of myself that is truly unique that I recall in the moments that follow ( the lack of support), that I’m not supposed to be the way I am.

I have chosen to follow my unique path wherever it may lead, and for the most part I’m pretty content with that decision. I just feel like at the age of 35 I shouldn’t have to hide anymore. I shouldn’t have to speak, act, and perform as if I am forever doomed to be internally fourteen years old. This is living in a religious state, where the culture of the church shapes even the non-church goers, and they actually believe anything that isn’t like them is wrong.

I wonder why we often choose families to be born into, who can’t accept us. Or who, in all honestly, choose not to sometimes. Is it so that we will have no choice but to break the mold, and become so strong in who we are, that we awaken others as we carve out our own path?

It’s such a pity to attend a funeral for someone you love, where the speaker isn’t speaking about someone you love. He is describing them in others words. Words that they wish spoke of who he was. They have made up a version of the person you love, to love themselves. They have even crafted an entire funeral to represent somebody he wasn’t. The tragedy is that even on our death bed, we are never really loved for who we are.

I think I’m most hurt by the realization that I have been fine all along, because I have believed so deeply that there was something wrong with me. And I’m disappointed that anybody who says they love me, would ever want to inflict that kind of suffering onto me. I don’t think I have ever been that way myself. In fact, I often play the role of cheerleader.

I humbly allow those who must disappear to fade into my background. I humbly allow those who appear, to show me that I am as lovable as anyone else in this world. I am not seeking extra attention. I am not a drama queen. I am not in need of followers or likes, but rather the feeling of true connection.

It still blows my mind that there are people in this world listening to me, to my stories, to my words, who might really like me. The real me. Not the edited version I have always felt so forced to share with my own family. And with the world, up until now. I am so sorry that I ever abandoned myself like that. I wish I could go back and be my own best friend. A lot would have gone differently had I been so committed to my own happiness all those years ago.

However, here we are today, and today is a good day to throw out anything that doesn’t serve you.

There is a whole world full of people who are seeking you. The unedited version. That is the version who inspires them. That is the version of you, even your soulmate is searching for.

Thank you for your follows, and for your kindness. I trusted my journey enough to know that you would appear when I was ready to be loved.





The Legend That Is La Llorona

I have been dealing with a fair amount of exhaustion this week. I just found out from my guides that this is due to my walking up and down a hallway corridor in a hospital all night long, when I’m out of body. The corridor is long and narrow, dimly lit at each end. The colors of the walls are off white, or dull grey, typical calming and/or depressing tones for a hospital. I don’t always know the reason for my visits to these locations upon awakening, but I know they happened.

I keep finding myself remembering a blog post titled “Wailing Mother” I wrote a few months ago, maybe almost six months ago. I think the weather was warm then, and I didn’t understand some of the details. In this blog post I wrote about hearing a woman outside my window screaming and crying over the loss of her child. A couple of months ago a trailer for the movie “La Llorona” was put out. I had heard of her as a child. Now as an adult I find myself wondering if I’ve had the pleasure of meeting this fantasy woman in my paranormal life.

The legend has it that La Llorona wails outside the bedroom window before she takes your child. I can’t help but wonder if this horror story was contrived of real life experiences. Unexplained things happen all the time. I’m not one to question the validity of anything anymore. My life has become so very strange in comparison to the average persons, and I understand the resistance to believing in things they can’t see or hear themselves. Until they do.

I wonder now if I head La Llorona wailing outside of my window due to the fact that several migrant children have since died in the camps at the border between America and Mexico. I mean no disrespect by asking, but now the experience I had this past summer adds up. And that to me is called validation, which a psychic can’t always count on. You can write about a deceased woman and think maybe that’s her way of delivering a message to her family. Maybe it will find it’s way to her loved ones through the mysterious ways that are God’s, but you may never know for sure. And so to me, validation is life.

When I connected to the energy that is this fictional character’s, La Llorona, I was gifted with the ability to feel her hurt and pain. I do think she existed. I do think the legend has some truth to it, and now more than ever I think she deserves to be respected in her death. I feel she was robbed of her life, by more than one man. They beat her, they raped her, and they left her for dead in a river. But not before cutting her unborn child out of her womb. Perhaps the legend of La Llorona began out of guilt, or fear that she would be haunting those who let her down from her grave forever.

When I see this energy that is this character, this so called fictional character, I see a Mexican woman, about the age of 28, wearing a black, lace veil. She is still grieving the child she never had, which is why I may have connected to her. I find when the deceased visit me, we are often similar. They often bring to me a fragment of my healing, and I hear their last words. And tell their true tales, that sometimes the life they lived, or they legend the left behind, doesn’t get right.

If you question anything, question the truth as you know it.





God Bless The Broken Road

For someone who is perpetually single, I am actually quite obsessed with the topic of love and romance! I think there is a part of me who wants to understand it thoroughly so that mistakes might never be made again. The more self aware I become, the better chance I have of collecting much better memories in the future of my love life. In case there ever is one again …

I’ve spent a great deal of time searching my past for the wisdom that is inherent in each experience, that would serve my growth on my spiritual journey. I always find something else back there, though I realize living in the past isn’t where we want to stay stuck. There is plenty of present day living going on as well, I promise.

The most recent revelation I’ve had that I would like to share is almost exactly like that line from the No Doubt song “Don’t Speak”. “Memories, they can be inviting, but some are altogether might frightening.” I find in my own love journey most of my interactions with the opposite sex end because of toxic traits, and abusive tendencies. And yet, the whole experience can’t be summed up as terrible. Which actually just makes my journey that much harder. It’s not black and white, but is it for any of us?

And the memories, they can be inviting, until you remember that they were also frightening.

There are things I absolutely want to experience again in love, but with the right person. With someone who respects me. With someone who has mastered his own demons, and is operating from an overall space of love and compassion. Someone who mirrors this journey I am on, back to me. Not someone who is perfect, but someone who wants to be perfect for me in a relationship that serves us both in ways we never imagined.

There are new memories I hope to get to be a part of too, things I’ve never had the opportunity to do or be. To be a bride is one of those dreams I hope comes true for me. Love is so many little things I think we all take for granted when we’re younger, and we actually believe that it is inevitable that ours will last forever. There are so many little things I hope to get to experience in a healthy and loving relationship.

The point I really wanted to make is that you may not have found true love that will last forever just yet, but you have witnessed it firsthand in moments. That experience is just as valuable as actually getting the kind of love you want, because it is a stepping stone to building the actual thing. Without the desire born of these past relationships, where then would be the memories of love that you will use to create the real thing?

Some of us don’t get fairy tale beginnings, but that doesn’t mean we can’t do everything in our power to create one hell of an ending.

That all being said, if these relationships came to be because of our own inner worlds (they do) and we are on a healing journey to learn to love ourselves, wouldn’t then it serve us to at least try to remember the past with a little more respect than we typically do? People are rarely perfect examples of love, even when the feeling is definitely present. I’m not saying that we should overlook bad behavior for a glamorized version that suits us better. I’m just saying that even those we hate now, we loved once. They wore skin and hair just like us.

They are human beings who probably remember us too, maybe in less than flattering light, because if we are honest with ourselves, we usually fuck up young love due to our own shitty behavior too.

One thing I won’t tolerate is my friends seeking comfort in me, from their own reflection. And so I can’t let it go in myself either. It takes both people in a relationship for things to end badly. Nobody is a perfect victim of another person all of the time. We come together to heal our shortcomings in each other, after all. There is no need for lovers to find one another if they are truly flawless already.

We have got to drop any and all ideals we carry in our hearts, for the sake of actually living! And in turn, life (and love) will gravitate to us, rather than us running toward it.

I’ll end with a line from an old favorite song, “God bless the broken road”, because every once in a while you deserve a reminder that this isn’t the end yet.








I was lying in bed with my eyes closed when I started imagining a scene from a movie I’ve seen a thousand times, Scream. The horror movie starring one of my all time favorite stars (and female crush), Neve Campbell.

The scene that appeared to me was the gruesome garage door death scene. I was confused though, by the fact that instead of the character, Tatum, in the garage door, I was seeing another young, blonde woman I didn’t recognize. I thought how strange that I’m vividly imagining this scene, for like no reason, while I’m totally relaxed? It wasn’t making a lot of sense, then like a punch to the gut (it knocked the wind out of me), I realized I was seeing an actual death of somebody I didn’t know. Someone who had died in a near identical fashion, and was sharing with me the fact that her death was very similar to the death that took place in the movie.

Her name was Hannah, she was 23. She lived in California. Before her death she had been on the wrong path. She had once been a proud student who was her parent’s pride and joy. After having her heart broken she changed. She began partying and making decisions that didn’t match who she knew she was. The bits of information absolutely poured in once I realized what was happening. She expressed regret about the ending of her life, because it wasn’t true to who she was.

The death in and of it’s self in the end, revealed it’s self to be totally preventable. Hannah had found herself somehow locked in a garage. Like the character in the movie, she’d tried to escape by crawling out the dog door in the garage, or another small opening that was pretty unrealistic to a sober mind. She was, like the movie again, enjoying herself at a party. The music was loud. I didn’t see the whole death scene, but she ended up hanging above the ground in this tiny opening. In trying to get someone’s attention, she threw the beer bottles she had in her hand at the other closed garage door (the one leading back into the house where the party was). She was was trying to get someone’s attention, but the music was way too loud for anyone to hear her final moments.

The officers on scene found that Hannah had actually caused her own death by squirming and ultimately decapitating herself. Had she remained calm, more than likely someone would have eventually come to her aid and she would have lived for certain. In her panic (who wouldn’t panic?) she had made the situation a deadly one.

She didn’t leave a message, and she disappeared rather quickly as my attention was pulled away by the needs of my children. I wonder sometimes why the deceased appear to me if they don’t wish for me to contact anyone to relay a message for them. Maybe I’m just a light that draws them in, so they can explain their final moments to someone, anyone.

I took the liberty of trying to locate any information online about Hannah, but didn’t find any. I have had a similar experience like this before, and did find the information I was seeking. I even, much to my discomfort, was instructed to leave his family a message. I’m not sure that will ever be easy for me, delivering messages that somebody didn’t come directly to me to hear.

I do have so much compassion for the deceased. I’m sure I’m not their first choice for leaving messages. I’m sure they would love it if their family members and loved one’s were able to hear them themselves.

Sometimes it’s just a matter of being open to the idea and then believing in the afterlife communication, whether it is verbal, or they are communicating in other ways. Dreams are a popular way for deceased loved ones to visit. Sensations like being touched, or moving objects often go overlooked as “wishful thinking”. They are always with us, and they often try to come straight to you. Pay attention.

Another thing, I guarantee that if you were to start a conversation about paranormal experiences in the most unlikeliest of places (like an office), there will be plenty of hesitation, quickly followed by people you would never expect, blurting out their own unexplained experiences with seeing, hearing, and feeling things they can hardly believe themselves.

Hannah, thank you for visiting me and sharing the last moments of your life with me. I know your family, wherever they are, is still very proud of you.


Happy Birthday

I spent the last night of the 34th year of my life, watching Fight Club. It’s funny how not much has changed since this cult classic was released in the nineties. The world still ensures that by the time you’re really an adult, you’ll feel half alive. The same problems that have always plagued us, still cause cancer in the soul that is the fabric each and every one of us is made up of, in this new age now more than ever. Though, I sense a strong spiritual cleanse is currently leading us out of that.

When I analyze the main character in this movie, before he created his alter ego, Tyler Durden, he appears to me, similar to every other starving human being on the planet. The hunger of wanting human connection is practically the core reason for every catastrophe ever created by man. So many ways to connect, so little actual connection. A friend is a message away, and yet loneliness is inherently running through our lives with every status update posted.

I received an early Happy Birthday text message on my son’s phone from my sister tonight. My reply took my breath away, as the words weren’t manufactured by my ego’s need to be seen as fine, or “taking it all in stride”. They were felt in my soul. I told her, “It feels good to be 35.” And I meant that. Even though my life feels in some ways, the opposite of everything I truly hoped it would be by my mid thirties. Even though, this year more even than in years past, I feel almost completely abandoned.

I think it’s when you lose everything, you lose the expectation that goes along with having it too. Therein lies the freedom. When you can’t blame anyone, and you can’t hold onto anything, you find yourself. You start answering your own call for comfort and love. This is absolutely the most cliche thing I’ll ever write, you don’t find love in others. It’s always there inside of you, waiting to be felt.

I lived most of my life disconnected from myself, therefore disconnected from anyone else. Though I just exclaimed that this seems to be a particularly lonely year currently, it doesn’t feel that way, because my own company counts. I look back on my single journey and I know singles will understand, there has been a lot of frustration at having to be everything to myself all of the time. Then I look at my friends who can’t survive six months single, and I know this is the right path for me.

When you live with disconnection in your soul, you literally walk around feeling hollow and empty, like you’re starving every day of your life. And when you find a mate under those circumstances too, you find that that loneliness hasn’t really gone anywhere once the high of never having to spend time being alone, wears off like it always does. You find yourself once more in a relationship that is lacking, because your relationship with yourself is missing pieces.

I used to glamorize the past, or refuse to see it so raw that it leaves me gasping in pain. I see it now, and I hold that pain close to my heart, knowing that I survived because I chose to accept all aspects of myself, rather than continuing to bury it in addiction, or buffer myself with the presence of another person. There is nothing glamorous about facing your shit with no meds to keep you sane, but it is worth it not to have another mirror outside of me fall short again. The mirror outside of myself is the mirror inside of me too.

There are secrets in my heart that I may never be able to find the right words to express. There are thirty five years of a life well lived. Not a perfect life. Not necessarily even a pretty life. And in a lot of ways, not an enviable life, but a life that sings, writes, acts, and performs like real art.

I started writing my biography a couple of days ago. I’m trembling inside as the words pour out of me, terrified of putting it off once more. Of never doing it. If I can say it in my words, I won’t fail. I will do it this time.

It feels good to be thirty five, but not because my life is fit to be placed on the cover of a magazine. And not despite the fact that everything in my life seems to be shattered, hitting the ground as I write, and who knows where the pieces will land, or if I will ever be put back together again.

It feels good to be thirty five, because I am feeling it all. Every beautiful goddamned bit of it.






When the #metoo movement first came to light, born of women tired of sexual violence and bearing the shame of being victimized, I was livid. I was livid that I had become so used to violence against myself as a female that I hadn’t thought it was worth holding anyone but myself responsible. That is the message shared again and again in the event of a rape, and it is one even well known spiritual teacher’s have more recently stood in support of.

It is also incredibly damaging and unhealthy to blame ones self for all actions ever taken against them. To never feel you are allowed yourself to hold the right people responsible for the abuse. It is soul smothering to always take the blame. To “be graceful” about the most insane cases of abuse!! As if your pain and suffering, as if your life, holds zero value in the grand scheme of things. That is the message behind the message of taking responsibility for others actions against you, of being the bigger person no matter what.

I have spent the last few months of my life combing through my own experiences of sexual assault and trying to decide if I would once and for all press charges in one case in particular that just stands out as extra gross. I was a young mother to two small boys at the time, but that didn’t stop my abusers, all of whom I was in contact with frequently at that time, because they were friends of my now ex. Maybe someday I will fully explain what happened, but right now I don’t feel entirely safe to do so.

In Utah there is not a statute of limitation, and the law is on my side. I have exhausted myself by veering this way, and then that way, sometimes changing my mind multiple times within the span of an hour. I have a very forgiving soul, because I don’t only see my perspective. As an intuitive person who can peer into the mentality of others at my will, I am also able to usually see the blindness that steered others into their violence against me. This doesn’t make their actions inexcusable, but it does make my decision hard.

I don’t care about saving anyone anymore. I don’t care about “being nice” so that anyone’s career can go on nicely without a hiccup in it. Frankly, these men deserve to be held responsible. I think the hesitation really comes in when I imagine putting myself through further trauma of court proceedings, and possible threats of more violence from certain men involved. I am in a place in my life where I truly do just want to move forward.

When I really ponder the ramifications of turning someone in, and changing the course of their lives, I can’t help but acknowledge that almost a decade has transpired since this episode of abuse. People change. I’m not saying that is the case with any of these individual’s involved. Maybe it isn’t. And maybe I’m wrong for wanting to allow myself to see them in a new light.

I also have to admit to myself that there is such a thing as Karma. And watching this Miss Karma do her thing has been lovely on occasion. I don’t think people get away with anything when The Universe is watching. My stern protector, I owe you everything. It is because of you that I am alive. That I have escaped the clutches of death again and again. You lovingly stood in the way of anything meant to harm me, even when I begged for you to allow it.

I hope that boys on mountain bikes grow up to be men with daughters who never know the pain their fathers have inflicted on other women.

I allow grace to guide me further into self love, and to help protect my energy from those who aren’t worthy of anymore of my fear or self abandonment. And I will rest in the peace of knowing that nobody gets away with anything when The Universe is watching.



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