The Forgotten Daughter

Left behind.

Never chosen.

Parentified
and infantilized
in the same breath.

Too young
to have a voice.

Old enough
to carry everyone’s pain.

Tell me
how does a child
become both
the family therapist
and still be treated
as though
she knows nothing?

How do you become
the one
everyone leans on,
yet no one
thinks to hold?

I learned early
that love
could be earned.

That usefulness
was safer
than need.

That if I became
indispensable enough,
perhaps…

someone
would finally
choose me.

So I became
the bridge.

The peacemaker.

The keeper
of impossible silences.

The daughter
who swallowed storms
so no one else
had to taste
the rain.

No one noticed
that every flood
left me drowning.

The forgotten daughter
doesn’t scream.

She studies.
She adapts.
She watches every room
like prey
studying predators.

She learns
which version
of herself
will keep
everyone comfortable.

Until one day
she wakes
unable to remember
which version
was ever
her own.

People mistake
the forgotten daughter
for resilient.

As though survival
wasn’t simply
the only language
she was ever taught.

They praise
her strength.

Never asking
who she had to become
to deserve
those words.

But forgotten
does not mean
unworthy.

It means
someone else
failed
to remember.

I was never
too much.

Too sensitive.
Too difficult.
Too intense.

I was simply
growing
inside a home
that had forgotten
how to see me.

Perhaps they never knew how.

There comes a moment
when forgotten daughters
stop waiting
to be found.

We descend


Not into despair

into ourselves.

Into the dark places
where abandoned children
become Wise Women.

Where grief
is no longer
a prison,
but a forge.

The world calls us
forgotten.

Spirit
calls us
initiated.

Because those
who are never chosen
learn
the oldest lesson
of all.

To choose themselves.

Again.
And again.
And again.

Until the echo
of abandonment

becomes

a declaration.

I was never forgotten.

I was hidden.

Hidden
where no one else
could name me

until I remembered
my own.

They called me

the forgotten daughter.

As though forgetting
was ever
my name.

I crossed
the threshold.

I entered
the fire.

I buried

the child

who begged

to be chosen.

And the Woman
who emerged

did not ask

to be remembered.

She remembered

her own name.

Jaclyn Cherie

All Rights Reserved.

Blood Remembers

Her presence triggers me.

It cuts deep.

Memories flooding
that old ache
I keep convincing myself
has finally gone quiet.

Then she walks into the room

and suddenly
I am every age
I have ever been.

She is my home.

My safe place.

My refuge from the storm.

She is also
the storm itself.

She is both

curse

and cure.

Burn

and balm.

How can one Woman
be the place
I run toward
and the place
I have spent
my life
trying to outrun?

This is the inheritance
of Mothers and Daughters.

We are stitched together
long before
either of us
learns
how to speak.

Bound
by blood.
By bone.
By memory.

By the unspoken language
of Women
who carry one another’s
grief
inside their own bodies.

I see her.

Not just
the Mother.

The little girl
she buried
to become one.

I see
the fear
she swallowed.

The dreams
she folded away.

The love
she never learned
how to give
without it first
passing through
her own wounds.

And because I see her
I ache.

Not because
it excuses
what hurt me.

That she hurt me.

But because
love becomes
far more complicated
when you can trace
the wound
back through
the Women
who carried it
before either of you
were born.

People want
simple stories.

A villain.
A victim.
Someone to blame.

But life
rarely offers us
that simplicity.

Sometimes
the Woman
who broke you
is also
the Woman
who held you
when the rest
of the world did not.

Sometimes
the safest place
you’ve ever known
is also
where your deepest wounds
were first named.

This is the impossible
geometry
of Mothers
and Daughters.

The centuries-old question:

Who hurt whom more?
Mother?
Or child?

Perhaps
that is the wrong question.

Perhaps
the better one is:

Who was hurting first?

Who carried
a grief
so Ancient
it forgot
which generation
it belonged to?

I do not know
where she ends
and I begin.

Perhaps
that is the tragedy.

Perhaps
that is also
the miracle.

Because even
when I rage,
even
when I retreat,
even
when her presence
awakens every scar
I have fought
to heal
I still know
she is bound to me.

And I to her.

Not by obligation.

Not by guilt.

But by something
older than language.

Older than memory.

A cord
neither of us tied.

A love
neither of us
has always known
how to carry.

So I will not ask
who wounded whom more.

I will ask instead

How do we become
the first Women
in our bloodline
to love each other
without bleeding
quite so much?

The Woman Who Broke The Spell

Some wounds are generational.

They connect us
through unspoken bonds
of blood,
bone,
and memory.

They are inherited
like old recipes,
family heirlooms,
and names carved into weathered gravestones.

Except no one speaks
of these inheritances.

Only the silence.

Only the tightening jaw.

Only the little girl
who learns to apologize
before she knows
what she has done wrong.

Only the mother
who loved
the best she could
with hands that were never taught
how to hold themselves.

I used to believe
the mother wound
was born
inside one Woman.

I know better now.

It is older than her.

Older than her mother.

Older than the grandmother
whose laughter
was swallowed
by survival.

It travels.
From womb to womb.

From daughter to daughter.

A ghost
wearing
different faces.

We inherit
the unfinished grief
of Women
who were told
their hunger
was dangerous.

Their anger
unbecoming.

Their voices
too loud.

Their bodies
belonged
to everyone
but themselves.

Until one Woman…

says:

No.

Not because she hates
the Women who came before.

Because she loves
the Women
who will come after.

Do you know
what it costs
to break a generational curse?

Everything.

You become
the family disappointment.

The difficult one.

The Woman
who asks forbidden questions.

Who names
what everyone else
has learned
to survive by denying.

You mourn
people
who are still alive.

You bury
versions of yourself
that were built
only to keep
the peace.

You become
the fire alarm
inside a house
that has grown comfortable
with smoke.

And no one
thanks the alarm.

Not at first.

Breaking the curse
is not beautiful.

It is ugly.

It is blistered hands
pulling roots
that have wrapped themselves
around your spine.

It is learning
that forgiveness
does not always
mean reconciliation.

It is discovering
that compassion
does not require
your continued sacrifice.

It is standing
at the edge
of your bloodline
and saying:

It ends here.

Not because
I am stronger
than my mothers.

But because
their prayers
finally found
a body
willing
to answer them.

Perhaps
I was never born
to carry
this pain forever.

Perhaps
I was born
to become
the threshold.

The Woman
who looked
an Ancient wound
in the eyes
and refused
to pass it
to the next generation.

This is how
the spell is broken.

Not with perfect love.

Not without grief.

But with one battered hand
reaching backward
to bless the Women
who could not escape
while the other
reaches forward
to children,
to daughters,
to sons,
to every future soul
I will never meet,
unburdened.

Because I chose
to carry the wound
only long enough
to teach it
how to become
an ending.

Jaclyn Cherie

All Rights Reserved.

Lessons in Magick: How to Dance with Your Shadow

Howard Schatz

Image: Howard Schatz

“I embrace my shadow self. Shadows give depth and dimension to my life. I believe in embracing my duality, in learning to let darkness and light, peacefully co-exist, as illumination.”

Jaeda DeWalt

This post is going to be a follow-up, and in this piece, I will give tips on how to incorporate or integrate your Shadow Self into your whole. As usual when I write pieces like this, I want to make it clear that I am not an expert, I am simply giving tips that have helped me personally on my path. If you try something and it doesn’t work, it doesn’t necessarily mean you are doing it wrong, it means that you may need to try a different method or approach.

We are all different; we learn, see, and perceive everything differently. So it should come as no surprise that personal evolution and growth on our Magickal path will be experienced differently, too.

If something I say here resonates with you, awesome, take it and allow it to help you on your path; leave the rest. You are, after all, establishing your personal Philosophy. I fully believe in breaking barriers, not sticking to labels or fitting into boxes; I think we should take pieces from many different paths and Pantheons and quite literally, form our own. Of course LHP practitioners have things in common, but when it comes down to ritual, ceremony, worship, or the choice of non-worship, we are very, very different. That’s how it should be, this one-way mentality that has been the driving force behind the brainwashing of religion seems to be seeping its way into our community and it isn’t only ironic, it’s painful to watch.

I stated in one of my recent blogs that I was happy to see such a variety and abundance of articles on the Shadow Self lately and I am happy to see those articles, but a lot of them want to romanticize the Shadow and others want to completely over dramatize and it’s like, can we find a middle ground here?

The term Shadow, or Shadow Self is very popular among Esoteric and Occult circles. I believe that a lot of us relate to the Shadow for two reasons: we either see that duality is essential or we are of the Shadows and that’s our natural state.

I believe that I am the latter, and as much as I try and strive for overall duality, it doesn’t seem like it’s in the cards for me. I seem to be all about polarity; simply one or the other, but never both at the same time. As hard as it is to integrate the Shadow into the whole, I think it may be harder to live as a Shadow. It feels like sometimes I have no identity other than this darkness that at times consumes me.

I have stated in previous posts that Carl Jung first came up with the term and Jungian Psychology is based off of his Archetypes—Shadow and Persona, Anima and Animus being the top 4 that all the others seem to branch off of. This is how I look at it any ways; it seems to help keep them all straight in my mind.

So how DO you integrate the Shadow into the whole? Well, first let me say that too much Shadow (either ignoring it or ignoring the light) can harm you spiritually, mentally and physically. Not enough Shadow will cause you to be unbalanced, vibrate too high, and you can become a doormat or dumping ground for others; sometimes we aren’t even aware it’s happening.

A big issue I see a lot of people having is that they (myself included) put Empathy and their (our) Empathic abilities above all else and it seems to rule how we live. I find myself constantly at odds internally with the Luciferian and the Healer; both screaming for different desires.

This brings me to my first tip: Establishing Boundaries. This is something that I am currently struggling with, and that is why it’s at the top of my list. Our Shadow is where our strength comes from, it’s where our ability to say “NO!” and mean it comes from; it’s where all of our fierceness, and wild resides. Jung believed our Persona was who we strive to be, and that our Shadow is our “Dark side” but I have come to see it as, our Persona is who we want the world to see us as, and our Shadow is our true Self. In my case, at least.

Having Empathy means that we literally feel what others do, so saying no can be really hard for us because not only are we feeling that they need us, but we are feeling their anger and/or sadness when we say no.

We are healers and people naturally vibrate towards those that can help them, but we can’t help everyone.

Let me repeat that, we can’t help everyone.

I mean not only in the literal sense of we can’t help everyone, some people are passed the point of help but we literally can’t help everyone. If we continuously give and give and give, we will have nothing left for ourselves. How is the Healer supposed to Heal themselves if there is nothing left?

I am a wounded Healer, but I am not willing to take on any more wounds on the account of another. I have to do what is best for me, what is best for my current state of mind, and my current desires. I owe nobody anything and neither do you.

Lay your boundaries and stick to them.

Second tip: Accept your Shadow. This doesn’t mean you have to understand it or Master it, it means that you accept you have a dark side and are willing to work with it. The faster you run, the tighter its grip becomes—stop running!

We have to accept that Life and Magick are not all light and love, butterflies and rainbows and that is okay. When we understand this we then have to get down to the nitty gritty of our Soul and dive into the Abyss and be okay with what we find.

We have to accept that some days we are going to be angry for no apparent reason, we have to accept that we are going to want revenge on those who cross us, we are going to hate, loathe and dislike people with all of our being; we have to accept all of this and more and still be able to look ourselves in the mirror.

Accepting these aspects of ourselves does not mean we become malicious people, it means that we are acknowledging this side of ourselves. Our actions dictate the type of person we are, not our thoughts.

Acceptance and Self-Awareness go hand in hand, and both are essential to integrating the Shadow Self.

When we accept we have a Shadow that is the first step on the path to knowing who we really are.

Third tip:  Create. Usually when we dive into our creative side we are able to see what our inner most thoughts, fears and desires are. This path of creativity can lead us into the Darker aspects because many Artists have heavy Shadows; creativity often comes with a heavy price: madness, chaos, solitude, introspection, introversion. All of which is part of my everyday life; blessed or cursed depends on perspective.

The creative medium does not matter, it can be woodwork, writing, painting, photography, graphic design, music composure, anything that allows the creative juices to flow and the mind wander will surely help the Shadow Self integrate into your overall being.

Fourth tip: Accept your Ego. This is a new lesson for me, and one that I was mind blown to have learned. For a long time, I believed that Ego itself was a poison and that there was no room for it on our path but I have now come to believe that if fed our Ego can become a great ally. The trick, of course, is don’t overfeed the Ego but Master it.

Just like our Shadow Self our Ego has great power, and is essential to our path and our growth. We cannot allow the Ego or the Shadow rule us or we venture into hostile and volatile territory where cockiness trumps confidence, and darkness becomes malice.

To acknowledge our Ego means that we are acknowledging our badassery, we are acknowledging our personal Power, we are acknowledging our Strength, but we are not considering ourselves to be Superior. This is the trick; this is always the trick.

We are Superior to no one, and nothing, but equal to all.

I hope my little words of wisdom help you hear the music and allow you to dance with your Shadow.