MUSINGS OF A MODERN MYSTIC: Generational Trauma and the Outcast

Water 5

“After all, when a stone is dropped into a pond, the water continues quivering even after the stone has sunk to the bottom.”

Arthur Golden

I saw a meme recently that hit the deepest recesses of my being, and I have searched high and low and cannot seem to find it again; I know I didn’t dream it, either. I searched on FB, IG, Pinterest and Google, so if anyone knows what I am talking about, PLEASE, share it!

The meme said (loosely quoting, there was a great caption, too): “In order to heal generational trauma, you must begin by understanding the black sheep of the family; they are wounds embodied.” Note: Black sheep is one of those terms that has tones of subtle racism, and so I am choosing to use the word outcast instead.

It stopped me in my tracks.

I dropped my phone.

I sobbed.

I sobbed until no noise came out of my mouth.

I sobbed until my tears ran dry.

I sobbed until my Soul was tired.

I have always been the outcast; my family seems to believe that because they love me, that means they accept me, or that they understand me.

They hardly know me, so how can those other things be true?

I have no ill will towards my family, I love them, but I am the product of what happens when parents’ divorce and one of three children is moved away from *everyone*.

Separation happens.

I have written about my Father Wound before so many of you know what happened there, and how that affected me (how his absence and abandonment molded me, and my views of Men)—I plan to share an epiphany I had on the subject later in this blog.

Much of my family didn’t try to have a relationship with me, a child, and they blamed me, a child.

I type this and worry one may see and get offended.

But I don’t care.

Keep reading.

Trauma

I was 12 at the time, and quickly learned that my new home environment was abusive, and I remained there for 10 years; that is where a lot of my CPTSD comes from.

Having a connection with my family wasn’t at the forefront of my mind: surviving was.

Truths need to be brought to light, and hard truths even more so.

This is about more than the divorce, what happened after, and the dynamic of relationships within my family; this is about what it means to be the outcast.

I scoff, roll my eyes, and bite my tongue every time I see someone claim to be an outcast (really black sheep, but again, a tad racist) like it’s a badge of honor; same as people who claim to be “weirdos”.

This shit isn’t a trend.

Being an outcast is isolating, painful, lonely, and traumatic as fuck. As a child you wonder, why am I not good enough, what did I do wrong, why can’t I be normal? Am I not worthy of love?

And, as an adult not much changes, except maybe having the strength to draw hard lines in the sand, or the compassion to forgive and move forward; other times it’s cutting them off completely.

Being a weirdo usually means we’re bullied in our younger years (which may even transfer to adult life, too). It means not being accepted, being ostracized and ridiculed.

I had no choice in being weird, or an outcast—both are very much who I am, but they were not easy roles to play, or paths to walk; they still aren’t.

I am proud to be both but I won’t sit here and make either look pretty.

As far as my family goes, on one hand I want to be understood and accepted, on the other hand I know they won’t “get it” so why even bother?

I am loud, opinionated, wise, in tune, defiant (also respectful when I need to be).

I take up space, my presence is undeniably powerful (Jupiter on my Ascendant can be thanked for that, among other things).

I say what I mean and mean what I say; I don’t let racism, sexism, classism, or any “ism” happen in my presence, and that has made for some very interesting family gatherings.

Last Easter (a Holiday I don’t celebrate, but it coincides with my Grandfather’s birthday) I cleared the table when I said that my brother’s fiancé was wrong for wanting to get “a Native card” so that her daughter could get a discount on college tuition.

That’s the whitest, most privileged shit I ever heard.

Eye roll

I had to call that out.

How can I sit here and tell all of you to burn in your truth if I won’t burn in mine?

I also called us (white people) colonizers, because we are; regardless if we (my family) have Native blood in us (we do) or not.

We are white passing; we have never been oppressed because of our Indigenous heritage, we don’t know what it’s like to live on a Rez in 2019 and not have running water, and electricity. We don’t face the addiction rates (a direct result of, you guessed it, Generational Trauma and colonization) that Indigenous people do, nor do we have to worry about our girls in the way Indigenous people do ; their girls and Women go missing and/or are killed in staggering numbers.

Don’t get me started on the sexual assault statistics. It’s mind-blowing.

For reference and education, click here.

So, no, you don’t get a “Native card” for higher education.

I was not about sit there in silence……in compliance, while some privileged shit went unchecked.

I checked it.

LOUDLY.

For clarification, I do have supportive, progressive and amazing family members whom I love more than anything in this world; they are my anchor to my humanity.

This leads me to the Mother Wound and Generational Trauma.

Generational Trauma is the idea that trauma is passed on through not only DNA but as a psychic imprint.

You can read more about it, here.

I faced my Father Wound with rage the likes of which can’t aptly be described.

I held onto so much fucking hate, and utter disdain for my sperm donor that I removed the concept of having a Father altogether.

I handled my Mother Wound with complete understanding, and compassion; anger at times, too, when she would project her pain onto me, but it didn’t linger because I took her pain on as my own, and together we sifted through it.

Unity

As we began to heal our traumas and our bond, we noticed the Women in my family waking up, and they started to ride the frequency of their intuition; my one Aunt even has begun to build her first Altar.

She also buys all my books and supports me like no other. My cousins are into spirituality, Feminism, crystals, etc. and a few are even anti-religion like me (which makes me so proud!)

My Mom is an outcast, too so teaming up, and attacking our pain (most of which was experienced together and is why our bond is so strong) has allowed the Generational Wounds to show themselves and be healed.

We called on the Ancestors for help, as well, and filled any missing pieces by asking the elders.

My (step) Sister has recently come out as a Witch.

One of my Brother’s has completely opened himself up to the otherworld (he doesn’t quite know it yet, though) and he and his wife even birthed into creation a beautiful baby Witch who is now 4.

These awakenings brought me back to my Father Wound after I heard a story about what happened to him when he was a child. Apparently, he was caught playing with his Sister’s dolls and the punishment was severe.

Hell, my brothers played with my dolls with me, just like I played with their G.I Joe, matchbox cars and Wrestling figures.

Punished for playing with dolls?

But, back in the early 60’s it was unacceptable in his home (still is in some homes today) and he was forced to wear one of his sister’s dresses and stand out on the front lawn from morning until evening “to teach him a lesson”.

And, this is only one example of the expectations put on him as a child to be hyper-masculine, that he has carried all through his life.

The patriarchy hurts us all, and this is a prime example—toxic masculinity at its most vile.

Water 4

Last time I saw my Father, he was so….old and fragile.

I could see life had taken its toll on him, I could see the pain in his eyes—the pain he tries to cover so hard. I could sense the unhappiness that he hides with new shiny toys and home renovations. And, suddenly I didn’t feel hate anymore, I felt pity at first, then I felt nothing but compassion and empathy for him. I wanted to take him in my arms and swallow him up with Divine Mother energy.

After that encounter I sat down and readdressed the Father Wound; I know he will never be what I need or want him to be, he will never love me the way he should, the way I need, or want, but I understand him on a deeper level now, and for some reason that makes things, not okay, but easier for me to swallow.

The same goes for the rest of my family.

I am not excusing actions, but I am refusing to allow them to continue.

It ends with me.

There is something profound seeing the work you have done individually, then teamed up with your Crone Mother manifest into real healing for the ones you love most.

Trauma is complex, love is complex, family is complex.

Generational Trauma takes years to fully comprehend, but it can be understood, and to some degree overcome; healing can happen on some level, and cycles can be broken.

CYCLES CAN BE BROKEN.

CYCLES WILL BE BROKEN.

I had to stop running, face the truth, no matter how hard or ugly it was; then I Alchemized that shit and watched how things shifted.

RANTINGS OF A MAD WITCH: I Will Not Submit, I Will RESIST

Chains

“Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”

Dylan Thomas


**TRIGGER WARNING**

I do not speak for all Women, but for myself and those closest to me, the last 10 days have been profoundly painful; I did not realize how triggered my own trauma would be.

I watched in awe as Dr. Christine Baisley Ford testified and told her story of survival.

I watched in shock as Brett Kavanaugh testified by throwing temper tantrums, losing his composure, putting on the fake tears, justifying his predatory behavior (“boys will be boys”) and trying to be a victim.

I watched in horror as Congress voted 11-10 to confirm him through the first process of nomination.

I watched as our Government told myself, the females in my family, the Women, girls and Femmes around the world, that we do not matter.

Our voices do not matter.

Our stories do not matter.

Our pain does not matter.

But, I am here to say that

I do matter.

Our stories matter.

Our pain matters.

We matter.

The Divine Feminine is more than waking up, She is here and She is GROWLING WITH RAGE.

Lioness

Humans have raped and pillaged this planet, its animal inhabitants, and people through genocides, crusades, white supremacy and all-out war for eons.

Men have raped and pillaged Women since the beginning of time to place their superiority over us; to place their superiority over all things.

Side note: I do not hate Men. I know that not all Men are predators. I know that there are good Men out there. We are not here to discuss them, though, we are here to call out the predators and discuss how we got to this place as a country, and world. If your initial response to this blog is “not all Men!” then you have missed the point entirely.

I have not met a Woman, in my life, who has not been sexually assaulted.

Read that line again.

And, again.

For the Men who follow my page/blog: your Sister, your Mother, your Grandmothers, your Aunts, your Female/Femme Cousins, your Nieces, your Daughters have or will be sexually assaulted to some degree in their lifetime.

This is not to say that Men do not experience sexual assault, too—they do.

But not in the way Women do, and to compare the two is a false equivalency that helps nothing.

Let’s look at statistics:

  • One in five women and one in 71 men will be raped at some point in their lives
  • In the U.S., one in three women and one in six men experienced some form of contact sexual violence in their lifetime
  • 51.1% of female victims of rape reported being raped by an intimate partner and 40.8% by an acquaintance
  • 52.4% of male victims report being raped by an acquaintance and 15.1% by a stranger
  • Almost half (49.5%) of multiracial women and over 45% of American Indian/Alaska Native women were subjected to some form of contact sexual violence in their lifetime
  • 91% of victims of rape and sexual assault are female, and nine percent are male
  • In eight out of 10 cases of rape, the victim knew the perpetrator
  • Eight percent of rapes occur while the victim is at work.

Source

How can you look at the next generation and not feel despair in your heart for what they will experience? How can you look at them and not want to change their fate?

I can’t do nothing. I can’t remain silent. I can’t accept this.

I won’t.

The world will hear me roar because:

I have experienced (multiple) sexual trauma in the form of rape and molestation. I have experienced sexual (and physical) trauma in abusive relationships. I have experienced sexual harassment in every workplace. I have had men pleasure themselves in front of me on public transportation. I have been stalked (and fought off an attempted kidnapping, twice). I have been verbally threatened and physically abused on more than one occasion when saying no to a man’s advances. I have been spat on (by strangers) for speaking my mind. I have been sexually assaulted by partners for saying no to sex; relationship rape is real.

And that’s the abbreviated list.

Nude

The unrest so many of us are feeling lately is not just the cosmic fuckery going on, it’s the collective.

It’s our trauma coming to the surface.

It’s our Sisters’ trauma coming to the surface.

It’s every single word we have swallowed when biting our tongue’s coming to the surface.

It’s every Woman/Femme to have ever existed finding her/their voice.

And, it’s magnificent to watch.

A few days ago, a prominent Herbalist and Witch posted a blog about sexual abuse in the Pagan community; it was illuminating and heartbreaking. I support you, Sarah.

On Social Media I saw Women, and Men, showing solidarity with Dr. Ford by using #WhyIDidntReportIt and telling their stories.

More recently there was the “blackout” to represent how Women do not matter; a cool concept, but poorly executed. (The idea was/is to change your profile picture to all black.)

I will not give the Patriarchy what it wants; I will not give them my silence.

I will not give them the satisfaction of thinking for one split second that they have won.

I will not shrink myself.

I will not make myself invisible; the world tries to do that already.

I am here to make noise.

I am here to make people uncomfortable.

I am here to rebel.

I am here to RESIST.

Hex the Patriarchy.

Fuck the Patriarchy.

Don’t give up, keep roaring.

RECLAIMING MY POWER: My Battle With Mental Illness

Mental

“One must still have chaos in oneself to be able to give birth to a dancing star.”

Friedrich Nietzsche

FOR AN UPDATE ON MY STORY, CLICKhere.

It’s no secret that the more personal I am on my blog the greater my personal gain is.

It’s almost like the deeper the wound and redder the blood the more the Gods take note and I start to reap the benefits of intense Shadow Work.

I don’t believe that the Gods are rewarding me, per se, but I do believe there is a correlation between facing oneself, speaking one’s truth and gaining freedom.

Real freedom.

The kind that can only be won by going to war with yourself.

You will know it when you experience it.

And the Universe will bow at your glory.

As much as I love writing, and love what I do, it’s hard work. It’s hard to sit down and face myself, face my thoughts, and my reflection.

It’s even more complicated when there are two sides to my being, and a constant battle raging internally.

You see, I have mental illness.

And it’s my belief that this is more a gift than curse.

I do not run from my madness anymore, and the reason for that is my practice and Shamanism (no, I am not on the Shaman path).

It was only through losing my mind that I gained any type of real perspective on life, the world or myself.

I ran into article after article, and book after book about the Shamanistic view of mental illness; the words that I read gave me power.

More than that, they granted me permission to take my power back.

I always knew I was different, such a cliché overused sentence but it really can’t be described any other way.

Although, I was able to lead a normal life until I was 25; I worked a normal job, at times I worked two jobs, and had a very active social life.

Then it all came to a screeching halt.

I have always been able to see beyond the veil and Spirits; my sight has always been available to me. I was a practicing Witch for many years, but I did not blossom until I died.

And that’s exactly what happened, I died.

Death

The old me did, anyway.

The whole mental breakdown itself happened pretty quickly and it caught not only me but my family by surprise. My Mom was the main witness to my “switch being turned on”. She said my aura changed, and I began to “vibrate” with a “dark matter”. She has even noted that my eyes, and facial features changed.

This switch of mine is usually hit because of emotional stresses, but it can be caused by low blood sugar (hangry!), anger which is more like rage, and because my fight or flight was tripped. If I am threatened that button is absolutely going to be hit.

I have come to call it my trauma trigger.

My trauma trigger is survival mode, it’s how I have survived for so long after all the abuse and pain I have experienced.

It reminds me of this quote by Ebonee Davis:

Ebonee

My mental illnesses showed up after I started to experience Chronic Pain, went through my hysterectomy and had a back injury.

Also, at the time I had recently gotten out of a physically and emotionally abusive relationship.

My life was a series of cataclysmic collisions of epic proportions.

In hindsight it seems that I experienced a soul wound because a piece of me left when I “woke up” to my true nature: chaos.

I compare myself and my world to Chaos because that’s what it is, that’s what I am;  yeah it sounds poetic but that’s really coincidence.

My mind is chaotic, my personality and my soul are too.

I am slightly neurotic, a perfectionist and obsessive about some things.

If my Cancer sun and Capricorn rising tell you anything it is that I am a contradiction, and there are literally two sides to me; I fight myself every second, of every day.

I admitted myself into a private mental health institute in 2010 and I wouldn’t change that experience, but I can tell you that I will never be locked up again.

After my little stay, I ended up being on 11 medication the ones I can remember are: Lithium, Adderrall, Risperidal, Klonopin, Minipress, Seroquel, Effexor, Abilify and Gabapentin; I can’t remember the other 2. I only remember the number being 11 because when I started to “come back to self” I noticed that 11 was a prominent awakening number, and it was the Universe’s way of telling me to snap out of the sleep society put me in.

The signs are all around us, we must know where to look.

Those medications 8 years ago are why my thyroid has shut down and I have autoimmune issues now; the stress that the medications, along with my underlying health issues caused was too much for my body.

I have heavy amounts of a specific antibody in my blood now which causes a slew of health issues (Hashimoto’s).

I also have antibodies for what is known as “drug induced Lupus”. My Rheumotologist told me that I am not currently on any medication that would cause this, and he believes it is permanent damage from before.

Why am I telling this boring fucking story?

Because I am bringing my biggest demon to light and calling it out.

I am naming it and claiming it.

Once I do this, there is nothing that anyone can use against me.

And, I want people to know they aren’t alone battling their mental illness.

I want to remove stigmas.

I want people to know:

Mental illness doesn’t make you less than.

Mental illness doesn’t make you unworthy.

Mental illness doesn’t make you unlovable.

Mental illness does not define you.

Glass

My official diagnoses are BPD 2 (Bipolar Disorder 2), PTSD, ADHD, OCD, and Anxiety (Agoraphobia, General Anxiety and Social Anxiety).

I have done every type of therapy imaginable, and still to this day must manage myself with routine, coping skills, and mindfulness practices. My Spirituality has helped me tremendously as well.

Doctor’s didn’t help me, they drugged me and those poisons put in my body have damaged it permanently. I have been medication free, other than herbal supplements, for 5 years now.

Just because I do not (cannot) take medication does not mean I am anti-medication for everyone. I believe that modern medicine has its place, and I believe fully in the power of the right combination of medicine; it just wasn’t how my story was meant to be written.

When dealing with your health always listen to your body, always listen to your gut.

And, make sure you have an Advocate who can speak LOUDLY if necessary for you when/if Doctor’s and the system try to intimidate you.

Throughout the whole breakdown/awakening my life was in an uproar and I couldn’t pinpoint why I felt WORSE as time went by; then I started to become aware of the (serious) medication side effects.

The constant brain fog, sleep disturbances, weight gain, mood imbalances, etc. were unbearable.

I went through the worst withdrawal’s getting off those medications, and a majority were done at home. I did however seek out professional help for the benzo withdrawals because those are dangerous to come off alone.

My decision to detox at home was absolutely not a safe thing to do and I don’t recommend it, but the medical world had let me down, and I was not going to turn to them. I did my research, and then shut myself in my room and battled through; I had family around just in case.

And, again, I don’t recommend anyone going off their meds (it’s usually a sign of a manic episode to want to discontinue meds, but that was not the case for myself).

I let my Psychiatrist know what I was doing, after the fact, or well, during the act, but at that point there was not much he could do. I was never considered a threat to myself, or others, therefore I could not be forced to do anything. I was of sound mind and body.

My Doctor was the best, too.  He gave me a lot of my power back because it was through him that I found my way to discovering how mental illness is viewed in the Spiritual world.

If he had not pointed me in this direction I would be dead, and there is no doubt in my mind about that.

I didn’t write about this sooner because it’s a hard topic to talk about but also because I thought people would think less of me; that my word and wisdom would no longer be taken seriously (if it even is now) and all the negativity attached to mental illness would at once become attached to me, and that was a weight I could not bear.

So, I ran from it, but now I own it.

My mental illness does not define me; my power resides in my madness.

There is a fine line between sane and insane when it comes to this path, and I like to play jump rope with that line.

Two things I learned most from being mentally ill:

1. Change your perspective, change your life.

2. Crazy is relative.

Here is one of my favorite mental health articles:

http://themindunleashed.org/2014/08/shaman-sees-mental-hospital.html