Monday, February 9, 2015

The Elevator

       Over the years I've had a recurring memory. It seemed like its just a memory, so I've never taken a closer look at it. Its not that I didn't care about it or that it caused some guilt/ shame or pain when its popped up. I simply saw it as a memory; a fuzzy four year olds memory.  This blog is not meant to cause mom or grams any shame either. My intent is to show that our thoughts and memory of something we may think to be, minute may hold a much deeper meaning. A key so to speak. Well, this seems to be my case.
       The event proceeding this memory is short and quick. I was instructed by my grandmother to go and wake up Grandpa Archie because breakfast was ready. I ran downstairs and it was dark in the basement. A trickle of light came through the blue window curtain and it was just enough to see where I was in the room. I called out to grandpa Archie and he rolled over to face me and gave me a kiss. All I remember is yucky! It was wet. Then he swung his legs over the bed and on to the floor. Scooped me up and hugged me and again all I could think was yucky! His pee pee poked me in the leg or something like that. I pushed away from him and he put me down. I turned and ran back up stairs. I told grandma. The memory of that is short and complete. My intuition sensed his actions as being bad. My instinct said run and tell.  So I did.
       In this vision we are on an elevator. Mom, Grandma and myself. The elevator is yellow, florescent lighting and the floor was a  dull silver or grey; the kind with the raised up etchings that kind of looked like X's.  I believe we were going to an ENT appointment for me.  Mom had my left hand in her right and Grandma had my right in her left. I remember how big the elevator was to me. I remember looking up at mom and grandma; they were as tall as giants. The light in the elevator created halos around their heads they were so tall. They truly were giants in my eyes and in my life. Of the two, I was most fond of Grandma La La. She was soft and kind. She would teach me things about cooking and seemed to always be soft spoken. She called me mija; a spanish term of endearment. Warm and fuzzy is how she made me feel when we were together. I dont recall this when I look back at mom. Yet, I do remember wanting to be just like her. I wanted to smell like her and loved her hair. Her hands were beautiful and she always had beautiful nails.
       On the elevator I remember my left hand being jerked back past my side and my hair flinging about. I see moms hair hanging past her left shoulder as she leaned down closer to melooking at me and questioning me. I remember thinking how beautifully straight and shiny it was. Something is wrong. I felt like my hart was being choked by her grip on my wrist. She's angry at me. Looking into her eyes I became so scared. I remember I started to freeze up inside. "What happned to mommy she looks different", is what I thought. Grams still has my right hand but I dont hear her. I don't really feel her presence next to me. Mom is asking me if im telling the truth but shes so mad. At me. I started to feel heavy. My head was like a boling ball on my shoulders. I was so scared, heavy and lonely. I couldnt see anything other than her. My arm went numb and I couldnt feel it any more but I knew mommy was jerking my wrist with each word she said.
       Then finally Grandma La La said ,"Mija do you want Grandpa Archie to get into trouble, because that's whats going to happen?" Now, I just couldn't look up any more. I was heavy and didn't want them to look at me any more. I wanted to be invisible. All I could see was a wall of my hair on both sides of my face. I didnt feel safe anymore. I wanted to run away but the elevator doors wouldn't open. So, I stared at the floor of the elevator. Scared and my heart was choking with pain. I didn't feel grandma any more but I know she was there. I just wanted them to Love me again. I wanted my mommy back and so I lied. I said that it wasn't true and claimed to have made it all up. At this moment, I felt unloved, abandoned, no longer trusted my intuition and instincts. I felt like I was bad. For the first time in my four years of life I began to hate myself. While mom was squeezing my wrist and grams seemed to have disappeared I started saying I hate you. Quietly in my mind I said it over and over," I hate you! I hate you!" I was looking at my feet saying I hate you.
       For years I had hated my body. For years I have doubted myself. For years I have wanted to be invisible. For years I have felt unsafe and insecure. Only recently have I come to see that for years I have mutilated my feet.  I have worked through loving my self enough to love the skin im in. Yet my feet have always brought me shame, hate and self disgust. Paying attention to this one recurring memory  has brought a point of origin. To me, when I am able to recover the origin, I have also found the key means to an end. I realize that since this time in the elevator I have doubted my intuition and instincts. Yes, I have gained some, but this sorting of the memory has brought me the key to understanding why and how I can reconnect. I know that when I have followed my intuition my heart races and I tense up, because once long ago I was convinced that it was bad. I am now working on loving and trusting my intuition as good natural and whole. Eventually my intuition will be as natural as my breathing. My heart may or may not race, I may or may not tense up and I will once again utilize my voice for my truth.
       I made this connection at SOS INC.ORG this past Saturday night. I followed my intuition and trusted myself. I was asked to write about a time when I was changed at my core. I then was immediately flooded with The Elevator memory. So I said to my self I am willing to dive deeper into this memory because its resurfaced again. Then, I thought you never know where it will lead. I accepted my willingness and began to believe it held a key to something great. So I wrote 10-12 pages about The Elevator which lead to another 4-5 pages about the mutilation of my feet. I will no longer mutilate my feet. In so many ways the act of picking on my feet to point of them bleeding, getting infected and being sore for days was a way of punishing myself for the harms Ive done throughout my life, for the pain I've caused myself and because in a small way I still hated Me.
       I will speak kindly of my feet and remember that it is this pair of feet that have carried me to this point in time and to this very blog. This past weekend I have shed another layer. I feel vulnerable and I am accepting this vulnerability as healthy and good. I don't feel hidden or shameful any more. I am simply learning to love the real me. Keeping my chin up and voice heard. Learning to trust myself once again learning about my intuition and what its teaching me daily. If you too are having a recurring memory, please give your self permission to look at it more closely. There may be some unexpected freedom in it for your life and it may even lead you into a healthier life direction. Thank you Gretna and Pennie for your sacrifice. Most of all thank you Zac for making your presence known to me through out SOS at Zac's Ridge.  

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