You Are Not Alone

Looking back on my life the years that formed me seem to be, in most instances, a blur. Their significance blind to the hopeless soul I was back then. They were of the most influential moments of my life and yet they are the farthest from the reality in which I currently exist. Perhaps it is the loneliness I once found an uncomfortable comfort in that disallows the appreciation of a time in its absence. And so, it is the loneliness to which I cling. After all, for the majority of my life it was the only real constant I had ever known.

I have always considered myself to be broken and more importantly, that being broken was far from beautiful.  I have come to learn, I was extraordinarily wrong. The most beautiful people in this world are the broken, the wounded and the left behind. For so long, we just simply never had a voice. A sounding board on which to express that which is not modern opinion and/or comprehension.

We are all beautiful. Every scar is something we’ve overcome, a wound healed and perhaps a lesson learned. They should not be judged harshly, but rather celebrated as a triumph of strength and accomplishment. You’ve faced something, regardless of its intensity and you have overcame.

I am not of the masses, the typical or the usual. I do not fit within the confines of the realities of most. And so, for so long…I did not feel as though I would survive. I have spent my days living on the outskirts, never getting too close or letting anyone far enough in to see the damage I try so hard to hide.

And thus, I’ve struggled in this world to be anything but unusual. Fitting in was survival. Being part of the pack was what I thought would give my life meaning. A purpose in a world that seemed strange and overwhelming. And when I didn’t fit in as a normal would, I found myself once again in a depressing spiral of discontent.

Over and over again, I found myself in the same downward spiral until it eventually became a comfort. I was so used to being in pain that the torment became my preservation. And thus each day became harder than the next.

Now, some would simply shrug this off as life. After all, we all have ups and downs, perhaps those who experience the feelings I described above are of the hyperbolic, melodramatic breed. And I’ll give you that there is always going to be a certain amount of crazy we just can’t account for. But what if in some cases it’s more than that?

How many of you know someone who suffers from depression? I mean really think about it. There are those that have life experiences that cause a low and an understandable spout of immense sadness, which is life.

But I would bet that almost every person reading this knows at least one person, for whom it goes beyond that. It is not something that is talked about enough. It is one of those subjects that can sometimes get dismissed as if it is a cop out for the weak. But it’s not.  It’s real. And it’s about time we remove the veil of shame attached to it and understand it for what it truly is.

Those who, for lack of a better word, suffer from this said affliction are not at all weak. Quite the opposite actually. They are the warriors.

They are the ones who wake each day with a mountain on their chest. Their heart as heavy as their mind, but still they find a way to rise. They push forward through the normal life struggles with an ocean of sadness on their back as if it is usual practice.

It’s different for everyone, but that is the best generalization I can muster.

Personally, my best explanation is that each day for me feels like a prison. I wake each morning, battling myself, pushing against a current of self-doubt and hesitancy as I rise to face the day. ‘I am not alone’ I tell myself and all be it true, I still have to force myself to believe it. Every morning, of every day, I have to fight, with the one person I should trust the most, myself.

Every affirmation of love brings a feeling of irrational inadequacy rooted in a childhood of indifference that I just can’t seem to escape.

It is in moments like this, those wee hours of the night, that it almost seems easier. Maybe it is because much of the world is asleep. Less of those to judge. Those who may never understand, just how vacant one can feel when faced with their own reflection.

I see so much of her in me, yet I’m not really sure I even know who that is. And therefore, sometimes, really most of the time, I’m still struggling to find myself amongst what seems like a life time of never knowing what was real.

I don’t know if I’ll ever figure it out. You know, genuinely find the solution to healing the misery of the past, but what I do know is…I’m not alone. And neither are you.

Thank You Bright Star!

Two weeks ago, I received a call from my sister very early in the morning with news that my brother had been taken to the hospital from asphyxiation and was currently unresponsive. Just like that my life stopped. He lives in PA and I in IL, so not only was I far away, but I recently quit my job to start my own business, so my financial situation was not the best and to make matters worse, my car was currently not working either. I felt helpless in a seemingly hopeless situation and it was tearing me apart.

So, I reached out to Brittany for help. Brittany (Bright Star), is a spiritual healing and self transformation teacher, who believes, “Your wound is your greatest gift” and I couldn’t agree more.

She told me about the Kundalini Yoga meditation: Ra Ma Da Sa Sa Say So Hung and explained that it was a mantra for sacred healing from a distance. It is believed to cut through space and time so you can send healing energy to someone many miles away.  She offered to send me several instructional videos to get familiar with the chant, posture and offered to do it with me to magnify the healing whenever I was ready. I had no idea it would have such an amazing impact, not just in healing my brother, but mending the many broken branches in our family tree.

While she pulled the information together for me, she suggested I take some time to do some basic healing meditation on my own. As she instructed, I began the meditation by envisioning that I was in the hospital room with my brother and my family. First I imagined standing beside him and projecting healing light that surrounded him as he fought for his life. As the meditation continued, the light expanded to encompass all those in the room with him, until it spilled over into the hallway of the hospital. I held that for some time and ended with words of love and acceptance for my brother. I came out of it feeling more in control of my inner power, something that can be difficult to tether in tragedies such as these.

Feeling ready to proceed, I opened the instructional video Brittany sent me on the Kundalini Yoga meditation and began. The mudra (hand position) I used first was with my hands on my heart (an intimate centering of the energy within). I did this for 15 minutes, envisioning the healing light as I did while meditating before. Coming out of it, I felt in a way that it is hard to put in to words, but I will try.

Physically, it felt as if I was lighter. There was this sensation that I was no longer fighting against anything, but rather that I had surrendered and become woven into the fabric. And for a short time, it was as if the hairs on my body were acting like antennae radiating static light in all different directions.

Mentally, I felt more in control of the situation (and every other as well). Prior to what happened to my brother, I was already in a state of unraveling it seemed, recently trying to start my own business had left me a bit fearful of what was to come and I no longer felt that. It was clear that in an attempt to heal my brother, I was also healing myself. I was charged up!

I messaged Brittany and let her know that I was ready to do the Ra Ma Sa Sa Say So Hung meditation simultaneously with her (to enhance the healing power) and so we synced up and meditated together for 15 minutes more.

This time, I used the mudra with my hands out to the side to create an arch line of expansion for healing.

Wow! Coming out of it, I felt in a way that is even more difficult to put in to words, but I will again try.

The most notable physical feeling was in my ears. It was almost like a ringing, but not quite. It was like sounds were magnified causing them to echo, but not in the way we normally understand things to echo, it was more like they echoed in my mind, if that makes sense. It lasted 10-15 minutes or so and I wish it would have been longer.

There was this amazing sensation throughout my whole body that echoed peace, power & alignment with the world. I had this overwhelming knowing that my brother wanted to live, that he was fighting to come back to us, I don’t know how I knew, I just knew.

I could not be more thankful to Brittany. She helped me find my center and work towards not just healing my brother, but mending the wounds within the family as well.

Everything fell into place after that. I was able to go see my brother and spend a week with him in the hospital. There were good days and bad days and days where I began doubting whether he would wake up, but with meditation, I squashed them out, re-centered and continued healing. As did he and my family.

The day I left, although he was slowly making progress physically, the doctors were growing more and more concerned about his mental status. He would blink his eyes, shake his head & even squeeze our hands from time to time, but there was no real evidence that there was intent behind these responses.

Every day in the hospital, I held his hand and talked to him as if he could hear us and understand us, because I believed he could…I knew he could.

The day I left to go home, the doctors were still operating as “cautiously optimistic” and so saying goodbye was not easy to say the least. My heart ached so much for him, knowing he must be frightened and confused (something I tried to reassure him about every day).

We were no more than four hours out when my dad called to say, He’s awake! And he is responding with intent to the doctor’s questions.

The doctors told my dad that his room is now what they call the happy room in ICU because they are so amazed by his progress. He is not quite strong enough to be taken off the ventilator, but he was awake all day yesterday and is trying to talk now! I feel so very blessed and thankful.

For anyone looking for spiritual healing & guidance, I highly recommend @21brightstar!

Blessings Among Tragedies

For those of you who do not know, 13 days ago my brother was taken to the hospital and had been unresponsive for more than a week.

He is healing now and so are we as a family. Over the years some of us have drifted apart and although none of us wished to come together like this, this tragedy has come with many blessings.

My siblings and I have always been a little rebellious (somewhat of an understatement). All three of us chose paths that varied greatly from the way we were raised.

We march to the beat of our own drums and that has at times lead us in very different directions.

It’s a struggle finding your place in this world and it has been harder for some of us than others.

However one thing has never changed, the amount of love we have for one another.  The evidence of that has shined brightly as we have all come together in this most difficult time.

When I heard the news all I could think of was that it couldn’t be true. I didn’t know how to process. My brother and I have never been the type to stay in constant contact, but we didn’t need to. Years would go by when we wouldn’t see one another but then one of us would reach out and it was like no time had passed.

Family has always been a sensitive subject for me. As much as I have been loved and accepted by others, in the true sense of it all, I’ve always felt like the odd one out. My brother & sister share blood and they were adopted by my God Parents, those who I consider to be my parents, but my time with them was cut short (not by my choice or theirs). I treasure every moment I was able to have with them, however short it may have been. Had I been given the choice way back then I never would have left, but I realize had that been the case, I may have become a very different person…and I rather like the person I have become.

I didn’t have the childhood my brother & sister had. I was always on the outside looking in on the family I left behind. And over the years, many others have graciously accepted me into their families as one of their own. Yet even still, there has always been something in the back of my mind reminding me that at the end of the day, I am still an outsider.

I am sure they would disagree, but I can’t shake the feeling. I’ve never been able to. I know I’m loved, but it feels like that always comes with a caveat of some kind.

And so, I have allowed myself to embrace life behind the scenes. I shut people out as a defense mechanism for fear I will be reminded that I am not truly part of the pack.

And as I’ve learned, that will only cause them to drift farther away.

I was young when my sister had her kids and our parents would still help me out from time to time with the expense of the trip, so I was able to visit more. And although we are not super close, I know they know I love them and they understand.

My brother’s kids are a different story and my heart breaks every time I think about them, so I try not to. His ex’s have made it indirectly clear they don’t really consider me as part of my brother’s family. Once they were no longer together, I no longer mattered. I just hope the girls know that is absolutely not the case. I love them just as much as I love my sister’s boys,  I have just sort of been cut out of their lives.

And not for lack of trying on my brother’s behalf. He doesn’t have them all the time, but he keeps me updated as do my parents. So I have resolved to watching them grow up in pictures and the heart breaking fact that they may never get to know their other aunt nor I them.

I guess the point that I am getting to is this family has a lot of healing to do.

It can be so easy to pass judgment on those who live a different lifestyle than you and I am not saying that my brother is perfect or that any of us are for that matter, but I think it is so important not to forget that from the outside looking, things are not always what they appear. We all make mistakes, some of us over indulge, but all of us deserve a second chance.

The last time my brother and I talked, we were on the phone for hours. We opened up to one another about how we were trying to deal with our demons. And the biggest beast in particular, never feeling good enough. All three of us siblings have always struggled with the knowing that we didn’t and may never live up to our parents expectations.

Although rooted in love, the higher they were the more difficult it was when we couldn’t reach them. I am realizing now that what we should have been doing all these years, instead of being afraid to be ourselves, was to embrace our true selves and stop looking for this constant approval from everyone else.

My sister has almost mastered it, so I think we may both need to take a page from her book!

A few months ago we almost lost dad and now, almost losing my brother too, has made me realize even more how life as we know it can change. Anyone can be taken away at any moment.

It can be easy in a situation like this to put some of the blame on others or project our anger in the direction of the things we do not completely understand. But the truth is what happened to my brother happened and we can’t change that. What we can change is our reaction to it, to him. We need to be supportive, understanding and root our actions in only love.

Some may disagree and that’s okay, but regardless of that, at the end of the day, it is what it is and the road to recovery for all of us is going to be acceptance and understanding, not anger and blame.

That’s what got us all into this mess, the judgement, this distance, this separation from one another. It is harder to reach someone or help them in anyway when they reside in a state of fearing disappointment.

And the way we get through all of this, the way we all heal, is to love without expectations, to accept those dear to us not despite their faults, but inclusive of them.

It can be helpful to remember that we are all doing the best we can with what we have at any given time.  I am not saying we completely forget bad behavior, but chastising people for the struggles they are fighting will only push them further away and the further away you push them the harder it is to mend those fences (or stone hedges in some cases).

When my brother wakes up and I say WHEN! I hope we will all do well to remember that. I know I’ll never forget it.

I love you big brother, keep fighting, I miss you so much.

 

 

Insane Roots & Pro Floor – Partner Up To Drive Change!

Insane Roots is now partnering with Pro Floor to raise money for our local community & give back to our roots!

Currently we are working to raise money for  Team Brock  & Rockton School District #140.

Whether you are in need of carpet cleaning or looking for a new addition to your reading list, 15% of the proceeds from both will now go directly to charity.

Pro Floor is a family owned and operated business located in the Rockton, Illinois area, who, like Insane Roots, are striving to find ways to be the change we all wish to see in the world.

What a better way to do that, than to give back to the very community where it all began!

Our main focus will be helping the Scarpettas,  “Team Brock” reach their goal in raising the funds needed to help their son.

Brock is a sweet 12 year old boy who is battling a rare and fatal autosomal disease with no known cure or treatment; Batten Disease CLN8 variant.

But there is hope! He is participating in a new therapy called Pulsed Electromagnetic Field Therapy that works to regenerate the cells in his body.

The expense is astronomical however, which is why they need our help.

Please visit InsaneRoots.com or ProFloor for additional details on how you can join the fight!

Thank you for your support!

This Could Get Controversial…

As I write to  you now there is a chainsaw raging just outside my window.

And it has been for the last few hours.

I was so looking forward to sleeping in today, but as the sun awoke this morning, so began another day of construction and the slow destruction of what used to be the neighborhood I grew up in.

What was once a few small houses hidden from the street is slowly losing the war against one’s desire to expand an already massive parking lot. A fight we have all been fighting for many years.

To give you some background, every family occupying this neighborhood has been here since the tiny village of Roscoe began. In most cases, all of these houses have been passed down from generation to generation. To us, maintaining that close nit small town feeling is not just important, but it is tradition.

For example, my house was originally the home of my great grandmother. She raised her six children here.

When she passed, my grandparents purchased the house and made it their own. My grandfather expanded the main house, put up a two car detached garage and built a customized woodworking shop out back.

As most of you know, my grandparents raised me through my high school years, when my mother disappeared yet again. Up until that point, I had never lived in one place more than a year or two at most.

This was the first time in my life where I  truly felt secure in knowing it wasn’t just temporary . I was finally able to take a breath, relax and settle in.

When most people step through the door, it is just another house, but to me it is so much more.

Every corner is a memory and every memory a reminder of the unwavering love my grandparents not only shared with one another, but for me as well.

Every morning when I walk down those same steps I did as a teenager, I can almost see the two of them still sitting at the kitchen table. A view I never thought I would miss as much as I do.

For me, this house is what helps to keep their memory alive. And not just the house, but the whole property. From the lilacs my great grandmother planted in the front yard to the lingering smell of saw dust in my grandfather’s shop, it is a familiarity that in times of  distress it is all that gets me through.

And that is just my story. Each neighboring house is filled with its own set of memories and traditions. All of which, we as their residents will fight to preserve at all costs.

It is a way for us to feel close to those we have lost and in our own way to make them proud by carrying on in their absence.

Over the last few years, an entity that I will not name just yet has been on a mission to take over our neighborhood and expand what is already an over excessive amount of occupied space.

As time passes and generations end, they have tried their best to scoop up any house that goes on the market. First it was the house just across from mine, which happened when my grandfather was still living.

What was once a cute little red house surrounded by trees became pavement and the ability to see our house from the main road an impending reality.

When my grandfather passed the house along to me, my neighbor came over to fill me in on what he knew of this entity’s future plans. He told me that when the elderly woman down the street had passed, they tried to purchase the property at half the asking price with the plans of burning it down and you guessed it…adding more pavement. Seeing as this would basically put both of our houses in the middle of a parking lot, he purchased the house before they were able to make a deal with the family.

We agreed that neither of us would ever sell and if for any reason we came to a place where we had to, that we would let one another know first to keep them from having the option to scoop it up. I assured him there was no way I was going to be selling this house as I had made a promise to my grandfather the year before he passed that I never would.

Not to mention how hard I had to fight for it, but that is a story for another day.

We sat together at the kitchen table as he begged me with tears in his eyes to keep this house. He said he wanted me to find someone to share it with as they did. To carry on the tradition as they had. It was a moment that will forever be etched in my mind.

Seeing the strongest man I knew that vulnerable absolutely broke my heart. He loved my grandmother so much, the kind of love I think we all long for. And they had it.

This house wasn’t just special to him because it was her family home. It was where he felt he was finally able to give her all that she deserved. Every corner in the kitchen was customized to her liking. Except that the counters are a little lower than she wanted, something she always joked with him about.

It was the place where he was able to make her visions a reality. “Handcrafted with love”, he would say.

Not only that, but this was also the place where they grew old together.

And it was at that very kitchen table where she told him, she didn’t want to fight for her life anymore.

At that end of my grandmother’s life, she was taking so much medication that she couldn’t keep anything down except bread and milk. She had very little energy and was dizzy most of the time which prevented her from doing much of anything.

So, a few days before my 21st birthday, after her talk with grandpa, she decided to stop taking her medication and let nature take it’s course.

Could you imagine, the person you have spent the last 60+ years with coming to you and basically telling you they have made the choice to end their life? It must have been so hard for him to support her in doing that, but he did.  Even in the end, he put his needs behind hers.

That kind of love doesn’t come around every day.

I was living in Seattle at the time, but was planning to fly back two days after my birthday to see them.

The call came just several days shy of my original departure date, which was now the day of her funeral.

I walked through the door that day to a broken man. And the days that followed were even more painful, but we powered through it. Here, in this house, together.

So now you can understand why selling this house, at least for me, is not an option and I know I am not alone. As I mentioned before, it is a feeling that echoes the neighborhood.

Which is why most of us were not concerned when one of our neighbors decided to sell. This entity originally offered her something insulting like $25,000 for a property that is worth well over $100,000 and she of ‘course said no. They then tried pressuring her, as they have done with many other properties they have consumed, by stating that she would be doing a good service to her community by selling.

The house sat empty for a few months after they moved out their final items, but a sign never popped up.

Then it began…

Just to give you an idea…My house is located directly behind this entity’s parking lot. This property stretches the full length from our street (we share a dead end) all the way to the main road. My neighbor’s lot was filled with trees, some over 100 years old. The yard dips down from the street and the house is set towards the back of the property, so that it is 10-20 feet from the property line we share.

Over the last few months, they have stripped the house down to its bare bones in preparation for a controlled burn. All the trees from the house to the main street have almost been cleared, giving a clear view of my house from the main road. And now they are working to level the land in order to…Yup! Expand their parking lot!!

And here is where it gets a bit controversial, although it need not be. You see this has nothing to do with religion, which is why I saved this until the end.

I wanted you to hear the story without your opinion being swayed by the knowledge of said culprit.

The entity in question is a church. Does that change your opinion?

It shouldn’t.