New Year. New Life. New Experiences.
So I trek 45 minutes to the suburbs this morning to go visit a spiritual healer. Yes. A first time for everything. And, yes, I said spiritual. Not exactly my thing but it can’t hurt. Can it? Surely, I’ll dig deep into my subconscious and exorcize all those toxic demons who’ve been living the life of luxury inside the 10,000 square foot home known as my head.
As she swings the pendulum across the pages of which she flipped back and forth many times, I sit there and wonder what the hell did I get myself into now? She is having a two way conversation with someone. But not me. “Is it my dead grandfather”, I think to myself too afraid to actually ask what the hell she is doing. Nope. I think it’s God. She is sending me his energy. I think. At this point I’m lost.
Then she starts in with my past life. Apparently, I was a monk who was beheaded for being abusive to his wife. Huh? Monks have wives? She asks if I have any neck pain from the beheading? What? Ummm. No, my neck is just fine. Thanks, though. As I’ve said before, I cannot make this stuff up. But now, whenever I have neck pain, I’ll be sure to blame the abusive monk I used to be in my past life.
I beg her to stick with this life. I’ve got enough going on not to have to deal with any of my past lives. Seriously. So, she says ok. I will just not tell you what the god is saying about your past life. Again, the pendulum swings and she doesn’t utter a word. I guess that monk really fucked up.
As I was staring at my phone wondering how much longer this session was going to last, she starts talking again. Luckily, we have finally moved on to this life. Thank God. I couldn’t handle much more of this quackery.
Then she tells me something I’ve never thought of before. “You’re addicted to guilt.” BAM. Finally. She told me something that never crossed my mind. That’s it. I’m addicted to guilt. She could not have been more right. Hit the nail on the head. According to the spiritual healer, guilt was instilled in me during utero. Perhaps a stretch on her part. But plausible. As my father was off getting laid by his secretary (my current step monster), my mother was transferring her painful energy into my fetal being. Ok. It’s a bit far fetched.
I can’t blame all my bad decisions based on whatever energy was passed to me from her body during that painful time of her life. A 28 year old with 3 kids under 6 and one on the way and you know your husband is fucking his secretary. Ouch. That has to hurt. But that was 47 years ago. Surely, she has moved on? Nope. She still hates him to this day. And I suffered that hate in utero, in childhood, throughout my young adulthood (including my wedding day), and still today. Nearly five decades later. Good grief, woman. Move on.
I’ve lived through many addictions in my life. Sex addiction. Love addiction. Pill addiction. Alcohol addiction. Cigarette addiction. Now guilt addiction. All of these addictions have been fleeting. I get bored. I quit the abusive behavior. But this guilt addiction? This has stood test of time.
I have guilt about my decision to end my marriage. The affair. The pain I caused so many. Especially my children. I have guilt about not being present with my children in their presence. I have guilt every time I hit send when I’m on a rant. I have guilt when I hurt the ones I love the most. I have guilt not getting everything done. I have guilt every time I light up. Every time I take another drink and then get behind the wheel. I have guilt about having sex with all the wrong men. I have guilt about loving all the wrong men. I have guilt for hitting the man I adored in front of his children. OH. MY. GOD. The guilt. Does it ever end?
I have just realized all of this guilt has consumed me. For far too long. No wonder my mind won’t ever shut down. Somebody locked that door to the room inside my mind that consumes the guilt and threw the key away so that the guilt would be trapped in my mind forever.
Probably the beheaded monk.
How can I ever move forward with so much guilt consuming me? I have made some horrific decisions in my life. I own them. No doubt. But I can’t continue to own the guilt of every poor decision I make. Forever. Guilt has to have a shelf life. An expiration date.
It has to. I need the room in my head for peace and calm and quiet..
Picture provided by Pexels.com by David McBee.