In The Place Of My Dreams

In the middle of walking through a wooded forest, I became aware that I was in a dream.

Tree after tree passed of seemingly infinite wooded trunks passed as I trudged forward along a rocky pathway. Behind them, huge rocks emerged, occasionally giving way to a view of a forested landscape beneath. I was already high up on the mountainside, but I continued to walk uphill.

Ahead, there was a series of cabins. As I continued, I noticed others. I tried entering one of the cabins, but a man up on the balcony let me know that I wasn’t allowed to enter.

He pointed to a building up ahead, where I noticed others were walking. “That building,” He said. “That’s where you want to go.”

I followed his finger. A cabin that was wider than the rest was up ahead. I followed in the direction his fingertips faced as others still gravitated, forwards, forwards.

Passing a few cabins on the way, I entered the door of the wide cabin.

The walls were grey in a softly lit room. The walls were lined with pots and pans, and a counter against the back wall. The counter continued through a small walkway, giving way to a sink.

In the middle of the room, there was a table lined with chairs. Several people sat and stood in the small clearing before the kitchen, talking, moving, holding up various objects.

The dream comes to a close, fading to a soft black. I awaken with only the memory of its warmth.

Breathing in, I find myself in the present.

I stand in the very room I visited in my dream nearly a month before I had ever physically been there before. Drawing in a silent breath, or barely breathing at all, I felt the tears begin to well.

The place in my dream.. It's real.

The walls, the floor, the kitchen and the tables. They all vibrated with a familiar frequency, a warm hum that seemed to stir the very core of my soul.

I was called here.

ONE YEAR AGO

A listing for an established Ecovillage caught my eye as I browsed the ic.org website, daydreaming about a better way of living... After finding out my Morgellons disease was caused by an extreme sensitivity to GMO foods, I found myself being pulled away from life in the city. I was also pleasantly surprised to find it was nearby where I lived currently, with my boyfriend of several years in Indiana.

 After writing up the application and discovering I didn’t have the stamps needed to send it, I tucked the application away in another bag, soon forgetting about it.

Living in the city had been very difficult for me. Looking back from where I am now, it’s apparent to me that I will probably never go back to living in the city. Life had become quite hostile for me as I struggled to fit into a society in which I felt alien.

My extreme GMO sensitivity was only the beginning of my reasons for being drawn away from society…

Not being able to blend in has been a curse in many ways, because those who don’t blend in or feel like they belong with others frequently become targets of abuse. At that time, I was threatened at my job, bullied by a roommate of mine, and was yet again targeted by my dad. I was then told that it was my fault my father abused me by another bully.

Emotionally crippled but too powerless to create change, I would daydream about moving to intentional communities even though the entire concept of being safe was completely foreign to me.

Afraid and tired of being emotionally battered, I found myself withdrawing from the world, though planting seeds for connection through small means; mainly, by sharing whatever spiritual insights I was receiving at the time to others.

The experiences of extreme illness and abuse in many ways forced me to question the entire reality I found myself in. I found that by seeking to understand and make sense of my own life I was able to better understand the world at large.

Though physically I had changed location, emotionally I found myself in a very similar space months later.

One night, I found myself alone. I was doing my own thing as I ran back and forth between rooms while listening to music.

 I went into my bedroom, contemplating the direction I was headed in life but too scared to do anything about it. At the time, it seemed like all I could do was become a sex worker in the hopes that the money would give me the sort of security I longed for.

So I was running back and forth, getting dance gear and putting on costumes, when I walked in the living room.

Right in the middle of the living room floor lay a piece of paper.

How did that get there? I wondered as I approached. I certainly hadn’t moved it.

Walking closer, my breath stopped for a moment.

I hadn’t thought seriously about the Ecovillage in months, yet there the application lay on the middle of the floor, having moved, somehow, completely on its own.

It was a sign. One that I did not logically understand. After all, how could I? There was no explanation for something that was at its core, mysterious. 

But on the other hand this feeling of being a round stick that could not, for the life of me, fit into a square hole, had always been in the undercurrents of every attempt I made to be a functioning member of society.

It seemed like the piece of paper lay there as an answer to my questioning... a subtle nudge, saying, try this instead.

But… My logical mind said… How am I going to get there? I’m not strong enough. I have terrible anxiety. And I don’t know what I’m doing… I have no experience working on a farm, how the hell do I expect to be any help? I’m just going to be a burden…I have so many things to take care of before going. What’s the point of doing it if I am going to fail?

For months, I sat with those thoughts. Following the nudge was at the back of my mind. I felt guilty at times, for being afraid of trusting Spirit. There had been many times I had received guidance before, but I had always been afraid. I had been talking about it for a long time, but I had been terrified at the same time. Who wouldn’t be? At that point in my life, I had basically learned through my life experiences that I was doomed to being perpetually abused or exploited for resources.

I knew if I had to endure much more emotional trauma than I had already experienced in the past, I would snap. Every day it seemed I was closer to committing suicide… It seemed only a matter of time before my demons would get the better of me.

One day, the thought occurred to me that I didn’t want to live in such a way. The ecovillage entered my mind again, a symbol of hope. It was time for me to put my words into action.

What more did I have to lose?

We began to exchange emails. I was invited to the monthly potluck on Sunday, and so I decided to make the three-hour drive to visit.

Even then, I still tried to talk myself out of it. I was terrified, of wanting something that badly. It scared me to want something with my entire being. The thought of not being able to have the only thing that I truly wanted scared the hell out of me.

A quick jolt from the universe snapped me right back to the importance of taking the plunge. A near death experience brought the awareness right back to me.

This is your one life. there is no other chance but now to follow your joy.

I had been resisting being stripped bare. I think that night I realized that I didn’t want to die without experiencing ‘coming back home’ to myself. I had to at least try.

In a society where the oddball is bullied, in a society where the artist is silenced, in a society where sensitivity is punished, I did not belong.

On the drive there, I thought about all the things I had lived through… abuse…  bullies… sickness.

I was ready for release. I wanted to know if life had more to offer me, or if I was damned to keep reliving my past forever.

After a long drive of music, miles upon miles of wooded hills, and farmland, I turned into the entrance, a small dusty road next to a small cemetery and church. A few dogs were barking, and a girl with wavy brown hair was walking along a dusty pathway as I tentatively rolled forward.

“Can I help you?” She asked, smiling warmly.

My voice was quiet from the long drive as I tried to squeakily ask for where to go. The girl directed me to a building that was larger than the rest. I could feel the deja vous creeping up

Soon I found myself opening the door to the building she had shown me, and instantly recognized the room I found myself in as the same from my dream. I felt the tears well up in my eyes, but wanting to be brave, I held them in. I made it, I felt with awe. I finally made it.

I stood in the doorway in awe for what seemed like ages, in complete disbelief that this was my life; that any of it was real, that any of it was happening.

…But it was.

I slowly walked up to a girl and nervously told her I was here for the potluck, and apologized for being late. She directed me over to the food, apologizing that most of it was picked over. I looked, and there was nothing left but a bit of coconut milk made with turmeric. I smiled. I wasn’t really hungry anyways, and I could feel the tears building up, blurring my vision as we continued to walk.

A mild hum of chatter and laughter filled the clearing. Children ran back and forth, as others were talking amongst each other in small groups. Seeing it all through the water, it felt as if I was seeing the world through a haze. I quietly sat down.

The girl who had helped me find food began talking with me… I tried to respond but soon I found myself crying, saying I couldn’t believe there’s another way of living. There was a bit of silence as we both sat and watched the other people interacting.

Some of the others asked if I wanted to help out the next day. I nodded, smiling through the tears.

We spent the day planting tiny sprouts of onions. My muscles ached and pulsated, sore from the simple task of digging my hands in the dirt while squatting. The sun shone from above as clouds migrated with the soft breeze.

The community members asked if I would stay past lunch. I nodded.

We talked out in the fields. Words flew and floated around, words about love, words about farming, words about life… somewhere, between the work of moving the dirt and random joking and teasing, I found a newfound sense of calm that I hadn’t experienced in a very long time.

They asked if I was going to stay for dinner. “I should really go home sometime soon,” I giggled.

Everyone casually joked that I would never end up leaving. But I had already decided this was where I wanted to be, and in order to stay I needed to make preparations. I departed that night.

Change, and more change. Everything was moving but for the first time in years I knew what I wanted; it became a sort of center that I could reside in. I sense the fear within myself as a fluttering pulse; one that was nervous at being completely immersed in a new experience, but equally excited. It felt distinctly different from the other kind of fear that came from being around dangerous individuals.

Finally, I began to open my eyes, and see.

* * *

I was stunned when I came back from this amazing experience and was almost immediately estranged from my love of five years. I wanted the sort of connection where someone wanted to understand me, as much as I wanted to understand them. Our relationship became increasingly strained over the next few weeks.

For so many years I had been resisting seeing that I was not going to get this sort of connection with him. At the end he was saying things with the intent of hurting me.

I couldn’t help but be reminded of the wise words, to love someone is to take them in as yourself. He was hurting me because he was hurting himself.

* * *

The smell of soil and sweet hay fills the air as droplets fall to the ground in all directions. There’s a word for that… petrichor.

I am covered in mud and the reverberating echo of rainfall rushes towards the earth. My hands are nearly numb and my breath shudders in the air around me.

Where am I?

I look through droplet speckled glasses as the quiet roar of rain settles on a lush, hilly landscape. I am on my knees at the end of a row of muddy soil raised above the rest. I use my hands to move the soil aside, planting an onion.

I remember everything that has happened in the past week and everything comes back to me. Mentally I remember: You are Tessa. You moved to an ecovillage and are learning how to farm. Your first love left you shortly before coming here

I feel a sting of pain in my heart that hurts more than all the cold rain in the world.

This is your life now.

Even through the pain, I feel a serenity that pervades my entire being.

I dig my hands in the soil yet again. I want the soil to shape me. I want the earth and mud to mix with my very core. I want my very soul to be shaped by nothing more than the very ground that my own feet have treaded upon; the same soil which everyone I have ever known has treaded upon. As their footsteps have shaped the earth, I want the earth to shape me.

There is no difference between the droplets streaming down upon the earth and my tears. We are one.

By the water, I am held.

* * *

~to be continued~

This changes everything - my story

This changes everything

When we feel a certain way for a very long time, we forget that there is anything else beyond that. With time, what we feel at baseline can become quite different for us than it feels to other people.

On a smaller scale we see ideas vary from person to person. But on a much bigger scale, we see lifestyles and cultural norms vary from all ends of the extreme. Living on earth means living in a place of contrast; and so what is seen as taboo, unheard of, or extreme in one culture, may be perfectly normal in another.

This creates a lot of the disconnect we see in the world. One person's idea of love is another person's idea of hatred. One person's idea of god, is another person's idea of satan. While we tend to think of physical reality as being concrete and unchanging, the truth is that physical reality represents completely different things to every single being based on their own individual way of seeing the world.

But why don’t we experience the world in the same way, even if we grew up in the same town as other people, or even the same household?

We all have different experiences in the same world.

Sometimes, you don't find out how difficult an experience was until you're out of it… until you’re witnessing the opposite of it.

This is my story.

* * *

So many people didn't know what I was going through one day ages ago when I said I wished my dad was dead.

Now, looking back on that time, I can see how absolutely far of a cry I was from okay. I had scars on my wrist. Anxiety every day. And the worst part was that I could have avoided it completely, and I didn’t. Learned helplessness.

My dad has been persistently physically and verbally abusive to me ever since I was 16. Sometimes the abuse would range from simple belittling (telling me I'm pathetic, stupid, calling me names, or cussing) to extreme reactions (yelling at me, hitting me, etc).

He would often isolate me when he was planning on targeting me for abuse, and then gaslight me later when I would talk about what happened by denying what happened and painting me to be crazy to other people.

It eventually started to slip out into view, and my family started to see the effects it was having on me. I became prone to dissociating and was diagnosed with ADD. My dad would then sweep in to become a rescuer of sorts, trying to get me to stay quiet about what I went through, usually in the form of bribes, or offering counseling. He went to church every weekend and made it very clear that nobody would believe me if I spoke up about the abuse. Most didn't, and I learned to stay quiet.

Finally, when I was 17, I found out that he was cheating on my mom by finding a small prepaid phone in a phone that was left out in the open. One contact was his mom, and the other an unknown number. I called the other number and a female voice answered, saying my dad's name in a nauseatingly flirty tone. Throughout the course of the year I kept the secret, sharing it with some close friends. Eventually my mom found out because I had written it down for a creative writing assignment where we were instructed to write down a secret we had.

I think many people would be surprised to think that I was relieved when my parents got divorced... but before you criticize me for feeling that way, you need to realize the space I was in; I was being abused covertly. Many people actively ignored me l when I spoke about the abuse, because my father was an upstanding and active member of our christian church. For many, the cognitive dissionance was too much to take and denial was simply more comfortable. From the outside perspective everything looked fine in our family, even though it was quite the opposite of what I was experiencing...

At 18, I decided to go to college far away. I was running from my past, and thus, I was running from my present. I made horrible decisions, got in trouble with the law, and self sabotaged the entire year, because at least by messing up my life I could witness that I had at least some ability to influence where my life went. The way I put it now makes it sound like the times there were all bad, that everything was intentional, and it really wasn't. I had a lot of fun out there. I still think back to those days with a bit of wistfulness... something about being in the same boat as a bunch of people your age still makes me nostalgic.

After returning home from college, the abuse got worse (to my surprise). There was a particularly bad fight where he gave me bruises on my arm... I remember taking pictures of it on my phone before it got stolen, and with it, the only proof I had that it ever happened.

Nothing was guaranteed. Every day, I wouldn't know if he would choose to violate me or if I would be let off easy with neglect or the rare kindness. It was a difficult existence.

I was struggling with schoolwork at community college. I had developed a taste for drugs and alcohol as a way to numb myself… After discovering the previous year that amphetamines helped me feel normal, I was prescribed amphetamines under the guise of ADD and became what I now refer to as "legally addicted”.

For about 6 months I would make a habit of going out partying on the weekends when he was around... escaping was always a lot of fun. For a short while, I wouldn’t have to worry. But eventually, it all came to a crashing halt.

One day I was at work, when everything changed. I was at the register at my fast food job when suddenly, a head rush washed over me. In a second, everything was different. I seemed to be seeing through a fog. My hands were trembling uncontrollably, and there was this intense feeling of doom. I managed to get out that I was not feeling okay and proceeded to go to the back and pace back and forth (what I later learned was stereotypical seizure behavior), thinking that I was crazy, till it subsided about 10 minutes later.

Hoping it was just coincidence, I tried my medication again a few days later, and the same thing happened. The second time I had realized I was experiencing a seizure and (stupidly) decided to work through it anyways.

My life was at stake, and it became clear to me that I had to leave this addiction-induced lifestyle behind. I was terrified. I knew that if I stopped doing amphetamines I would not be able to keep up with this lifestyle I wasn't cut out for... beyond that, I would have no choice but to stop running.

I stopped all drugs and began a ketogenic diet. The seizures happened less and less often, until they stopped completely. This piqued my interest, and soon my passion for studying nutrition, the human body, and how to heal it took place. With it, I began my emotional healing as well.

I learned that it was best if I stopped interacting with my dad, as he had continued to abuse me even if there were weeks of relative peace in between. I actually stopped interacting with almost everyone at that time. I lost a lot of friends when I stopped doing drugs, but many more just slowly faded away. I think a lot of them thought I was judgemental when I stopped using; though it wasn't like that to me. Deep down, I realized that I couldn’t truly be free if I needed substances to feel normal.

Everyone else's life seemed to be producing fruit, but I was withering. It isolated me. It became hard to relate to people who seemed to have everything I wanted... a stable home life, a supportive system of friends, a clear sense of direction in life.

I also found myself increasingly drawn to spirituality. My spiritual practice became a very important part of my life. At times, it was all I had.

Meanwhile, all my energy went into finding my own way to healing.

I went through all sorts of health problems as I began revisiting my dark past. At first, I was afraid I didn’t have what it took to heal; but with time I began to see that I was not only capable of finding the cause (both physical and emotional) of every symptom, but I was good at it. It became a sort of game for me, to find out how to cure whatever ailment I was having.

From the colon to the liver, to the brain and heart, I studied the impact nutrition had on how I was feeling, my only goal being to feel better than before. It not only worked, but I began feeling better than I had ever felt in my whole life... Meanwhile, my spiritual practice helped me make sense of my own suffering.

There came a point where I found I was stuck. I had began to stop tolerating gluten, but even after cutting it out I found myself experiencing a myriad of odd symptoms; symptoms of having sores that weren't healing, and extreme tiredness but was unable to sleep, and of extremely itchy skin bumps that looked like acne. I felt intuitively that they were all connected somehow, but I was not finding the cause as quickly as I had with the other illnesses.

 I searched long and hard for the cause, keeping track of my symptoms, all the while I was becoming sicker and sicker. To me it made no sense that I was as sick as I was… I was eating healthier than ever before, but for some odd reason, I felt worse. One day, it clicked. I hypothesized the cause was GMO foods, and cut them out of my diet completely.

Within a week my symptoms stopped completely. About a month later my skin was completely healed... the nightmare of the past 6 months was over, but I was left with the knowledge of the reality of two very crucial ecological issues: genetic experimentation, and geoengineering.

Beyond that, the hell… and the isolation, of what I had barely survived, gave rise to a deep sense of alienation coupled with a deep gratitude that has stuck with me ever since. I think that tends to happen when you live through hell; nothing that ever happens after surviving ever compares to the original trauma, and it gives rise to a sort of deep joy… A light shines within you knowing that it will never be as bad as it was before.

Realizing I needed to cut ties with my father and actually doing it were two completely different things, though. I never realized until trying to go no contact, how taboo it is to not speak to another family member. I never realized how there can be pressure even from within your family to keep putting yourself in situations where you’re physically in the presence of your abuser. But my body increasingly let me know how much stress it was causing me, in the form of a skin rash on the left side of my face.

I was increasingly realizing that being around my father was preventing me from truly letting go, but I still didn’t have the money to move out on my own. When my boyfriend Miles invited me to stay out with him in Indiana, I finally took a step out into the unknown, so we could finally be close together and I could take perhaps the biggest risk I’d taken yet in my adult life.

While it was a bit of a disaster finally getting out there in my bungeed up car, it also pushed me to grow. There was a lot of friendships that formed, and also a lot of enemies. Dealing with bullies at my job and at the house I was living at really dragged me down in a lot of ways; it felt like my life was just going to keep being a series of ongoing traumatic events that I was going to have to perpetually push myself to overcome through spiritual practice.

At the time I didn't understand why these people were bullying me. I thought something was wrong with me; even though I didn't do anything to them. I truly just wanted to coexist without being hurt.

The bullying had a huge impact on me, and I began to slip into old habits... When I went back to Colorado for the summer, I hit my lowest point. One day I was sharing what I knew about how messed up GMO foods really are with my dad and brother. My dad of course saw a weak spot and took it, jeering that I was making up the whole thing about the bizarre health problems I have due to my GMO sensitivity. Naturally, I got upset and began crying. Like I hinted at before, I had been through hell when I was sick as a result of my GMO sensitivity.

My dad began doing the thing he usually does, but I was so blind at the time I didn't realize it so I could escape in time. He made everyone leave the house, isolating me. He then began to verbally abuse me again, saying I was pathetic, and worthless. I began to get worse, unable to cope with the bullying. I screamed and started to hurt myself again, and again, and again… until a sort of eerie calm emerged. I stared at the blur of my father, who was supposed to love me, ahead; the tears froze in my eyes. "If I'm so pathetic, maybe I should kill myself," I murmured.

My dad looked straight at me and said if I killed myself, it would be the first thing I ever accomplished.

The rest of the night is a blur. I fucked up my wrist with scars. I remember calling my boyfriend, and he talked me down slowly. it's one thing to think someone thinks something about you... but it's another thing to actually hear it.

I screamed at him. Why would anyone ever say that to anyone? Why would anyone encourage someone to kill themselves? How could anyone do that and act even remotely normal in their waking life? How fucked up do you have to be? All of these were so hard to see past in the heat of the moment. Aren’t fathers supposed to be loving?

To make things worse, a few days later, my bully back in Indiana sent me a message first thing in the morning cussing me out and calling me names. To this day, I still don’t know why he felt the need to do that. I asked him why he can't just leave me alone, I'm not doing well, and he responded with cruel names. I decided shortly after that it would be healthiest to block his number instead of letting myself be pummeled any more by bullies.

I've been suppressing so much anger and sadness. So much of it. I've spent so much time hating myself because I thought I deserved to be treated that way... I thought I was selfish, any time I wanted to do anything at all for myself. Even when I was having health problems, it was hard for me to get past the idea that I deserved to die.

Back in Indiana, I was able to be still; the bully roommate moved away and I was doing much better being in a space of total acceptance. In a space of quiet, it became easier to recognize my own worth. I was still isolated, and not quite sure how to break past the solitude that I had built around myself, a chain link fence. But I was peaceful, and was learning more and more each day about the root cause of suffering, of anxiety, of self-hate through thinking about such things…

Come Christmas, I felt pressured to return because of my family… Even though I felt like a nervous wreck even thinking about returning, I decided to just go ahead anyways. All the hatred, anxiety, and stress came back to me. It was like I had never healed at all. 

Take about 3 weeks apart, these photos show how being in the prescence of an abuser can manifest as physical wounds. The first was taken after Christmas break, and the second is taken after being away from my abuser for a few weeks, thus allowing for healing to take place

It’s weird, but I’ve come to realize that a lot of emotional imbalances quickly manifest physically on me. I had that gash develop on the left side on my face because I let the fact that I was going to be around my abuser again get to me. Looking back, I’m still in denial in a lot of ways. I just want to be normal. There’s so much pressure to be normal. Believe me, I’ve tried (by eating foods I’m allergic to, only to experience a reaction, to forcing myself to work minimum wage jobs that arent cut for my strengths, or trying to build high emotional walls to keep my heart safe) But it’s not possible for me to do what normal people do after being through what I’ve been through.

It felt weird… Being around him, my abuser. I just went right back to old habits. He acted like his rescuer personality the entire break, which in some ways made things worse, because it just reinforces this idea that I’m crazy for hurting so badly as a result of his actions.

Beneath the sadness, I found anger. Sadness was a cover emotion for the raw anger I had towards him. I hated him for fucking me up emotionally. I hated him for fucking up other people emotionally along with me. For never showing a sign of remorse, never asking for forgiveness, never apologizing. For seeming to enjoy witnessing how much he could hurt another person at times, I hated him. I hated his hypocrisy more than anything else.

One day I just let it slip, by saying that I wish he was dead on facebook. Ironically, I ended up being treated like how my dad treated me by a lot of other people, pacified like I'm a mental patient. But was I really all that crazy for feeling that way?

Did others ever wonder why I felt that way? Did they ever question if I felt that way for a reason? Is it always mentally unhealthy to feel that way, or are there some cases where it’s healthier to be angry than to be completely forgiving, completely allowing, remaining in a space of complete positive focus?

I’m sure you can understand my answer. I don't think it's a sign of mental un-health to want THE MOST abusive person you've ever met to die at some point in your recovery from abuse. Anger is one step in the grieving process. Grieving an abusive relationship, you grieve the death of what was meant to be loving and beautiful. It's incredibly painful and the ‘should’s’ make it more painful.

I would not be the same person I am today without the abuse. Perhaps I would live in the way that I have for most of my younger life, where I lived in a way that was more cautious. Maybe I wouldn’t have put so much focus on spiritual growth and personal development if I never questioned the reason I was put on this planet to begin with.

 Most days I’m honestly afraid of the implications that come with thinking that the only reason I am the way I am is because I’ve had a horrifying past. I don’t want to think that the only way people become purified is by going straight through fire and brimstone.  I think we can start creating a better world by being mindful that everyone thinks what they think for a reason and seeking to understand those reasons above anything else.

Regardless, I have consistently felt called towards a broader audience as a result of my experiences. Because of my suffering, I am able to understand others who are suffering. Because I am finding a way out of my own suffering, I may be able to help others who are struggling to see past their current circumstances.

I am not sure where this calling will lead me, but I ask for the patience and prayers from friends, known or unknown, as I continue to recover. Beyond that, I ask for understanding. I ask to be seen and accepted for who I am, because I seek to see and accept other people for who they are (yes, even my abusers, but that’s another post entirely).

It is not going to be like this forever, I think, as I blast music in my small green car, leaving in my absence dirt suspended in remnant sound waves. There’s no way in hell my life is going to begin as an ongoing cry for help that never gets answered before it ends.

* * *

Shielding my eyes from the sun, I approach a building. I hear the small hum of people being friendly inside. My hand quivers a bit as I reach for the handle. Taking a deep breath, I fight the fear and at once find myself in a room.

 Christmas lights are strung decoratively throughout the small clearing…. Lining the walls, there are hundreds of jars, pots, and pans. The floor is a dark grey color that has been lightened by dirt; Tapestries on the walls paint the room with beautiful patterns.

All around me people are talking and smiling… The warming smell of garlic and paprika fills the air as people continue to talk quietly amongst themselves.

It takes everything I can to not cry at the scene… Taking it all in, I allow the tears to fill my eyes, but not spill over. I manage to stutter that I’m sorry I’m late, and people direct me to get a plate and utensils; I am welcome to eat my fill.

The room was familiar. I had seen it in a dream before. I remember the layout and the coloring; the grey walls and dark floor and wooden counters that lined the back, where the sink was. I remembered the people. But never in my life did I think the place I had travelled to in my dream was actually real. Never in my life had I ever physically been there.

But this feeling I have tells me loud and clear: Welcome home. You have arrived at last.

This changes everything.

Continued in post, In The Place Of My Dreams

The Truth About Hatred - WARNING: GAME CHANGER

The Truth About Hatred – WARNING: GAME CHANGER

A few days ago, I was in tears again over some issues in the past.

I am one of those people who has a hard time letting go of anything, and I mean, anything.

Even my dingy car that stopped working was hard for me to let go of, even though to most people it was a piece of junk. The front part of it was smashed in, the headlights didn’t work properly, and I had to individually undo every bungee every time I needed to see the engine, which was bound to stop working at any moment. If I didn’t bungee it properly afterwards, the hood would fly up while I was driving and could smash the front windshield! (It happened one time, but unfortunately the pictures I had of it went missing)

And yet, as I was posting the ad on craigslist to sell my beloved car, I couldn’t help but feel a tinge of grief on the ending of one phase of my life. A part of me just wanted to say no to selling it completely, and keep it as a car to live in...

As some may have read, my dad has been very abusive to me for most of my adult life. In fact, I started this blog as a way to help other people who find themselves in a similar situation of feeling hopeless when recovering from abuse.

For the outsider, it should be a no brainer that that being yelled at, physically hurt, and denied any apology is not okay, will never be okay. We think it should be the natural course of things to walk away from these toxic people and situations. Easy enough, right?

But for those of us who have been in such a situation ourselves, we find quite the opposite is true! Our brains are built in such a way that it will try to explain why it was okay that such things happen. What we find is that it’s actually much harder to see what is happening to us, if the things that are happening to us are painful.

The advice that we’d give to a friend if they were in a similar situation is usually a no-brainer. But when abuse is happening to ourselves, it’s quite difficult to be able to admit that what we thought about someone was wrong, and they actually turned out to be quite abusive to us. It can be hard to tell what’s okay and what’s not when we base all our experiences of what’s normal from our childhoods; childhoods that in fact, could be anything but safe.

Not to mention that many children living with abusive parents usually have no other option but to sink into fantasy. When we feel trapped in a situation, our mind will try and change the story we tell ourselves about it as a protection mechanism.

 We tell ourselves that they are punishing us because they love us. We tell ourselves that we deserved to be hurt. We may even go on to repeat the same patterns of hurting those close to us, simply because with time we begin to associate love with abuse.

Our minds will literally tell any story at all it takes to make the truth of being abused less painful.

Many who are spiritually inclined find themselves having a face-to-face moment with themselves, however. Realizing that no matter what happens in life, pain cannot be avoided, gives way to a shift in which suddenly there is no reason to run from pain any longer.

A willingness to feel pain gives way to being willing to sort through the safety mechanisms of our own minds and risk coming face to face with our own darkness. These thoughts (that are, at this point, completely subconscious) have usually been suppressed because there is an aspect of them that is quite painful… So painful, in fact, that we can’t look at them at all.

Yet, if a truth we find whilst in meditation is painful, I have often found that the painful truth isn't the entire truth about something. If a thought is painful, we simply haven’t thought about it deep enough.

Speaking with a close friend, I couldn’t help but cry. The words came out on their own… “I don’t understand why these people hate me so much… They don’t even know me! I didn’t do anything to hurt them! It doesn’t make sense at all!” I shuddered. "I don't even need them to love me, I just want them to not act like they hate me..." 

He kept his cool,as he said in a matter-of-fact sort of way, “Well, if they didn’t really know you, they couldn’t really love you...”  I nodded.

“Well…" He continued, "If it couldn’t be real love, then how can you be so sure that it’s real hate?”

Days passed, and I found myself still thinking about his words.

What is hatred? What is real hatred? Where does it come from, and why does it matter?

There have been so many days in my recovery from abuse where the only thing I could feel was hate for my father.  I wanted him to die. I could care less what happened to him. Weeks went by of feeling this way and after some time I just kind of accepted that I was just always going to feel this way.

Feeling intense hatred is difficult enough, but add to that the fact that it is socially taboo to hate, and I found a layer of guilt mixed with the hatred. 

Even though I had good reason to hate my abuser, I felt guilty for feeling that way. 

There came a point where I decided that instead of using my spirituality as a way to deny these very real feelings of hatred, I would dive into them. It seemed like the feeling would never go away, and I was just always going to hate the people who intentionally hurt me.

Why did I hate him? 

The answer appeared in a flash. 

I hated him because he represented everything that I hated. 

From this realization, a larger truth emerged...

We hate people because of what they represent to us.

What had my abusers represented to me?

They had become a symbol in my mind, of hypocrisy, oppression, and abuse itself. By taking a stand against them, I was actually taking a stand against hypocrisy and abuse itself.

I then asked myself this simple question:

What did I represent to my abusers?

I realized to my dad I represented childishness. By taking a stand against me, he was taking a stand against being irresponsability. He had made it not okay to be childish and immature himself, because from his perspective he was forced to grow up too fast. He learned at some point or another that being immature and being vulnerable was weakness. 

To see me living the way I was threatened his worldview. I reminded him of his inner child that had been repressed. By hating me, he was unleashing his hatred for his own inner child, which he felt was a nuisance that prevented him from living to his fullest.

My other bully saw me as an oppressive force that wants to control everything. He saw my careful eating habits as rigid and elitist. He misinterpreted my happiness at conquering sickness and wanting to help others feel better as me thinking that I am better than other people and they are incapable of helping themselves. By taking a stand against me he was taking a stand against elitists and manipulators everywhere who treat people as being incapable of helping themselves and who feel the need to intervene in others' lives before they are ready.

Gasping, the thought came to me....

I hate all the things that they hate, too.

 I hate the principles that I came to represent in my bullies' minds. As much as I can try to control how I am perceived, nothing I could do would touch their individual perception. Beyond that, any attempt to directly influence how I am percieved is controlling behavior.

I hate how eating healthy is associated with being elitist. I hate how offering to help people overcome their own sickness can, on some level, send them the message that they are not capable of healing themselves when in fact, we all are.

This explains the phenomena of people being capable of hating someone they have never met before.

Many people have extreme hatred for public figure icons. Donald Trump is perhaps the most relevant person I could mention here. 


To many people Trump is a symbol of oppression, racism, sexism, and corporate greed. By hating Donald Trump, we are taking a stand against those very principals. (Also, by loving Donald Trump, we are welcoming brutal honesty, deviation from the norm, and extreme change).

Even more interesting, many of us can 'bond' emotionally over hating the same person. Has anyone ever said they hate someone that you hate, and you felt an instant kinship with them as a result? 

By hating the same person we can see that we share ideals in the same way.

 If someone says, “I hate Hitler,” We on some level hear them saying, “I hate the ruthless oppression and singling out of any single group based on their religion.” Or even, “Killing people is not cool.” We think, ‘Hey, I think those things are messed up too, me and this guy who hates Hitler share a common ideaology!’

This explains the phenomenon of being able to supposedly love, or supposedly hate, those that we have never met, and who, in reality, don’t know at all. We love and hate strangers because of the ideas those strangers represent.

Ideas never die. People do.

We kill people because we want to kill the negative qualities they embody to us. 

 We would literally kill to create a world without suffering. Isn't that ironic?

However, we can halt the cycle by instead becoming aware of our own sources of hatred. By bringing our own hatred to our awareness, we can transmute those feelings with the understanding cast by the light of our consciousness.

Have a lovely week...

~Tessa Rae~