Childhood Wounds: Adult Remedies

I wanted to share this post that went viral a few years ago about the abuse I experienced at the hands of my mother's husband, who by default was my step dad. I never referenced him as such. He simply was my 3 maternal sister's father, not mine. A man my mother decided to marry. The irony is not lost on me. The dissociation and culminating mental parameters I had to erect in order to survive may explain my distrust in men and my clinging to womanhood, and moreso, femininity as a source of strength.

My mother, whose sanctification dictated that she was never in pants, but long, beautiful skirts and equally beautiful dresses. My mother was a "corporate baddie" before the term hit the instagram zeitgeist. She worked as a telemarketing supervisor at our local newspaper behemoth, The Clarion Ledger. She would go on to work at wireless one and finally a supervisor for MCI Worldcom. The latter must go noted as the provider of her health insurance as she batted breast cancer with the faith of Job. 
Her job, however, did not diminish her value and presentness as a mother. However, that particular day on that particular morning of abuse, in a darkened house because the light bill had not yet been paid; the thermostat to the floor furnace still working, is where I was placed on the altar of hell. 

Here's the story as it appeared on facebook and my vocal media page: 

On Forgiveness: 

Healing The Hurt, Wounded, & Hidden Parts of Myself

When I was no more than 5 years old, my stepfather took my small body and beat me with the hard edge of the belt buckle while I leaped from foot to foot over the surface of a hot, floor furnace.

You know the ones that were built into the floor in old houses with the metal grids?

The scars you see tell the tale of that furnace and the horrors of that morning in our house on Segura.

I will always carry the furnace floor with me.

I still remember the smell of my burning onesie pajamas and the way I hopped from foot to foot as he dangled me by my arm over the furnace.

I remember screaming until I had no voice left, the pain of the fire numbing me; protecting me even, in some way.

His hate for me was visceral. My fear of him— even stronger.

My grandmother tells me the story of how whenever she would keep me and he would come to pick me up, I could hear the muffler of the car coming down the street and I would immediately stop playing with my toys, go jump in her lap and wrap her arms around me.

I would not move.

She was my anchor. My soft place to land.

If it wasn’t for my grandmother fighting for me in court, I would have been taken out of my mother’s care and placed in “the system”— yes, foster care.

The doctors told my family I would never walk properly because of the 3rd degree burns primarily on my left foot. 2nd degree burns were on the right.

This damage still affects me today.

Those nerves are dead, but the memories are still there.

Like waiting on a red light to change to green our hearts are waiting to heal.

I thought it was time to share this part of my story because people often wonder why I'm so joyful and live life so fully.

There's some pain behind the smile you see.

There's plenty of tragedy, but also plenty of joy.

The truth is I could’ve been dead a long time ago.

I could have let that poison and bitterness sully my joy.

But I chose joy instead.

I chose forgiveness.

I chose to find myself in love.

YOGA for me is about healing those childhood wounds and trauma— physically, mentally and spiritually. It's about addressing them through movement and allowing those stuck parts to become moveable again.

It is a tool, along with other mindfulness practices to let go of the pain and embrace true healing.

We carry our pain and when we don't let it go, our muscles literally hold onto the things we would rather suppress and forget.

Yoga for me is ultimately about coming home to yourself and finding the grace to accept that no matter what happens to you in life, you can move forward.

It’s about using the body and the different asanas to train the mind-body connection, making it stronger and ultimately more resilient.

By getting in touch with the breath, learning to regulate the nervous system and moving the body, you are placing yourself in a position to heal.

Dealing with the aftermath of trauma is no small feat. It takes a lot of heart work. It takes courage. It takes learning how to stop coping and how to start healing.

Dr. Bruce Perry, one of the country's leading experts on childhood trauma, believes the effects of abuse on young children reshapes their young brain, making them more susceptible to anxiety, depression and PTSD later down the line.

While we cannot control what happened to us in our childhood, we do have a say in how we deal with it in our adult years.

You deserve to get back in touch with the wholeness which is your true nature.

You deserve to experience the beauty of peace and with regularity.

You deserve to know what it feels like to not be the victim of circumstance, but the victor over everything that was meant to destroy you.

You will not be diminished.

Your light will not be blown out.

You will rise like a phoenix, from the ashes and into the beautiful, bright future created by you and you alone.