A few months ago, I got a mysterious package in the mail. I opened it up to find this little gold notebook, every page filled with beautiful cursive handwriting.
As I turned page after page, I realized that I was holding a treasure in my hands. It was a 33-day journal of a dear woman’s walk through my program “Love Letters From Your Life.” She had taken that program and actually DONE it. You guys, there is no better gift you could ever give a life coach than to take her tools and transform your life with it and then TELL her about it. I swooned. I cried. I read her journey with my heart in my throat. I literally jumped up and cheered when she sent off her piece to the scary magazine. And then I SHRIEKED when they PUBLISHED HER!!!! Oh my god. I’ve asked K to share more of her story here with you because I want you to know that if you have a painful past, like so many of us do, this is the kind of healing that is possible. (And be sure to read through to the end because I’m giving away this exact program, Love Letters!!)
Here is K’s story.
If you have lived through some serious shit, and you’re plagued by regret, or loss, you may have wished you had done things differently. I’m telling you that you can go back in time to those painful places, sit with your past self, and get her out of there.
I like to think of our souls as dwelling within a vessel; a porcelain, clay, glass, or wooden urn decorated by all the living we have done, carved and painted with the scenes from our lives. Our hardships and pain can run deeply enough to wear paths and cracks that spill a bit of us out and we lose ourselves along the way. We function fine. We grow up, get married, (or not), find work, meet for coffee, fluff the couch cushions, but at some point we can’t fake it anymore. We are exhausted from refilling our leaky containers and it never ends. For years I berated myself for being such a mess, ignored the cracks and searched for someone, or something to fill me up and make me whole. None of this worked of course, and no matter how I tried, I couldn’t trade the container in for a new one. I was stuck with myself. Then one day, I realized that retrieving one particular missing piece could change things.
I am not able yet to share with you exactly what happened the summer I turned 21. It is enough for you to know that it was the greatest pain of my life.
I lived alone in a tiny studio apartment in a Minneapolis suburb and of all the memories from that time, the strongest image is of my crying self, curled up in the corner of my closet, wearing my favorite white bathrobe. I was staring at my suitcase trying to figure out where I could go to escape this horribly lonely place and what had happened here.
Today, that is not what I see. When I look back on that apartment now, I see it is overflowing with love and the crushed girl in the white bathrobe is by my side.
Can you look back on your life and its painful moments and feel the weight of them with each breath even now? It’s crippling.
Last December I was planning a trip to visit my best friend and our plans fell through. I had already secured the time off from work so I figured I would go solo. It had been a year since my twentieth wedding anniversary and the realization that I didn’t want the next 20 years to be like the first. I had taken Anna’s course, Practical Magic for Secret Mystics, and with her guidance, I met a part of myself I had relegated to the corners. She was a straight up bitch that took her seat at the table and started calling the shots. She told my husband that the rules had just changed, and slowly our marriage was getting, if not better, more honest. I had found my voice. Now, with a weekend just for me, I asked her where I should go and that tiny apartment from all those years back came into my mind. I was supposed to go there. Fuck.
I consulted my friend Sarah Seidelmann who is a shamanic healer. She is fantastic, but anyway, she told me the symbol for the lost piece of me was a white rose.
I carried a bouquet of solid white roses on my wedding day. I must have been trying to pull myself together even then as I stepped into a new life with a man I was convinced would patch me up. Didn’t work. The only one who can patch you up is you. Sorry.
So I drove south, and on the way I stopped at a greenhouse.
I paid for the roses with tears in my eyes. I still didn’t know what I was going to do with them, but they shone with visible magic on the car seat beside me. When I pulled up to my old apartment building I stayed in my car for a long time. I looked up at my old window and concentrated on breathing. Everything flooded back. All the hurt, all the pain, the boy’s face, that night he drove down after I gave him the news. What I knew I had to do. The absolute agony of all of it. I took out my journal and wrote.
“You’re not alone anymore Kim. You’ve got me and I’ve got you.”
I wrote this several times and tore the messages out putting the slips of paper in my pocket. I got out of my car and walked the streets that he and I had walked dropping the notes along the way, watching them blow away into snowy front yards and driveways. I wanted the words to live in that place even after I had gone.
“You’re not alone anymore Kim. You’ve got me and I’ve got you.”
When I returned to my old building, I had one more thing to do. I had to get myself off the floor of that closet. This is where the roses came in.
When committing yourself to time travel you must surrender completely. No inhibitions. Let whatever emotion arises flow through you. This is very important.
I placed the small bouquet on top of the mailboxes in the entryway along with the last of my notes and walked back to my car. I imagined the flowers shining with light, filling the entryway, and each hallway and floor, flowing effortlessly into my apartment, swirling through the three small rooms, flooding it all with forgiveness and compassion until the entire building shown with blinding, brilliant, iridescent light. Darkness dissolved into beauty. I embraced my 21-year-old self, took her hand, and we walked out together. I told her I loved her, that she wasn’t alone, that she had me and I had her and that we would never be apart again.
It’s been a year since my trip, and I still feel a palpable young presence that needs encouragement and friendship every day. This is deep self-care. My journey is not done, but we are healing together, and I have changed the ending to my life’s most painful chapter. I know now that I complete myself, and my marriage is thriving. Each day I remember where I have been, and where I am now. I continue to gather up all my broken lost bits and carry myself back home.
This story nurtures my soul in such a deep way. I hope it nurtured you too.