When I was little, my grandparents, my mother’s parents, lived in a two-story, white house in Central Village, Connecticut. The house sat right on the street with a railroad track just on the other side. When the trains came, you swore they would go right through the house. I remember that sound. I remember that feeling. As I loved trains, I always thought it a wonderful feeling. The only other good thing I remember from there was my grandmother. My grandparents were French-Canadian, Gagñon. My grandmother was called Mémé. She loved me. I knew she did. She was the only one. I remember one day, I was three or four, playing by the train track, alone. Apparently I disturbed a bee, and was stung on my bare foot. I remember running into the house, crying, and my Mémé scooped me up into her arms and sat in her rocking chair, and rocked with me, holding me close, and comforting me. I felt loved. She died a short time later. They didn’t let me go to her funeral. I never got to say goodbye, and I never felt loved again. Continue reading
I have, for many years of my life, just trudged through and pushed forward with all my might. This aggressive approach was instilled in me as a child that you just “tough it out”! I can say I have mastered the art of toughing it out, so much so that it has caused me great sorrow and pain not only in my mental and emotional bodies but in my physical body. All of this came to a screeching halt a few years ago when I was suffering in so many ways that life seemed impossible and quite honestly I did not want to continue on this way anymore.
It was time to make changes and to be willing to let go of experiences and expectations I had of myself. I began to make these changes and it seemed I was constantly needing to change things because it was never enough. I was so resentful of my life experiences I just wanted things to be easier and I struggled with finding and staying in my joy. These struggles began to lessen once I was really willing to see what I really needed to let go of. Continue reading