Seven is commonly considered a lucky number, and this morning, seven significant examples of 'lucky for me' came to mnd:
Lucky for me, I experienced life changing encounters at my last two high school reunions.
Lucky for me, I continue to peel through layers of denial in hopes of identifying vulnerabilities as well as strengths.
Lucky for me, I sidestep writer's block by writing about those times when a story gets stuck inside my head for this reason: Each time I peel another layer of denial away, my subconscious blocks me from reviewing details, which had felt so terrifying at the age of three that the mere thought of reviving those moments in time paralyzes my mind until insight offers me the clarity to understand situations which had proved too overwhelming for a three year old (eleven year old or twelve year old) mind to fathom.
Lucky for me, while writing around a memory, too scary to revive without my shield of denial, insight into a confounding experience offers up the bigger picture, which had escaped me at three or eleven or twelve. And once clarity of thought is mine, my adult mind is absolved of guilt, which I'd unknowingly heaped upon myself.
Lucky for me, insight into the bigger picture, revealed to me during the writing process, cleanses my subconscious of undeserved guilt. Once cleansed of guilt, which had weighed heavy on my spirit for most of my life, my adult mind opens to absorbing details, which Mother Nature had deemed too scary for the undeveloped mind of a vulnerable child to consciously recall. While engaged in the process of writing with my sense of maturity intact, I am capable of reconsidering details, which had frightened a vulnerable child half to death, and while you watch the scariest portion of each story flowing freely from my subconscious memory into my conscious mind without terrifying me, surely you can see why the writing process is considered cathartic.
Lucky for me, insight into a child's vulnerabilities enables my adult mentality to reconsider yesteryear's fear by invoking a solid sense of courage, which I'll surely need to call upon, repeatedly, as this last stage of my life unfolds, day by day ...
Lucky for me, you continue to seek me out, which makes me think you care about me, or perhaps my story inspires your curiosity to know more. Either way, I appreciate your interest more than words can express ..
Lucky for me, I experienced life changing encounters at my last two high school reunions.
Lucky for me, I continue to peel through layers of denial in hopes of identifying vulnerabilities as well as strengths.
Lucky for me, I sidestep writer's block by writing about those times when a story gets stuck inside my head for this reason: Each time I peel another layer of denial away, my subconscious blocks me from reviewing details, which had felt so terrifying at the age of three that the mere thought of reviving those moments in time paralyzes my mind until insight offers me the clarity to understand situations which had proved too overwhelming for a three year old (eleven year old or twelve year old) mind to fathom.
Lucky for me, while writing around a memory, too scary to revive without my shield of denial, insight into a confounding experience offers up the bigger picture, which had escaped me at three or eleven or twelve. And once clarity of thought is mine, my adult mind is absolved of guilt, which I'd unknowingly heaped upon myself.
Lucky for me, insight into the bigger picture, revealed to me during the writing process, cleanses my subconscious of undeserved guilt. Once cleansed of guilt, which had weighed heavy on my spirit for most of my life, my adult mind opens to absorbing details, which Mother Nature had deemed too scary for the undeveloped mind of a vulnerable child to consciously recall. While engaged in the process of writing with my sense of maturity intact, I am capable of reconsidering details, which had frightened a vulnerable child half to death, and while you watch the scariest portion of each story flowing freely from my subconscious memory into my conscious mind without terrifying me, surely you can see why the writing process is considered cathartic.
Lucky for me, insight into a child's vulnerabilities enables my adult mentality to reconsider yesteryear's fear by invoking a solid sense of courage, which I'll surely need to call upon, repeatedly, as this last stage of my life unfolds, day by day ...
Lucky for me, you continue to seek me out, which makes me think you care about me, or perhaps my story inspires your curiosity to know more. Either way, I appreciate your interest more than words can express ..
14D
Whenever you watch me write around a subconscious fear ( as I'm doing, right now) you play witness to my mind fishing for insight in hopes of achieving an Ah Ha! moment which will ready my sense of courage to push past fear in order to gain clarity into the most frightening aspects of each story that intuition compels me to tell.
*Soon, you'll see why I've come to believe that the degree of fear, shame and guilt that usurped control over my three year old mind in the wake of my sister's tragic demise was resultant of this fact: Children's minds are like sponges in that they soak in their role models' emotional reactions. And once you witness that which my mind absorbed at the age of three, I believe you'll understand why my sense of safety shattered in the aftermath of Janet's death.
Whenever some aspect of a story dizzies my mind, today, you'll watch me retrace my steps in hopes of identifying a subconscious mindset that's still as half baked as when I was a child of three, or eleven or twelve. For most of my life, I'd 'remembered' my childhood as happy-go-lucky as though scratching till I was hospitalized was no big deal.
In truth, I’d smiled through emotional pain by employing denial, again and again. Since my smile sparkled, most every day, none had a clue that during the still of each night, subconscious memories had gnawed into my sense of peace as deeply as I'd itched to get out of my skin.
Throughout the years of my childhood, the effects of PTSD, which had caused me to scratch until red stained the white of my pillow, remained undiagnosed. Today, a pediatrician would know to suggest therapy rather than hospitalization.
Throughout the years of my childhood, the effects of PTSD, which had caused me to scratch until red stained the white of my pillow, remained undiagnosed. Today, a pediatrician would know to suggest therapy rather than hospitalization.
Presently, I seek professional guidance whenever an unnamed weight causes my spirit to sag. As luck would have it, I love to write, and while engaged in this wholesome activity, my subconscious converges with my conscious mind until my sixth sense stumbles upon an insight, which inspires me to reflect ever more deeply into those times when a day at the beach turned my sand castle into a sink hole that swallowed my smile.
As insights spotlight subconscious shadows of undeserved guilt, which is commonly called 'baggage', I've learned to excavate undeserved guilt trips by unpacking my baggage and reprocessing guilt ridden memories until clarity injects my mind with wholesome patterns of thought that make sense. (Thank goodness for EMDR. The R Stands for reprocessing)
At this point, I'm glad to know that my mind took refuge in denial, early on, for this reason: As fear focused my mind on the sunniest aspects of life, I bitched less often than most.
If asked why I consciously think to cleanse my subconscious of undeserved guilt while aspiring to embrace life's sunny side, through and through—I'd reply—that which we think and feel we become. And I aspire to become a woman whose sense of courage is not undermined by a mind troubled by inner conflict. Each time my sense of inner conflict resolves, my sense of positive focus feels as bright as a sunbeam cascading across a clear blue sky. As soon as my spirit feels free of conflict, my thoughts, concerning all that life has to offer as the future continues to unfold, inspires my smile to glow straight out of my core.
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