I wrote a book that is about to be out in the world.
I wrote about my mother’s sexual abuse and how it destroyed her and us along with it. I wrote about my father’s depression and suicidality and how it destroyed him and us along with it. I wrote about my rage, my crushing guilt and self-loathing, and how it destroyed me and those I loved along with it.
And I wrote about how I moved through all the garbage, all the pain, and all the trauma using neuroscience, psychedelics, and spiritual practices. I wrote about how integrating these various modalities and processes moved me out of a life of chaos and hopelessness into a state of inner freedom where I could create a life of joy—joy I continue to experience even during a pandemic.
I wrote about it because I was angry and heartbroken about how much suffering my family went through (and my clients go through) in the mental health system—even after doing the therapy, taking the medication, praying, and reading all the right books about self-love and acceptance—with no real results.
I wrote it because I found a healing path forward, a blueprint that I think will be helpful and valuable for others.
And now it’s being published.
Most of me is calm and peaceful about this; other parts, not so much. Some parts are worried about what my parents are going to think when they read it and other parts wonder if it’s worth the work, the effort. And so, I sit with these parts in meditation and visualize my parents. I wait until I feel them in front of me, even though I’m sitting alone in a room.
When I have a sense of them, I look at them and tell them I love them, that we’re not alone in carrying darkness and secrecy, that all families experience trauma and shame. I then thank them for teaching me resilience, courage, and generosity.
I then look into my mother’s eyes and tell her I don’t know if I would have done as well as she did, given all that she was carrying. I then look into my father’s eyes and tell him I’m sorry he’s in so much pain, and that I love him. And then, I tell them that I’m sorry for all the anger and blame they received from me over the years before I understood that I was responsible for the creation of my adult life, not them. Then I stand up and go about my day.
This last week, as I checked email after my meditation, I received this note from one of the editors at my publishing company. It said:
“I loved reading this book, and I am now looking into modalities of therapy I had never considered as a result of your incredibly moving writing. As one of your first readers, I can attest that I made copious notes for myself as I witnessed your journey. I have a page full of strategies and new ways of perceiving self and others, concepts I was struck by in your book. So, on a personal level, thank you!”
I hope my parents feel my love and intention with this book. I hope you do, too.
I will be pausing my weekly newsletters in order to focus on the next steps for my book launch.
Take care until then,