Category: emotional healing

emotional healing · Food For Thought · Opinions · Religious · Supernatural · Uncategorized

I’ve struggled with this one…Part II

Tori LennoxLeave a comment

In more ways than I expected. No, not with what you’ll think of me if I write some of this. I burned that bridge a long time ago with prior posts. The most trying aspect of this piece is finding the right words to say what needs to be said with integrity. To bear my soul. It’s humbling to admit I was desperate for the acceptance I could never have. Not because there was anything wrong with me. There wasn’t. Nothing beyond my perception I was “damaged goods.” Not because others weren’t willing to accept me. They were. But I never saw that because of my self-perception.

Sharing my experiences as honestly as possible entails revisiting traumatic memories and ripping old wounds open. It’s a necessary evil. Otherwise, I’m just another born-again telling people occult practices are evil because the Bible says so. Nope, not me. While that’s true, that’s not my angle. Knowing that reality didn’t deter me, so why should I expect it to deter you. Most of us are attracted to things we shouldn’t be. I was.

So, if you’ll stick with me through the opinions and backstory, I’ll get to the personal experiences that taught me the error of my ways. They aren’t pretty; but they are real. I have a sneaky suspicion a lot of you are experiencing or have experienced the same kind of things. While I don’t post trigger warnings, I will warn you that I may be fairly graphic in my recollections. Not vulgar, but real. The time for relying on allusion has long passed. We’re so desensitized as a culture that alluding to anything doesn’t get the point across. Sometimes it’s necessary to cozy up to vivid memories that aren’t remotely comfortable. Unfortunately, I can’t “show” you how my involvement with astrology and a so-called “Christian” psychic led me to make decisions that catapulted me into the worst period of my life any other way.

That being said, let’s get back to the story I’ve already started. In this day it’s not usual to have a kid in the fifth or sixth grade (or much younger) reading and comprehending on a college level. Back in my day, it was rare and it wasn’t nurtured. I was one of only two kids in my whole school who were significantly accelerated in every subject and Jonathan’s scores were higher than mine. The funny thing, you’d never know it by our grades. We weren’t the straight A students largely, I think, because we were bored and we didn’t have guidance. Nobody really knew what to do with us, so they did nothing. Why am I telling you this? Merely to illustrate intelligence and comprehension aren’t good indicators of maturity. I was a baby when I started grazing through New Age topics. Ten or eleven years old if that. I had no clue what I was messing with. I couldn’t begin to understand how any of that fit in the real world. I just thought what I was learning was interesting and I was a sponge soaking up everything I was exposed to.

More important than my fascination with dipping my toe in murky waters was my belief anything my Mom read was a must read and, around this time, she was reading astrology books. She read them and shrugged them off as entertainment as most people did in the ’70’s. She bought into the “characteristics” aspect of astrology more than the “prophetic” aspect and took it all with a big grain of salt. Over time, I bought it all. Astrology was more than a passing interest. It was my crutch.

While my Mom knew I was more interested than she was, I don’t think she realized how deep my involvement went. She should have because I didn’t hide what I was doing. But, she didn’t for a lot of reasons. For one thing, by the time she pushed through her busy day, she wasn’t interested in micromanaging my life. For another, she didn’t know my Dad had molested so she thought the reason her once popular, self-confident kid became withdrawn was because Junior High was hard. I’d gone from an Elementary School where we were taught to be respectful and well-mannered to a Junior High filled with mean-spirited, disrespectful hyenas. Not being into sex, drugs, profanity, and mouthing off to teachers made me a moving target for all the kids who were. Yep, bullying existed in the dark ages. I experienced more than my share of it.

While none of that was pleasant, I was tough enough to have navigated the teen-aged angst just fine if I’d still been that same bright-eyed, innocent little girl I was just a year before. Instead, I was a tormented kid looking for something to take the guilt, fear, and shame away. Something that could give me some degree of control over my life was what I was looking for. By the time I was in High School and into college, I’d taught myself to cast astrology charts. I could look at someone and predict their Sun Sign with a fair degree of accuracy based on physical characteristics. My little hobby had become obsessive and I loved it. I felt powerful.

When I was in ninth grade, I ordered a detailed Astrology chart that predicted the rest of my life. With hindsight, ordering that forecast was the worst thing I’ve ever done. My life became a self-fulfilling prophecy. I became addicted to reading every horoscope I could get my hands on in an effort to keep all the bad stuff that chart predicted from happening to me. While my “planetary alignments” were overall negative, that chart promised I still had the power to change these things and it told me a lot of specifics I clung to for most of my life. Concrete specifics like my perfect husband would be five years older than me. I’ve put that one to the test a couple of times and it’s crap like everything in that chart with the exception of the projected pain and misery. While I can’t say my life would have been any different if I’d never bought that chart – it wouldn’t if I’d made the same choices – I can say expecting my life to be unhappy pretty much ensured it was until 2008 when I finally found my way back to Church and healing.

At this point, I wish I could say this was the end of the matter. It was just the beginning. I was like the person who’s first drink initiates their dive into the bottle. My grazing in the “New Age” section of the library vault opened doors I’d never really thought about before. My next big interest was ghosts, hauntings, poltergeists, cryptids, preternaturals, E.T.’s, and eventually Tarot Cards. Actually, all of those were parallel interests going on at the same time I was mired in astrology.

As I’ve already said, this piece has several parts. I’m guessing there will be two more posts in this vein. Definitely one. I apologize for so much backstory; but the experience part of the blog doesn’t make sense without the set up.

Until Part IIl ~ Experiences,

Calla

emotional healing · General Quirkiness · Judeo-Christian Perspective · Life in general · observations · Opinions · Religious · Supernatural

I’ve struggled with this one…

Tori LennoxLeave a comment

In the, “Do I or don’t I” write this piece sense. It took me a few days to finally decide that, Yep, this one’s kind of out there, but it’s true so I’m going for it. I’ve been honest about my life and my journey from self-loathing to self-respect in so many ways. But, I’ve never shared this part largely because it’s easier to speak about abuse than it is to speak about “Spiritual” or “Supernatural” beliefs some of which seem foolish with hindsight. Not foolish that I believed certain things on my spiritual journey. That’s what a “Seeker” does. Foolish because I let my beliefs control me when I believed I was controlling my beliefs.

I’ve also debated opening up about this aspect of my life because it’s not only out there; but incredibly long. More than one blog long. Probably a two or three-parter. However, I’ve made allusions to “my journey” in terms of my spirituality and stated outright that I came by my Christian beliefs the hard way. However, I’ve never shared that much about how I went from practicing a form of “Christopaganism” to my current belief system. I think it’s time to weave that story with the same candor I’ve tried to exhibit in all of my posts.

The sad part of my story is I considered myself a Christian while I dabbled in Occult practices. I didn’t comprehend it’s one or the other. The two don’t mix. Like it or not, when you try to have it both ways, you’re going to favor one side over the other. I’ll let you guess which one. I’m not saying these statements because I’ve heard or read them somewhere. I’ve lived the events I’m writing about so I’m not just sharing beliefs. I’m sharing experiences. I can assure you the lure of Astrology, or psychics, or Tarot Cards or whatever soul poisoning dabble you choose isn’t worth the price you’ll pay down the road. It wasn’t for me.

My dance with the dark side started in elementary school as a smart kid with a fearless mind and a thirst for knowledge that continued for most of my life. The dark, musty downstairs “Vault” of my small town library was a treasure trove of resource books that entertained me for years. There were tomes on everything from gardening to true crime to history to travel to the 19th century Spiritualist Movement and everything in between. I grazed through all of them; but I was drawn most to the books about hauntings, the preternatural, and the Spiritualists. I devoured every ghost hunting book Hans Holzer wrote. I read about Atlantis, Lemuria, and Mu as well as the Order of the Golden Dawn. I digested the writings of Edgar Cayce. I became fascinated with UFO’s, crop circles, and ley line theories. Don’t get me wrong, I pursued other interests like medicine, history, quantum theory, FBI profiling, forensic facial reconstruction, and history among other things. As I’ve already said, I liked knowing a little bit about some things and a lot about others. Unfortunately, for the most part, the “lot” wasn’t the right stuff. My favorite dance was with Astrology, Tarot Cards, ghosts, ET’s, and things that go bump in the night all under the guise of knowledge.

Despite all that, I considered myself a Christian. I would have corrected anyone for suggesting otherwise. I believed in Jesus. There were things I didn’t do because they were “wrong.” I had the guilt, the condemnation, the rules and regulations without ever having the relationship with the Father or the Son. Forget the Holy Spirit. He was just a word. I believed I was right. The occult interests I dabbled in weren’t my “religion.” They were just passing fancies I found interesting and I had “rules” in place to protect me.

Those rules were laughable. For one thing, I was already in a dark place from the time I was molested the first time. To even think I could wallow deeper in the dark without being affected takes a serious disconnect from reality. You can’t. I believed I could read about witchcraft as long as I didn’t read the spells or chants. I could read about other religions if I didn’t read the rituals. In fact, I could read anything I wanted to read as long as I kept the wrong words out of my head. Right. I was playing with things I didn’t fully understand although I knew enough to know words have power. Looking back, there was something in me that drew a line in the sand I couldn’t cross. One that said I was willing to dabble this far; but not cross the line. While I’m grateful for that restraint, I went too far.

Far enough I didn’t like the dark and I didn’t like to sleep. I was born an insomniac. My mind was always churning. The fear of the dark came later. About the time I learned there might be things to fear in the dark like that cold, malevolent presence I encountered at the top of the stairs one night in my family home. It should have clued me in when the “whatever” departed and let me pass when I cried out to Jesus. It didn’t. Not really, I brushed it off as “one of those things.” Not my brightest moment. I don’t claim to know what that was or why it happened. It just did. I don’t even claim to know what it’s intent was beyond the fact I felt like I was being pushed down to a kneeling position and I didn’t like that even more than I didn’t like it.

For one thing, I was standing on the top step of a second floor staircase, not the landing, and that wasn’t safe. For another, the whole experience was terrifying. For the third, I don’t like being forced to do anything so there was a degree of anger in the fear. While I’m grateful the story ended with me walking safely to my bedroom, I wish I’d had enough sense to be scared back in the right direction. I wasn’t. Not beyond putting my Bible by my bed and reading it. I was fourteen or fifteen at the time and already too damaged for that degree of common sense to bleed through the youthful arrogance. Added to that, the hamster was already galloping around the “if I can control my life, I can control the pain” wheel in my brain and had been for several years by then.

As my occult interests expanded, my boundaries became more defined. I had enough sense to know I was flitting where I shouldn’t go and I needed to do more than just not read certain words. So, I decided what I would and wouldn’t do; but, I didn’t give up my quest. Knowledge is seductive and I wanted to know. That mindset is dangerous. It can take you places you’re not meant to go. But, as I said, I had boundaries. Right. I thought I knew everything when I knew nothing.

I understood I wasn’t going to play with Ouija Boards. I’d heard enough spooky stuff about that to steer clear. Crystals didn’t interest me. The idea of channeling or automatic writing scared the hell out of me. Literally. The idea of something overtly having control of me that wasn’t me wasn’t anything I wanted to tangle with. I wasn’t interested in astral projection. I didn’t know what would crawl in when I crawled out. I wouldn’t dabble with anything involving Satanism, grimoires, spells, or blood sacrifices. None of the yuck stuff that ended up in horror stories. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t joyfully prance around in shadowy areas I considered “safe.” I did and it all started innocently enough with imitating my Mother’s interest in magazine horoscopes.

While my goal isn’t to freak you out, real life is messy. Most of us drift into things without realizing we’re doing it. I dabbled in things we consider mainstream now like astrology and tarot cards. I consulted psychics a few times in my life. I did more than that as I’ll share more in depth in the next post. In closing, I wasn’t that stereotypical weird Goth kid everyone knew something was wrong with or the woman who cut herself in private. I wasn’t an addict or an alcoholic. None of that. I was a very normal, very average woman with a love for learning. Or so I thought. In reality, I think subconsciously I was a woman searching for some way to end the pain and find a degree of peace and happiness anyway I could find it

Until Part II,

Calla

emotional healing · General · Introductions

On to the newest adventure…

Tori LennoxLeave a comment

It’s been a while since I’ve written although I did post a page yesterday. I’ve been busy completing my novel over the last month or so. I should have it submitted by the end of next week. We’ll see what happens after that. Once I’m done, I’ll probably take a short break before I start the next book just to clear my head and do “fun” writing like, say, my blog. Maybe work on a couple of those unfinished fanfic pieces. Who knows? While I’m focused when it comes to projects, I tend to be more rambling in my more casual pursuits.

None of that is really important in the big scheme except I’m adding a podcast into the mix. Again, I don’t know what the subject matter will be. I’m giving the same warning I did with my blog. What I talk about will vary with my mood. I’ll probably start with a few of my past blogs that were liked. From there, I’ll move on to new things. Most of those “things” will probably revolve around life lessons and emotional healing. Those seem to be the blogs that catch the most interest.

For this first endeavor, let’s get acquainted. Hi, I’m Calla. Not my real name of course; but, short for Calladragon, my pen name on Fanfiction.net. I’m from South Carolina; but, I live in Florida now. I’ll be 57 in June so I’ve been around the block a few times and that’s what I’m most interested in sharing. The lessons I’ve learned the hard way. That’s not everything I’ll “talk” about – but, it’s probably a big part of it. While I can’t tell you precisely how to heal your traumas because I’m not you, I can share my story in a very open, honest way I would have found both embarrassing and humiliating a few years ago.

I’ve come a long way in the last five years. I’ve reached the point where I understand part of healing is taking responsibility for my part in what happened to me. It doesn’t matter if it’s something as simple as choosing to do something my instincts screamed not to do. I did that so many times and I paid in blood every time. Sometimes literally. As stupid as that makes me sound, I’m a well-educated, intelligent woman. I’m just like so many of us and I didn’t learn from my mistakes. Part of that was because my self-worth was destroyed as a child, the other part of the equation is I tried to fit in when I was different instead of valuing those differences.

I’m not making excuses for my behavior, just making statements of fact with the clarity that comes from hindsight. The sad truth is most of us don’t learn from our mistakes. Not immediately. That being said, I’m not victim blaming. I’m telling you the first step to dealing with your trauma. Take responsibility for your part if it’s just, “I walked into the grocery store to buy a quart of milk at the wrong time,” and forgive yourself for it. Then acknowledge you’re not responsible for what someone else chose to do to you and forgive them. That’s hard to do. Actually, both of those things are hard to do. However, you can do it if you persevere. I did. It took me years to forgive myself and to forgive others. When I finally did, I realized that was the key to healing and restoring my self-worth. To walking away from depression and self-loathing.

That’s probably the kind of thing I’ll talk about in my own words in my own voice. Eventually. That own voice thing is a big step for me since I don’t like how I sound on recordings. Right now, I want to get my mind around the idea of a podcast and practice a little bit before I take the plunge to record my own work.

The only other thing I think you should know is something I’ve already disclosed in past blogs. I’m a Charismatic Christian. Don’t let the Christian part turn you off. I haven’t always been one and I’m not trying to convert you. I want to reach anyone who’s hurting no matter your belief system. Honestly, that’s what I’m supposed to do – share the love in my heart with you. That doesn’t mean I have to hold the same belief system as you. That doesn’t mean I expect you to believe exactly as I do. It’s just an important part of who I am and I don’t apologize for it. It’s also an integral part of my personal healing journey. When I finally decided I wanted to believe Jesus loved me in spite of how little I valued myself, that gave me permission to attempt loving myself. It took a lot years of confronting abuse to crawl out of the abyss into the warm sunshine but I’ve finally done it.

I’ve rambled enough for now. Thank you for letting me share my thoughts.

Until next time,
Calla

A Story for Another Blog or How a Not-So-Good Southern Baptist Became a True Blue Charismatic (Part I)…
Been There, Done That · emotional healing · Food For Thought · Judeo-Christian Perspective · observations · Opinions · Religious

A Story for Another Blog or How a Not-So-Good Southern Baptist Became a True Blue Charismatic (Part I)…

Tori LennoxLeave a comment

It wasn’t an easy journey and I’m not going to recap the whole sordid tale. You’ve read bits and pieces in past posts. (For anyone interested in the whole story, Been There, Done That…Had the Smashed Up Face to Prove It by Calla MacKenna is on Amazon.) Instead, I will say by the time I ended up in Florida thirteen years ago, I was a tired, bitter woman. My ex-husband’s bad business practices had cost me everything from my house to my savings three years before. I say “my” because this man had nothing to do with the accumulation of those assets and everything to do with losing them. However, that being said, it was my decision to allow this man into my life so I’m equally at fault for my financial losses.

Since I’ve admitted that, I might as well admit my ex-husband wasn’t my husband when all this happened. We were “engaged” when we went into business together and we were successful at first. About six months into the business I started seeing signs of what I later learned was mental illness well-hidden beneath charm, charisma, and well-documented past successes. Unfortunately, I eventually learned that while he had been wildly successful in the past, he’d tanked every one of those past endeavors the same way he tanked our business. None of that came to light until many years later when his family set his cons straight.

While losing everything was bad enough, my ex added insult to injury by cheating on me almost from the start. That’s the reason I didn’t marry him. By the time I suspected he was doing this it was too late to kick him out of my life. The business was thriving and I had too much to lose if I rocked the boat including my pride. None of that mattered in the end. The business failed and I was trapped with no way out or so I thought.

Reality was far different.

In life that’s often the case. Our perception a.k.a. “our reality” often differs greatly from the truth of the situation. I actually wasn’t trapped in anything; but, I lacked the life experience to realize this. I could have kicked this abuser out of my life, ridden the storm out where I was, and started over exactly when the dust settled. It wouldn’t have been pleasant; but, it was doable. I didn’t do that. I chose the “easy” way instead. Right. Nothing about the past sixteen years has been easy. Thanks to my ex I eventually ended up in Florida exactly as God intended instead.

If you’re wondering why, the answer is simple. I had nothing, no-one, and nowhere to go. Or, more accurately, that was my perception of my reality. For a person who’d always paid my debts in full on time, this mess was devastating . I didn’t know what to do or how to handle the nightmare I’d stepped into. In those first desperate moments I decided it was better the devil I knew than the hell I didn’t. Fear will make you do stupid things and I was terrified. Scared enough to stay with a man I practically hated. That’s how I thought things were playing out for several years.

I now know God was slowly turning what was meant for evil to good. He had me even when I didn’t have Him. In the end He was steering me where He wanted me to go even if it took a roundabout journey through eight different states. Near the end of the journey I tried to return home to South Carolina. I had a good job lined up and I was a third of the way home when I felt compelled to turn around and return back to the place I’d just left.

My ex had become deathly ill a couple of months earlier. He’d spent two weeks on life support and he still wasn’t fully functional. However, he was still able to harm me physically and he had which was what led me to finally leave in the first place. The only problem with my bid for freedom is there was no-one but me left to care for him since he’d alienated everyone else. I knew he’d die if I left him. Or I felt that way. Whether it was true or not, I couldn’t take that risk even though I wanted to. I tried to. However, I couldn’t live with myself if I left and something horrible happened to him. So, I did what I had to do. I turned around and changed the course of my life forever.

A few months later, we found ourselves in Florida living with my ex’s stepmother. A few months later, we got married even though we didn’t have any real relationship left by that time. As stupid as this sounds, I agreed to make his stepmother “happy” largely because I’d never lived with anyone and I’d never wanted to. To my crazy way of thinking at the time, getting married would somehow legitimize the nightmare of the last few years and erase the shame of failure. It didn’t do any of that. In fact, all it did was add another divorce to my tally and reinforce the fact otherwise intelligent, sane people do insane things for stupid reasons.

Moving on, my ex’s stepmother finally cracked my hard emotional shell enough to become my “Mom.” My real mother died from cancer back in 1996 so I was more than willing to accept love from anywhere I could get it. I gradually started watching the religious stations with her every chance I got. While I was still in a dark place, I was on my way to rediscovering the faith I’d once abandoned. A few months later I started visiting the Charismatic church Mom attended even though it wasn’t my kind of place. In fact, I found the whole experience unsettling and freaky.

I’d heard my real Mom talk about visiting Charismatic churches back in the ’60’s; but, I’d never visited one myself. The only reassurance I had in those early days that I wasn’t taking the high road to hell was the fact I loved, respected, and trusted my second Mom and I knew she felt the same. I also knew she’d been raised Southern Baptist like me. If she thought the nuttiness was okay, then it had to be. Besides, I was desperate for healing and redemption. Again, any way I could get it. This Church seemed a likely place to accomplish that. You see, I’d been embraced with love and acceptance from the moment I walked through the door. But. I wasn’t comfortable.

Reading this, you might wonder what my problem was. That’s simple. Those people said and did things totally foreign to my background. Things most good Southern Baptists would never do like prophesying, laying on hands, shouting, dancing, and speaking in tongues! I wasn’t sure whether to bolt or make the sign of the cross. I didn’t do either. I stayed instead. Every time I entered that sanctuary, I was saturated in the presence of the Holy Spirit and I knew that was where I belonged. I could feel it in my soul. Besides, I might as well give this whole Word of Faith thing a shot. I’d already tried everything I was willing try and I hadn’t ended up where I wanted to go. At that point, I was as close to rock bottom as I could get so I had nothing left to lose. But, I had everything to gain even if I didn’t know it.

However, it took me quite a few years to get from there to here…

Until Part 2, I remain,

Calla

Been There, Done That · emotional healing · Food For Thought · observations

When the going gets tough, the tough keep going…

Tori LennoxLeave a comment

Or we lose everything. I believe that with all of my heart. I haven’t posted anything relevant to emotional healing in a couple of months because I’ve been in a dark place that has nothing to do with Covid-19, work, or any of the normal stressors we’ve all been wading through. I knew I couldn’t share encouragement when I was drowning in negativity. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying I’d given up in the midst of the battle. I hadn’t. I was temporarily overwhelmed by a sea of grief and depression caused by events beyond my control.

On June 9th, 2020, I caught my purse in the door and twisted wrong on my way to the car. By the time I arrived at work. I could barely walk. I spent the next five weeks out of work in incredible pain. Three months later I’m finally coming out of the inflammatory flare and resuming a more normal life. If that wasn’t enough, my five year old dachshund was hit with sudden onset Addison’s disease. She was in a severe crisis at the same time I was barely mobile. Allie ended up in the veterinary hospital for a couple of weeks receiving the appropriate treatment. While I checked on her every day, I couldn’t see her because of Covid-19. Not until she took a turn for the worse and her Vet called me in to see her. To make a long story short, five weeks ago I was holding my pup on my lap discussing treatment options on a Tuesday night and unexpectedly putting her to sleep the following night. It hurt so bad to lose that dog I thought my heart would literally burst. Thankfully, I was off the next day and I was fine. However, by the time I got to work on Friday, I wasn’t. I suddenly couldn’t talk. Actually, I could talk, just not coherently. My speech was garbled. While I knew what I wanted to say, I couldn’t get it out coherently. I scared the heck out of my bosses. Eventually, we determined I hadn’t had a stroke. I’d just finally reached the end of what I could take.

Between my Mom’s fall in October, the bedroom/bathroom renovation, working full time, Mom’s stroke, her recurring kidney infections/hospitalizations, and taking care of her, the Covid-19 shut down, my illness, Allie’s illness and losing her, and mounting medical bills my body finally reached it’s limit physically, emotionally, and mentally. The inability to talk was the physical manifestation I was done.

It was also an embarrassing experience I had to come to terms with. No, I don’t think anyone should be ashamed of being depressed or overwhelmed. Or of seeking treatment for those conditions. Both responses are normal parts of life for most of us. However, it isn’t for me. Not any more. I spent most of my life in a negative haze of depression. I had no joy. I was suicidal at times. I have no problem admitting I had the pills in hand more than once. Only my fear of being separated from God stopped me from taking them. That and the fear I wouldn’t take enough to actually kill me only cause irreparable physical damage. Yes, I think too much. Even while contemplating offing myself. Yes, I’m laughing at myself and my inherent weaknesses. When I finally fought my way out of that haze a few years back, I decided depression was a state of mind I didn’t have to accept. Not as long as I acknowledged I was prone to slipping into that mindset and I chose to actively fight it by finding something positive in the negative. However, my go-to strategy didn’t work this time. Losing Allie, even though her passing was peaceful and painless, catapulted me into a state of debilitating emotional pain and depression. It also made me combative and impatient. Overwhelmed. Angry. Short-tempered. Not a very nice person to know. Being in extreme physical pain didn’t help. No, that’s not an excuse just a fact. I didn’t even like myself very much which didn’t help my overall state of mind at all.

Over the past couple of weeks I’ve started exiting that dark head space. To do that, I had to make myself find the silver linings in my recent experiences. It wasn’t easy; but, I had to do it. Find those something positives and say them out loud. Over and over until the positive loop started overriding the negative loop already playing in my head. I had to start with the fact that, in the midst of my grief, I still have Stinky to love. He’s my fifteen year old dachshund and the “brother” Allie liked to aggravate. I’m blessed he’s a happy, healthy boy. I’m also fortunate he never really bonded with his “sister” because of their different temperaments so he doesn’t miss her at all. Next, I had to accept new medical bills aren’t the end of the world. They’ll be paid before I know it. Getting out of debt is something I’ve been working towards for a while so I’ve just had to accept that it’ll take a little longer than originally planned. And, finally, while I’m still in mild pain, I’m grateful what’s wrong with my back isn’t anything that can’t be managed with treatment and diet. I don’t need surgery. Lastly, while I still have some occasional blips with my speech, it’s improving every day as I let go of the things that stress me.

In closing, I want to say struggles are a part of life. How we each handle those struggles is what sets us apart from the crowd. Don’t accept being depressed, overwhelmed, or lost. Get help if you need to. There’s no shame in that. I’m grateful for the short-term medication that helped me get control of my emotions to the degree my speech was pretty close to normal in a couple of weeks. I wouldn’t have been there without help. I also want to encourage you not to give up the fight. Whatever the battle, it’s temporary. I can’t promise the struggle you’re going through won’t last days, week, months, or even years. I can promise you’ll emerge on the other side if you don’t give up the fight. I can also assure you, as long as you still have breath, you can rebuilt your life and find some degree of happiness. I know that from experience. I’ve started over so many times it would make your head spin. There’s nothing wrong in that either. We all try. We all fail. If you’re tough enough, you start over again.

I want to encourage you to do just that. Fight the battle, whatever it is, and never give up. When it’s finally done, start over again. Embrace joy where you find it. Understand happiness truly is whatever YOU make it. Where you finally end up might not be the ideal life you imagined. But, it will be the life you make it and that’s a wonderful thing.

Stay strong and I’ll “see” you soon,

Calla

Been There, Done That · emotional healing · Judeo-Christian Perspective · observations · Religious

Life is an ever evolving journey meant to be embraced with joy…

Tori LennoxLeave a comment

Even when your reality is anything but. For most of my life I’d read something so saccharine with a cynical snort and a tragic dose of wistfulness. I think a lot of us have that attitude. I just couldn’t find a whole lot of joy in my life. If you’ve read some of my past posts, you know my story isn’t pretty.

I lived forty-four of my fifty-six years on the cusp of suicide. I wanted my life to end; but, I wouldn’t end it. The only thing that stayed my hand was the possibility of being eternally separated from God. Even though I wasn’t remotely Christian during most of that time, I did believe in God. He was enmeshed in the very fiber of my being whether I wanted Him there or not. I didn’t. Not really. You see, my God was a God who punished my every transgression. He wasn’t a merciful Jesus who forgave my sins and loved me anyway. I was wrong.

For most of my life.

Please don’t miss the significance of what I’m about to say: how I viewed God wasn’t His fault. It was mine. However, He was still my Father and I loved Him. I now know I identified with the vengeful aspect of God the most because I viewed myself through a similar lens. Without mercy. My concept of right and wrong was absolute. There weren’t any shades of gray in my black and white. Under the right circumstance, that’s a good thing. It keeps you resolute to your moral convictions in a world of every changing values. In this instance, it was a bad thing. My rigid self-perception meant that since I couldn’t forgive myself, my God couldn’t forgive me either. Even for the things I had no control over. I believe a lot of you are in a similar boat.

We’re both wrong.

God’s capacity for forgiveness is far greater than we can fathom. While I know that’s true now, I didn’t back in the day. What I did know, as screwed up as I was, is that I couldn’t imagine a life without my Creator in it. I knew that was possible if I took my own life. Whether my belief was true or not, I can’t answer. Opinions go both ways. All that really matters is that fear was enough to stay my hand when I had the pills in hand. It’s a question I still can’t answer with any certainty. Ultimately, I think only God can answer that one since only He is privy to the influences operating on and in a person’s life in those desperate moments.

Moving on, like my past couple of blogs, this one isn’t for everyone. If you’ve made it this far, you can see this piece is overtly religious. I struggled with whether to start a separate blog for my “spiritual” pieces since I’ve tried to straddle the fence between generalities and my personal beliefs as much as possible in the majority of my posts. In the end, I decided I’m not two different people so I won’t write two different blogs. Instead, I’ll tag my future pieces with strong religious overtones as “Judeo-Christian/Religious” instead.

This is one of those blogs.

While I had a clearly defined purpose when I started this a few days ago, that original intent has fallen by the wayside. I don’t work from an outline. I write from the heart. From where I am mentally, spiritually, and emotionally in the moment I’m writing. Honestly, in this moment, I’m struggling to survive the past ten months and come out on the other side. If you’ve read my past posts, you know I’m the primary caretaker for my 91 year old Mom who’s been through a lot since she took a bad fall in October of last year. She’s had a stroke and battled several serious infections since February of this year. Fortunately, she’s doing well and has been for a couple of months.

Now it’s my turn to push through my own physical battles. On June 11th, I twisted wrong and sent myself into a very painful inflammatory flare from hell. I couldn’t walk two feet for almost three weeks. It took five weeks total get the flare under control enough I could return to work. We’re still trying to figure out what caused this. If that’s not enough, I had to put my beloved five year old dachshund to sleep this Wednesday due to a rare illness she couldn’t overcome. Today is August 1st, 2020, four days later, and my world is still crazy. On Friday, I developed a speech disorder that has scared the heck out of everyone. I haven’t had a stroke. I’ve had all that checked out. But, again, we don’t know what’s causing it beyond stress. Between Allie and myself, I have medical bills I will only be able to pay with divine intervention which I fully expect to have.

You might wonder why I’m writing all of this.

Honestly, it isn’t what I started out writing or intended to write. The truth is, I’m writing this to strengthen myself in my faith. I don’t have a choice. Not if I remain true to my beliefs. God doesn’t promise me I won’t have pain or bad things won’t happen. He only promises He will get me through them. He also promises, if I’ll let Him, He will take these bad events and use them for my good. That’s the promise I’m holding on to as I struggle through the pain of ending Allie’s suffering and my own physical, mental, and spiritual pain. Something good is coming from this.

I’ll let you know what it is as soon as it manifests.

There’s a lot more I’d like to say about how a Southern Baptist girl from South Carolina suddenly found herself a full-blown Charismatic Christian. But, that’s a story for another blog. Honestly, my conversion wasn’t sudden. It took me about a year to get over being spooked by certain aspects of the faith I’d grown to love. It took me a full ten years to get the gift of tongues so it hasn’t been an easy journey. But, it’s been the most meaningful journey of my life.

I’m going to end this blog with the Bible Scriptures I’m standing on to get me through this moment. Whether you’re a believer or not, I think they’ll help you. Oh, and if you’re a believer who thinks the Old Testament isn’t for us or it doesn’t apply – you need to rethink your stance! These verses apply to any believer…

“When I am afraid, I put my trust in you.” Psalm 56:3 (NIV)

“Cast your cares on the Lord and he will sustain you; he will never let the righteous be shaken.” Psalm 55:22 (NIV)

“Let us come before him with thanksgiving and extol him music and song.” Psalm 95:2 (NIV)

“Your love, Lord, reaches to the Heavens, your faithfulness to the skies.” Psalm 36:5 (NIV)

This is just a handful of the scriptures I’m standing on right now. A couple of the others are Isaiah 53:5-7 and 1 Peter 2:24 for my healing. Pull out your Bible and look them up or do the Google thing. They’re powerful promises we all need. As for that debt that will be paid, I’m looking at Matthew 11:23 since I’m casting that debt into the sea.

However, the looking is the easy part.

To stand and stand again is a little harder; but, it must be done.

Until next time,

Calla.

Been There, Done That · emotional healing · observations · writing

Just Another Strange Moment in my Strange Little World….

Tori LennoxLeave a comment

When I decided to write my blog, I promised myself I wouldn’t write from negativity. That isn’t to say there aren’t “ugly” moments in my posts. There are. That’s part of the second promise I made myself. The one where I agreed to be brutally honest about my life, my journey, and my struggles to be a happier, healthier me. While I occasionally post silly pictures of my dogs, I strive to write more meaningful pieces. Ones I hope will get “liked” not for the ego stroke: but, because that’s how I know I’ve struck a chord with someone and, hopefully, impacted their life for the better. At the least, I’ve made someone think, and that’s important, too.

Before I go any further, since this post will be hitting new social media outlets I’ve never used before, I should inform any new readers I’m a Charismatic Christian at this point in my life. While I try to write from a more general viewpoint, I don’t hide my personal feelings. I’ll also say I haven’t always been a practicing Christian or a Charismatic. I was raised Southern Baptist although I was rarely in church. I’ve lived most of my life as a non-practicing believer. I should also say I’m not trying to convert anyone. You choose your belief system just as I chose mine. What I’m trying to do is make my readers think, abandon destructive habits, live a more content life, and not make the same mistakes I’ve made. One of us living through forty years of emotional Lo-debar is enough.

I’m writing this piece to that end and I’ll admit it’s a little on the odd side. I decided to put my thoughts to “paper” a couple of days ago while I was out walking and praying. I felt God was telling me to write out what I was feeling and thinking in that moment. To confront the last of some ugliness I laid to rest a long time ago. There’s something about putting your thoughts to paper that’s liberating. Words have power on so many levels. So, I’m taking His suggestion and doing that. Putting words to paper.

Just as I did with Been There, Done That…Had the Smashed Up Face to Prove It, I’m writing openly and honestly with no apologies. As I type this, all I can say is welcome to Calla’s strange little world. Strange in the sense that I’m writing a letter to a person who will never see it. Or, more accurately, I don’t think he will. Honestly, I don’t care if he does. This isn’t about him.

It’s about me and the person I left behind when I finally accepted my worth was never defined by the mental, physical, and sexual abuses I’ve endured over the years. It’s about hindsight revelations and emotional freedom. About writing from honesty, vulnerability, and strength. Changing your self-perception involves embracing all three. I know that from experience.

I wasted forty years of my life believing the lies spoken over me. Don’t get me wrong, I never had a victim mentality through it all. I was always a survivor; but, I was handicapped. The secret to my survival wasn’t the healthy mindset that I wasn’t responsible for other people’s actions – They were. – I honestly never saw that. The only reason I made it through the darkness was because some ornery part of me refused to die, commit suicide, or be destroyed even when I wanted the nightmare to end.

With hindsight, I was incredibly stupid and I could have ended my ordeal years before I did. I admit that now. Over the years I was fantastic at dishing out common sense advice that helped a lot of people. It would have helped me, too. If I’d been willing to take it. I wasn’t. By the time I had any wisdom, I’d already accepted I was nothing.

You see, I believed the father who told me I would never be what my Mother was. Right. Never believe the man who abused you. I believed the teachers who told me what I couldn’t do or be. They were wrong; but, I didn’t know it. When everything was said and done, I believed I didn’t matter. Other people did. That’s how I lived my life. For other people. That’s one of the worst mistakes you can make. Yes, take care of people. Give them the love and respect they deserve. But, expect the same love and respect in return.

That’s something I never did…especially when it came to the so called “love of my life.” While I called him that in my mind for many years, I don’t any longer. For one thing, I’m not sure such a person really exists for a lot of us. Sometimes, it’s more of a romanticized idea encompassing the one that got away. While I do believe a lot of people are blessed with healthy, happy long-term romantic relationships, it’s not a given.

It wasn’t for me. Hence, I’m confronting the truth, and laying the fantasy to rest through the following letter:

Dear Ghost From My Past:

You weren’t evil. Not truly. You were just as emotionally damaged as me in ways that weren’t apparent. Not in the beginning. By the time that truth manifested, I was in too deep. While I wish I’d been stronger, I wasn’t. I was flattered a vibrant, successful man like you would pursue a nobody like me instead. I didn’t know what you saw in me back then. I still don’t…not fully anyway.

What I do know is beneath that handsome, successful demeanor was a man with inferiority issues of his own. You wouldn’t expect the women in your life to “prove” their love if you weren’t. While I see that now, I didn’t then. I saw it as an emotional vulnerability resulting from a failed marriage and the loss of daily contact with the children you loved. As I pieced your story together over time, I realized the truth of the matter.

I also realized, we were doomed from the start. We were far too different to last. You wanted someone to love you. I needed someone to love. You were never faithful. I was. I thought you were my savior. You betrayed me instead. Being with me helped you navigate difficulties in your life. Being with you turned me into someone I didn’t know. That wasn’t your fault.

Since I chose to stay, it was mine.

That being said, I’m happy to say I see you through very different eyes today than I did then. With the passage of time and healing, I no longer see a knight in dented armor. I see a weak man worthy of pity. I see a man who found it easier to sneak, lie, and cheat than deal with his intimate relationships honorably. To end one dating relationship before beginning another. I see the man who taught me to never say never as in, “I’d never do that.” and the one who taught me to like myself even less than I already did. It’s not your fault I chose to stay when I found out I was “the other woman” when I thought I was the only one. It doesn’t matter you weren’t married, only dating. It was still dishonorable and destructive to everyone involved.

In the end, I see the relationship I wanted to work that I’m glad didn’t.

I also see the relationship I romanticized until I finally didn’t.

So, in closing, Ghost From My Past, you’re nothing more than the memory of a lesson well learned. I’ve laid the sorrow, guilt, and wistfulness to rest in the wake of seeing truths I should have seen long ago. Mainly, we were bad for each other.

Here’s wishing you all the best,

Living in the Present

If you’ve made it this far, all I can say is I hope you found something valuable in what I’ve said. Something along the lines of, “If your significant other asks you to do things that compromises your values, makes you uncomfortable, or causes you emotional pain walk away.” It’s not a relationship worth pursuing. It doesn’t matter if you’re a man or a woman. Healthy relationships are never built on lies, cheating, or demeaning words or actions. I’ve been there, done that, and reaped years of emotional repercussions.

Until next time,

Calla

Been There, Done That · emotional healing

Striking Insights

Tori LennoxLeave a comment

My perception of my universe has greatly changed since writing Been There, Done That. I’ve always seen the hurting people around me and I’ve always tried to help where I can. That hasn’t changed. How I help has. Once upon a time I solved other people’s problems for them. I was quit gifted at that. I couldn’t help myself; but, I could help you and you’d love me for it. I did and they did. As much as anyone loves a convenient problem solver that’s there when you need them and out of sight, out of mind when you don’t.

On the surface that sounds pretty good for the troubled party and not so great for me. You’d be right on both counts. I was getting used and I knew it. However, some part of me hoped the favor would be returned in my hour of need. It never was. While my logical side expected that outcome; the part of me that dared to hope things would be different was devastated. That’s the story of my life until I finally accepted the reality: if you don’t value yourself neither will anyone else. It’s a hard pill to swallow realizing you’re almost fifty-six and you’ve lived forty-six of those years wallowing in nothingness.

Although I’ve said all this before, I’m going to segue into a slightly different direction and return to my initial statement of seeing the world in a different way than I did before writing my book. While I used to solve people’s problems for them, I don’t do that anymore. It doesn’t help either party. While I’m willing to offer clarity if I have anything worthwhile to offer, what you do with my insights is up to you. We each have to work through our problems in a way that works for us. We have to evaluate the situation for ourselves and act accordingly. We’re the one who is actually living through the situation and we’re the one who is privy to all the little nuances we can’t convey.

Why am I writing this? Because I work with a lovely young woman you can’t help but love. I’ve known her for about a year. I don’t know her intimately. I do know a lot of dramas have played out in her life. Through her interactions with co-workers and the way she talks, it’s apparent she doesn’t value herself as she should. Trying events in her personal life reflect that as well. As much as it pains me to say it, I see too much of me in her. Too much of the “nothing” and not enough of that inherent “something” that gives us value. (As a Christian, that something is the fact I know God created me and loves me because I’m His creation. Again, how you find your self-worth is up to you and your personal path. We all choose what we believe.)

I was talking to this young twenty-something a couple of days ago and she said a couple of things I had to gently correct. I’ve talked with her enough to see her “humility” for what it really is: a total lack of self-worth. I called her on it the other day and she agreed. I don’t know her past or what has caused her to feel the way she feels about herself. If I had to hazard a guess based on the little I know, I’d say she’s been betrayed by too many people she loved who should have loved her in return. Not all of them the men in her life although this last betrayal was definitely the man in her life.

Since I’ve talked to her about what I’ve seen on several occasions to no real effect, I finally offered to give her my book. Let her see the similarities between us for herself. She gladly accepted. I probably should have done that a long time ago; but, it seemed arrogant to me. Like I was doing something somehow self-serving. This time it didn’t feel that way.

Given the current betrayal she’s going through right now, she might be able to identify a little more with some of my experiences than she would have in the past. While our situations aren’t the same, the betrayal is similar. Someone we trusted betrayed us in the worst possible way.

For her, the man she loved walked out on her and his responsibilities. Adding insult to injury, he made their shared workplace so hostile towards her that it was healthier for her to leave a job she needed than be tormented by her co-workers. For me, my white collar, well educated ex-husband beat me and gave me to other men betraying our marriage vows and shattering any remaining self-worth I had. As she’ll see in my book, I was about her age when that happened. I escaped him; but, the patterns were set and the damage was done. Truthfully, the initial damage was done ten years before; but, this was the event that finished me off for the next twenty plus years.

It’s my hope reading my book will help my friend to see herself in a different light. That she’ll begin to see herself the way we see her and find her self-worth. I’m not saying my book will “cure” her. Far from it. But, I am saying she may find some tools she can use to help her on her journey of restoration. While my healing started with a return to my faith, that didn’t suddenly heal me. I’m not saying the Lord can’t do that, He can. I am saying it didn’t happen with me.

To heal, I had to face every brutal thing that ever happened to me. I had to confront every experience head on with complete honesty. I had to work through forty-five years of rage and self-loathing. I had to take responsibility for every bad choice I made that put me in a position to get hurt. But, I didn’t have to take responsibility for what other people did to me. That was their choice and their responsibility. I did have to forgive them and forgive myself. I had to fight every day to change the script in my head. To change the words I said to myself and about myself. I still fight that battle every day. But, I’m so much better than I used to be.

To be honest, I believe that’s the single most important step to emotional healing. You have to stop speaking words of destruction to yourself about yourself. You have to stop speaking them to other people. You have to replace your usual vocabulary with words that reinforce you have value both to yourself and other people. At first, it feels wrong. Like you’re being self-serving. You aren’t. You’re reprogramming yourself to expect to be treated with the same love and respect you treat other people.

In my book, that’s the only way to live.

Until next time,

Calla

Been There, Done That · Been There, Done That Part 2 · emotional healing

Getting Back on Track…

Tori LennoxLeave a comment

It’s been awhile since I could even think about my second book much less put pen to paper. While life is still hectic; I’ve found a moment here and there to write. That’s a good thing. I’ve felt both guilty and lost the past couple of months I haven’t written anything worthwhile. Guilty I’ve neglected my assignment and lost I haven’t engaged in an activity that’s as vital to me as breathing. I tried to write. It didn’t work. I didn’t have the physical or emotional fortitude to wallow in the darkness long enough to share anything of value while my Mom was ill. Now that she’s home, I’m in a different place. So, here it goes.

I’m still brainstorming what I want to include in my second book. I know I don’t have it right because the ideas aren’t flowing easily as they should. While I know the general concept, it’s the additional ideas I want to weave through the story that give me pause. I’m still trying to decide whether my content should be one book or two. Honestly, I probably won’t even begin sifting through my thoughts until January. I work retail . That says it all. In the meantime, I’m going to blog about anything and everything that crosses my mind to get back in the writing game.

What’s on my mind at the moment is a sermon I was listening to this morning on tv. This Pastor is very real and very relatable. He touched on things I still struggle with from time to time. Don’t get me wrong, as far as I’m concerned, I’m healed and restored. However, that doesn’t mean I don’t have brief moments of depression or worthlessness. I just stay diligent reminding myself I can’t be depressed if I’m not willing to embrace the emotion. I’m not being overly simplistic or insensitive. I just happen to know my past (and sometimes present) real, crippling bouts of depression come from how I perceive myself. Not from a chemical imbalance or any other physical cause. It’s emotionally based and always has been. Every self-loathing, suicidal moment I’ve ever experienced can be traced back to the self-hatred caused by some form of abuse or loss.

To cut to the chase, I know if I allow old habits and old perceptions I’ve laid to rest to rise again, I have to fight the battle I’ve fought so many times all over again. Between you and me, that gets old real fast. It’s far better to nip that sense of worthlessness in the bud before it takes root in my psyche again. Right now, it’s a constant battle. I won’t say it always will be. I don’t believe that and I won’t call that state into being. What I do believe is I’m a little over a year from making peace with myself and that isn’t long at all. I have old injuries that took longer than that to fully heal. That being said, only a fool would expect to be completely free of a lifetime of physical, mental, sexual, and emotional abuse in a short period of time and I’m not a fool.

Instead, I’m a woman eagerly anticipating the new life she so recently embarked on. I’m also a woman who’s come to realize we all have skeletons in our closet. We all have experiences in our past that cause great shame. It doesn’t matter your gender or sexual identification. We’re human. What does matter is two things separate the victim from the survivor.

The first is some of us allow that shame to cripple our lives while others eventually confront their negative experience(s), make peace with what happened, and move on to live the life they were meant to live. The second is that some of us use our past traumas to benefit others while others leave those wounds to fester in our souls. I did both. I was very willing to offer my support to other wounded people one on one; but, I never truly dealt with my own wounds. Not a good thing.

On the surface, I functioned well within society. Other people valued me for what I could give them; but, I didn’t value myself. Whether anyone saw it or not, I’ve been a psychological mess for most of my life. While I don’t have a lot of material things to show for forty years of working, I’m college educated and I’ve always excelled professionally even when I didn’t think I did. As sad as it is to say, when you’ve convinced yourself you’re nothing you can’t see the “something” others know you are. If you’re anything like me, because of self-perception, you’re blind to the edifying moments that could change your life. Again, that’s a sad thing.

While I haven’t wrapped this post up the way I expected, I’m going to exit here. Sometimes introspection does more to heal than any words I can type. I’m going to leave it at that.

See you soon,  Calla 

I don’t know what I hit to cause this garbage down below; but, I can’t make it go away right now. I’ll figure it out eventually. In the meantime, I’m going to post anyway! Calla

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