I’m living in my parent’s basement.
Okay, it’s not exactly the basement, but it is a beautiful room in my folks house. I am 45 years old and I am currently living with my parents in Denver. I moved here from San Diego in November 2016.
It’s a new start and a great one.
The first time I flew the coup, I was 19 years old.
I had very recently recovered from chemotherapy and even had a few inches of hair. I was ready to put it all behind me. Michelle OUT.
A lot of my friends had gone to school up and down the coast of California or out of state. I was still in San Diego and attending a junior college. It wasn’t what I had in mind for myself, but I was alive.
I was also as angry and pissed off as can be. Of course, I didn’t know this. I was just peachy keen. You know, when someone asks you how you are and you say, “Great!” You are so full of it and everyone knows it but you.
Would these people just leave me fu** alone already? I didn’t even want support. Now that’s anger.
I was so sure that moving out of my childhood home would fix everything.
All the fear and pain I had from a difficult childhood and having survived stage 3 cancer, would just disappear. There was no guarantee I was going to survive the cancer and I had not dealt with any of the feelings around this. Medically, it was still very touch and go. Add in a dash of having no clue what living independently really meant, and here comes chaos.
Two years prior, I was having dreams that I had cancer. I was so in tune with my intuitive gifts. Knowing this certainly came as a surprise, but I listened. I knew the feelings I was having were real and they needed to be verbalized. The thought of being right about having cancer was the most frightened I have ever been. Yet, I managed to speak up about it. It was literally a life and death situation.
Fast forward a couple years…
The cancer is in remission and I feel pretty good physically. I am still being scanned every few months and having lots of blood work, but I want to forget it ever happened. I would run into people and they would ask me how I was, what my prognosis is, and on and on. I used to look at them like it was ancient history and of course I was GREAT!!
I wasn’t great. I was scared, angry, depressed and running from all of it. I’m not even sure if I was grateful to be alive. I was completely disconnected from self and my intuition.
I immediately started dating, working out, and hanging out with my friends. I felt I had some catching up to do with my social life, so I crammed as much in as possible.
Being on my own meant I was ok and moving on. I was focused on “things” and “stuff”. I had no desire to deal with my emotional pain. As a result, I was never less intuitive about my own life then I was during this time.
Whenever I go through a time with my feelings stuffed deep down, my intuition gets garbled up. I react off of irrational feelings and thoughts. It’s impulsive and can be misleading.
We are all intuitive. We all have emotional pain. When you allow the scariest of feelings to come in, give them the respect they deserve. To be our best selves and draw fully on our gifts, we have to address everything. Our negative thoughts can impact our every move.
Share your story with people. Tell them how you healed. If you haven’t healed, share what you need to heal. There is no shame in your game!
So, here I am 26 years later, back at home and more content and full of peace than ever. Of course, it is temporary, but I had to get back “home” to move out of Mommy and Daddy’s the right way. I had to finish what I started and return to the root.
I got a complete do-over!
I spent the last decade digging as deep as I could. Looking at myself was so painful, I didn’t think I could manage. I hung in there. I’m still working every day.