“Let It Be
When I find myself in times of trouble, Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be
And in my hour of darkness she is standing right in front of me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be “
This past month or so I have found myself in times of trouble.
It crept up on me.
It all started, as it so often does with me, when I ignored the small voice in my heart whispering ever so softly that a project I was about to undertake, would not be good for me.
I even drew a card repeatedly: “Turn back – this will not be good for you”.
Did I listen?
I had my own agenda.
Wrapped in good intentions, justifications and mind chatter- it really seemed like a good idea at the time.
I sailed forth, intent on getting things right. I had visions of closure, healing and showing the way, serving and making a difference – all those most noble, lovely things.
I probably should have known that choppy waters lay ahead, when Mother Mary started showing up everywhere.
In posts on Face Book, at my boutique (Hospice Shop), constant reminders of my own mother who passed away in 2005 and flashbacks of dreams and visions of Mary from way back when.
At a Frida Khalo party a dear, dear friend gave me a wooden Mother Mary bracelet very similar to the one I wore nineteen years ago when my life fell apart.
The previous bracelet had pictures of Jesus, saints and angels on it and I wore it for many years during my “Catholic” phase.
Funny that – first the masculine then the feminine – go figure!
Anyway, the times of trouble were no fun at all!
First I got flu and felt worse and worse.
Then I missed a step and fell bruising my right leg.
As the mottled shades of purple began to show, I got the flu again.
And then it hit me – a depression and anxiety so severe, I was forced to stop.
Dead in my tracks.
Dead is how I felt.
There was no past, present or future – just a bleakness and a lack of connection that would have been devastating and terrifying if I was capable of feeling at all.
A loved one who knows depression only too well, took care of me. Loved me through the adjustment to the medication the doctor prescribed after all my homeopathic interventions failed.
For the first time in many years, the doctor I visited, actually asked me for feedback on how I was reacting to the medication.
When I thanked him (much to his embarrassment) it became clear that he considers patients to be responsible for their own health and partners in the treatment!
My kinda doctor.
The medication worked powerfully for me. I could still feel and process and cry and heal. It just took the edge off enough for me to painstakingly claw my way out of the bewilderment.
I spent September and October retreating and resting, taking good care of myself.
Every Monday I visit a therapist – again just the right one for me. She is helping me to re-build a solid foundation of self-awareness and self-care.
And my medical aid pays for it as part of Prescribed Minimum Benefits.
Everywhere I go now, I find myself sharing about this “dark night of the soul “ experience and everywhere my confessions are met with understanding and often relief.
People seem so glad to talk about their experiences of depression and anxiety with someone who knows what it is like.
I so wanted to write this blog during October as it was Mental Health month.
I wasn’t ready.
I am now.
For me this experience has been an opportunity to ask for help, to allow others to help and support me and above all to press the re-set button on my life.
It has led me to release patterns and behaviours that have not been good for me .
To take responsibility for me.
To step back into my authentic power.
Whilst this is not an experience I would wish on anyone : it has gifted me with deep inner healing and beautiful transformative experiences.
It gave me much needed rest and the impetus to re-design my life.
Best of all, it has shown me that I live in communion with the Divine every second of my life.
Now I joyfully and gracefully create a life consciously from that communion.
A life I will be proud of on my deathbed.