Your essence is the most authentic, honest, real version of you. Over years of development it often gets built over with other’s stories of who you are (or who they want/need you to be)–good or bad–but not essential truths of who you are on the most elemental level. Eroding those stories we were told were your identity is a difficult but essential part of raising one’s own conscious awareness.
You don’t want to look ‘there’. Maybe you tell yourself it doesn’t matter. It’s in the past. Let’s just forget it. Or maybe you were told to ‘accept it and move on’ or ‘life is painful’ or ‘life is unfair’. Sure you heard those words as a child, but who was telling you? Why were you asked to put your essential questions aside and let others articulate truth for you?
Your parents greatest flaw was their own unconsciousness. Their own unawareness of their raw vulnerabilities and how that affected them. Hurt them. How they felt betrayed. Scared. Alone. They chose to candy coat those events–make them seem like sad but OK parts of who they are. But they are not. There are stories in them. Unarticulated truths of existence that could lead them to their own divinity. And get you closer to yours. Proof of a life that means so much more than what it seems like on the surface. How could one not be affected by the horrific truths that have been woven into the story lines they were a part of? How could that generational trauma not affect you?
With that bundle of perfection that you coddle with the warmest love, your are scraped into acknowledging your rawest essence–beyond your culture and your parents unconsciousness– and forced to look in the mirror and see–really see–who is looking back. When we acknowledge our true being and remove the false layers of who we were told we were or who we “should” become, then we honor our unique way of being, and as a parent traversing the spiritual journey of raising humans.
So you’re an adult now, a ‘grown up’. It doesn’t always feel that way. When you find yourself lashing out at a child you know there is more–has to be more–from where those automatic stories you tell yourself are coming from. How do you figure out where?
In the solitude of the breath.
What artifacts do you need to unearth from your past to analyze, understand, and refile in your emotional database with a story that actually makes sense? That gets to the heart of the matter?
On the breath.
What nuggets of truths can you uncover when you scuff off the layers of pretend and posing? Will you be able to confront the pain of your family’s skeletons?
The truth is when you get closer the buried treasure might seem like bomb. It may scare you and make you wonder who you are and why are you here? How did you get layered into this mess. It will make you question the stories–you may now call them lies–that you once owned as truth. But be brave.
It may take time–maybe even a lifetime–of digging, sifting, and triangulating the data points to where they line up and make sense. You may have to reach out to other willing family members (aunts and uncles) to unearth the real story of what happened to your parents. You may not find anything for a long while.
Until you do.
Let go on the exhale.
The truth is the only way and making meaning of that is all you can do.
And you may realize all you have is emptiness. Nothingness. This is not bad. This is the starting point to rebuild a new civilization based in consciousness. Reality. Essence. Pure joy. With the emptiness there is wholeness. The ability to be. Anything. Your choice.