Coral’s Healing Room at Coralsblog.com 505-269-9242 iwritetohealmyself@gmail.com I rise early. I go to bed early. If you need me, I will make myself available to you.

We are all okay…

I have been missing my Mom a lot today and I am finding that some of my sensitivity to the world comes from this place…a place where I just hurt.

Truly, it is that simple. I just hurt. I blame no one. I accept blame from no one. I just fucking hurt.

Maybe it gives more clarity to say that, from the very outer surface, my eyelashes, my hair, my skin…all the way to the depths of my soul…I hurt…or maybe  I just feel…like REALLY, feel…everything…and for the majority of my life, I have not felt anything to these depths. I certainly have not ever felt a loss such as this, not ever…I have also never been able and willing to do it publicly…ever…

My Mom wanted us to be okay. Horrible things happened and what we most wanted was to be okay.

Here is my truth though…you don’t know something like this, hear something like this, from the persons mouth who did it, and walk away from that okay.

No…that was an edited my truth…let me try again…

I did not sit in a room with my Mom and find out about what happened to me, from the mouth of the person who did it to me…and walk away from that okay. My Mom did not walk away from that okay either.

The cancer that my Mom was diagnosed with, that finally damaged her enough to stop her beating heart, pales in comparison to the cancer that ate her alive. We are talking about something that eats you slowly and all of the time, something that hurts your soul. You placed your trust in a reasonable place and it was betrayed in ways unimaginable to most.

I would imagine that all of my friends who have kids cannot bear the thought of that kind of pain…pain inflicted upon your child. You just do not walk away from knowing that, unmistakably knowing that, okay…I’m sorry, no matter who you are, that fucks you up a bit, fucks with your head a bit…

You can spend your life pretending that there was not significant damage from such a fucking storm…and that still does not make you okay, or me okay or my Mom okay or my Dad okay or my Little Brother okay…or any of us okay.

The the truth is we are not okay when we hurt children. I don’t care why. I don’t care who. These things, made okay by those who cannot not be okay…these things still are not okay.

The facade of okay…the facade of fine…the  smile that covers the most unimaginable pain…these are the things that will torment us all and eat us all alive…only if we let that happen…then and only then, will that happen…

What if not being okay is the very thing that really allows us to be okay? What if being open is the only thing that doesn’t keep us clamped completely shut?

There is liberation in not being afraid of who will see what I write…liberation in not being attached to who that is or is not…

I too have hurt people. I make no excuses. I have been insensitive, unkind, unfaithful…I have been intolerant and made bad decisions…I have slammed doors shut in the faces of people trying to set me free, simply because I did not feel worthy…

I am not better than anyone. I am, without a doubt, better than I was yesterday. I am in competition with no one and every day, I will strive to be better than I was yesterday…

I don’t control you. I will control how I am impacted or not impacted by you…(when I grow a bit more…I will do that when I grow a bit more…right now though, I am sensitive as fuck…everything hurts…)

Well that interrupted my flow a bit…my truth in this moment…

As I was saying…today, I just hurt. I did not hurt today as badly as I was hurting a few days ago, or a week ago…I still hurt worse today than I had for 42 years before on the 19th of December…when I may have been baking cookies with my Mom…or awaiting Santa’s arrival…

So, here is the good news, this willingness and ability to feel this pain…this and only this is healing me…walking through this…contrary to anything you may have heard, there is no way around, over, under…just through…

If you are on this journey with me, I truly am appreciative. The closer you are to me, the more personally I take you…(I’m sorry Tamara…I am a work in progress for sure)…I know that what you think of me, whoever you are, is none of my business. I do know this to be true and yet, sometimes, I still get hurt at nothing…Why do I write  a shitty story, when I could be writing a great story, since I believe that we do write our own stories…

I am thankful for every single person in my story. I am thankful for the hard lessons that have become some of my greatest blessings.

I am thankful that my Mom and I were okay. In spite of what happened and how not okay what happened was, my Mom and I were okay…as okay as we could be…

My Mom knew she was dying and I begged her not to die without me. My Mom and I lived through all of this together…this unimaginable horror…and I begged her not to leave this earth while I was not with her.

My Mom honored my wish and took her dying breath, while squeezing my hand, as she opened her eyes one last time. So, I feel safe to say, with everything in me, that, literally, all the way to the end, my Mom and I…we were okay…we are still okay and we will always be okay…

So, I think it is really important for me to say that I am okay. I always was okay. I did not realize that. Sometimes I still forget that I am always okay.

I am flawed as fuck! Truly, a fucking train wreck sometimes…I know that I am in control of nothing and yet I resist breaking the broken patterning that tells me that I am…

I have one Mom…the absolutely perfect Mom for me. I feel the maternal bond still, often stronger than it was walking right next to her…and there is not one moment of one day, ever, that I have wished her back here…I know what she left behind and I could not be happier that she is free of any pain…

My Mom would be worried about me…and she is not…not anymore. My Mom brought me into this world and carried me through my life, way past my maturity date (I didn’t even know I had such a date, or that I was so many years past it). I was blessed enough to carry her home…and what a beautiful gift…to allow me such an honor…

My Mom was there when I took my very first breath and I was there when my Mom took her last breath. I could not be more blessed…

My deep pain is allowing me to open to the most amazing love. Thank you for being patient with me as I figure all of this out…

I am learning to walk on my own and it’s a little scary at times…I feel like I’m falling and I might grab for you to hold me up…thanks for helping me back up…when I am strong enough again, I will return the honor…

These words…my words, a version of your own…we are all one…just walking each other home (I love Ram Dass!)

My story…your story…we all have a story we haven’t told…maybe we just know now that we can tell it if we want to…we do not have to and if we want to we can. My story is not worse or better than your story…for they are all our stories…

These stories are about all of our children.  All of the children are all of our children. We have a duty to protect the children, above ourselves, before ourselves…at all costs…we are the ones who can give them permission have their own voice.

When their voice shakes, we hold them up and encourage them to speak through their tears and their fears and their inhibitions…and if their voice needs volume and strength, we come in as their chorus…

We are all okay…the journey is the acceptance of that…I am on this amazing, beautiful, painful, crazy journey with you! Thank you for being on this journey with me! Namaste.

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