seven and her fantasy…

yesterday i got triggered (yeah, i know everyone is sick of that word, but whatever) and regressed to seven year old me on the ride home. she’s been driving the bus way longer than every age of me after her. the older the part of self, the longer they’ve been driving. this part of me is not rebellious but the rebellious teenager is the loyal soldier, or dragon, that protects this sensitive little creature within. the seven year old does not fit in with the harshness of the world and her experience is that a lot of people don’t like her. my continued mission is to love every shadow part and let each part feel their feelings. shadow part means in the shadows and this little girl has been sitting in the shadows for years, protected and overpowered by the rebellious teen. now the seven year old is basking in the sunlight of my consciousness. she emerged in the car ride through a medicinal conversation that helped to bring her into the light. i am so grateful. on my knees in surrender and thankfulness. it was (and still is) very uncomfortable to let her be in the light. it’s not uncomfortable to love her but it is uncomfortable to not try to fix myself. i wont. all i will do is love this old part of me until she dissolves into the wholeness of my present moment self. i feel vulnerable and have been feeling this way all week, but i did not know before yesterday that the vulnerability was leading to this emergence. she existed before all of my struggles. she existed when the traumas were not yet traumas because they were happening in the moment back then. she is my innocence. she never blamed her self nor did she blame anybody else. she just felt confused, scared, and uncomfortable. when she was comfortable she was playing in the woods, talking to her invisible friends (ryan and christy), making potions and pretending to be a scientist, digging in the earth with a spoon pretending to be an archeologist, and singing to olivia newton-john songs pretending to be a famous singer. now that i think about it, i have learned to play pretend my whole life to counteract the harshness of the world. i was telling him yesterday morning that if i had any addiction, it was to fantasy. how often i have lived in fantasy and not the present moment. we talked about the difference between habit and addiction, his words bringing sacred knowledge. i thought about my habits. i treat the poisons like sacred rituals and treats, yet they are still habits. i fantasize about giving them up. fantasy is the addiction. i imagine if i did, i would be more bad-ass, more pure. i want to be more bad ass and pure. i have done it before many times and whenever i am habit free from the poisons, i do feel bad ass. fantasy has been reality. so why do i go back? because i want the pleasure of escape and deliciousness? i think a lot of the reason is because i am in the lifestyle, such happy hours with friends. yet these lifestyle choices feel old and blah to me a lot these days. not always though. stuff to contemplate. i am interested in becoming conscious of all my habits right now. i am ready to shed what does not serve anymore. i am ready to be new. i am under construction. i have my hawk eye on the fantasizing addiction. i watch my intense urge to go there and feel the incredibly mammoth discomfort in my body when i lovingly don’t allow myself to go there. to stay in the present moment is a quest. i don’t feel i am exaggerating. there are many ways to “check out” of the present moment. there are many addictions that are not attached to physical substances. all of this is on my mind and in my heart as i love the seven year old that emerged from the trigger. she birthed my most potent magic trick. the magic became a habit and the habit became an addiction. i say addiction because i use fantasy to avoid reality and it has gotten in the way of my health as a human being. it might seem innocent compared to other things but if you could see the split that i have lived in, inside of me, you would see that thoughts can wreak havoc too. maybe if i lived in a prison, fantasy could be a good place to be. or maybe if i turned fantasy into fiction novels (which i did once) it would be healthy. but what wreaks havoc is living a large portion of life in a false refuge, a place that is only real in my head, a future that never arrives, a world that does not exist. i give myself total love, compassion, and acceptance as i transform…i feel the loss of the years gone by….this is being human in all of its glory.

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