My Crazy Head

Some of you will read this and think I’ve gone cray cray. If I’m crazy now, I always have been.

When I was in Minnesota (one of my favourite places on Earth) last year, I received two very powerful healings, followed by an activation and healing. This week in the US, followed by my trip to the Grand Canyon, profoundly changed me.

I remembered things I have always known and started trusting this.

I have always known that ghosts walked among us. As I have aged, these ideas have developed into an understanding that time is not linear, and that many universes and existences/lives are played out at the same time. I understand the notion of lucid dreaming, but have found the human interpretation too restrictive and palatable, rather believing that lucid dreaming is astral travel and that many of us work in other realms healing the grid during our human sleeping hours. Recently, I have come to know and accept my alien self/existence, and have been blessed to meet others, all in human form. And, now, I talk to spirit and deliver messages frequently.

It’s been an interesting evolution. Realistically, remembering what I have always known and manifesting it without fear in this somewhat secular and unbelieving world.

I’m happier than I have ever been.

That’s important. And, I share what I know and share healing with others. So, if I am crazy, others benefit. Keep justifying, Tina lol.

Anyway, the reason I write this. A few weeks ago, a couple of friends were here, and I practiced the sound healing on them. One of my friends has strong electrical influences. My TV has always been sensitive to energy. Since her healing, it has switched itself on almost every night.

Last night, there was a different energy around this. I’m usually asleep or away when this happens. But, last night, my dogs were barking, which woke me, and then the TV came on. I had a strong feeling of not being alone. And, knew in my heart that it was switched on by someone/something.

I felt no fear. Got up. Turned it off. Checked the time: 12.38. Wide awake. I felt like I had been asleep for much longer. An hour and a half later, I fell back to sleep.

I have no concern. I am just interested in the why. I’ll smudge the rooms today. And, I’ll clear the energy. But, I’m quite sure someone wants me to deliver a message.

Yep. Cray, cray. But, happy.


When I was a young girl, I really struggled with any sort of injustice. Injustice really hurt my heart. I would cry, I would write emotional poetry, I would hurt for days. And, I would wax lyrical about how I was going to change the world.

When the nuns were found, murdered, in an African country in the eighties, I was going to become a non-Catholic missionary and go out to save the people. Yes, I now know what a missionary is in its fullest extent – romantic idealism does not take into account limitations. And, when I saw a documentary about sows chained in little pens, I cried and cried and wrote one of my favourite poems, and cried some more until I became vegetarian. Now, my soul cries for all animals.

I had a dream when I was very young, between 9 and 12 years old, where armies were converging upon one another on a dark night and I stood up between them, hands outstretched, dressed in white, instructing and inspiring them to stop, in a speech that Martin Luther King Jr and Barack Obama would have been proud of.

The systems were wrong, even then. There is something wrong with humans and the way we have organised our society.

When I first started teaching in the early nineties, I was interviewed by a local newspaper. They asked why I wanted to become a teacher. My answer, predictably, I want to change the world.

Typical Tina.

Over time, with maturity, or was it growing cynicism, I realised I could change the world only by changing the lives of individuals. They would then do their part, and in time, our world would become a better place. Instead of me being the saviour, I accepted that I was a part of a bigger process.

At 46, almost 47, I don’t know where I sit with all of this. The changes in education, the changes in the way people lead, the lack of change that is needed yet not delivered, bamboozles me.

Education has become so right wing, so totalitarian, that I just don’t get it. Everyone needs to do things the same way, everyone is a cog and no longer a human being, and playing the game gets you ahead. Being true, being authentic, being real, does not. The systems no longer fit the individual, if they ever did.

I don’t like it. But, I don’t care to fight it either. Well, not as a part of it.

Something fundamentally necessary has disappeared from education in NSW, probably worldwide, except Finland, and that is the passion of its educators and legislators for the welfare of children. It’s become so day to day that we have forgotten the why. We no longer strive to be better, even though we pretend we are with continual changes in syllabi that do nothing except alienate the underclass further. Changes that don’t further education or our kids or our world.

The system sucks. It’s broken.

So, how am I settling back into the machine after a year out of it?

Five days a fortnight is working for me. As a classroom teacher with no leadership stresses, my love for my classroom practice is thriving. I love my students. I manipulate what I want to teach to fit what I have to teach. I refuse to become entrenched by the education machine. And, I know my time is limited.

I love my kids. I love watching them navigate their own learning. It’s such a gift. I love playing with them in our classroom. I love seeing their smiles and I love seeing them engaged. I love the relationships that build and I love loving my kids.

On Tuesday, another teacher gave me some feedback from one of my new students. She said that the student had said I was inspiring. Beautiful. If I can help that child know their value and enjoy their learning, I’ve achieved what I set out to achieve.

I’ve changed the world.

5 cents

This morning I have 5 cents in my bank account. This time last year I had $30 000 in my bank account, with a steady stream of funds regularly coming in.

This morning I am happier than I was this time last year. Infinitely happier.

This week the bank accounts will start to be replenished, but during my six weeks of no steady income, I have learned some important things. I have learned:

* I have the means and ability to create and manifest work when I need it.

* I can live off the smell of an oily rag.

* money does not buy happiness, nor does possessing it in bucketloads bring or inspire happiness.

* stress from not having money can ruin a beautiful day, but if you practise, you can trust that the universe will always provide what you need, and it will.

* people don’t really believe you when you tell them that you are poor and can’t do stuff.

* when you are living your life in alignment with your values, every day is an amazing day.

* friends, real friends, are always willing to support you – they buy you a meal, offer you loans, give you work, and laugh with you.

* I can live/survive financially without being a school teacher.

* I never want to have just 5 cents in my bank account again.

Not because it causes stress because I trust the universe will provide, but because through my poverty, I have realised my ultimate goal.

I want to have millions in my bank account so that I am able to offer empowerment classes, workshops and personal support to women for free. I want to be able to help other women create their best lives by feeling empowered to be their best selves.

I want other women to feel as blessed and as grateful and as soul happy as I consistently do.

I want other women to feel free.

This is my dream.

The Bridge Is Falling

Something very sad happens to a child who grows up in a home with dysfunction and trauma. They develop creases and tears in their concept of self. They don’t see themselves as worthy or valuable.

And, as a result, they either act out and get angry and aggressive and don’t comply, or, they become very compliant and afraid to get into trouble and do everything they can to please others, subconsciously hoping that others see the value they don’t believe exists. Sometimes they act out as both at different times.

The thing that is common though, the thing they share, is that they don’t believe they are worth much and they don’t believe they matter. These people are the ones who say things like, I am always there for others and when I need someone, no one is there or Talk to such and such because they are really good listeners.

Most of my life I’ve been that person. The combination one, but mostly the compliant and scared one. The one that feels like she gives and gives and drops everything for others and is always alone. The one that others, intentionally or unintentionally, use and abuse.

I realised this about myself a few years ago, after the miscarriage. One of my friends said to me that if no one was ever there for me and I was always disappointed in the responses of other people, there was one common link I needed to focus on, and that link was me.

Now, at the time, this cut me very deeply. I was sure I could never and would never speak to that person again. I was adamant, within myself, that this was a problem for all of those other people to solve, this was their problem. They were all just selfish. After all, if always been there for everyone else.

If you are like me, you’ve probably used this narrative yourself. Or versions of it. At its core, the language reveals a resentment that we still don’t think we are valuable or worthy or good enough, and we do and do and do for others in the often desperate hope, that someone will see us and validate us, in the hope that by them seeing we are enough, we might start to believe it too.

A very sad cycle.

The result of that comment from my friend was that I did shut down from others for a while, in a tantrum, and I did go inside and focus on me. Petulantly at first I said, Fine. I won’t rely on anyone. I’ll show you all. And, I did. I didn’t reach out. I didn’t share, I just went about living and healing myself, from the miscarriage, not my piss weak sense of self.

After my tantrum passed, and this took a while because I was grieving my child too, I started to stand on my own two feet, and I found myself in situations that forced me to heal other, deeper parts of my soul hurt. I found the strength to really hear myself and to start to acknowledge that because I didn’t value myself, because I didn’t see my worth, I was expecting behaviours from others from the perspective that it was their responsibility to fill my lack, to prove to me how much I was worth.

No one can, or should have to, prove to someone else that they are valuable or worthy. It can’t be done. And when we look for it outside of ourselves, we ain’t gonna receive or find it. External validation does not fill the lack or the hole. In fact, I think it does the opposite, I think it makes the hole bigger or never ending because we become reliant on external validation rather than seeing our value for ourselves.

When we truly know we are valuable, the world changes.

Well, the way we perceive it and represent ourselves within it.

Don’t get me wrong, I am a perpetual work in progress. Whilst I know my worth at some very deep level, I still have many moments where my thoughts go through a process to remember it. However, this week, back at school, I am seeing my growth.

I have always appeared confident at work. I am now confident at work, through to my core, something has shifted. I don’t need my workplace to tell me I am worthy. I know I am worthy.

As a result, I stand in my shoes as an authentic human. I am me.

I can’t wear my professional clothes anymore – they are uncomfortable on my skin and I squirm all day. I can say no. I can ignore things that take me away from my core business of teaching. I really don’t care what other people at work think of me. I am me. I like me. I am worthy. I am valuable.

Matter of factly, without emotion, if you don’t see me or my worth, that’s not my problem, it’s your problem. I don’t care. I will still be me, still do me, you’ll just miss out.

This is liberating. It is empowering.

When Lucy read for me last year at the end of March, she said I still had one foot in my past and I wasn’t ready to completely lift my heel up and move into my new life. The image gave me courage to strive forwards.

When I went back to work at school this week, I was concerned that I was moving backwards. Three days done, today is my weekend and I’m going to yoga this morning, and I realise that I haven’t gone backwards at all.

I needed to measure my growth. I needed to come back so that I could realise and understand that I no longer need this life at all. I have outgrown it. With this realisation, taking my foot out of the past is much easier, still scary, but much easier. I don’t need what it offers.

I still love teaching because I love the classroom and the relationships that I build with my kids. I taught at one of our feeder primary schools last year. I taught some of the Year 6 students. Yesterday, when a fair few of them turned up in my Year 7 English class, we were all genuinely excited to be reunited. My soul smiled.

When my Year 12 class were so willing to engage with me and our unit on travel, my soul smiled.

When Year 11 trusted me, in and through their writing, in our first period, with the insecurities of their soul, and let me really see who they were, my soul smiled.

When Year 10, last period, sat and worked quietly, trying their guts out, my soul smiled.

My heart is full. I am truly blessed. My life is rich. I can walk over the bridge. I will be safe on the other side.

I have come home.

Bullying 😳

My puppy sits on the lounge and watches television. When any animal comes on (I now think it may be when he wants a cuddle), he barks and does a little dance. This morning, Queensland’s Premier, Anastasia Palaszuck (spelt wrong – sorry), was on television demanding a national plan for bullying to be stopped in schools in the wake of Dolly’s suicide as a result of ongoing bullying.

I’m a big fan of bullying being outlawed. But, I’m not an idiot. This is way too simplistic an idea. It will not work. For so many reasons.

Bullying has existed for a long time. A long time. Not just in schools, but in workplaces and homes amongst adults first and foremost.

Bullying happens when there is an imbalance of power. It stems from the ego governing the choices of a human. That ego is often fed by a deep insecurity and fear that the person has no power themselves. The person addresses this by exerting power over another. When this happens, repeatedly, to the same person, we call it bullying.

Until our society works on healing the damaged adults who model this behavior, and we call systems to account (like institutions whose policies mandate bullying behavior), bullying amongst children in schools will continue.

However, we can attempt to mitigate the impact of bullying by strengthening the resilience of children and, case by case, responsibly dealing with early incidents of bullying. This, too, requires that egos be checked at the door.

By ego, I am referring to the part of our psyche that tells us we aren’t good enough or that something is our fault (this ego operates from a lack position), and so we become aggressive and single minded when we try to bring a situation back to balance (impossible, where the ego is concerned, because it needs to win to be satisfied).

Bullying is not okay. Not ever. Not between adults, not between kids, not towards animals.

It will continue to happen whilst ever our society runs on the adrenaline of ego, whilst ever one person has more power than another (and uses it to further their own desires), and whilst ever power structures form the foundation of every organization, including government.

So, dealing with bullying. I am often charged with handling a bullying situation at school. This often occurs at an early point because I don’t tolerate kids saying mean things to one another or being mean to one another.

In fact, in my classroom I maintain strict expectations for how we treat each other during the learning process. I expect students to respond to questions, to ask questions and to make mistakes freely ( we learn more from mistakes than getting things right). I create a safe environment for this to happen, to empower my students to learn.

I warn my students that no one will laugh at someone else without serious consequences. They only ever need one example of someone being minimized and me reacting to know that I am true to my word.

Whatever people think of my strategies, they work. Kids feel safe with me and they learn. I pride myself (bloody ego) on creating a safe learning environment for my kids. This extends beyond the classroom walls.

I am regarded by some as a bitch. I don’t care. Students in my classes regard me as fair and only a bitch if I catch you doing something you shouldn’t. I have had many kids referred to me by ex students who say, Go see Meyer. She’ll deal with it. Yes, yes I will. Every child deserves to feel and to be safe at school.

I will share my process. This is a general summary. Every situation is different and might require some tweaking, but this is it basically.

I speak to both kids individually. I try to work out what has happened and why it has happened. From both sides. Why is the bully needing the power and why is the victim willing to sacrifice their’s.

Before you jump, I have been bullied. In each case, I need to work out for myself, why I sacrificed my power. It’s a hard conversation to have with yourself because we lie to make ourselves feel better. I encourage the kids to be honest with themselves, and with me, so that we can resolve the core issues.

Often, bullying isn’t about either child, it is about the feelings of powerlessness and worthlessness – on both sides. These need to be resolved so that the bullying does not continue.

I will then often sit the kids together and I mediate a conversation, a sharing of how each child feels and the real reasons as to why. The kids start to see their same-ness rather than their difference. I do a lot of the talking in this mediation until the kids feel safe with being honest. It usually results in a lot of tears (from me too – nothing more beautiful than kids seeing each other as equals after pain and seeing a way out) and resolution.

Very rarely have their been repeat offenses. And, if there are, I become a bully to the bully. Not nice, but effective.

The core issues are integral to solutions. They are often ignored in the resolution of bullying incidences. There is too much blame and too much anger and too much a need to be right rather than happy. Us adults model this poor behavior all of the time. We need to model our authentic selves rather than our masked selves.

Realistically, the solution to bullying relies on us adults being honest with ourselves. The bandaid solutions that will filter down from government are bullshit. They will achieve nothing. Us adults needs to be empowered to be our best selves. Only then will we empower our kids to be their best selves. Only then.

Always Something to Remember πŸ˜³

Living consciously and being aware/mindful can be exhausting. Without a doubt, 2017 was an amazing year for me. I have spent the past few weeks, very tired, from processing all that it was.

There was a lot of soul healing, and a lot of movement out of the role I had been playing for years and movement into who I truly am in a holistic way. After allowing myself to be silenced, my health significantly suffering as a result, I finally feel like I am speaking my truth again, embracing the courage required to do so.

I had to work through a lot of anger – anger at people who told lies that impacted me, anger at people who failed to speak up – mostly though, after some honest introspection, anger at myself for allowing an archaic and unjust system shackle me and disable my voice.

One of the hardest things we have to do is speak up against injustice. If we don’t speak up, more people’s lives become impacted. That isn’t right. As citizens, it is our responsibility to do what is right, and speak out when we see things that aren’t.

I own that I failed to do this. I have forgiven myself – I have let go of the idea that it could have been different at that time. Even still, I force myself to not qualify my failure lol.

So, in a process of constant learning and remembering and being reminded, 2017 was a year that saw the removal of my self-imposed and institutionalised shackles. As a result of this, and of speaking my truth again, unreservedly and in all of its glorious mess, I regained strength, perspective and liberated myself to live a life created by myself.

My business has been amazingly successful, and brings me great joy and love. I write seriously and am finishing my book. I have committed myself to self-publish through Balboa Press. I travelled extensively and brought a lot of new people into my life whilst maintaining my ‘older’ people.

I am happy. I am living my best life.

At the end of March last year, in my reading with Lucy Cavendish, she told me that I had one foot on the bridge to new life and one foot still planted in my old life. During the year, I moved further across the bridge, only to find myself moving back to put a toe on the old ground. Part time this year. Putting units and assessments together. Offering to do more because my old self says it is important to me.

The hardest thing about change is struggling not to go back to what you know (that had stopped serving your best interests).

I can only be and stay conscious. I might need reminders when I become absorbed, but ultimately, I am exactly where I am supposed to be. I trust the broader plan for my life. I am open to receiving.

I got this.

Dolores O’Riordan

I cried this morning when I heard that Dolores O’Riordan had died. You would have thought, had you seen me, that I had lost a close friend.

The Cranberries’ music is a part of my life’s soundtrack. I loved them. In many ways, Dolores being the same age as me, battling emotional demons, we shared a narrative. Simple as that.

My music idols and heroes are important to me. They provided refuge and companionship during some very lonely and difficult times as I came to terms with my past and who I was. We never get to tell them how important they are to us. I hope they know.

My dad introduced me to Zucchero. Dolores performed with him. I used to play it over and over, singing with her in kinship. My poor neighbours.

I know her soul will be at peace, and so I wish the same for her kids and loved ones here on Earth.

Time to Fight πŸ˜³

Oprah’s acceptance speech was amazing. Made me bawl my eyes out and filled me with hope for a better future.

Yesterday, I had a migraine that became increasingly debilitating as the day went on. I ended up taking a mersyndol (lord help me when I need a prescription come February 1 – it’s the only thing that relieves the pain of my migraines) and slept ten hours.

But, whilst in pain, unable to do much else, I felt a surge of something fire my soul and I googled the NSW Ombudsman. If I were to lodge a complaint about the investigative process utilized by EPAC during 2016 (not their decision, but the process), I need to complain internally first. When that fails, as it will, I then refer the complaint to the NSW Ombudsman’s Office.

I am angry (still – a sign I need to do something) that it:

* took as long as it did (nine months – seriously impacting my mental health),

* took so long for me to be informed why I was under investigation (three months),

* took so long for me to be given a chance to respond (closer to five months),

* involved me being instructed to not discuss it at work with anyone (when others were gossiping about it willy nilly),

* resulted in me not being permitted to have a Support Person within my workplace,

* I was not given the opportunity to show or provide any supporting evidence in my defense before being labeled a “self-serving liar” by the lower ranked investigators, and

* took so long to receive the adjudication after the letter had been typed and dated (November – I received it in December after enquiring about it).

Yes. Still angry. I barely functioned personally during the year of 2016. I suffered extreme anxiety. I cried most mornings on the way to work. I managed to perform at school (except for a minor marking snaffle and a few meltdowns with the boss); in the classroom, it was my best year to date.

I was not myself at all.

I did work through it. It was a sign from the universe for me to change my life. I appreciate all of that. However, other people will find themselves in situations similar to mine, and whilst I understand that children come first, I do not accept that this requires an adult’s welfare to not count at all.

I won’t even get started on the NSW Teachers Federation’s ineptitude and failure to support me at all through all of this, after years and years of dedicated service to the union as a Federation Representative and for a shorter time, as a councillor. Grrrrrr. I resigned from the union as a result.

My dad always encouraged me to fight against, stand up against, injustice. He always has. But, I couldn’t do it during 2016. I couldn’t do it during 2017. I can do it during 2018.

Yes. The anger with the process is still there. My mental health is in a great place. But, it is still terrifying to think that I will be opening a can of worms by putting forth a complaint. What if? What if? What if?

I need to focus on what is. And, in the present, I am in a position to stand up. I hate being brave and feeling responsible. Why can’t someone else do it …

I have a friend …

I know, lucky me. I have a friend. The ellipsis suggests that there is more to this sentence though for those giggling 😜.

I have a friend who is on a rigorous healing journey. Who is confronting her demons and holding her ground. And, who is absolutely shit scared, every day, of what this could lead to.

When we embark on a healing journey, we first spend time holding the truth within ourselves. We go over our narratives so many times that we can finally feel ‘comfortable’ within them. We start to own our narrative in more than just a debilitating way.

We almost start to feel safe that this is who we are now, and we start to use the labels: survivor, victim, me too. We also brand the trauma: sexual abuse, physical abuse, dysfunction. The labels start to define us. They hold us tightly, but in a way that makes us feel, I don’t know, connected, maybe, secure, even.

This part of the journey can last many, many years. Some people become ‘stuck’ in this part of the healing and they, in essence, hide behind these labels. The labels and the trauma become safe. They, in turn, become the labels. This isn’t healthy.

The next part of the healing journey takes place when we start to share our narrative. We talk to other people, we write, or we create, in some way, to share our narrative. The courage it requires to share is significant. It’s like stepping out into the humidity after a big storm; the fear smothers you until you acclimate.

Sharing comes at a cost. You fear that you won’t be believed, that people will judge you, invalidate your experience (and you), and look at you differently. Sharing makes you very vulnerable, scarier for someone who already feels invalidated.

Rarely, depending on who you choose to share with, will any of these things happen. More often than not, people will support you, commend you on your bravery, and ultimately, start to share their narrative.

This phase of healing helps you to develop strength. It is usually at this point that you start to think outside of yourself. You start saying things like, I want to help others, I want to make a difference, and I need to get my story out there because this needs to stop. Most of us start changing our little parts of the world here. We share and by doing so, we empower and inspire others to share. We start to impact the broader social narrative (this is where #metoo gained real traction, just as a current example).

Some people then move beyond their own circle. They start blogging, writing books, making movies, giving speeches, designing workshops, to get their narrative out there to impact even more people. I think, it is at this point, that the trauma stops defining you. It is a subtle change. But, importantly, I think the healing starts to define you at this point, for most people.

Again, this is terrifying. Even more terrifying than first sharing your trauma with close friends and/or family.

It is here when you start to worry about the impact sharing your narrative will have on those in your narrative. We worry that relationships will change, and be lost. We worry that the pain of others will be exacerbated unwittingly as a result of sharing our narrative. We worry that we will be shunned by those we love.

It is at this point that we weigh up the value of what we are doing, for the world, the community, and ultimately, ourselves. And then, if we proceed, we try to do it sensitively.

Owning our own voice is so important in the healing journey. Owning our voice and our truth.

We are raised to believe that truth is a singular concept. Something is true, or it isn’t. Defining truth, this is ‘true’; however, when it comes to our stories, my truth could be different to someone else’s truth because of perception.

If, in a situation, someone’s action impacted me more than others around me, I might remember the action more than the other things happening at that time, and others may not remember the action at all. This impacts my narrative.

My truth can be different to someone else’s. Both are still valid in the context of a life. Because healing needs to occur from where we are, not from where someone else is.

Someone can say, That isn’t true. It might not be for them. For the person sharing it though, it is. And, as a result, they need to rebalance (heal) it. Standing in our truth is frightening. We all want to belong. By standing up, we risk losing our sense of belonging.

It is important to remember, at this point, that whilst some will turn away from us, the universe always ensures balance, so others will come.

My truth is just that, it is my truth. As I move through my life, striving for harmony and happiness and all things beautiful, I need to do what empowers me to achieve these things. I need to be sensitive to the truths of others without compromising my own truth.

My truth is as valid as your truth. Even when they are different. Healing ourselves, heals others.

Let’s share our stories, rebalance our perceptions, and attain happiness.

Father-Daughter 😒

Our relationships with our parents are so fundamental to who we become as adults. I had a moment last night, watching Trouble With The Curve, which I’ve watched a heap of times, where I burst into tears, saying, “That’s me.”

Amy Adams’ character, Micky, confronts her dad, Clint Eastwood, about his rejection of her as a young girl. Her dad, raising a young girl, on the road for work, after his wife/her mother died, finds himself out of his depth when Micky is touched inappropriately by a horse trainer.

He beats the crap out of the guy, waits for the police to come after him, and moves Micky to live with relatives because he thinks she will be safer.

He never tells any of this to Micky. Her perception is that she wasn’t good enough for him, and she spends her adult years trying to please him and gain his approval. He is oblivious to all of this. He loves her, but doesn’t know how to communicate that.

I just bawled. I rewound the scene to watch it a few more times. It never had impacted so deeply before.

My tears were for my same feelings relating to my dad. Seeking that validation. Our perceptions are interesting things. I can now see that we tend to remember that which hurts us more than that which makes us smile. As kids, with minimal scope for broad perspective, we internalize the negative and create narratives that really focus on the negative.

The violence (aka discipline) told me I had to behave a certain way to not be hit, and the goal posts here were always moving. I never knew where I stood. I was also taught that I was responsible for everyone else (my sisters’ behavior), and that I wasn’t good enough if they misbehaved and I hadn’t stopped them. I also learned that I was different to my sisters. They were the pretty ones.

As a teen, who wasn’t overweight, but was a different build to my sisters, my dad would coax me to lose weight by offering me rewards. Looking back, I didn’t need to lose weight. I was fine. But, the narrative I was telling myself, that I perceived was being reinforced by the actions of my father, took over. And a key aspect of that, that I then internalized and still play over today, is that I am not good enough as I am.

I sense a list of memories are going to be made and Demartini’d very soon.

I now understand that my father’s context lead him to these choices. I now understand that self-worth is one of my lessons, that I chose, for this lifetime. However, the hurt was and is real.

That feeling of not being enough, not being valuable, not being deserving unless you meet another person’s criteria, is gut wrenching. My intellect was always validated by my father – I thrive here.

More work to be done.