The trauma of unhealthy relationships… and the remembrance of ecstatic reverence.

“I just want you to know… I respect you more than anyone I know.”

His eyes were soft but penetrating. Mine were adjusting to letting in that much light.

We’d both had our share of shitty romance, crappy “care”.

Neglect. Exploitation. Shame. Repression.

The common cocktail of disregard that leaves you emotionally hung over for months, years, ugh – sometimes decades.

But in that moment, there was real remembrance. Rapturous light leaking into my cracks and crevices. A glow of knowing I’d somehow forgotten.

I am a thing worth revering, I remembered.

My heart softening, warming, expanding like a Chinese sky lantern; indestructible Love Glow filling my bones.

I am a thing worth revering, I remembered.

My womb melting, opening like a dam, the energy portal of infinite creation pulsing through my pelvic bowl. Eternal belonging. Unbreakable LIFE.

I am a thing worth revering, I remembered. 

My head titling back, resting on his sturdy chest. Layer after layer of lies shedding from my eyes, rolling down my face in hot holy tears.

(It helped tremendously that during this time I’d been writing daily letters to my vagina, spending sacred time with her each morning, cultivating the most honest, loving relationship with this long shamed and disregarded part of myself.)

The trauma of unhealthy relationships is simple and brutal:

You forget.
You forget the potency of Love Glow.
You forget to go home to the unbreakable lineage of eternal light in your bones.
You forget… how to remember it. 

Dazed and confused, you obsessively study your astrology chart for clues about your character flaws (and possible saving graces), ponder incessantly with your girlfriends if love is even REAL, and keep on dating the dude you feel nervous and uncertain around all the damn time.

After enough years of this (or your own version of spinning in love-forgetfulness anxiety) you start to internalize a very sneaky, hurtful set of beliefs:

Love is impossible.
Love is unreasonable.
Love is not for me.
I will be 60 in the garden alone. I’ll probably get a cat by then.
Maybe I’ll just work my life away.
Maybe that’s enough.
Dear god, I must be unlovable. Or broken. Or fucked up beyond repair.

And in the brutality of these shitty, painful beliefs, YOU PANIC.

(Because, duh… they can’t actually be true.)

Howevah, instead of reaching in or up (to self or source), in a frenzy, you reach OUT… to someone, something external, to fix the ache of separation, and fast!

You vie for a fix like a hungry addict. Seeking proof. Presents. Someone else’s presence. Reassurance. The right text at the right time. Total unwavering attention and commitment.

Or collapsed from the exhaustion of so much unsuccessful trying, you dampen your desire. Shut down. Shut off. Delete all the dating apps. DONE.

We call this being HANGRY FOR LOVE. Feral starvation. Soul malnourishment. Eventual total system turn off.

So far gone from the good ground of your unbreakable belonging, your longing breaks your sanity.

You do and say things NO ONE WOULD SAY OR DO if they remembered the truth-truth-truth…

You’re fucking worth it.
Holy love.
Melty care.
Deep and utter reverence.

You also ARE IT. (This is the real remembrance…)
Holy love.
Melty care.
Deep and utter reverence.
…a wild ecstatic expression of head thrown back, lips ajar, resting on dependable kindness.
Love Glow filling your bones.
The energy portal of infinite creation pulsing, pulsing, pulsing through.

You are the biggest most unbreakable conjuring of healthy holy love you could ever possibly imagine.

You just gotta remember to remember.

Which is no small thing to do.
Which is exactly why it’s WHAT to do when you’re feeling swallowed by the dark, hopeless hole of traumatic imprints.

Play the music of remembrance.
Scoop the flame into your fear.
Cleanse the lie of this-is-all-there-is.
Shake your body where it’s stuck.
Take to the throne.
Connect with your source, your vision and version of unbreakable rapturous reverence.
Insist anything other than a Love this big, this clear, Is Not You.

BASK in the embodiment of your own true Love Glow.

Every day.
In every way you can.
Over and over again.

Until your life becomes a living breathing pulse of that long lost remembrance.
Until you’re laughing in bed eye-to-eye, flesh-to-flesh, arms wrapping sweetness into every cell of your soul’s truest knowing.

This is the remembrance of ecstatic reverence.
Inner-knowing growing into your life’s outer showing.

And it’s here for you.

You just gotta remember to remember.

Here’s to doing the work that works.
Big melty love from my heart to yours…

PS–Next week I’ll be opening the doors to the inaugural Sex After Trauma Sisterhood. It’s going to be a small and holy circle of women reclaiming their Love Glow in the most shrouded places of their beings. Stay posted if you’re ready for a grand remembrance. xo

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