And She Whispered Loudly

I am beautiful… I am free.

If everything is really a lesson working on my behalf to better this life, then my lessons just keep getting sweeter as the years go by. And by sweet, I do not mean easy, just juicier and softer on the eyes of my heart.

Relationships tend to be one of my biggest triggers, and that makes sense for grown children of traumatic upbringings. And for everyone for that matter. No ones had a perfect life. If the people who were “supposed” to love me and teach me the world was safe accidentally created the opposite scenario for me, of course as I grown up I will not trust, I will struggle to let myself be loved, and the way I view myself will fluctuate in the face of human interactions.

 One of the symptoms of borderline personality disorder is a fluctuating sense of self. It’s where one’s self-perceptions and way of viewing the world change from situation to situation based on the level of perceived safety and/or triggered trauma. I dare to say fuck the westernized diagnosis and disorders… is this not the human experience of many? Especially those who have been beaten with the words and the names of things we are not and never were? Whore, thief, liar, bad girl, bad boy, delinquent, F’s, learning disabilities, failure, depression, cancer, not good at math, stupid, bitch…. Etc.

We were taught to go against our innate nature and to create contradiction exasperated by worldly confusion within the deepest parts of our belief systems. 

So then, if we are so lucky, we choose to embrace our hardships and triggers to break free from the bondage of disillusionment. Last night, I was triggered by telling this beautiful and gentle man the details of my recent past. It’s a heavy thing for newbies in my life to process, let stab them in the gut, and then willingly let the pain drift away like a message in a bottle holding my history… for someone else to pick up one day and find the truth in it all.

I read his voice and became fearful that he will not accept me. I became consumed with the feeling that I am tainted, that I am not “normal,” and I can never tell a normal story to someone I love about my past. My stories are outrageous to say the least and shocking. When you think I couldn’t surprise you more, I do. It’s my life… it’s my story. But, who am I without my story? That is the real lesson here.

Last night I sat with the fear and the sorrow I felt for myself. I felt sadness for the things I put myself through, and I felt regret. Then I realized, this man is not judging me. I am judging me, still. Yes, I have grown by leaps and bounds and have moments of true self-love and miraculous earth shattering revelations… but my insides have not let completely go of the story I tell myself. The story of who I believe I am. The story of how I see myself and relate to the world.

 I sat to meditate on my heart space this morning. I knew the work that needed to be done was inside of me. Whether people judge me or not, whether this man stays in my life or not… the way I view myself and my life does not need to fluctuate.  I REPEAT: it does not need to fluctuate. I need no fixing, no undoing… only the letting go of what IS NOT TRUE. Just be Robin. Nameless, faceless, full of fire and energetic magical spiritual stuff… just having a human experience.

As I sat with my eyes closed in dimmed light before the sun came out, I asked my heart how it was inside. Usually I feel pain in my heart or heaviness, but not this time when I checked in. It had been a while since I checked in with my heart in silence. I felt almost nothing, and I thought to myself, “Is this what openness feels like?” And then a voice, my voice, said loud and clear, yet with no warning, and with the gentleness of a sweet confident whisper “I am freeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.” Ok heart. I must be doing a good job; We are free.

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I will be doing everything I can to fight the good fight. Help me make a difference. 

Discovering My Survivorship

Holy smoke balls!! Nothing makes my heart heavier than talking about childhood trauma... ughhhh. And, on the same token, nothing lights it up more either. 

A few years ago after setting out to hard core change my life, I was driving listening to God music on the radio la la la. Then, all of a sudden this commercial came on for a human trafficking event taking place in Fremont, CA. It felt as if the car had stopped moving, time stood still, and I just had this wild knowing that I needed to be there. I was drawn to it. 

So, I showed up alone and nervous, yet comforted with the knowing that I had a mission to be there. I ran into my mom's churchy friends and tried to escape their presence eeeeek. They might know how weird it is I am here alone! I gave myself a tour around all the booth tables searching for something inspiring, trying to find the reason I had been drawn there. I wanted to volunteer. I ran into the MISSSEY table which stands for Motivating, Inspiring, Serving, and Supporting Sexually Exploited Youth. I got hooked up with them & stayed active for a couple years. Now looking back, all these little puzzles pieces are falling into place and making sense. Because of that involvement, I was a runner up for many many scholarships and awards. 

A few years later, here I am having my world rocked. With each training sesion and experience I receive deeper healing. I’ve come to find out that my childhood experiences fall under the definition of being commercially sexually exploited as a child. Luckily for me, my family, as dysfunctional and twisted as they are, loved me enough AND HAD THE RESOURCES to lock me up in Mexico for over a year to save my life. I was never put out on the streets and sold, but it was very very close. Anyone of the ADULT drug dealers or gang bangers exploiting me could have put me to work on the streets… instead they exploited me in their own homes. Commercial is defined as the transaction of anything worth value. For me it was food, shelter including harboring from the abuse in my home, black mail, threats, protection, drugs, and rape. I was just a little girl. I was scared and alone. Fast forwarding... no wonder I was auspiciously drawn to those human trafficking conferences with my tail between my legs feeling so confused. I was placed right where I needed to be to discover my truth, to find the parts of me unhealed, and to make something beautiful of it all. 

What happens to runaway little girls? Even if they are lucky enough to escape the vicious cycle of abuse one day? What kind of life can they lead if their growing years were tainted with trauma and the world they were introduced to proved to be unsafe? What kind of struggles could you imagine they face? What kind of jobs will they acquire as an adult? What becomes of their sexuality & self-esteem? DO THEY EVEN HAVE A CHANCE?

All questions, my life has answered.

The ones lucky enough to survive stumbling along the way, have the obligation to keep healing so that they may stand up for all the others not so lucky.