What if Your Wounds Lead You To Your Purpose?

What if there really is a good reason for our emotionally painful life experiences? What if it was to prepare us for our journey to come?

At the cell level of my being I understand pain, fear (terror), resentment, loneliness and even envy of what others had and I did not. I use to think I was one of the most unfortunate souls to walk the earth, the mother of a child who died. While I once said giving birth to a baby was painful; I soon learned I would experience even harsher torture when I had to give Trevor back 25 years later.

When I did begin to investigate to find out why I couldn’t seem to find any emotional peace in my life I realized that the image of myself was all wrong for me. I didn’t belong there. I was better than that. I didn’t fit in the not so merry place of victimland where “Oh Woes Me” could be heard for miles. After a while I never really felt comfortable in that role and I somehow sensed there had to be more for me.  I recalled when I was a 16 year old mess my stepmother looked in my eyes, deeply, and said, “Cheryl, you are special.  Don’t ever forget that.”   I hung onto those words because I needed them for a lifeline from time to time, and they are the words I clung to when I decided to throw caution to the wind and find my own truth.

It was hard because I have a whole shitload of trauma and drama most people would never be able to lift out of. If you knew my complete story (and some of you reading do); you would all understand if I just packed up my bags and lived in self pain for the rest of my miserable life. YOU would be compassionate and understand, but I somehow felt there was better for me.

I had to get tough with myself. No more lying inside to attempt to make myself OR SOMEONE ELSE feel better. That didn’t work. No more lying and secrets, shame and stuffing. Time to get real. When I finally did GET IT I was pleasantly surprised to find my own Truth is actually very special. Who I am. What I am. And where I am going all became very clear to me. I know now I’ll never look back.

My new attitude doesn’t mean I don’t still hurt myself from time to time with my own human impulses.  And I can get just as reactive as the next guy (sometimes that show really looks ridiculous), but today I look at it like I make mistakes, but I am no longer ‘a’ mistake.  And I ignore set backs.

Sometimes the worst of the worst has to happen to us before we are ready to use available tools (and there are options for everyone when we look) to recover from trauma.

I learned I had to stop being a baby and to realize I am not the only suffering soul. There are people out there far worse off than me and when I open my eyes and see how much I really do have I immediately have emotional peace.

I should be more compassionate at times when I see the whining and crying over everyday minute solvable things; I realize it irritates me only because I was there too and perhaps I’m mad at myself for not understanding sooner.  Petty gossip to reduce your friend just about drives me around the bend. We don’t take responsibility anymore. Everything is everyone else’s fault or we are a victim of circumstances. What if you are suffering because you like to? Perhaps this is what your psyche is use to and so you keep doing it?

I suggest we are better than that, under the clutter. You (yes you!) are an amazing person with a potential for an amazing mission. Lift up out of the bowels of emotional despair and find your hero within.  When this is achieved I suspect you too will find your wounds actually do lead you to your exciting life purpose.  The walls will all come down and you’ll not only think outside of your old box, you’ll see there is no box at all!

That’s my message, that’s all. I don’t want to pick on anyone feeling down and out.  It would hurt me if I knew my message hurt someone who is feeling powerless right now. My intention for writing today holds two thoughts: 1. I like to share to inspire people up, and 2. I like to vent (sound out my passion) this way. I find it therapeutic. 🙂  If this did not suit your story that is fine too. ❤

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Cherylann Thomas, B.Sc.Crim, CH,t is a seasoned Clinical Hypnotherapist practitioner working out of Wesk Kelowna, BC Canada. She specializes in mental illness resolution including depression, anxiety, mood disorders, grief, loss, sexual abuse, childhood trauma.  Cherylann is trained using the latest therapeutic hypnotic techniques including suggestion, regression, PLRegression, Parts and Cords therapies for habits, loss and abandonment.

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A Fistful of Dimes!

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I’ve been talking to my friends about these dimes I keep finding all over the house in places dimes shouldn’t be.  It’s so obvious it gets stupid sometimes…but it reminds me of the years immediately following my son’s death, I would find dimes in the strangest places…so many times I took notice.   I never heard of such blessings before; other than the cliché, Pennies From Heaven. but what’s with dimes, I wondered?

A few years into the dime gifts, I remembered something, and an awareness washed over me like a warm, loving blanket: Just one month before his death, on May 27th, I made a gift to my son for his 25th birthday. For some reason that birthday I wanted to make him a HOMEMADE cake, not an easy fix store-bought one anyone can buy.

Sidenote (squirrel) I like to share I am an amazing cook and even can my own stock, soups, stews, and even my girls’ dog food; but I know I have zero skills in the baking department (see the cake in question below). My son laughed so hard at my well-intentioned attempt but held it all back by covering his face with a birthday hat.

But wait, there was more to this homemade birthday cake: At the time I was formulating the type of cake I would make (choosing from a variety of boxed Betty Crocker cake mix), I remembered the delightful surprise of getting coins in my cakes as a child growing up. Well, either I got them or I saw a friend’s cake full of money once. I don’t remember precisely where the coins in a cake idea came from in my history, but I knew I wanted to put some DIMES in my son’s cake this year! And so I wrapped several dimes in wax paper and slipped them in his cake.  This memory / connection completely slipped my mind until years after Trevor’s death.

Trevor's dime cake

For some reason I was feeling very nostalgic and just wanted to give my son a homemade cake I had never given him before, with a surprise of dimes, representing my wish for peace, happiness, and abundance for his future, inside my homemade cake!

I know it’s taking a leap about the coincidence of dimes in his birthday cake and me finding a bunch of dimes after he passed. But keep reading…and these coinkydinks keep getting curiouser and curiouser.

So, that was a lovely sensation of understanding about my dime situation all those years ago. But now, here they are back. In the last few months I’ve again found a multitude of dimes, usually singularly. Today I was at a 7-11 store and my coin change for $5.12 worth of two beverages, was a fist full of dimes!  The clerk apologized repeatedly, as I starred with mouth wide open at what he had given me, him stating dimes was all he had for change.

Thanks to witness and photographer Arlana Tanner Sibelle, I have a photo of my dimes I am sharing here!

When I got home from our outing at the Penticton Angels and Fairies Expo (I can’t make this stuff up, because that is where I was all weekend), and pondered my blessing of all those dimes today in one fell swoop, another awareness washed over me, and I had to check my calendar!

Sure enough, today is June 14th: and is the last date I saw my son alive.  That day, June 14th, 2003, I was watching Trevor pack up his 1985 BMW (a wedding gift from his in-laws) with his final belongings from our house. Gary, Ximi, Trevor and I were chatting, hugging goodbye, chatting again…hugging again. In just two weeks Trevor would be starting his heavy duty mechanic career at International Trucking in Edmonton. Ximi was going to ‘nest’ their new apartment until the fall, when she would return to school to complete her Tourism Management Degree. Her dream was to open a club.

I was so happy for these young pups, who had struggled so hard to get to where they could finally begin a life together with new blessed beginnings.

After a final kiss and squeeze, the kids piled in the packed car. Slowly driving away, they both had their arms sticking out of the windows, waving goodbye. My husband and I hugged each other, walked up the steps back to our house, and something sharp shifted inside of me. I felt horrible, and no understanding as to why. I wasn’t one of those clingy mothers who would suffer severe empty nest syndrome; that’s not the way it felt.

The truth is, I knew. I didn’t know I knew until two weeks later, when, on June 28, 2003, my son was taken from us in a car accident. Today’s that anniversary of the last time I held my son. Today I got a fistful of dimes.

I never thought I would recover such a traumatic loss, of my only child.  But I have.  I now understand he was a gift for me, for a wonderful 25 years.  I cherish those memories, and believe I am who I am today because of his birth, and because of his death.