We carry these things inside us that no one else can see.
They hold us down like anchors, they drown us out to sea.
I met this young man who desperately wanted to change his life. He’d been wrapped up in heroin for 11 years. He’d been in and out of rehab, trying to kick the habit naturally, only to find himself swirling deeper into shame. His energy was so anxious and overwhelming that I couldn’t imagine what this young man had buried inside himself.
During our first meeting I sat directly across from him and kindly asked him to please sit up straight and look me in the eyes.
“Why?” He asked. “You don’t want to look at me,” he added in a somber tone.
“Sure I do. I wouldn’t be donating my time if I didn’t believe in you,” I fired back.
His head hung low. It was like his eyes carried the weight of his soul. We breathed together.
“In through the nose and out the mouth,” I instructed.
After a minute or so of eye contact we closed them and continued to breathe together. My intention was to use my centered energy to instruct his energetic field to follow. I guided him to refrain from the impulsive movement he was used to. I wanted him to separate his thoughts from physical motion. I could feel his energy begin to settle. Now, his physical body is prepped to communicate his feelings.
We opened our eyes…
His visual horizon was higher as he stared into my eyes.
“Where did it all go wrong?” I asked.
“I don’t know, I don’t think I’ll ever understand. I was such a good kid,” his eyes fell. They began to fill with tears as he lifted them once more, “I remember getting this academic award in fourth grade. I was the only kid that got that award! I always thought everything would be OK,” he said.
I could see and feel the shame as it quickly set in. It filled his aura quickly, and I used white energy to clear it as best I could.
He shared with me that, at eleven-years-old, he started smoking weed. In my mind’s eye I saw a young, sad boy who felt numb but found something that temporarily took the negative thoughts away. Marijuana wasn’t foreign to him as he was aware his father smoked it, and, as the years went by, they would smoke together. His father fought depression and dabbled in his own addictions. The darkness he battled ended up causing him to recently take his own life.
This young man sitting in front of me carried a deep insurmountable amount of guilt. When he was a teenager his father told him that he wanted to commit suicide. He couldn’t find the words to tell his father not to do it—he just held it inside with a heavy heart. Throughout his teenage years and early twenties he felt his father’s downtrodden soul, and it gradually pushed him into an enslavement of addiction.
Heroin took over his life.
We are on the road to recovery—it’s not pretty. I feel his father on one side wanting forgiveness and a lost son on the other grieving his childhood.
We will get to the guilt, we will get to the shame, but first we are trying to move through the grief.
I believe in him.