The writing had been powerful. Reading and being witnessed was a whole other level. I kept glancing up at Kate—she was completely still, but her eyes were welling up, and when I was done, she let tears out and all-out hugged me. I realized I’d never had anyone react so emotionally to my experience.
Not even my husband . . .
I felt different, in my body. To say the words: “That was not my doing.” “That was not mine. That was not my fault.” Not just to say the words, but to feel their accuracy in my very cells—and that this truth was accepted, validated by another. I was not alone anymore with this—I was garnering power to feed this reality I had long suspected: that that was not okay.
I was physically lighter. My feet barely touched the ground. I had just taken a huge energetic dump. It was all I could do not to rush Kate out the door, because another dump was coming, a real one, unprompted, uncoaxed, my viscera celebrating the event by finally relenting of its own accord.
After that, Kate asked me to read the letter to more people.
I read the letter to my G-Tribe: Nina, Melissa, Heather, Chelsea.
I read the letter to my husband and Drew at our next appointment. They cried. I was moved . . . and also a little puzzled. Venkat had been alongside me on this journey from the get-go, yet it was only now that he was really understanding, he said. Taking measure of the impact of the trauma—like he’d had no idea what we’d been working on all this time. I had waited for his emotional response for so long and felt hurt that it was coming now.
And then Kate asked me to make the letter public. I posted it on Medium and Facebook. I was blown away by the love I received from friends far and wide. The healing was instantaneous. Just like that, poof, that dark weight was gone. It wasn’t mine to carry anymore. It had been alchemized by the love of friends, close ones and even distant ones. A miracle.
The sessions with Kate accelerated my transformation. I felt I’d switched to a new fuel source, accessed a deep nuclear reactor. I was functioning on a totally different level. Things that had been so difficult for me and requiring effort were taken care of with ease. I wasn’t fighting with myself anymore—or life.
I had a dream around that time:
I am folded up on myself, contracted in a tight ball in the center of a Roman coliseum. I hear a booming voice from the right side and far above:
“You are much more powerful than you think you are.”
And then, same voice, resonating:
“LET THE BEAST OUT.”
I begin to uncurl. Wings unfurl. I am a mythical beast [Not a monstress after all?]. I am a dragon. Black. Not menacing. Just . . . powerful. As the wings open they cast a shadow over the coliseum steps. I feel I will keep on spreading and take all the space I need. Then fly.
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