Welcome to the magical world of transformation…

One of my core values is harmony.

And this goes way back.  Even when I was a kid I did everything within my power to help people get along.  In fact, my biggest desires were all about people getting along.  I tried so hard to get my two older sisters to stop fighting.  I needed my mom and grandma to get along.  And I would have done anything to stop my sister and mom from arguing.

One thing I realized this morning while blow drying my hair is that in the past, harmony has been so important to me that I sacrificed myself in order to have it.  I took on independence at an age so young I wasn’t aware of what I was giving up.  Almost all of my first memories are full of fear as I did things on my own that I wasn’t ready for.  I remember walking to kindergarten alone from the babysitter’s house and terrified that when I turned the corner the school would be gone.  That the whole world would have vanished and there would be no one there to help me. But, I never told anyone.  I never asked the babysitter to walk me.  In fact, I’m pretty sure I put on a facade of strength and told her I’d be fine.

I remember the neighbor dropping me off at pre-school one day and I had to walk from the car to the door by myself.  I was terrified that it would be locked, I couldn’t get in, and she would drive off leaving me alone, outside with no one to help me.  Again, I didn’t ask the neighbor who was already taking the time to take me to school to walk me to the door.  Instead, I thanked her for the ride that I was sure was taking her away from other, more important tasks.

And once when I was 3 or 4 I was hospitalized.  I don’t remember the details, but I do remember waking up in the middle of the night in the bed with bars (it was like a big crib) and really needing to pee.  Mom was sleeping next to me, but I wouldn’t wake her to help.  I remember looking across the hallway at the bathroom trying to will my way through the bars so that I could potty.  I don’t remember ever peeing and I wonder if I wet the bed that night.

Even as I type this more than 30 years after these events I can still feel the pang of loneliness.  I am amazed that at an age so young I already felt worthless.  Who was I to wake Mom up? Who was I to ask for help? Who was I to need a hand to hold?

Oh, how I wish I could travel back in time, wrap my toddler self in my arms, and tell her that everything is okay.  That it’s okay to ask for help.   That life is less scary when you share your fears.  That she can hold my hand any time she wants to.  And that Mom loves her deeply – more than she is able to express.

I am surprised that all of this is coming up today.  And I’m grateful for the opportunity to share it with you and reconnect with that young, frightened toddler within.  This connection is vital to how I live harmony today.

I do not have to sacrifice myself.

I can ask for help.

I can share my fears.

And I can hold your hand.

Thank you for being a part of my harmonious healing work.

Tags: childhood, connect, fear, harmony, loneliness, support

Read {part 1}
Read {part 2}

A part of me shut down with the death of the pink blossom on that spring day so long ago. Today, I reach into the depths of my memory to revive my five-year-old self complete with all of her unbridled joy, excitement, love, and adoration. I wrap her in my arms and tell her, “Its okay. You’re okay and you can cry if you want to.”

I can feel her collapse in my arms and cry with relief. She has been holding back the tears and the pain for almost thirty years.

“Why did she do that to me? Why is she so mean?” she asks in between sobs.

“She’s just afraid,” I respond. “She doesn’t know how to accept your gift of love. But, it doesn’t mean that she doesn’t love you. She just doesn’t know how to show you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, Grandma’s had a tough life and it’s not safe for her to love like you do. And you know what?”

“What?”

“You can show her how to love.”

“I can?”

“Yup.”

“How?”

“Just by being yourself.”

She shakes her head in disbelief, “No way!”

“Yes way! Because you are kind, loving, and generous. Let’s not let her or anyone else take that away from you. What do you say?”

“Okay!”

“How about we take this precious pink blossom and put it in some water?”

“Sure.”

“And then we can take a picture of it to hold in our hearts and mind forever. Every time we look at it we can remember that Grandma is fragile just like this blossom and we need to water her with love.”

“Grandma won’t like it if we get her wet,” she warns seriously. Then we look at each other and burst into giggles.

Tags: childhood, Family, healing, nurture, Relationships

{note: read part 1 first}

When we arrived at Grandma’s, she was waiting at the door. Nancy and Brenda had already knocked and gone in. In fact, they were out back playing with Uncle Jon.

“Grandma,” I squealed while running up the walk, “Look what I brought for you. It’s a flower!”

I presented her gift in pride and joy waiting for her face to light up in pleasure. She took the small blossom from my fingers and placed it in the palm of her hand. “Thank you, Cassandra,” she said and turned away to enter the house.

“Do you love it, Grandma?” I asked following her into the living room.

“Yes, it’s very pretty, Dear,” she replied. “I’m going to put it right here.” She placed it on top of the television then turned and looked at me, “Did you know that now that you picked it it’s going to die?” she asked me.

“What?” my heart sank in disappointment.

“It’s okay that you picked it this one time,” she went on, “but if we picked all the blossoms there would be no more flowers and trees to enjoy.”

The once beautiful pink trophy sat on top of the TV now as a symbol of my guilt and shame. Could it be true that I was killing the pretty flowers and trees? But, I loved them so much. That couldn’t be possible. Could it?

I turned back to Mom, “Did I kill the flowers and trees, Mom?” I whispered trying to hold back the tears threatening to escape at any moment.

“No, of course not,” she said. “Now go play with your sisters.”

But, I didn’t hear her. I could only hear the fear in my head telling me how bad and wrong I was. How could this be? I just wanted to surprise Grandma and to make her happy. I wanted her to see how much I loved and adored her. Now it was ruined and my joy was trampled by Grandma’s frightening words.

Tags: childhood, Family, grandma, healing, Relationships

A few years ago I was so miserable I hired a life coach to help me figure it all out. Part of my personal healing process was to write about things…mostly about my family of origin. You see, I loved and cared about them so much I hated them. And it hurt. Deeply. But, the writing helped and so I thought I would share some of it with you. Here’s a piece of me I wrote in April 2006:

It was spring of 1979 and the trees lining the street to Grandma’s house were in full bloom. It was a worn out street with cracked pavement and drooping houses. But, the trees were young and decorated with pretty pink blossoms. As we drove down Mae Avenue in our Ford Pinto I had a brilliant idea.

“Mom, will you walk with me back to the trees so that I can pick a pretty flower for Grandma?” I asked in anticipation glancing at my sisters to see their reaction.

“Oh, I don’t know. We said we would be there at four and it’s already a quarter past the hour,” she replied.

“Please, Mom. I just know she will love it. Puhleeeaaassseee!” I begged.

“Well, okay. But you have to promise to hurry.”

“Yes!” I said to myself as we pulled up to Grandma’s small white house. I jumped out of the backseat and took off running down the street to the closest flowering tree.

“Darn,” I mumbled when I got there because I couldn’t reach the lowest branch. Now I had to wait for Mom and she takes forever. I stretched my body as tall as I could and jumped up and down, but I was still too small.

I cupped my hands around my mouth and yelled, “Hurry up, Mom!”

“I’m coming. I’m coming. Hold your horses,” she replied shuffling up to me.

“I can’t reach. Pick me up so that I can grab one.” I wiggled and squirmed in anticipation.

“Okay, okay. Here you go.” I climbed into Mom’s arms and grabbed the closest branch. I pulled, but the branch wouldn’t budge. “It’s stuck, Mommy. It won’t come off.” I yanked and twisted with no success.

“Here let me try, Honey,” Mom said while pulling me away from the tree.

“No wait! One more try,” I pleaded as I lunged for a branch and pulled with all my might. I thought for sure I would succeed this time, but my five-year-old fingers slipped and my elbow snapped right into Mom’s shoulder.

“Ugh!” she yelped in shock.

“Oh, I’m sorry Mommy. I didn’t mean to hurt you,” I said petting her wounded shoulder.

“It’s okay,” she replied setting me down.

“We better get going,” she mumbled as she twisted the end of a branch off with little effort. “Here you go. Here’s your blossom.”

She handed me the branch of pink petals and I cradled it like a baby in my tiny hands. “Grandma’s going to be so happy when I give her my present.” I skipped back down the street to keep up with Mom’s fast pace.

Tags: autobiography, childhood, Family, gifts, giving, grandma, love