Hey everyone- brace yourselves because admittedly, this is going to be a strange article; or two, depending on how deep I go.
During the past few years I’ve found myself in a very privileged, yet difficult and not so relatable position. Though I’m certainly not seeking any kind of pity or sympathy, I believe what I’m hoping for is to feel understood- and truth be told, isn’t that what we all crave deep down?
I need to preface this by saying that I believe I signed up for this life to have some kind of impact on society by sharing my life story and talking about my life in detail. In short, I was put on this earth to make a difference. Not to save the world or be some kind of martyr, but to leave a legacy that says “I was here and I accomplished something noteworthy.” Why do I feel this way? Because my gut- hell, every fiber of my being is telling me so! I don’t know where it stems from, but the reality of the message is undeniable.
Rewind to 2020. I’d been in the process of finalizing my divorce and finding myself. I was listening to Jay Shetty’s podcast every morning before work, meditating, journaling, and raising my vibration. Who I was becoming increasingly felt in opposition to the work environment I’d been in for over two decades.
Due to many years of frugality and financial strategizing, and because we used a mediator instead of high-priced attorneys, I was awarded a substantial sum following the divorce. This allowed me to quit my job for a couple years, put some money down on a condo, and write my memoir; aka- live my purpose. I viewed this time in my life as validation that I was embarking on a profound journey that would prove to be a major turning point in my life.
It was while writing my book that I sensed my deceased mothers’ presence for the first and only time. I also felt my spirit guides all around me, and my body often felt as if it were vibrating from the inside out. It was an odd, but welcome sensation. As I would write, I felt guided in terms of what to say and how to say it. It became clear to me that this memoir was destined to help millions of people. My job was to merely be a vessel for my spirit guides and to ensure this book was available to the masses. After that, it would be out in the world and there would be no stopping it from having the impact it was meant to have!
I never questioned whether or not it would be successful; it wasn’t a matter of thinking I was special or feeling entitled- it was simply destiny. The subsequent success of my memoir was to be a stepping stone which would allow me to further live/discover my purpose.
Though there were many, many hurdles along the way, nothing could stop me from living up to my end of this spiritual bargain. When all was said and done, after countless hours, constant heartbreak, thousands of dollars invested, and tears of joy and defeat, The Gifts That Haunt Me was finally available in paperback, kindle, and audiobook formats- ready to share its message with the world!
What ended up happening was predictable to everyone… but me. It bombed. From a logical standpoint it really couldn’t have played out any other way. Not only was the book based on the life of an unknown individual, I knew nothing about marketing, which turns out, is EVERYTHING!!!
I could probably write a second book about all the methods I tried (unsuccessfully) to promote my memoir after the fact, but I digress.
Notably, however, this part of my journey was never about logic and reason- it was about hope. It was about what one could accomplish by putting possibilities before likelihoods. It was about daring to dream as a divorced, middle-aged woman who never thought she would amount to anything. It was about knowing I was meant for more, and allowing myself to believe and to be guided in a direction the old me never would’ve dared to go.
As time and money become more scarce, I find myself scrambling for my identity and wondering what it was all for. I question the messages I was receiving from my Mom and my spirit guides and how they could’ve led me astray?
In all honesty, at times I find it difficult to go on and to trust any higher power.
That said, I do have perspective. I realize there are wars going on, countless other atrocities, and most people would give anything for these “problems” that I’m facing. Still, depression doesn’t care about any of that.
Currently my soul and my sanity are in a constant state of unrest knowing I’m not doing what I came here to do.
But I know hope is out there, and so each day I will fight with everything I’ve got until hope is in HERE once more.
One day all my questions will be answered- I know this. To that end, I also can’t help but wonder: how boring would life be if everything made sense?