What is Real in the Mirror

I had someone tell me once that they thought what people posted on social media showed who they really are.

I completely disagree with this. We may show pieces of beliefs, portraying the perfection we desire, airing a wound or betrayal to gather momentary sympathies from faceless people who for the most part don’t really have any vested interest in the outcome. Even in real life I don’t think any of us at any time show anyone who we really are.

Most of us wear multiple masks in any given setting depending on the role we are in and the people we are with.

The closest we get is to when we can drop a few of these masks, is with a person or in a place where we feel safe. There is still trepidation as we have been taught that the masks created are to hide the ugliness and unacceptable things about ourselves. But in all honesty there is no perfection or ugly behind it, we are a kaleidoscope.

Depending on the moment and who you’re with you may drop a particular mask, but the tumblers of your being will roll and fall into place in a particular way. That is the fractal light they see.

This takes a particular vulnerability, that is hard for some, as a mask is easier to navigate.

Masks are solid, smooth, thought out creations. They can be heavy, and locked in place. Perhaps once created for protection and conforming to expectations, now a preformed prison, some resistant to internal change. It is the expected acceptable face.

The colour and pictures seen in the eye of the kaleidoscope will always be subtly different, cracks will show in different places, pieces will fit differently. The colours don’t always match. While we may spin the wheel ( an illusion of control) we don’t choose where the pieces fall.

Trust, that is the hardest part. To trust that the colourful, cracked pieces of you will be accepted as a beautiful moving puzzle. That you will not be harshly judged for what is behind your mask. In order for that to happen you must look at how you judge that on others, and how much you judge that about yourself.

Not everyone is worthy of seeing the beautiful art behind the masks we wear. But allow yourself to treasure your own and know that each person you encounter is not just the mask they are showing in that moment, but a collection of things that are ever changing underneath.

My 40s in Symbols

I didn’t get my first tattoo until I was beginning my 40s. In a few days, I’ll be 49. Today I just got my 9th tattoo.

Each tattoo is a symbol for something. This past decade I have been through some very dark moments, and have shed many things of myself.

This was the first. I had just surpassed my Mother’s age of death. This is my blood, my Celt roots, my Nan, my Mom, my son and my daughter. This was my mark to celebrate the gift of life.
My Ouroboros and Pentacle. My rebirth into my spiritual practice. Something in me felt a deep pull to learn and reconnect to the things that speak to me. This would be more important than I would have ever guessed.
‘Witch Know Thyself’
This sigil is a reminder I am stronger than my demons. At this point in my life I had made a kind of peace that anxiety and CPTSD may always be a part of me, but they would not defeat me
Next in Moon Glyphs I choose to keep another version of the elements with me. The Pentacle being the other. The two on the top represent balance and life. It was a reminder that I will strive for harmony with in myself and my environment

Things started to get a little shaky for me. Mental health wise I shut down. A mix of burnout and elevation of anxiety and old trauma surfacing. Being compounded by upheaval and high tension around me.

A symbol to honour the Goddess Morrigan. I had connected with her to help guide me as I found my self in a very dark, anxious place. This was a reminder I was not alone in this pitch, she would prop me up when I fumbled.
There can be a point when it feels like all your pieces have blown apart. A raw exposed nerve. I felt so ugly, shamed, worthless. This piece ( The Enzo) represents finding beauty in unfinished imperfection. Even though I did not feel beautiful, I could identify with not yet being finished.
A very tumultuous time preceded a much needed break and reconnecting trip with my husband to my spiritual home – New Orleans
This was at the end of the first year of Covid, I knew my mental health was taking a hit. I was struggling under the weight of old trauma patterns I wanted to break. The uncertainty of the world, and a deep disconnected feeling. The arrow was to remind me know matter how far back I feel I’ve gone, my trajectory is forward. AKF has been an important part of sustaining me. It’s a wonderful online support ( Always Keep Fighting)

I have been doing intense work over the last year. Working on releasing trauma patterning, learning about myself, the light and dark. At times the realizations have been hard. The pain uncovered, the isolation. Things I want to repair but am unsure how, setting firm boundaries. Again I’ve called to the Morrigan to remind me that I’m am strong, a worthy warrior.

Which bought me to this, as I’m days away from my 49th. A reminder of the armoury I am building. I have defences that are not toxic, but are strong. It is within hands reach.

I do not know what this last year of my 40s will bring, what I do know is, that this past decade has had incredible highs and lows. I’ve gained and lost so much. I am hoping my 50s will be more learning but less drops. I know it will be recorded, the pictures on my skin a reminder to myself of my journey, my growth and my power.

Awkward Tales from the Shadows- Start Point

Other stories on this blog do a decent job of explaining a few things about me. As this journal progresses I imagine so much more will be revealed. But a little back story to what brought me to this ‘start point’.

I’m firmly entrenched in midlife, chronologically but in my head I still feel like I’m in my early 20s- I’d like to think that is perpetuated by my eternal curiosity.

I had a lot of trauma in my younger years. I have GAD ( generalized anxiety disorder) and CPTSD, those two combined at time are a big rollercoaster of hellish fun.

I struggle with chronic pain, some resulting from my mental health issues, some from old injuries and sadly I’m sure some is a little from age.

I am a practicing Pagan, a Grey Witch ( if such a title is needed).

I am a survivor of rape and abuse.

I work as a massage therapist, energy healer, teacher, tarot reader, intuitive and writer.

I am a mother to an incredible teen daughter and a biological mother to an amazing young man.

I am a wife, sister and friend.

I am amazingly strong and easily hurt.

I have hope that seems to stay like a beacon of light even when I feel taken down by despair

How did I come to the ‘dark night’ awakening?

I can not pin point one moment, but a cascade of things.

I dreaded my 40s for as long as I could remember, a fatalistic view really. My mother died at 44, I was 12. That death shadow hung over me, somewhere in my head I had always believed I too would be gone young. To that end, I did enough for my mental health to ‘survive’ to keep a lid on all the poison. I had fooled myself into believing I had a handle on my ‘stuff’. Because honestly could someone who didn’t ‘have it together’ how could I achieve so much?

I thought I had begun to do positive work, building a strong life.

Just after my 45th birthday there was a tipping event involving betrayal, abandonment, humiliation and a break down of self.

I was so lost, just trying to make it through the day and fill the expectations of the roles I play. My anxiety was getting worse, social anxiety symptoms that I hadn’t experienced in years took me down hard. To complicate matters, within a year, as a planet we entered a pandemic that is ongoing and we are feeling the acceleration of the effects of climate change. The darkness and fear was closing in. The grasping of things, friends, comprise of self, use of substances for escape all becoming a sand trap I was silently drowning in.

The cross roads epiphany struck like lightening ‘work through this, find your life spark or face soul and/or real death.’

First came the stacks of books, workshops and podcasts. I journaled, I had recognitions, insight and so much, however the amount of information and emotion surfacing became overwhelming.

Then the inner knowledge I need help filtering the all information in relation to myself. Due to the tipping event I did not feel that anyone in my circle was a reliable source of deep support. Also knowing that I was entering a place of really wanting to be able to observe myself with a ( hopefully loving) critical eye, professional help was needed. This was hard for me, I had not done therapy since I was a kid, I’d always believed I was self sufficient/smart enough to work through my things with books, workshops and podcasts. Finally making that decision, I was choosing self love. The Shadow work was really about to take a deep direction.

And so it began…

Your Mirage No More

I open my mouth

The words come out

But they are not mine

Ask me my dreams

Then tell me what they are

Ask me who I am

Then tell me who it is

Clear my throat

Louder I try

Offence is taken

At my louder clarity

Do I frighten you?

Does my truth not fit?

I am not yours to create

You say I misinterpret

You say it is my fault

This crushes

But I’m learning to dig my feet in

And to keep clearing my throat

I open my mouth

Clear

It is your filter that is broken

Morning Spell

The sky lightens

Inky darkness passes

The sun not yet breaking the horizon

Grey mystic light, hovering

Magic folk still revelling in the dissipating shadows

Dancing in the dew, charting courses by the stars

They call to me

Have faith, you are moving closer to your heart

Your magic has not dimmed, only covered by the din of everyday

Come to dance, in the cool wet grass

Remember who you are

Who you were, before you gave it away

Call the pieces home, take back the self you shared to those who did not see

The weave of spells that you are

A chorus of birds to sing me home

Blessed be the Witches in the magic of the dawn.