(Disclaimer: Some names have been changed to protect their privacy. Some information may be disturbing for some readers. Read at your discretion. 18+)
If this is the first time you are seeing my blogs, hiya, my name’s Clair. Nice to have you along on this journey down a rabbit hole, after a rabbit hole, after a rabbit hole, to discover hidden patterns within our subconscious minds. I am not a doctor, nor proclaim to be an expert in any field. What I am is an expert at being me. I channel a lovely spirit whom I refer to as Clairity as well. Clairity has been guiding me through an extremely difficult time as of late. Through her gentle nudges and questions for me to ponder, I have come to discover hidden truths to my past toxic relationships and mindset.
Clairity is the loving soul who gave me my first little shake awake. She has been by my side, helping me along my way, ever since. It was Clairity who gave me the inspiration to write blogs. I have no idea what I am doing other than writing on a hope and a prayer. I am creating this in faith.
This blog series I am writing is to share wisdom I received from Clairity, with you, so that you too can uncover further hidden patterns within your psyche. There are many layers to you. If you have ever uttered the words “you always…, or, I can never seem…”, there is a reason. Further to that, you have your own perception you developed within your family, cultural environment, heritage, physical environment, the century you were born in, and so on. You know your journey intimately, I do not. All I can do is share insight from Clairity, and other divine influences, with you, in the hopes it helps you connect some dots in your own life. I do that by sharing my story from my earthly perspective. Also, as mentioned in a previous blog, there is no blame, and no shame, only understanding for all characters referred to in this true to life series.
As you follow along this journey with me, you may receive golden nuggets for your own journey. Also, to receive greater context of who is who, and how I came to where I am at today, I highly encourage you to start this series from day one, which is my first blog entry. Doing so will allow what you read to make better sense. With that said, if you choose to start from here, fabulous! I am extremely pleased you’re with me. Happy reading my friend. Thank you for coming with me.
Clairity’s question “What are the similarities in characteristics between your dad, your two ex husbands, and Rosie?”, did give me great pause to think. I was also fighting with thoughts towards Rosie. I only knew of two infidelities at that point. It hurt like hell at the time. When I was in the anger stage of grief, I sent nasty projections to Rosie. I had thoughts such as “how could you? You fucking idiot. You have no clue. You are blind to me. I did all that work for you, only for you to play me like a fool! You fucking narcissist!”. I was blaming him for everything, including my choices. I wasn’t ready to see my choices. I was only ready to learn about toxic attractions.
“Clair, is having those thoughts helpful? Does expressing anger and hate towards Rosie help you feel better?, or, is it that you want to hold onto the anger?” I responded with a deep sigh, and said, “I know. You’re right. Thinking this way isn’t helping.”
Clairity then went on further to explain, “remember, we are all energy. When you think, you feel. When you experience emotions, you produce energy waves. You are a walking satellite dish, with a sound speaker. You are a beacon of light and dark energy. When you express darker thoughts this way towards Rosie, you are sending him oppressive energy. This energy then impacts Rosie significantly without you realizing it. There is still cause and effect, even when ignorance is at play. This does not help him better understand himself. Nor does it help you release toxic energy. In fact, you are creating more of it. Holding this energy by creating blame, adds to difficult challenges in the present. What you are creating in the present then proceeds to affect your future.
Are you choosing a loving state to be in, or an angry state of being?” “I choose to experience love” I responded softly, after taking a few deep breaths. “Focus on discovering your patterns. Go back to my initial question.” I moved out of shock, denial, and anger. From that moment, I moved through waves of sadness and acceptance.
My dad is six feet, three inches tall, and an English man. I’m not certain as to where he was born in England. I know very little about my dad. At one time, he had dark brown, almost black hair, that has since turned completely grey. My dad wasn’t so fit, as he was naturally strong in stature. He towers over my mum who is only five feet, three inches tall.
My dad is extremely intelligent. He could do complex math equations in his head and give the correct answer. He was also clair cognizant. He has the ability to know things without knowing things. He was also very handy with home renovations.
In addition to my dad’s, around the house, handy work, he also worked as an electrician, overseeing a department within a factory, with several staff members. My dad loved his beer and his cigarettes. I can imagine his reasons. My dad often had heavy demands on him. I am not so much a drinker. I used to smoke cigarettes. I started smoking when I was fourteen. I don’t fault my dad for his addiction choices. I would be hypercritical if I did.
My dad was also a risk taker to a degree. We immigrated to Canada after my dad accepted a recruitment offer to do so. We moved a few times for my father’s employment advancements. My dad worked all hours during his on-call shifts. In my earlier years, if my dad wasn’t working, he was drinking a beer, whilst watching one of his favorite t.v. shows, or, working on something around the house that my mother was on him about.
This was such a habit that my brother and I knew when my dad raised his empty beer bottle, it meant Craig or I was directed to get him a beer. My dad also smoked in the house. My brother and I were exposed to smoking our entire lives. My mum, as strong as she was, overcame smoking by going cold turkey when my brother and I were close to entering elementary school. That’s impressive as far as I am concerned.
Currently, vaping is difficult for me to break. I keep affirming a particular resource is made available to me via a medical prescription, which I can afford, to assist in the nasty withdrawals which come from detoxing from chemicals. That particular prescription helped me to successfully quit smoking. I am confident it can aid in a gentler detox from vaping as well.
Had you met my dad five years ago, you would have met a non-smoking, little to no drinking, seventy odd year old man, with missing teeth like me. I say five years ago because, over the past five years, I have only seen my dad briefly on two separate occasions. I have no idea what he is like now. Other than living with Leukemia, as far as I know, at present.
I respected my dad’s work ethic. So much so, I overlooked how much work he left my mother to deal with around the house. On top of her full time day job at that. I also have little to no memory of him playing with me. I have no memory of him attending any of my school events, nor baseball games. I remember my mum attending some of my events. I don’t remember my dad there at all.
I do understand that trauma can rewire a person’s brain. With that said, I needed a better understanding. I needed clarity. “What’s the reason I can’t remember fun times with my dad?” I asked in my mind to be sent out to the ethereal realm.
Clairity responded, “your memory serves you correctly. There were occasions when you were enjoying times with your dad. Those times were on family vacations, camping, and going to Santa’s Village”.
When you were camping, your dad was working during the week, and drinking on the beach, or at the campfire on the weekends, of the two week periods you were there”.
We went to Sandbanks provincial park in Ontario, two summers in a row, for two weeks at a time. My brother and I were with our mum most of the time there.
Clairity continued, “during your holiday to Santa’s Village, your mum was attentive to you, whilst your dad was irritable without his beer and cigarettes. He also had a habit of rushing everyone through, what would have been, enjoyable moments. Your father’s impulse to satisfy his wants, and needs, became his priority.
If you remember, your mum often felt rushed by your dad. You do remember him repeatedly walking ten steps or so ahead of your mum? She would look at something for a moment, only to turn around and not know where your dad was, yes?” Clairity reminded.
“Oh, shit yeah. That’s true. My dad rarely, if ever, walked beside my mum. All three significant men in my life rarely, if ever, walked beside me”. That reminder gave me a sudden jolt of clarity. There are hidden patterns.
Clairity continued, “Those happy memories have some tainted spots. This makes it harder to remember them in a fond way. Your memory of him teaching you to drive, what happened there?” Clairity asked me with a soft undertone.
After he had chosen a construction area to teach me how to drive standard, my dad refused to take me driving ever again. He said I was going to wreck his clutch, and damage his tires with the potholes I was hitting. My dad blamed me for reckless driving in a construction zone. When I had no idea what I was doing.
My dad never did take me out to learn how to drive again. He only got in a car with me driving on rare occasions, and when I was much older.
Remembering that was my lightbulb moment for me. I quickly jumped to several occasions with my partners, where I was being blamed through deflection and lack of accountability.
Clairity continued to prod. “Yes. Now go back further. What happened when you helped your dad with renovations around the house?”
I thought about it for a moment. There were several times I helped my dad. I helped him bang out concrete and stone rubble to plumb in a bathroom in the basement. I helped my father with the bathroom piping, and with wiring a ceiling fan down a wall to a light switch in a new dining room he was building.
My father had little patience. He had no patience for line ups, stupid people, nor foreigners. He especially didn’t have patience when he was working on something and it wasn’t going according to his plan. One particular harsh memory would be the dreaded ceiling fan.
“Clair would you do as you’re told. Grab the wire and pull!”, my dad instructed. “I am pulling it Dad. It’s stuck!” My dad was inside a sweltering hot attic. I understood his frustration. His words and approach still stung nonetheless.
I couldn’t get the wire to budge. “You’re grounded for life!”, my father yelled furiously. “Dad, I’m trying! The wire isn’t reaching. It’s snagged on something” I yelled back through the hole where the light switch socket would be.
“Oh for fucks sakes. If I want anything done right, I gotta do it myself. You’re useless”, he half yelled, half spoke. My mother used to say that one often too. About my dad, and when referring to me or my brother. With that, my dad made his way into the new dining area, looked inside the hole, recognized it was snagged, yanked it, then proceeded to complete the job.
No apology. No acknowledgment. No thank you for doing your best. I simply walked away in silence. Feeling like shit.
“And the piping incident? What do you recall about that one?” Clairity asked.
Working with my dad in a new basement bathroom, was interesting to learn, whilst equally painful to do. My dad had to solder two copper pipes together on the ceiling. He didn’t own a butt fusion to hold the two pipes together whilst he soldered. That was my job. As I held the pipes for him, hot droplets of metal kept burning my hands and arms. My dad just wanted me to keep still. He told me to have some thicker skin.
“Did your dad provide you with safety gloves? Was your safety a concern to him at that time?” That was a good question Clairity asked. As an adult today, and a mum, I can confidently say, no, my safety was not a priority to him in that moment. Getting the job done was. My dad was perfectly fine with hot metal burning me. The pedestal I placed my father on was starting to wobble.
Receiving these sorts of revelations can be tiring sometimes. It takes a great deal of internal strength, resilience, and patience with yourself to maintain lighter energy within you. Quite often, paths like these, create, and express, denser energy. With everyone being entirely made of energy, the energy you are carrying affects the people around you. When your energy is low, you become less tolerant, and or, tolerable. It is for this reason, self isolation and due process are essential for breaking toxic habits. It is also for this reason, many people find self reflection too daunting a task. With that, I usually took a day, or two, to continue my line of reminiscent thinking in solitude. That was until I went for a walk with Liv.
When it comes to child development, Liv has a great deal of learned knowledge through her education and life experiences. She teaches me regularly through her knowledge.
“Babies bond with their dad through physical play.”, she explained. I didn’t know that before she told me. Liv then went on to say “yeah mum. Masculine energy is grounded, safe, intellectual, and knowledgeable in the material realm. They are recognized as the family provider as it relates to material gain. They show care and love through provisions and adolescent gaming with their children. Children bond with their dad this way.”
Liv went further on to explain, “children bond through nurturing guidance with their mum. That’s the reason, when a child is hurt, or, feels their big emotions, they call for their mum.”
Well that made perfect sense to me. “That’s probably part of the reason you feel abandoned by Grandpa. It may be part of the reason you have little memory involving fun times with him, and the reason you feel unloved by him?”, Liv suggested.
Liv is fabulous with insight. She gave me pause to think. I connected some dots in my mind, thanks to her knowledge. I never felt like I truly bonded with my dad. This loss created an obsessive craving for masculine affection. All the while, subconsciously believing men are supposed to walk ten steps in front of me. Because that was what I was worthy of. Interesting, indeed.
After I thought about how little involved my father had in mine and my brother’s child rearing, I became curious as to how that linked to my first husband, Albert. In my mind, Albert was vastly different to my dad.
“Yes Clair, there are contrasting differences between your dad and Albert. There are also some hidden similarities. Let’s have a look at some.” With that, I was headed through a new door. Down yet another intriguing rabbit hole.
LivWithClairity 
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