(Disclaimer: Some names have been changed to protect their privacy. Some information may be disturbing for some readers. Read at your discretion. 18+)
After the divine intervention involving a technicolored box of condoms Rosie was hiding from me, I went for many walks with Liv and her girls. I was living with them again, from April, 2023, through to the first week of August that same year. Liv gave me refuge from living on the streets. She gave me a loving place to heal. Liv saved me once again.
Liv and I talked about many day-to-day things on our outings. We have had a lot of troubling conversations, deep conversations, and meaningful conversations. We’ve shared many good ole belly laughs together as well. Usually laughing at some witty thing one of us said at the moment.
When it comes to my family, both close and extended, Liv knows me best of all. With that in mind, I had let oppressive thoughts slip out on more than one occasion during our nature walks. “I don’t know how to fix my circumstances Liv. I keep doing my best. It’s not supposed to be you taking care of me. I am supposed to be the one who you come to. Not the other way around. What the fuck am I doing? I don’t want to be a burden! I want my own home. I am starting to forget what that’s like.”
I think it is safe to say, everyone, including you, have moments when the steaming water inside you catapults the lid right off of your personal kettle. Resulting in a whistle you couldn’t ignore. My kettle has blown its top on more than one occasion throughout my life. Not so much out of anger. More so out of the continuation of disappointing results, after years upon years of effort. Out of sheer exhaustion, basically.
Have you been there? For me, being spiritually exhausted is a catch twenty-two. When I am in that state, I know it’s time to take action. You can’t stay there forever. Otherwise you’d lose yourself. At the same time, you have to muster up the energy from a cup that holds two or three drops of energy left. It’s challenging, isn’t it?
It can be done through continued baby steps, and without placing pressure on yourself. There are solutions to everything. No matter how small that solution may be. One small step for me becomes one giant leap for mankind, sort of deal.
As I mentioned in a previous post, I often keep to myself. I am alone in my designated space, or out walking aimlessly in nature more often than not. Be it in a romantic partnership, whilst living in a house with four other people, and a dog, or, being in a mother daughter relationship under the same conditions. I have been surrounded by people and alone at the same time, for a very long time. Eight years as of late. That’s a long time carrying my own negative self talk, and the projections of other people’s perceptions of me.
You may not realize it; both people’s inner thoughts and outward actions affect your energy levels on a daily basis, significantly. Close or far, no matter the distance apart. You are affected by their energy through psychic energy transference the moment they think of you. You in turn affect them the same way.
It was during these alone times when Clairity started to become a stronger presence in my life. She made me aware of her by answering a question about my circumstances inside my mind. The questions that had promoted Clairity’s introduction were, “what’s the reason I keep on attracting men who hurt me? What’s the reason men use me for their own gain only to place me on a shelf until the next time they need me?”
A soft motherly voice whispered in my mind, “are you asking a question you truly desire to know the answer to?”
Good question, was I ready? I thought about it for a split second whilst checking my energy level for impact. “Yes. It’s either be brutally honest with myself, or continue to live this small existence. What’s the reason I attracted men who didn’t see me and who are comfortable with hurting me?”
My energy shifted inside my mind which naturally and effortlessly placed my ego into an attentive state. I could feel a subtle, yet more powerful energy blend in with my auric field. “The predators from when you were a child hold a different reason layered within the reason for attracting your past lovers. Let’s start with your lovers. They are most prevalent in your awareness at present. Your father asked your mother a question concerning you one day. What was it?” she lovingly prodded.
I thought about it for a moment and then responded through my ego “he asked “I thought daughters are attracted to men who best represents their dad’s. Why the hell did Clair choose those men? I am nothing like them.”” Next Clairity whispered, “what similarities are there between your father’s character, and the characters of both your ex husbands, and Rosie?” Now that was an excellent question. It got me thinking.
My dad, what a character indeed. He may have been a heavy smoking, alcoholic, sexist, racist, in my perception growing up. He was also my secret hero and victim to my mother’s wrath. The little morsels of “proud of ya” coming from my dad after doing something smart, fed my drive to be recognized by him. For the longest time, the sun shone out of my dad’s ass in my eyes. If I wanted a suntan, all I would have had to do was ask my dad to bend over. Poof, I’d be golden.
During my reflective journey of my dad, he fell off that pedestal of my own making. I discovered some hidden patterns my ego was comfortable with maintaining for my life. Once I saw them, I had a decision to make. Do I change the patterns and break out of my comfort zone?, or, do I keep moving forward wanting to prove to myself that I am worthy of my father’s love?
Good question. The question prompted my rabbit, Jack, to give me the key. “You’re late, you’re late for understanding the reasons for your dates.” The rabbit is at the door. We are about to open it, step through, and go down yet another swirling rabbit hole.
(Disclaimer: Some names have been changed to protect their privacy. Some information may be disturbing for some readers. Read at your discretion. 18+)
Today, looking back in hindsight, I now recognize the reason I only met my great aunt Mary that one time. Meeting Mary was the best way for me to identify the validity of my experience. Spirit knew I would tell my mum. They also knew I wouldn’t tell my dad. My great aunt Mary was my mother’s aunt. Therefore, my mother would be able to validate their existence through her ties with Mary. That was the single, and highly important reason for meeting Mary that night.
I had later learned, Grandpa Joe was my dad’s great great grandfather. The woman standing in front of my closet was my dad’s great grandmother, Sarah. Sarah was married to Grandpa Joe.
Anytime Grandpa Joe came to visit me at night he would stand by my bedroom closet where the glowing faced lady stood previously. As I slowly awoke, I would see Grandpa Joe standing there looking at me. Each time I saw Grandpa Joe, I had a familiar feeling come over me. I felt like a five year old little girl being picked up and swung around by her favorite old person. I hold deep respect for Grandpa Joe. I felt completely safe and at ease with him, always.
With that, an urge to go toward him came over me instantaneously upon seeing him. I would gently glide over to stand right in front of Grandpa Joe. Once in front of him, I would look back to see my body laying there peacefully on my bed, with a glimmering silver cord connecting me with my body.
“Close your eyes dear” Grandpa Joe instructed, whilst placing the palm of his hand a couple of inches from my face. The energy I felt was similar to when you close your eyes and can sense a person extremely close to you? Same thing. He never touched me. It seemed that was a no no whilst I was in my full spirit form. After having my eyes closed for what seemed like a second, Grandpa Joe removed his palm from blocking my view.
I was no longer standing in my bedroom. I was in an entirely new place. I was standing outside on a cobblestone road, with Grandpa Joe standing to my left. The air was neither warm, nor cold. The area was bright, almost luminescent, yet I did not see the sun, nor clouds. The sky was a perfect soft pale blue. Even though everything I was looking at was extremely bright, the light didn’t hurt my eyes.
Once I adjusted to my new surroundings, Grandpa Joe led me forward on the cobblestone road we were standing on. As we walked, I could see beautiful houses with lush gardens. I could see people in light clothing tending to the most brilliant colored flowers I had ever seen. Color here on earth doesn’t even come close to describing the brilliance of nature’s foliage when you’re in that state of awareness. There is one word that best describes what I was seeing, which is, breathtaking. I was awe struck.
As Grandpa Joe and I continued to walk, or should I say glide, since I didn’t feel my feet hitting the ground, I looked to my left, just past Grandpa Joe. “What’s that over there?” I asked. I was in a trance by what I was seeing.
When I asked Grandpa Joe that question, I was referring to a grand building with several wide steps, four massive pillars, and a domed roof. The building was all white with two ornate front doors made out of solid wood. I had never seen a building like that before then. Today, I would describe the building as being similar to many buildings you could find in Europe presently, in particular, Italy.
“That’s the library dear. We are not going there today.” Grandpa Joe responded without looking my way. I acknowledge, “okay Grandpa”. We kept on walking forward until something caught my eye. Causing me to gasp whilst witnessing its dancing colors. It was a waterfall.
“That is the most beautiful waterfall I have ever seen” I said half dazed, half aware of Grandpa Joe. The waterfall was tall and slender. It cascaded over a high rugged cliff. As the water came crashing into the bed of water below there was no sound, only the sight of the mist spraying up. The waterfall created a stunning rainbow. I could see the intricate details of several water droplets. It was like standing in a symphony of color, without hearing a sound. It was absolutely stunning.
“Yes, it is”, Grandpa Joe admitted with a slight affirmative nod. “Now look over there.” Grandpa Joe extended his right arm straight out, then proceeded to point his index finger in the direction off to my immediate right. I followed his finger with my eyes, naturally.
Next thing I knew, I was sitting on damp, cold rocks, clutching my knees, and feeling every horrid emotion you could think of. I felt fear, anger, sadness, rage, guilt, shame, loneliness, and felt completely forgotten. I was trapped inside a damp, dark, oppressive hole of a cave with only a small flicker of light. I could feel water dripping down the rock wall behind me as I rocked back and forth in a tight fetal position, seated upright.
“Please make it stop! Please make it stop! Grandpa!!”, was screaming inside my head. No sooner did those words bellow out of me, a gentle, firm hand reached out to squeeze my left shoulder. The moment I felt the loving squeeze, I was back outside. I was once again standing in front of the waterfall, beside Grandpa Joe.
“Why did you show me that?! That was horrible!” I exclaimed in sheer horror. Grandpa Joe in his loving matter-of-fact way said “yes, it is. Sweetheart, if you choose to beat yourself up, hate yourself, and choose to push everything and everyone away, all you will see is the cave. If you choose to honor yourself, love yourself, accept everyone, and everything for what it is, you will see the waterfall. That choice is yours. Now, close your eyes.” My eyes forcibly closed with the energetic force of Grandpa Joe’s hand motion. Next thing I knew, I was back inside my body, in my bed.
Back then, in 1992, I didn’t really fully grasp what it was my Grandpa Joe was saying to me. What I did take from that experience was that there is far more to this life than this earthly experience. I came into the full awareness of Grandpa Joe’s powerful message after two divorces, and several cave diving excursions.
You are here to experience yourself within denser energy, within all that is, for the purpose of developing your evolutionary awareness. Every experience you have offers both light and dark. It is for this reason, there is always more than one way to perceive the same thing. Something pure can also be seen as something evil to someone else.
You were born from darkness. You are both light and dark. Your consciousness has many layers, over many incarnations, within all that creation has to offer. You call upon your light or dark side to help you perceive your reality. These choices further help you to develop your unique perception. Which then helps you define who you are, and assert what it is you wish to explore. Your thoughts dictate what you experience. When you get trapped in cyclical patterns of self-hate, you experience suffering.
There will always be someone to help keep you there through triggers. Therefore, your world would be the cave. When you maintain a cyclical pattern of understanding through self love and acceptance, you will create and see your waterfall. Both the waterfall and the cave exist at the exact same time. The one you experience is the one your subconscious turns to look at.
Having the awareness I do today, coupled with my experiences with spirit, is power to my ability to maintain faith and resilience, through disappointment, heartache, and ultimate pain. Remembering my experience with Grandpa Joe pulled me out of my own self inflicted prison. I achieved that by asking Clairity questions.
I chose to go on an adventure with many doors, and rabbit holes to establish the peace I have within myself. If peace is what you are establishing for yourself, then follow me on the path with Clairity. She has incredible insight to share with you.
(Disclaimer: Some names have been changed to protect their privacy. Some information may be disturbing for some readers. Read at your discretion. 18+)
The first three days of living back with Liv in her apartment after leaving Rosie in April, 2023, I remained quiet. Unless I was vaping, or smoking some weed with Liv outside, in which case, I was pleasantly social. Liv let me be. She didn’t ask me questions other than “mum you doing okay?”
Liv knows I have a three day retreat policy in my mind. During the three days, I process and reflect on a painful experience. She honors that time by stepping back. She waits for me to approach her. When I am showing signs of interacting again, she’ll ask me a question we both agreed to ask each other. We continue to honor this communication between us to this day. The question is, “ears, mouth, or silence, mum?”
The question, ears, mouth, or silence, is an abbreviated version for asking “do you want my ears for listening?, or, my mouth for advice?, or, silence while I hold space for you?. If Liv heard ears, she knows I am ready to talk. When we talk, it usually turns into some incredibly insightful knowledge coming from Liv.
I love a person who can get me to stop and look at something from a different perspective. The “ah, I hadn’t thought of it that way!”, inspired thinking. Liv can do that for me. I love that about her. She also knows my language without me having to say a word. She knew the pain I was going through. She honored my process of retreat.
The first night, whilst laying in bed sobbing, I begged God to take my heart and hold it. I couldn’t bear the pain. I was beating myself up right, left, and center. “Why did I doubt my intuition? Why did I let him manipulate me to the point of doubting you?!”, referring to my God. “Why didn’t I listen? I know I deserved to feel the pain both my father and Gemma must have felt. Does it have to be this excruciating?”
Karma can certainly be a bitch. It hurt. I couldn’t handle the pain. With that, in my mind’s eye, I pictured light with gentle, loving, male hands, cupped together, extended out towards me. My heart then softly and slowly glided out of my chest, landing gently in the cupped hands. I then took a deep, soothing breath, and said “thank you. I will take it back when I am strong enough. I love you. Thank you for always being here for me. Thank you for sending Bill to get me. Thank you for reaching in and pulling me out of Rosie’s place. I know I am safe. And so it is”. After that, I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep.
The next day I was fully in my masculine energy. I remained in my intellect for the duration of time God was holding my heart. The nurturing caregiver in me took a much needed rest. Approximately six weeks or so of rest. During those few weeks I asked the loving voice inside my mind some deep questions. I was determined to get to the root of all my heartache and disappointments in life.
Before I introduce you to some powerful questions you can ask yourself when moving through heartache, I would like to introduce you to three different sides of me.
I have an ego side, who was given the name Clair.T. at birth. I also have an inner voice whom I refer to as Clairity. Clairity maintains a different frequency within me. She vibes differently. There is a distinct difference which I can sense. When I hear her voice my ego is at rest. My ego becomes an attentive, curious minded thinker, whilst listening. It’s like I am a student in my mind. The other voice, Clairity, is my teacher. I gave the other voice the name Clairity to help me distinguish the difference externally to me. In other words, to make it easier to explain where I get my insightful information from, to you.
When I asked God to take my heart, I adopted a new way of viewing myself and my world. I am the ego, Clair. I am the spirit, Clairity. I am the observer, God perspective. I can jump between all three perspectives inside my mind. I have conversations there inside my mind. Insightful ones. Inspiring ones. Thought provoking ones. Honest ones. Sometimes painful ones. Doing so keeps me connected to all that is. Doing so also helps me prevent a feeling of loneliness within me.
Loneliness is born from a reality in which a person feels misunderstood. A subconscious belief then fosters a perception of being lost within a sea of faces. No one truly knows them, therefore, they would not accept them. When a lonely person does their best to show their true self, they often experience some form of rejection. This is due to attracting someone who would reject them. Your ego will always prove you correct. When a person secretly believes they are worthy of rejection, the universe will find their match. Therefore, the universe obliges with a person’s mission to be rejected. To combat this perceived reality, I foster an internal relationship with all that is. I reinforce this connection by having these internal conversations. I remain understood this way.
Since I was young I have been guided. I didn’t always know that I was. Sometimes I felt detached from spirit or guiding forces. I felt abandoned from a spiritual perspective as well. Although I felt lost and alone many times throughout my life, I have always been protected and guided. I just didn’t always know that was the case. The first time I heard a wayward voice in spirit form, I was being attacked by a child predator, Necklace man. That was just the beginning of my conversations with spirit.
One night, shortly after my eighteenth birthday, I was in bed sleeping. Next thing I knew, I was sitting up in my bed. I looked to my left. On my left was a man sitting on my desk. “Hi grandpa Joe,” I said, as if I had known him forever. Grandpa Joe looked a lot like caucasian Santa Claus. He had thick salt and pepper wavy hair with a full beard, a full sized belly, tweed pants that I could see to his knee bend, brown suspenders, and warm blue eyes.
“Hi dear. Everything is going to be okay. You are going to be okay.” he replied. Grandpa Joe must have known I had been standing at the edge of a cliff, contemplating life that day. As Grandpa Joe lovingly told me I was going to be okay, he extended his hands out towards me with his palms facing upward. I went to grab his hands. As soon as I did, Grandpa Joe took his hands away swiftly and said “no dear. It’s not your time yet. You have much to do.”
I was a bit confused by that. Based on his gesture, I thought he wanted me to grab his hands. At the same time, another apparition caught my attention. A petite, long auburn haired woman glided from my bedroom doorway, across my room, straight over to my bed, then sat beside me. “Who’s this grandpa?” I asked, whilst my eyes remained fixated on the woman. So fixated, I didn’t see the second woman appear in front of my closet door right away.
The woman in front of my door was slender in stature. She had a blue dress on with a full white apron. She had brown hair, tied back in a French bun, and held her hands cupped in front of her at her waist. The shape of her face was slender and somewhat oval. Her face itself was missing. Instead of there being a face, there was a soft glowing light with no distinguishable features.
“Hi Clair. I’m Mary. It’s nice to finally meet you.” The woman with the auburn hair said in a kind soft voice. I didn’t feel threatened at all. I was curious. “Who is this Grandpa Joe?” I inquired, whilst looking back at him. “This is your aunt Mary” he replied. “She’s not my aunt. I know who my aunts are.” I rebuttal with a confused look. “This is your great aunt, Mary”, he lovingly explained.
I looked back at my aunt Mary and said “Hi. It’s nice to meet you”. Then for whatever reason, I got up from my bed, walked across my room towards the woman with no face, placed my pillow where her feet should have been, hugged my heart shaped pillow with a blanket on top of me, looked up, said “good night”, and then fell asleep. I never asked who the closet woman was. I did act as if I knew her intimately though.
The next day I woke up to my mother asking me “what the hell are you doing sleeping on the floor?”. I told her about the “dream”. She got an old photo album. I pointed out her aunt Mary who had died from a hole in her heart at the age of twenty-eight, or twenty-nine years of age. Long before I was even thought of. Let alone born. There was something to that “dream.”
Grandpa Joe took me on a couple of profound adventures after that. One adventure that stays with me, and is incredibly vivid even now, was when Grandpa Joe took me to the “other side” to help me understand the self inflicted prison I was placing myself in, inside my mind. That’s for the next blog entry. It is well worth your time and energy to read.
(Disclaimer: Some names have been changed to protect their privacy. Some information may be disturbing for some readers. Read at your discretion. 18+)
I am unable to remember where Sydney’s camp was located. I do remember the drive there was over an hour from my home in Kanata. I also remember there were many trees surrounding her family’s campsite. I also remember her trailer vividly. Even though I was drunk for the first time at twelve years old.
You would enter Sydney’s campground by a gravel road, then a short driveway on your right. When you got out of the car, you would walk up the side of the trailer on the same side as the driver’s side door, to reach the front entrance. At the entrance, there were two metal steps which led to a metal screen door, and the inner front door, combination. Inside you would find a small couch budding up against the elongated trailer’s end wall and window on your right. You would also see a small table acting as a television stand against the wall in front of you, closer to where the built in sofa was located. Across from you, and just slightly left within your peripheral vision, you would see a countertop, cupboard space, and a small trailer sized stove. Directly to your left, when standing at the front door entrance, you would see countertop space, a sink, with a window to look out from, and a decent size fridge. When you looked beyond the kitchen area, you would reach a narrowed space. To your left would be a small bathroom. To the right, directly across from the bathroom, was a narrow linen closet. As you walked past the closet, you would reach a dining table on your right which could fold down and be used as a bed for two grown adults. Mr. Steinfelt slept on that bed, whilst Sydney and I slept on the bunk beds in the designated bedroom. If you kept going you would reach Sydney’s and her sister’s room. That room housed the bunk beds for the girls.
It was the Saturday night of the camping weekend. Sydney and I were sitting at the campfire talking about our adventures of that day. My favorite part was the boogie boards out on the lake. The lake was located about three trailers down the gravel hill from where their camper was located. I had fun on the water with her boogie boards. All my worries and stresses disappeared when I was in the water. I was thinking, “finally. I have a true friend for life. I am seen, and accepted”.
To this day, I enjoy sitting by the water. Water is my peaceful place. My sacred place. Water is soothing to my soul. It’s where I prefer to be when I am in deep contemplation. Listening to the beautiful inner voice and guidance inside my head whilst breathing in the fresh air, and wonders of our natural world. It’s my perfect spot to ask myself meaningful questions. Walking in nature is when I often receive intuitive answers to those questions as well. I hear the loving voice the loudest when mother nature is soothing my soul.
Mr. Steinfelt drove their boat whilst Sydney and I zoomed around the lake being pulled behind it. It was my first time riding on top of a board, on my belly, being tossed side to side, as Sydney’s dad maneuvered in ways to knock us off. At one point, Mr. Steinfelt was too aggressive. His sudden jerk of the steering wheel sent me flying into some other camper’s dock. I got a little banged up. Not too big of a deal.
Today I recognize Mr. Steinfelt’s reckless behavior. I sensed he did it on purpose back then. My intuition tells me this is still the case today. I will only come to know for certain, after I have left this earthly experience permanently. What I do know for certain today is, his decision to toss me in the water so aggressively was a red flag for what was to come.
Sydney and I were laughing, talking about boys, and enjoying the s’mores we were making at the campfire, when Sydney’s dad appeared from the trailer. He had brought two tumbler glasses of red wine. One for Sydney, and one for me. “Here girls. Have some wine.” Mr. Steinfelt said, as he was handing each of us a glass. “I don’t think I should drink this Mr. Steinfelt. No thank you.” I knew it was alcohol. My mother used to complain about my dad’s heavy beer drinking.
I didn’t care for the smell of beer. My dad drank approximately two and a half, twenty-four bottled cases of beer each week. My intellect was telling me not to. I knew if I drank the wine I would be going against my parents trust.
I wasn’t thinking about the possibility of getting drunk when I accepted the wine. After Mr. Steinfelt’s reassurance. “Think of it like a vacation away from responsibilities. Don’t worry. I’ve got you.” Mr. Steinfelt said with a smile. I looked over at Sydney. She was sitting on a lawn chair just to the right of her dad. Sydney was already sipping the wine. She didn’t look my way. She simply sat there gazing into the campfire, quickly consuming her drink. In my mind, Sydney didn’t seem too bothered. It looked as though drinking a little wine would be harmless. I was wrong.
After about fifteen minutes or so of continued wine drinking, fire gazing, fun, Sydney’s dad offered up a suggestion. “Hey girls, wanna go inside and play some cards? We can play crazy 8.” Sydney and I looked at each other, made a face, and in almost unison replied “sure. Why not.” All three of us put away the lawn chairs, by placing them back underneath the front door’s canopy, then went inside. Inside, Sydney and I were sitting across from one another at the folding table bed. It was reverted back into a sitting area from a bed at that point. Sydney’s dad, Mr. Steinfelt sat beside Syd.
“Would you like a little more wine Clair?” he would ask, in the form of a rhetorical question. I say rhetorical because he was pouring the wine into my glass at the same time he asked me the question. After, I don’t know how long, I became drunk. I did have the awareness to place my hand on top of my glass the last time Mr. Steinfelt attempted to pour wine into it. I paid little attention to the amount of times Mr. Steinfelt had topped me up. I was focused on the card game. When I did see him from the corner of my eye, I covered the glass with my hand and said “No thank you” respectfully. Followed by, “I need to go to bed. I don’t feel so good.” It was at that moment, Syd and I retreated to the back room. Syd opted for the lower bunk. Leaving me and my woozy little buttocks on the top bunk.
After a while, the room started to spin. It was spinning so bad that I feared falling off of the top bunk. Sydney was fast asleep drooling on her pillow. She was gone to the world. Me, I could hardly sit up without having to hold onto something. I managed to get down the little ladder of the bunk beds. Not sure how I managed. I couldn’t see straight, nor walk straight. All I could think to do was to move to the front couch so I could sleep. In my mind, the couch was lower than a top bunk. Safety measures, you know.
As I stumbled down the short, little hallway, I saw Sydney’s dad sitting on the sofa. He was watching tellie on a wee little boxed television set. You know the kind you would see back in 1986? My stomach flopped when I saw him. I instantly wanted to retreat back to the bedroom as I was holding the wall up.
“Can’t sleep?” Mr. Steinfelt asked. “The room is spinning. I don’t feel so good.” was my, putting it lightly, response to Mr. Steinfelt’s inquiry. Mr. Steinfelt was tapping his hand on the sofa beside him whilst looking at me with a look of daddy-like concern. “Come. Lay here. You can place your head on my lap.” I was instantly frightened. I knew I was in a predicament. I had little choice at that time in my mind. All I wanted to do was make the room stop spinning.
I couldn’t sleep on the floor in Syd’s room, there was little space with all the clutter. The room was also quite tiny as well. I couldn’t sleep on the table bed. That’s where Syd’s dad slept. The sofa was all that was available. I was unnerved stumbling towards him. At the same time, relieved to get back down into a laying position. As I laid there, with my head upon Sydney’s father’s lap, I must have passed out for a few minutes. My plan was to remain alert long enough to see Sydney’s father go to bed. No such luck.
I was startled awake with Mr. Steinfelt’s hands inside my pajama pants and underneath my panties. He was fondling my vagina. I froze at first. I was in shock. I didn’t stop him right away. I was too busy thinking about Necklace Man. I was being physically abused in that present moment, and abused in the past in my mind, all at the exact same time. After I snapped out of the shock, I pretended I was dreaming so I could close my legs and roll over. When I started to move, Mr. Steinfelt removed his hand from my pants. He stayed there for a few minutes, pretending to watch television. After, what seemed like an agonizing long time, probably five minutes or so, Mr. Steinfelt got up. He retreated to his bed. I waited another five minutes or so before I decided I couldn’t trust sleeping there any longer.
I sobered up pretty fast after that incident. As I walked past Mr. Steinfelt, heading towards Syd’s room, I looked at him leaning up against his pillow, on his bed. I looked him right in the eyes, as if to say “I know what you did.” He looked at me as if to say “oh shit. She knows what I did.” I didn’t say a word. I went back into Sydney’s room, closed the door, and curled up into a ball on her floor. I slept there the remainder of the night.
I woke up before anyone else the next morning. I didn’t want to be there. With water being my refuge, I decided to go down to the beach whilst Sydney and her father slept. As I was replaying the nightmare of an experience the night before in my head, I was rocking back and forth on a 2×4 wooden plank. I was so deep in thought that I hadn’t realized I had stepped on a heavy construction worthy, rusted nail.
The nail was sticking out from the wood about a quarter length from the end of the wooden plank. My feet kept inching wider and wider apart. As they inched apart, my foot landed on the spike of the nail. The nail was so long it went through the sole of my shoe, into my foot, out the other side of my foot, and beyond the top of my shoe. I still have the scar on the top of my foot.
Sydney was making her way towards me that morning, when she explained “we have to start getting packed up. We have to head out soon.” I was relieved that we had to go. I was agonizing over the idea of telling Sydney about what had happened. Her telling me that we had to go made things simple. There was no private time to tell her so I kept it quiet.
I acknowledged Syd, then went to move from my spot. I was stuck. “Uh, Syd, my foot is stuck.” I exclaimed. “What do you mean, your foot is stuck?” ” My foot. I can’t move it.” I looked down at that moment only to see a wee little spike sticking out of the top of my shoe. “Holy shit! I stepped on a nail!” I said with horror, and curiosity at the same time.
I didn’t feel any pain. I only felt stuck. I used Sydney’s shoulder for support as I slowly pulled my leg up to release my foot. The drop to the ground pain I felt the first moment I took a step on that foot has no words. My God it hurt. Sydney helped me limp back to the campground. I could hardly put my foot on the ground. With each press of my heel, a stabbing pain pierced me.
When we arrived at the trailer, Syd and I explained what happened with the nail to Sydney’s father. Mr. Steinfelt felt it best we hurry home in the event I would need a tetanus shot. I bet Syd’s father had a slight sigh of relief thinking, “distraction from my travelling fingers. Woohoo!”. He hardly acknowledged me that day. He went back to his normal nice distance. The rest of the details of that weekend, and how my foot was treated is a blur. I truly cannot remember.
After visiting that life altering rabbit hole in my mind whilst Bill was driving me back to Fredericton from Rosie’s, exhausted me. All I wanted to do was minimize myself enough to where I could disappear from people’s view. My spirit was exhausted. For the remainder of the drive from Montreal to Fredericton, I dosed in and out of sleep. I awoke about thirty minutes from Fredericton. Bill and I made it to Liv’s without incident.
Before I end this entry, I would like to mention, I am so pleased you decided to join me through this doorway in my mind. Again, just like the necklace man, this is my first time offering this much detail of this experience to anyone. You, reading this now, know more than my family.
There is a reason, a purpose for sharing this story. With the help of this experience, I am an incredibly empowered woman today. How do you move past an experience similar to this? How do you overcome the shame of being the predator, or the victim? Those are the questions I asked the voice. I received an incredible response and have every intention of sharing it with you, in time.
(Disclaimer: Some names have been changed to protect their privacy. Some information may be disturbing for some readers. Read at your discretion. 18+)
I was twelve years old, living in a new place, and going to a new school, in Kanata, Ontario, when I met a lovely girl named Sydney. I hung around with Sydney for the remaining half of grade six, and most of the summer before entering grade seven. We were the same age. Like two peas in a pod.
My parents had moved my brother Craig, and I, to Kanata, mid way through my grade sixth year of elementary school. I was relieved when we first moved to Kanata. I was bullied relentlessly at Christie Public School, which was located near the westside of Ottawa, and where I met Necklace Man.
I was, what one would consider, a smart cookie in school. I enjoyed learning. I just hated socializing or making friends. Quite often I came home with all A’s, or A’s with one or two B’s. In grade six, I had a teacher named Mr. Beale. He was an awesome teacher. He was fair and firm. I could respect him. Mr. Beale could command respect in a room. Rather than demand respect in a room through a sense of entitlement. He also showed that he believed in the kids, and in what he was doing. I think Mr. Beale would be an excellent character for a motivational movie about teachers making a positive difference. His character back then, in my eyes, would fit a role like that, perfectly. I am grateful I had Mr. Beale for my teacher. He saved my spirit one day.
For a few weeks or so, Mr. Beale asked me if I would be willing to tutor a new student named Vincent. Vincent had recently moved to the area from Yellowknife, situated in the Northwest Territories of Canada, approximately two months before I was scheduled to move to Kanata with my family. I believe his nationality would have been referred to as, Inuit? From what I understand, in the area where Vincent grew up, up until that point, english was not a language he was exposed to.
Vincent needed a bit of help in both reading, and writing of the english language. With my grades being what they were, I was the perfect candidate to help. I had a habit of finishing my in school class work long before the other students, on a fairly regular basis. When I was finished, I would usually sit and read quietly to myself at my desk. Waiting for the other students to finish.
Observing this habit of mine back then, Mr. Beale asked me if I would tutor Vincent. I said yes. Vincent and I sat in a designated area at the back of the class each afternoon. We would work on his exercise sheets, as well as other topics being discussed in class that day. The other kids became somewhat jealous, to put it lightly.
Vincent was a strapping young man. He towered over me by a good four or five inches. He had tanned skin, with beautiful brown eyes, and thick, wavy, jet black hair. I was on the shorter side in comparison to some of the other female students in my class. Usually with pants on, or shorts on, a t-shirt, long blonde hair in a messy ponytail, and a baseball cap on my head when outside. I was a proverbial tomboy. Vincent was also two years older than me. He was placed in my grade to get caught up to the level of students at his age level. We got along extremely well.
Vincent would walk me halfway home from school each day. He acted as a bodyguard for me. He may not have understood english too well. He could read body language, and energy between people like a hawk can narrow in on its prey. I felt so safe with him that a part of me felt invincible. Each day after school, Vincent and I would break off at an intersection closest to the school, after we had crossed it to get to the other side of the residential road. Once we reached the other side of the crosswalk, Vincent would keep walking up the same street. I made a right turn, crossed another crosswalk, and kept in that direction home.
On one particular day, four girls were picking on me. Alexis, the leader of the mean girls, was ruthless. “You fucking teacher’s pet. Why don’t you go kiss his ass. You fucking loser!” Then Alexis would chant, “Vincent and Clair sitting in a tree k.i.s.s.i.n.g. First comes love. Then comes marriage. Then comes a baby in a baby carriage. You are such a slut!”
Alexis went back and forth between singing the kissing song, and throwing a profanity my way. The other girls, Kathy, Helen, and Tanya were all cackling and laughing alongside Alexis. Tanya took it a bit too far. She said “if I were you, I’d go kill myself. You loser!”.
As soon as Vincent heard those words come out of Tanya’s mouth, he went to take a swing at her. His white knuckled fist was headed straight for Tanya’s face. The moment I saw Vincent’s arm raised, I grabbed for it and yelled, “Vincent don’t! It’s not worth it!”.
I yanked Vincent’s arm down towards me. He relinquished his threat towards Tanya, then turned to look at me. He was livid. He also had sad eyes for me. Vincent didn’t speak a word. I looked at him and said “I’m okay Vincent. It’s okay. They are not worth it. Go home Vincent. I’m going home too.”
As I spoke those words to Vincent, I made hand gestures pointing in different directions to better help him understand. As I was talking to Vincent, the girls took off. As I walked away from Vincent, I looked back after about two minutes or so. Vincent didn’t walk up the hill like he normally would have. He stood at the corner of that intersection, watching to make certain the three girls, Kathy, Helen, and Tanya, who were walking a few feet in front of me, were not going to hurt me again. Once the girls were out of sight, Vincent was gone.
I didn’t see Vincent again after that day. I moved before he returned to school. The next day, with Vincent not being at school, it became prime time for the bullies to get back at me for the altercation the day before at the intersection.
During lunch recess, my entire grade six class, with the exception of one quiet student named Sean Barns, surrounded me on the playground. They formed a large circle with me in the middle. “Not so brave now that your bodyguard is gone, are ya? You freak!” Along with other, not so nice, words exploding from Alexis’s mouth.
All the other kids egged Alexis on. “Fight! Fight! Fight!” They all chanted. Next thing I knew, I was being tossed back and forth, like a ragdoll, towards one student and then another. Each time I was pushed, the student who they pushed me into, kicked me, or punched me, before tossing me to the next student. I was ganged up on by my entire class. Both boys and girls were having a field day using me as a punching bag. I couldn’t hit back or defend myself because I could hardly keep myself from falling over. I was being pushed so aggressively, and frequently my head was spinning.
I was experiencing a ton of emotions when the recess teacher came over to break up the fight. “What are you all doing?! Stop this! Right now!” As the teacher waved all the students away, she came over to me and asked, “do you want to go inside? You are welcomed to if you wish?” I took her up on her offer. I went inside and hid in the bathroom until the bell rang.
It was after the afternoon recess bell chimed, when Mr. Beale came over to me to chastise me for not telling him what the other students had done. I guess the lunch recess teacher had explained to him what happened whilst I was crying in the bathroom stall in private.
“Why didn’t you tell me they did that to you? You should have come to me or gone to another teacher. You should have told us you were being bullied.” I didn’t blame Mr. Beale for being upset with me for not telling him. I think his intuition told him I was being bullied for tutoring Vincent at his request. He likely felt somewhat responsible.
After the beating, just like when the man with the necklace attacked me, I kept quiet about it. I sat in class, did my schoolwork, and remained neutral in body language. Inside, I was numb. I went about the rest of my day like nothing happened. All the while, screaming underneath the numbness, deep within my mind, “why doesn’t anyone like me?! Why am I not loveable? Why am I an It?”.
Notice a pattern? Those questions are similar to the questions I had asked myself when I was walking that March winter night when Rosie locked me out of his apartment. Almost forty years later, I was still wondering why I wasn’t loved by others, or might it be better to say “why didn’t I love myself?” Everything ties in. We are all creatures of habit.
I stayed home the next day from school after that beating. I can’t remember if I played sick, or, if I was allowed to stay home. The next day, which was the last day of school for me, before the big move to Kanata, Mr. Beale had planned a surprise going away party for me. During lunch hour, Mr. Beale had decorated the entire class with balloons, party supplies, and cake. Then he had all the kids come back inside moments before the bell rang. I went in when the bell rang not being any the wiser. When I walked into the classroom, Mr. Beale and all the students yelled “Surprise!”.
Mr. Beale ended regular scheduled class for the rest of the afternoon. Instead, we listened to music on a boom box one of the other students brought to school. I heard some apologies from some of the students, and Mr. Beale read my three page poem about friendship. Mr. Beale made me feel seen, appreciated, and loved. He is one of my secret heros to this day. He turned a very painful experience into a learning one with love.
I left Christie Public School with mixed emotions. Both pain and pleasure, depending on which one I was choosing to focus on. That surprise party experience Mr. Beale so lovingly gave to me, is a valued core memory for me. The students bullying me, and the “should of, could of, would of” from Mr. Beale chastising me, was a bit harder to digest.
With that said, all my experiences at that elementary school had helped me to come to terms with the fact that I have no control over other people’s perception of me. I only have control over my own. Knowing this truth allows my mind to soften the rest of my memories with that school.
No matter what you do, there will always be someone who will agree with you, or who will disagree with you. There will be those that like you for breathing, and others who despise you for breathing. As long as you recognize your intentions, and those intentions are pure, keep doing you. Everyone else will be okay, eventually.
Since it wasn’t that long meeting Sydney after I moved, and the continued bullying I received at that new school as well, I cherished my friendship with her. So much so, I had decided not to tell her what her father did to me on one fateful camping weekend. At least not until over a year later, when we were in grade nine science class together. I was seated right in front of her. Her sitting there triggered me so much that I had an overwhelming impulse to tell her. I couldn’t ignore it.
I turned around in my seat, when no one else was in the classroom with us, and finally caved. I told her. Sydney’s response to me was “I suspect my dad did that to my sister’s friends too.” We never spoke of it again after that. My heart sank for her. I was also angry at the idea of her knowing what her father could be like, and still invited me to be alone with him. Just like I did after her father’s attack on my innocence that traumatic weekend, I stopped talking with Sydney all over again.
This is the truth between Sydney and I. You reading this now, are the next to know what truly happened between me and Sydney’s father.
It was a Wednesday when Sydney asked me if I would like to go with her and her family to their camp. “Wanna come to our camp this weekend? We have a camper with bunk beds and everything. We can go swimming, and have a campfire with s’mores.” It sounded awesome to me. “Yeah! I’ll ask my parents and let you know.” That night I asked my parents. After their due diligence of asking with whom, where, and when, they allowed me to go. They felt I would be safe enough with both Sydney’s parents there.
Friday came. I was excited. I had been looking forward to going from the moment Sydney mentioned it to me. I thought about us going hiking on the trails. I thought about the water sports Sydney said we would do. I also relished the idea of being away from my parents and brother for a few days too. I walked to Sydney’s house about ten minutes from my own, with a bag in hand and a wide grin. When I approached Sydney’s driveway, her father was loading their station wagon with all their weekend gear. Sydney was inside. “Hi Clair. Go on inside. Syd’s just getting her stuff together.”
I went inside their house, as Sydney’s dad had suggested. When I reached Syd’s room, she was picking up her packed duffle bag off of her bed. “Hey Clair. It’s just gonna be me, you, and my Dad this weekend. My mom and sister both have to work.” I had an instant flutter in my stomach the moment she told me that. I had a quick thought of “don’t go. Turn around and go back home. This could be bad.”
I chose to ignore those thoughts. I shrugged the inner knowing as paranoia because men scared me. Her dad was always nice to me up until that point, and he kept his distance. Sydney and I had been hanging out for a good few months by that point. It was the summer before entering grade seven. I figured since he was a dad, I was safe. I was wrong.
After a day of water sports, campfire cooking with hotdogs and s’mores, we all went inside the camper to play cards before bedtime. Sydney’s father offered both Sydney and I a glass of wine. “Treat this like a vacation away from responsibility. Have fun. No one will know. I’ve got your back.” My curiosity about alcohol in that moment got the better of me. I chose to drink the wine. Whilst Sydney’s father waited patiently for the right moment to pounce.
(Disclaimer: Some names have been changed to protect their privacy. Some information may be disturbing for some readers. Read at your discretion. 18+)
In my mind, I picture a wooden door in a similar shape as medieval castle doors, only tinier. Rabbit size, if you will. Everytime I asked a question related to understanding the reason I was attracting such difficult circumstances, Jack, my rabbit, gave me a key inside my mind. Then prompted me to look towards the door.
I had a decision to make when I stood in front of each entrance, which was beckoning me to look at the memory from a different perspective. The beautiful voice inside my mind gesturing her gentle, loving hand out, as if to say “come inside. I’ve got you”. Am I ready to truly understand my pain?, or, do I recognize I am not ready to enter just yet.
Only ask a question you are truly ready to hear the answer to. Accountability can be a painful bugger sometimes. Doing that exercise in my mind became my starting point in leveling up my wise discernment. I am grateful for my imagination of Jack. I still have him as a loving friend inside my mind. Anytime I see a rabbit externally to me I greet it with a “hiya Jack. It’s nice to see ya”. If I see Jack on a regular basis in my neighborhood, I am being informed of an impending move. Jack holds many clues for me.
Before I take you through my twelve year old, mini castle door, it’s important to me that I address an important detail.
Every single person in my life, especially those referred to in this true life adventure, are both a villain, and a victim. As am I. We all played those roles to help each other in our soul’s evolution. Playing both roles of the student, and the teacher for each other. My parents, my brother, my ex romantic partners, my children, my grandchildren, my friends, my lost relatives, and predators, are all on their individualized journey, in their own mind. Discovering themselves at their own pace. It’s the entire point of being here. They have stories. They have experiences. They have trauma as well.
As you continue to walk with me down each path on my journey, remember, hurt people hurt people due to subconscious patterns they are unaware of. Who’s at fault really? Them for acting out in pain. Hurting me the way they did?, or, me for agreeing to believe them so that I could hurt myself? Then carry their pain and my own on my back? Resulting in me acting out from pain just like them. If I held pain towards them, I would be hurting them through my energetic retaliation.
If I do not take accountability for my choices, how am I to truly learn? How am I to truly evolve as a loving creation? You are glimpsing into the mind of only one character when you read my story. That character is me. To truly see the truth in all, you must jump into the mind of each character throughout this journey. Then broaden your mind even further than that. You would have to step outside of yourself, then look at it from an even greater perspective within all of creation’s perspective.
This is my truth. This is my understanding. My goal for you is to help you see for yourself what you believe is true for you, so that you can better understand yourself. A gentle journey into self love. Keep walking with me. It will all make sense in time. If not, well at least you’d be entertained.
LivWithClairity 