I recently participated in Rauhnächte, the ancient "time between the years" ritual in Alpine, Celtic, and Germanic cultures in which you write down 13 wishes on separate pieces of paper and then, starting on December 24, you release one each night (without looking).

I lit mine on fire!

After 12 nights, you are left with one, and this is the one you are meant to bring into the new year...and make happen.

I was gobsmacked when I opened that final wish.

When I wrote them down (which I did over the course of several days before December 24), I had a mix of super specific ones and some more general ones. Some were on the more practical side and others were a bit more woo.

What I was left with is super tender for me.

Because when I read it I knew that it is what underpins all the other wishes.

"I am supported and adored and I receive both with the knowing that it was always supposed to be this way."

I can feel the exquisite tingle and pressure of tears as I write this.

A friend asked what I thought this would look like...and how would I know when I had "achieved" it.

Here's the thing: I already already know what it looks and feels like.

~~~

A year ago I was diagnosed with breast cancer after about four months of tests, scans, appointments, etc.

A year ago I shared this on Facebook:

I have entered the cancer industrial complex and am having a couple of weeks of being "injected, inspected, detected, infected, neglected and selected."

[thanks to Arlo Guthrie for those impeccable lyrics from Alice's Restaurant Massacree]

Today I have two rounds of injection, inspection, and detection: CT scan with contrast and MRI with contrast.

But one of the words does not apply in the least (at least not now): "Neglected."

In fact, I woke up out of sound sleep this morning around 4:30 and realized how cared for I feel. I woke up and simultaneously my brain offered me these words "you deserve to be cared for" and I felt a delicious, warm expansion in my chest.

It's not the truth to say that I've been neglected my whole life, but in the first five years of my life, right when my nervous system was wiring itself, I was neglected, not because those who were in charge of my care consciously wanted to hurt me, but because they were in the throes of their own chaos...the result of the neglect they experienced.

Yes, I was fed, clothed, housed (all quite nicely and more than adequately), and mostly there was someone over the age of 21 around when my parents were not.

But I was profoundly lonely and emotionally alone.

That's when shame became internalized.

Because to be honest, my mother has never adored me.

~~~

I had forgotten about that 4:30 a.m. moment last year.

But now that I have remembered it, it's becoming part of my Intentional Identity. I can now tap into that experience again. And again. And again. Until it becomes embodied.

One of our most powerful tools is repetition.

Much, much love,
Karen

Intentional Identity work is part of what we do in Shame School.

In Shame School we unlearn what we were not meant to learn, in order to discover what we were intended to learn.

Shame School is changing quite a bit and is going to be more expansive, flexible, and spacious. Click here to be notified when I announce the specifics.