It is Friday. Normally that would mean I write a short story. The story may come, after this, but this wants to be written first.
I had a dream this morning. In it I got diagnosed with cancer, and then just sat and waited for it to take my life. I realized that in reality, I saved myself from getting full-blown cancer by telling thegynecologist that it was timeto remove my uterus.Thinking back I realized that all the things I did back then to get well again were all out of love for myself, even though I never realized I did.
By that time I had gotten so used to the not-loving-herself-Sylvia that was created in my childhood, that I had no idea there was another one lurking. One that fiercely protected herself, even though it meant leaping across a gazillion boundaries.
The not-loving-herself-Sylvia can be captured in one moment during my childhood. As I write this, I realize that I need to write two. I need to write two because the second moment that just popped in my head relates to cancer.
The first moment
A bathroom at school.
My child self is surrounded by four girls from my class.
They stand around me and mock me, incessantly.
One of them, a burly, tall girl, asks, “What do you see when you see yourself in the mirror?”
I say, weakly, “Myself.”
She grabs my neck, and says again, “What do you see when you see yourself in the mirror?”
I say again, softer now. “Myself.”
“No! You see a dirty, ugly, filthy monkey.”
I started to believe this after days and days of the same scene. When I saw myself in the mirror, I saw the monkey they saw in me. I saw the face of not-loving-herself-Sylvia
The second moment
My childself lies in bed, praying. “Please god, let me die young from cancer. I can’t take this life anymore. I don’t want to live if all there is, is the pain.”
I wish I could reach back in time and take her in my arms. Hold her and tell her there is love. Oodles and oodles of love. There is a husband who comes running to hug her adult self as tears stream down her face remembering this. I want to tell her that her life will once ROCK!
I play for her
I play to heal not-loving-herself-Sylvia. I play to heal the wounds that these and many other moments in my childhood created. I play to fill myself up with love, to let it dart through all these crevices and hidden chambers filled with thoughts that haunt me without realizing.
I look at those two moments in my life, and all I want to do is play. I want to sit down on the floor with those two aspects of myself, and play a game with them, lay out my toy train, kneeling down on the floor with a big, satisfied grin on my face. I want to sit and giggle like mad as I start it and watch it race around the track, then I want to look and wink at my child self and tell her: “See? You are loved. Wanna come and play with me? Wanna heal?”
This is what becoming one with your inner two year old does. She drags you through your life and all she finds is moments where play heals. And every time you heal something in you, more love pours in and through you.
I play because when you love yourself, there is no other way. And as I play, I become the teacher that I have always known I would be. Not standing in front of the class, but by writing my words, by coaching, by being my awesome self. That’s how it always was meant to be.
When I look in the mirror now, I see a woman who loves herself deeply, who loves every part of herself. Who allows herself to be all that she has come here to be: playful, creative, wise. Who sees the goddess she knows she is, shine through her eyes.