Writing this first draft of my memoir meant traveling back through many “previous lifetimes” and versions of myself. So much struggle, so much learning, so much assembling of all the tools that would be needed for the most challenging portion of my work — these last eight years.
The work of these last four years has been possible only because of all that earlier work. And these have been the ultimate challenge – opening those last padlocked doors of my psyche to shine light on the places never before confronted…either out of fear, or because I didn’t even know they existed. I only “felt” the pain vibrating out of those shadows. So I had to choose – stay with the pain or break down those last walls. That required a level of courage and strength that was only available because of all the work that came before it.
Now, I am about to begin this last phase of Carl Jung’s spiritual alchemy – the Rubedo, or red, fire part. It is the “me of now,” the me of decisions and answers, but also more questions, especially: “What do I feel and take away from this long journey?”
A friend noted that as she read the last of my recent Citrinitas posts, she heard my current voice returning – the person she knows right now. For so long, the voice was of so many earlier versions of me.
Her comment got me to thinking about “then and now.” What new horizons of me were showing now, compared with the “me of then?”
Then
Journal: July, 2018
Prologue: The Ground Rules
The sun is already high in the sky, unusually bright for 7:50 in the morning. It’s Saturday, my “Friday” in my work week, and the traffic is light.
Through the windshield, sunbeams spill over me. It is one of those “all is well with the world” moments.
Setting the cruise control, I lean back and speed down the highway to the satellite radio channel, 70s on 7. The first notes glide out, wavy, quivering, and hang in the air for a moment. Bread. David Gates’ soft voice crooning their hit, “If.”
I don’t know what it is, but listening to songs by Bread relaxes me, softens me, makes me reflective, languid. My thoughts float along the airwaves with Gates’ singing, and my heart follows along, awash in the feelings generated by that melody. I am back in 1971 — high school — open, vulnerable. It is at this moment, after years of silence, that that “voice” returns.
The voice, the one from deep in my soul, the one I have learned in life not to ignore, asks: What if IT had never happened? What your life might have been like? What could you have been? Done? Achieved? If?
And suddenly, all I feel is this swelling ache I didn’t know was there…and terror…because now, that voice is also asking me for something I did not see coming…
The “autopsy years”
While I’ve spent my life doing multiple rounds of therapy so I could keep learning, growing, fighting, and moving forward, nothing has been like these last eight years. They’ve had an intensity and depth that the rest of the years combined couldn’t match.
So many of those earlier therapy sessions were more “how-to” efforts — how to fix something, manage something, be something. But these…these were the “autopsy” years. These were dogged revisits of the whole journey, dissecting it all in minute detail, and leaving nothing unexplored. It was as if I’d spent the last several years using both a microscope and a telescope laser-focused on me. The microscope tunneled deep into the cellular structure of every little bit of me, while the telescope zoomed out to the 20000-foot level to see the big picture and all the patterns I’d missed before.
When I chose to undertake that effort, I had to decide if the struggle would be worth the pain. That level of self-examination, questioning, and analyzing can take quite a toll. Was I really doing so bad that I needed to go back? Certainly no one would have blamed me for choosing to just leave well enough alone. But…I wanted my whole life back…as much as possible, because I wanted to have my current life have meaning. I did not want to refuse to try.
Looking back, I wondered how I was doing during that time. How did I look from the outside?
In the Fall of 2022, one of the young broadcasters at the Museum I worked at asked if he could interview me for his podcast, “Professional Previews.” The podcast’s goal was to share the paths various Museum professionals took to get to their current jobs. It was meant to help young students feel empowered to reach for their career dreams, not to fear the unknown or mistakes, and to see the many ways someone could achieve that. I agreed. And I am glad I did. Because in looking back at the video of that podcast, I can see a much different person than who I’d been before that. And while I still had some of the hardest therapy work ahead of me, as well as all of this writing, I can see a person more at peace than I’d ever been before.
If of interest, here is the link to the YouTube video of that interview:
Professional Previews with Deb Bailey (NCMNS Educator)
So yes, the decision to open the Pandora’s box of unresolved emotions did take a toll. But it also yielded a gift… a large gift.
Andre Dubus III, in an interview with author and editor Melanie Brooks, observed that, “The past is not the past…We all bring every second of our lives to who we are today.”
From Writing Hard Stories: Celebrated Memoirists Who Shaped Art From Trauma, Melanie Brooks
I could never control who I was under Dad’s thumb for so many years. But I had every bit of control over who I could be today…and tomorrow. So if I wanted the chance to be my best, I had to face all those past seconds of my life.
Now
Journal 8/4/2025
The other day I sat in the new doctor’s office — she was taking over from the older psychiatrist who had prescribed medications for me over the years. I had already submitted all the medical and emotional history forms to her, so she had the whole story.
Sitting there, I assessed her…noted her posture — assertive, professional, pleasant. And young. Oh, so young, I thought. Well, we’ll see. It seems like all my medical providers now look like they are fresh out of high school.
She, too, must have been observing me, and then she spoke.
“Before we get started, is there anything else about you that you would like me to know that isn’t in your forms?” She smiled.
It was a genuine smile. I liked her so far. I hadn’t expected the question though. And I was even more shocked by the ferocity of an answer that shot out of me from deep within my core.
“Yes, there is!”
It was like my mouth was taking charge, and I could feel this mix of anger, power, and pride swell up.
“I would like you to know that…I THRIVE!”
In that moment, I wanted her to know I was no pushover. No washed-up, worn-out old person, broken by life. I wasn’t going to be judged as lacking or broken by anyone, especially not someone young enough to be my child.
It’s not that she was judging me or being patronizing, but more that I felt the need to let her know that despite what those forms said, despite what her training may have told her, despite anything she might be thinking, I THRIVE. I SURVIVED. I made it through that HELL, and I am still sitting here, damned intact!
I didn’t live through almost three decades of abuse, and another three or four decades of rebuilding me to be viewed as anything less than a SUCCESS. I stood up to everything he threw at me and I AM STILL HERE STANDING! HE DID NOT WIN!
It was a moment of self-power and pride like I have never felt before. And it was an amazing thing to have felt come out of nowhere, IMMEDIATELY. Sure, I have trauma…wounds… nightmares… and flashbacks I will carry with me to the grave. I struggle at times, fail, fall, and cry, but always, in spite of his abuse, I get back up and…Yes, I THRIVE!
What a GLORIOUS feeling!
Up Next
The Rubedo phase: – A “Coming Back Around” to the things from then, in the now…
Note:
I am seeking financial support to complete my memoir, work with an editor, and make a visit to my home state for fact-checking. Your help would mean the world to me as I take this step toward healing and giving voice to my journey.
Please like, comment, and share this post to help spread the word. The link for my fundraiser is on GoFundMe. Thank you for your support.
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