In the land of duality, one of the most important questions we can ask is, “Could you be loved?” In March of 2019, my mom fell off of a ladder and ended up having a couple of mini strokes. This incident landed her in the hospital, and then in a nursing home for rehabilitation. I took the liberty of bringing her some clothing, activity books, reading material, bathroom necessities and other items to make her stay more comfortable. I found myself going above and beyond to ensure she knew I was there for her.
If you had asked me the previous month if I would be doing this for my mom, I might have punched you square in the nose. My relationship with my mom has always been strained, to put it lightly. Over the years, I allowed much physical, emotional, and mental abuse for the sake of having a mother in my life. My own biological mother passed away three weeks after my birth, leaving my father unable to care for me. They both had Muscular Dystrophy. It was my father’s sister, Martha who adopted me into her family.
I began this round of emotional clearing after having an intense dream about the father of my daughter, Michael. Since I completed this round, I made amends to him personally and it went way better than I expected. At first, I was so nervous, it was hard to breathe, but once I began talking it seemed to flow easily. With the exception of a few months during the worst part of our relationship, we always got along because our personalities complimented each other so well.
Michael has not visited with our daughter more than a handful of times over the years and has firmly insisted that his hatred for me is to blame. The guilt that has arisen from this situation has been an anchor I carried throughout my daughter’s life. She will be twenty-one in January. It is important for you to know a little of the back story of the relationship before you read through the steps. Allow me to briefly explain what happened to harden his and his family’s heart toward me. This is extremely personal, but I am putting it out there anyway, in hopes that it will help others who might read this.
**This situation was worked through using the Formula of Compassion last year before I started using a laptop to type them. I have copied this from the journal entry and edited it for publication. Some of the names have been changed for privacy reasons. A second entry was made recently due to lingering painful resentments and recurring dreams. That entry will be shared next.
***I am not a licensed medical or psychological professional. The views expressed on this website are that of my own based on my personal experiences. If you are having a medical or psychological emergency, please seek professional help immediately by dialing 911.
June 24, 2018
I remember looking out my bedroom window with excitement to see little Marisa outside popping tar bubbles in the road. I would always run out there and pop them with her. We must have been around five years old when we met and became friends. Sometime after moving two doors down from her and her family, I was told that my mother, Marion, died and that I was adopted.
This news must have devastated me, but I don’t remember the reaction. I recall where I was when I was told but can’t remember many other details. I remember my adopted mom and me being alone in what was called 'the sewing room' while I was being told. The reason this event was not a family conversation eludes me. I can’t seem to remember being upset or crying at all. I guess I blocked it out. I look back on this event now and think that I stuffed the pain deep down into my subconscious.
My name is Kerry Eppler and these are my true tales. Relax. Enjoy. Be inspired.