**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 while I was being told. 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.
For whatever reason, I felt uncomfortable with this new life-changing information. Knowing how difficult it is today to talk about emotions with my mom, it is likely that even if I tried back then, I was treated in a cruel fashion for expressing anything other than gratitude. It is even more telling when I look back at the way I was told that my adopted parents were getting a divorce.
I was eleven years old and my mom took me along with her friend, Carolyn, to a Mexican restaurant. It’s hard to fathom now, taking me to a public place as if I am some loose cannon employee that is about to be fired from their job and may cause a scene. I remember this clearly. I was on the verge of tears and the waiter came to the table to take our order. Those tears were held back because I was embarrassed for people to see me crying. This event indicates that I was not allowed to express sadness or my mom would become angry or uncomfortable. In turn, I learned that I must suppress all negative emotions.
It was shortly after learning I was adopted that I began to fantasize about the way my mother died. I remember telling Marisa and other neighborhood children that she passed away after jumping through a ring of fire in a circus. I thought this would make them like me more. Another fib I told those who asked about Marion is that she was eaten by a circus lion.
Knowing that I was so young and already feeling so insecure tells me that I took the news that I was adopted very hard. I developed a sense that I was different then everyone else early on and no longer fit society’s standards of a “normal child.” Not only was I the outcast in my own family, I became the neighborhood delinquent. This became my self-fulfilling prophecy.
Living with my adopted mother was never easy. I was constantly reminded that I was a failure in everything I tried. She gave me piano lessons at one point, and I was pretty good. I even faired well in my recitals, but I remember there was much pressure to be perfect. I am certain that many things were said that ripped apart my self-esteem while she was “teaching” me. She was never taught how to encourage a child and was not a good mother. It would seem that the odds were stacked against me from birth. The loss of my parents was just the beginning and all other trauma was piled on to an already shattered foundation. These wounds have largely been suppressed and repressed until now.
I used to stay the night and Marisa’s house from time to time. I enjoyed the closeness her family seemed to have. The vibe was so different than at my own house and I slowly began to feel out of place. I remember my mom remarking about how polite Marisa always was. This made me self-conscious that I was not a good girl. Marisa’s father never cared much for my mother. That is understandable. I was a reflection of my parents; like mother, like daughter. I was damaged.
There came a point when I became quite a bully toward little Marisa. I became very aggressive. Marisa was the youngest out of three children, having two older brothers. While this taught her to become extremely passive, my upbringing taught me to be aggressive. We grew to opposite ends of the spectrum. Oddly, we both became caretakers, putting everyone else’s needs above our own. Though we ended up at roughly the same place, our paths were polar opposites. Her family was and still is very close-knit, loving and kind, while my family dynamic created a lone black sheep. I was the epitome of an Identified Patent.
Then there was the incident on the school bus where I cornered her and pinched her with a hair clip. For some reason I wanted to hurt her. The emotions I was forced to suppress at home began to surface with negative behavior patterns. I did things to her that “normal” children would never do. It seems, now that I am looking back on it with knowledge of the bigger picture, that I was seeing how much she could take before she broke. Subconsciously I was doing these things to her to see if she would abandon me as my mother, Marion did when she died. My fear of abandonment runs deep.
After I became the “mean” kid, her family truly began their disdain for me. I wasn’t allowed to come over and play as often. I used to call her house every day and ask, “Can Marisa play?” More times than not, her dad would say that she couldn’t play today. It became a rare occasion that she would be allowed to play with me. I can see the similarity to the situation I am in with her now. I want so badly for her to come around, but sadly, she will not.
When I lived at Ryan’s house in Fort Worth, just as I was about to move back in with my mom, again, Marisa contacted me for the first time in years. She said she felt guilty for having lost contact with me and that she wanted to come visit. She also invited me to a small gathering at a restaurant where many other of our classmates would be. At the time, the thought was absolutely petrifying.
I had been experiencing heightened sensitivity and was still in a terrifying and confusing stage of my awakening journey. Fear had taken hold of me, and my world was plagued by psychosis because I could not understand the spiritual information that flowed through me. I simply was not able to rekindle our relationship while in that state. I feared that she wouldn’t understand what I was experiencing and would reject me. I certainly did not want to meet her for the first time in five years in a public setting around a group of old classmates that I barely knew.
Fast forward nearly two years to today. I am now feeling like I am emotionally, physically and mentally capable of visiting with her, yet my efforts fall on deaf ears. I just now looked again at the first message she sent me on Facebook, September 4, 2016 @ 4:44pm. Timing seems to be a huge factor. It would be easy for me to assume the worst. I assume that I have said something on Facebook that she didn’t like. She could have seen my YouTube channel and changed her mind. One of my last conversations with her over Facebook consisted of my telling her I attempted suicide in September 2015. Maybe she believes what I feared since I was a child, that I was simply damaged, and she better steer clear.
Part of me is angry, but mostly I am just sad and wising I were better somehow. Why can’t I be good enough to play with my best friend? I feel like the little seven-year-old Kerry all over again, calling little Marisa on the phone and being told she cannot play today; wondering what I must change about myself to make me worthy of such a friend. Maybe if I was a better person, she would not have ignored my message on February 24, 2018 when I asked if she would like to get together for a visit. Not a word.
Now I have ‘Ring of Fire’ by Johnny Cash stuck in my head. (There is much I could say about this, but I will let you draw your own parallels here.)
It is obvious by some of her recent Facebook posts that she is sometimes overwhelmed and depressed about things in her life. She has a busy life, going to school, working full-time, being a mother, stepmother and wife. I can tell she has a hard time watching others who are close to her suffer in any way. Some of her recent posts indicate there may be a point in her own life where she will seek out spiritual answers for things that no one in her immediate circle of friends or family will be able to adequately answer.
Step One: What is the lesson I wanted to learn regarding Marisa and our conflict?
(It is helpful when using the Formula to start with steps 3 and 4 in order to find the contract and lesson. Once we see the mirror the other soul is holding for us, we can clear it.)
The lesson I wanted to learn is that I, alone, deserve to exist. I don’t need the approval of others in order to feel good about myself.
Step Two: What is the contract I made with Marisa and my both my biological and adopted mother and our conflict?
(I decided to add both of my mothers to the situation because they played such a pivotal role in my lack of self-love)
This situation was set in motion from the very beginning. I could say that it was being set up from the time I was born and lost my mother. My whole life has been preparing me for this lesson. Marion died, in part, to leave a hole inside me that I would seek many ways to fill. Feeling like she was missing from my life left me hollow at my core. The contract with Marion is that she would “abandon” me to teach me that what I thought I was missing was within me all along.
Martha (my aunt who adopted me) would agree to further instill this sense of emptiness by showing me that I must suppress my emotions, gaslighting me by reacting with anger anytime my emotions made her uncomfortable. She would essentially increase the fear that I was damaged, unlovable and unworthy.
Marisa’s contract is that she would be the passive reflection of dysfunction. She would allow me to be abusive to her, further imprinting me with the notion that I was indeed a “bad seed.” She agreed to hold the mirror for me that would allow me to transform from an outcast in society to a powerful creator of my own destiny. (Marisa’s contract also involved sexual content that I didn’t go into here.)
Step Three: What are the roles that Marisa, Marion, and Martha (the 3 M’s) and I played in order to teach me the lesson I wanted to learn?
I played the role of a black sheep orphan who can’t seem to fit in with societal standards. Someone who lashes out in anger at the unfairness of life. Aggressive and insecure to the extreme. Caretakes others as a way to distract from her own pain and issues.
Martha played the role of the angry, bitter old aunt who adopted me and is angry at the world for all the injustice that has been done to her. She lashes out in anger at every opportunity, unable to look honestly at her own reflection and take responsibility for her part in her failures.
Marion played the role of my biological mother who passed away when I was three weeks old, instilling me with a major fear of abandonment. Her death also left me with a sense of unbalanced divine femininity and the inability to build healthy relationships with women. She was often times my scapegoat.
Marisa played the role of the “holier than thou” good girl, adored by everyone she meets. Never losing her cool or lashing out in anger, she would become the unobtainable friend. Passive to the extreme, she caretakes others putting everyone else’s happiness before her own.
Step Four: What is the aspect Marisa, Marion and Martha reflect back to me by playing the roles I asked them to play?
(I did not write out the aspect for Marion or Martha for some reason.) (In order to see the mirror, I asked my guides to assist me and imagined I was on a stage acting out the scenes in a play. I closed my eyes and went with whatever images appeared in my mind’s eye. This became very emotional for me)
Marisa is standing on a stage in her ballet costume. She’s as cute as can be with a big grin on her face. Her little pink outfit is shining and sparkling. Her family is in the audience watching her as I observe the whole scene from above. I am on the stage with her now, but my costume doesn’t shine as bright. There is only my mom watching me in the audience and I am holding my head down feeling ashamed like I don’t deserve to be there.
During the actual ballet recital, when Marisa and I were kids, I can’t remember who exactly was in the audience. Me and Marisa would touch hands each time we passed each other, even though we knew we might get in trouble. We didn’t care though. I sense that her parents hated the thought of their child associating with me because my parents smoked cigarettes and came from a different cultural background.
My initial impression seeing them watching her is that they loved and cherished Marisa more than my family loved and cherished me. Now I am alone on stage with my fear and shame. My stomach is clenched, and tears are welling up. Everyone is gawking at how tall and skinny I am. They are thinking about how ugly I am and pointing their fingers at me. The spotlight is on me and my flaws are exposed for all the world to see.
Marisa is there now holding my hand. With her other hand she is holding a mirror to show me that my outfit is sparkling just as much as hers is. She is telling me that they are not pointing at me because of my flaws but because I am beautiful. There’s no need to feel jealous of her shiny sequins. I wasn’t able to see the reflection correctly because I was holding my head down in shame, looking at what I thought were dull sequins. The light was playing tricks on me.
Step Five: What is the gift Marisa, Marion and Martha give me by playing their roles?
The gift is me being able to see in myself what I have been searching outwardly for all these years. My sequins shine brightly, all I needed was to change my perspective.
Marisa has experienced the opposite end of this spectrum. By being the youngest in the family, she was instilled with passiveness and disregard for her own needs. She feels that if she doesn’t caretake for her close-knit family, that maybe things will fall apart, and it will be her fault. She was raised Catholic, so I know she has been indoctrinated into a sleeping society. Ironically, they come to her with their prescriptions to be filled, which in turn keeps them sleeping sick.
All three of them (Marisa, Marion and Martha) held up mirrors for me long enough to remind me of the beauty I thought was lost. Their roles were not easy. Martha still feels a horrible void in her life to this day. She often has stated that she wished she had been born Jewish because then God would love her more. What love her soul must truly have for me to be willing to experience a life filled with so much pain. I can’t thank her enough for that!
Marion has been with me the whole time, waiting for me to notice. What a thing to do for love!
Step Six: Can I accept the roles that Marisa, Marion and Martha played in order to act out their part in the lesson?
Step Seven: Can I allow myself to let go of anger towards them?
Yes. I sit here in total gratitude for them and myself for the lesson that has been revealed. I deserve a much-needed pat on the back for coming this far. Success isn’t measured by the size of your bank account; it is measured by the unlimited abundance of love and compassion we carry in our hearts.
Step Eight: Can I release them (and myself) from blame?
Step Nine: Can I be kind to them?
Each will get a letter to their soul. For me, I will slow down and appreciate the sound of the wind more, listen to the birds chirp more, stop and smell the roses more, and be more grateful for the time I have here.
My name is Kerry Eppler and these are my true tales. Relax. Enjoy. Be inspired.