The Secrets Hidden in Choice

I did not want to be born. I did not want to leave that divine place of unspeakable love where I lived. I knew that my life on earth would be full of challenges; unrelenting sadness, feelings of worthlessness, depression, and fear. Coming into this world felt like being sentenced to life in a straitjacket.
However, I was lovingly encouraged by souls wiser than I to take the opportunity, since the energy on earth was in perfect alignment with the plan I had chosen, and the timing wouldn’t be right again for ages to come. It was that thought alone, that I would have to face my misery sooner or later, that convinced me to take the plunge, to get it over with so I could move on.
And so, I was born. But I made conditions about my decision. I might have to do it, but I didn’t have to like it. I brought a king-sized heap of resentment with me which, I discovered later, was a major element in my set of challenges.
Three months into my physical life, I changed my mind. I felt overwhelmed by the environment I had entered. Mind you, it was a steady, conservative middle-class life I came into, not one of poverty or physical hardship.
The key was my mother, a perfectionist and a master manipulator who would do anything to get what she wanted. And what she wanted was my father. I was born three months “prematurely” at a time when getting pregnant out of wedlock was almost a crime; certainly, shameful and scandalous.
But that wasn’t the issue for me. The issue was the way I was treated. Instead of the affection I craved, I got boot camp and just enough attention to take care of my physical needs. It was the popular child-rearing philosophy of the day, and my mother, the perfectionist, followed it religiously.
At that time, 1930s, babies were viewed as blank slates, little machines. Mothers were encouraged to program their babies’ behavior through “scientific” methods such as strict feeding and sleeping schedules and minimum handling so as not to spoil the child.
After three months of this regimentation, I said, “No,” and stopped eating. My parents and doctors were completely puzzled by my behavior, and poked, prodded, and tested me to try to find out what was wrong. I was eventually diagnosed with pernicious anemia and bronchial pneumonia. I was near death. “Almost there!” I thought, triumphantly.
But then fate (my life purpose?) intervened. The love of my guardian angels and my parents (yes, they loved me but showed little of it) convinced me to stay. Still resentful, sad, and feeling burdened by the emotional and physical abuse that went along with my upbringing, I relented.
And so, I grew up. On the surface, my life looked happy, but underneath I felt frustrated, discontented, and resentful. My optimism, sense of humor, inquiring mind, and social life brought me friends, dates, and opportunities to express my creativity as long as I didn’t go outside the social boundaries of the time.
For example, as a 9-year-old, I wanted a business of my own, so I tried drawing pictures and selling them to family members for a penny apiece, but couldn’t figure out how to get to a broader market. I had a lemonade stand outside our house where there was almost no walking traffic, and I couldn’t understand why I wasn’t given permission to raise chinchillas and sell them for their pelts (Ack! I couldn’t do that now). Girls were not taken seriously in the 1940s, and I didn’t get support for my ventures.
At a time when most girls wanted to get married right after high school, I didn’t want to get married at all. Plus, I was fascinated by psychic awareness but couldn’t get much information about it. At that time, psychic phenomena were taboo. I had no sense of direction for my life, since “normal” pursuits for girls were not my cup of tea.
I was discouraged from pursuing my dreams and encouraged to conform to social norms. These issues and more led to anxiety attacks and low-level, nagging depression in my early 20s. No one knew what anxiety attacks were back then, and depression was considered a weakness. I went into psychotherapy for a year, which eliminated the anxiety attacks, but the depression remained together with a global fear that persisted for decades.
In spite of my inner turmoil, I did well in college and in the mindless jobs I had after that, and there were happy times when my nagging depression and fear were temporarily forgotten. I did get married, I had a baby, got divorced, and became a single mother when divorcees and single mothers were marginalized in polite society. But that didn’t bother me; I was free. Even so, life was a struggle. I thought of myself as a victim, and settling for second best was the most I could hope for.
In my 30s, I began my spiritual search. It started with ten years education and practice in psychic development and leadership training that led to a counseling and teaching practice. Thirty years later, I received a Master’s degree in soul-centered psychology, which enabled me to integrate the two disciplines in my practice. As a result, my clients learned to resolve their emotional issues, as opposed to coping, which enabled them to heal faster than average.
Something else happened during this time, as well. I discovered Chaldean numerology and developed a process by which anyone could discover their life purpose in two hours or less. I can’t adequately describe the feeling that came over me when I saw my life purpose laid out on paper in front of me. Words like amazement, utter relief, an unshakable sense of identity, and self-acceptance come close. It turned my life around. I felt empowered. This was the life I had chosen.
My life purpose profile enabled me to see my gifts and talents clearly. My challenges were clearly indicated, too. No more floundering around trying to figure out what was “wrong” with me; I realized that, since I had chosen challenges, I could resolve them.
I was no longer a victim. My challenges gave me information I could learn from. The experiences I attracted because of them were meant to encourage me to pay attention, like getting stuck in a revolving door until you finally figure out how to stop it, or getting knocked down so many times you finally decide to stand up and stop taking the abuse. I began to understand my current experiences, also clearly laid out in my numerology profile, and understood that I could prepare for the future I saw coming.
The understanding that I had chosen abuse as a wake-up call was a profound healing for me. It didn’t erase the resentment, the sadness and depression, the sense of worthlessness and fear, however.
I had to have help, and I am grateful to all the therapists, counselors, and teachers who helped me lighten the heavy load I carried. I am grateful, also, to those creative healing professionals who have shared their self-healing processes with us. It’s empowering to be able to clear our own negative emotions whenever we feel the need.
My life is happy now. I am still refining my emotional responses, becoming more myself, learning to allow more good in my life. It never stops. There’s always something better ahead. I have learned not to fear my challenges, but to handle them in such a way that I learn something good from them.
There are millions of people who have experienced physical, mental, and spiritual abuse, millions who are still in that place, and all are carrying the weight of their choices.
My message to them is there is hope. There is nothing wrong with you. You are being prodded by your wiser self to wake up, to get off the dime, to make something good of your life. The first step is to choose for good.

© Nancy Fairbrother