See Yourself Through the Eyes of... [Part 2]

 

Recently, I alluded to a process that would enable you to see yourself through your own subconscious and experience “who you are,” just as you can by interacting with a horse.

It’s called Invision®, and it facilitated a major breakthrough in my life.

Here is my story.

It starts when I met a version of me who abruptly entered my life on March 11, 1984, when I was 14. It was the day I broke, literally fractured into pieces, and even my clouded and muted awareness of it was terrifying.

Spending time with horses was the only thing that soothed me. I found their strength and physical size to be comforting.

Being creatures that are always aware of what’s happening in the moment, horses taught me how to be present and how to accept without judgment. They also modeled compassion, though it took decades for me to understand it.

I learned how to sit with my own inner turmoil, but it wasn’t until nearly thirty years later that I found the Invision Process® and experienced this:

[expanded journal entry from sometime in 2013]

A part of me has been camped out since 1984, waiting... refusing to move, indignant and defiant. The rest of me carried on with life and has been defending the Defiant One this whole time, though I would never had admitted it. I couldn't admit it because I was ashamed, and I defended Her because she was more powerful than me.

The truth? She scared me.

I defended her story, justified her need to 'be left alone,' and had people do things for her, so she could hold vigil and I could function in life and appear somewhat normal. I thought it might also earn her approval, a nonexistent kindness I desperately wanted to see.

Falling back through time, the past was becoming present.

“She might even decide she LIKES me if I do a good enough job of watching out for her…” I could see now it was an approach that had failed. Miserably.  

She is still here and refers to me as “Bitch,” or “Bitch-Bastard” if I REALLY make her mad. So I tiptoe around, trying not to provoke a searing outburst of anger.

She is the creative one, the one who is full of new ideas, the one who believes she is capable of accomplishing anything, but refuses to take action until a most obvious mistake is fixed: dads don't die when they have young daughters.

She holds most of my power – all of it, really – and when I see her, I become unworthy. She is always wielding a hatchet, ready to hack at anyone stupid enough to get near her. But the stupid one is always me – the me who tries so hard to win her favor, by lying for her, and defending apathy as independence and non-action as “I’m thinking” to the outside world.

I usually just end up losing both of my feet to the hatchet.

But something has changed; I have a new skill. Now, I can visit her in a landscape and put feet-saving distance between us. For the first time in 30 years, I stand above her on a ledge and observe, and feel the relief that she can't reach, nor see me.

The view erases time.

When she thinks she's alone, her appearance changes. Instead of looking so tough, she becomes a quiet, underweight teenager, who is carefully brushing her hair and arranging her things. I notice that everything has to be just so in her little world beneath my ledge, and she suddenly seems fragile.

Her tears are now mine.

For the very first time, I am seeing my fractured selves in full view – the self I had lost and the self that had carried on – and the new awareness fills anxiety made holes, with life-giving compassion.

And relief.

I look around my little ledge and see another tool – an oversized sledgehammer – and climb down to offer a trade. She eyes me suspiciously. No one has ever walked into her space before, and it takes her off guard. Curiosity gets the best of her wariness.

I instinctively use the hatchet to slice through the thick cords that bind her to the past, and gesture for her to pick up the sledgehammer. She stares at the cement-like ground, hardened from decades of loyal pacing, but takes her first tentative swing.

It opens up a crack in the earth and allows a sliver of white light to shine through. A silent bond is born, as we both intuitively know that we need each other to navigate this new unknown.

Together we destroy the landscape of grief, gaining confidence with each blow, but where do we go from here? Neither of us know, as we are blinded by this light. But hand-in-hand, we help each other take each next step. Together, we are free...

...and I am whole once more.

 

Jeanne is Master Intuitive Coach of The Invision Process®, a transformative coaching tool developed by best-selling author and intuitive Colette Baron-Reid. By inviting the mind to view emotion as metaphorical landscapes, we can reach deep into the subconscious and experience healing at a level that traditional modalities cannot.

 
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