Finding My Way Back Home
I recently wrote “Are You Afraid Of Commitment Or Of Making The Wrong Choice?”.
Afraid Of Commitment Or Of Making The Wrong Choice?
I may not have a fear of commitment, after all.
As I mention in the article, I’m a Gemini which means I always hold two opposing, yet equally valid points of view. And I have a massive fear of commitment.
This story also explores what writing full-time on Medium means to me. But as much as the first story was written by a wholesome mind, this one was authored by a messed-up heart. Not to worry: there are NO similarities between the two stories.
I was born to write and always have. I’ve written in three languages and my work was published in each. I’m a journalist by profession. I’ve written all my life. I’ve authored several books. My first story was published by nationwide magazines when I was 12. I’m the person to whom writing full-time is nothing new. What happened? Why did I walk away and why I’m starting from scratch, now?
Well, several life-altering events affected me, deeply. I survived. Apparently, less intact than I thought. They stripped me of large parts of my identity and definitely, of most of my self-confidence as a person and a writer and yes, they changed my interests and direction in life.
In 2007 I lost my Mom who was everything to me. All that’s best about me I owe to Her. She was an extra-ordinary Person, my Best Friend, my Soulmate, my Partner in crime, my catalyst, my moral compass, my inspiration, my motivation, my fervent Fan, in some ways, my Child. Losing Her changed me forever. A lot of whom I used to be died with Her. I never knew anyone better, wiser, more caring, more creative, more generous or more loving than my Mom. Chances are, I never will. I always loved Her and always will.
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Just one year later, I — trim, fit and an example of good health — “exploded”! (If you don’t think that a person can “explode”, you didn’t have a ruptured appendix. I did.)
I spent a month in a hospital. I had two major operations. (Not to mention, three other horrifying experiences I still can’t get over.) The second operation — against my loud protests! — was performed on my Mom’s birthday. (I was sure that She’ll come and take me to be with Her; it came close.) I actually died in the aftermath of the second operation. It took a lot just to survive. No one — including my doctor — expected that I will. (OK, one person never doubted me, but that’s an entirely different story.)
Before I “exploded”, I was 100%: vibrant, happy-go-lucky, optimistic, enthusiastic, funny and yes, good-looking. I left the hospital a different person. Broken body, broken spirit, and — wait for it! — totally bald! (I had long hair all my life, but the many MRIs left me hairless.)
The recovery was a nightmare in its own right. For someone always active, energetic, independent, very social and quick-witted to suddenly become fully disabled, totally dependent, home-bound, insecure and terrified of people was a shock.
For the sake of sustaining momentum of the story, I’m mentioning just two of the series of the hurricanes that totally wiped me out.
The first disaster took with it a huge part of my identity. I missed it. I searched for it. In the process I explored personal development, psychology, hypnosis and a lot more. I ended up as an effective personal development coach.
The second disaster compelled me to become a health coach. Conventional medicine saved my life and left me totally disabled. It took a lot of study, commitment, persistence and grit to get my former functionality back.
(I’m a solid 75% of the healthy person I once was. No, I’m no longer bald. Still, I have to remember to take care of my post-explosion issues, every day. Being a Gemini is a challenge, but being forced to consider my own digestive system a separate entity daily is a drag. Jokes aside, I’m kinda back to normal, just not my original self.)
“We only become what we are by the radical and deep-seated refusal of that which others have made of us.” Jean-Paul Sartre
No need to ask, I am a fantastic health coach helping people stay healthy and / or find their way back to good health. I learned the hard way, now I teach what I learnt.
I survived. I developed two unplanned careers. (It would have been a shame and a waste not to teach what I learnt!) I’ve written four books in the process. (Three are currently available; the fourth is being rewritten.) None of it made me happy. None of it helped me return to my former self. None of it set me free. None of it restored my joie de vivre.
The first cataclysm took my soul. The second, took my body. My ego was shattered. All I was left with was a broken spirit and remnants of a mind and heart.
Making a commitment to full-time writing AGAIN, brings me relief and makes me feel… complete. As you see, I’m scrambling for words. What’s the word to express what I’m feeling? HOMECOMING?!
Who knew? I sure didn’t. Homecoming means going back to either a place or the people we love. I can’t go home to either the place or the people. They aren’t here anymore. Perhaps to me getting back to writing full-time FEELS like homecoming? Or perhaps the ultimate homecoming is the return to being yourself?
Let’s not dwell on it: it’s wonderful to be home, again!
“A person often meets his destiny on the road he took to avoid it.” Jean de La Fontaine
If you like her work, get in touch! If you happen to live in Greater Los Angeles area, come to one of her events and meet her in person!