Why leave out the happy ending?

Photo by OSPAN ALI on Unsplash

The caterpillar can’t imagine being a butterfly.

I woke up this morning to a wonderful and long comment.

I was called out on a story, with so much pain and no real happy ending. My mind was all over the place, I’ve written part of that journey below.

I always tell my clients to create a happy ending in their lives, writing historically it’s different sat in that energy the of the past. The death was the close of that chapter of my life. Finished the story around that point.

The caterpillar can’t see the future butterfly.

I have had the butterfly add the happy ending, or at least the next step.

I have chatted via comments with this person, always with a positive tone, maybe I gave the impression that all my stuff is positive. I have a number of painful parts of my journey pieces. Maybe I need to have warnings on them.

This change of energy may be shocking to some.

I forgive my stepfather and here’s why.

The comment had suggested the piece was well written, but traumatising and long, without any joyous outcome other than forgiveness.

My mind jumps for joy at the engagement of her emotion.

I always love her comments deep, meaningful, caring and compassionate. Her search for the ‘why’, is food for the soul.

I loved the compliment about my writing.

I’m humbled given her ability.

Then I felt bad that I had indirectly hurt somebody.

I never want to hurt anybody, indirectly is my greatest fear. The number of times I have felt something is going really well only for something I have done or said that could easily have been dealt with at the time, to become bigger. A one-off negative thought or act becomes the invitation to search for evidence I’m a bad person. Then the rug is pulled from under me.

Or the person feels the investment is worth it, even with the discomfort.

I have great wisdom wrapped in pain, the question is, do I unwrap the pain?

I’m not comparing myself to Jesus, apart to say his crown was one of thorns.

Then I felt defensive.

My mind looks for reasons to be worthy, to qualify me to help, my intent to help wasn’t enough where I came from. Before I wrote carefree spiritual articles I felt I needed to show I had earned the right.

I was twenty-five and volunteered in a mental health day centre moved by my stepdad's plight.

My first interaction was with a young woman my age, she had her game plan she needed me to fit in with her world, she challenged me “What do you know? what have you been through?”

I felt a rage inside me, trapped by a professionalism I didn’t fully understand, apart from ‘be nice’ and ‘don’t upset people’. I replied “Enough”.

I could see she was unsure what to make of me, I was unsure what to make of me or her. She decided she needed to press my button, she was walking downstairs as I was going up.

She screamed loudly at me “You’ll hate me too when you find out I threw my baby out of the bedroom window. What do you care?”

I’ve always been a gambler and I decided to gamble.

“I don’t, if you’re going to talk to me like that, I don’t care. If you want to talk, talk.”

She looked shocked, I wasn’t playing the professional where I would say one thing then feel another, I didn’t have the training. We stood there for the longest moment neither of us spoke. I never reassured or condemned, tumbleweed rolling past, then I took charge.

“Excuse me I need to go upstairs!” I walked past out of the painful silence without another word being exchanged.

I sat in the lounge waiting for a staff member to come in and tell me I was not cut out for the job.

Twenty minutes later she came upstairs and sat with me. I asked if she was okay, and she poured out lots of fears and thanked me for listening. We chatted on a number of occasions, but we never talked about the baby, I never asked the staff if it was real, it was earlier to see the person.

It wasn’t just the comment that triggered this memory, last night we went to a remembrance event where I met somebody I worked with at the centre. I worked my way up to become manager of the centre, trained a generation of staff, and wrote a volunteer package that is still used decades later.

All through a desire to help the man in the painful eight-minute article. I could have added, and maybe still will, the last paragraph of the article. Without the challenge, I wouldn’t have remembered the link. I truly thank you.

I joked to a friend on a private chat yesterday, that my story on magic creatures would have had me chased home in fear for my safety when I was a kid.

Strangely the story you commented on was what I believe is the source of the strength to be able to write about unicorns and mermaids.

Then I felt I needed to explain my choice.

The Pain and Shame I Feel from Sexual and Emotional Abuse

During my work with survivors of childhood abuse, it was important to break the isolation. Chantal Christie Weiss’s pieces like the one above do that.

Then I felt selfish and guilty for writing a personal cleansing article with no thought or concern for how it would affect others.

Without taking this guilty pleasure I’m trapped by other people’s limits or fears. I accept my life can be too much for some.

Do I shrink to what the most limited mind or sensitive mind can deal with?

Or do I accept that there are very few people who will look at the whole of me and want to spend lots of time with me?

That’s why I love and appreciate the ones that do.

Sometimes it comes down to being real or being liked, I like my realness so I’m guaranteed one like.

The comment was a gift from a beautiful soul, she has made me think. An extra minute for a clearer happy ending is a really good Idea.

Questions bring clarity and I love clarity, thank you.

Thanks for reading.