I am lying on an orange, inflatable life-raft, floating in the middle of the ocean. It is dark, and the night sky is dappled with stars. I feel as though I can barely stay afloat - the water seems to be wanting to drag me under.
I am not sure why, but I know that I am not meant to drown; my reason for being on this planet is to do significant work, and I don't feel that I have done that - YET. I believe that I have a calling; a purpose. I am meant for so much more. I can’t die, not here, not yet.
As the waves lap against the rubber of the raft, I faintly hear voices drifting on the breeze. It sounds as though they are crying out, “Help me!”
I peer out into the twilight, squinting to get better focus in the moonlight. I can make out the silhouettes of people, bobbing up and down in the water. Their voices have become much more audible now, and I am certain they are calling out for help. They are drowning, struggling to keep their heads above the murky water.
A sense of helplessness grips me, and I instinctively jump from the safety of my raft - the raft that has got me nowhere, yet it has kept me afloat.
I need to get to them, I need to help them! I know this is my purpose in this life is; to help others.
I am swimming against the current to the person closest to me. They are struggling, and crying, and so filled with panic. I try to calm them down, but they just keep fighting me. They are pulling me down under the water in an attempt to elevate themselves above it. Now, it is me who is struggling to keep my head above the water!
Knowing that if I stay here, trying to help this person who just wants to save themselves, I am going to be the one to drown; “I am sorry,” I whisper, “I can't help you right now. You need more than I can offer at this time.”
To say those words breaks my heart, but I can see that this person is in too deep. I apologise again, and I swim as hard as I can to the next victim.
The guilt and responsibility I feel for not being able to rescue that poor person weighs me down, and makes it so much harder to swim. I feel so heavy, and tired. I recruit all my strength, and swim anyway.
I approach the next victim; they are splashing their way toward me - gasping for air. I am overcome by the weight of their struggle and am forced under, yet again, as they try to save themselves.
“I need to find a better way”, I thought to myself as I create distance between me and the struggling soul before me. There has got to be a better way to save us all!
As I turn around in the cold water, my eyes fall upon what looks like a cliff, off in the distance. I decide to swim toward it; my heart said that when I reach the top of the cliff and am no longer drowning myself, I may see a better way. A way to help others, as well as myself.
The swim to the shore is not easy. I am contending with other victims trying to grab onto me in their attempts to save themselves. Jelly fish that sting and sharks that just want a piece of me are coming at me from every side. And the current is so strong, trying to draw me back out to the sea of hopelessness - of desperation and despair.
I am not going back. I am going to make it. I am fighting the hardest fight for my life, trying to get to that shore line; I WILL NOT FAIL.
My body is aching and my mind is exhausted by the time I feel the sand underfoot. I feel relief, however, I know my journey to salvation has only just begun. This was literally, the first step.
I muster what little strength I have left, and begin pulling myself up the cliff face. Again, it isn't easy; not only is my journey taking its toll on me emotionally and physically, I feel as though my spirituality is dying, too. Hearing the panick-stricken cries for help behind me breaks my heart.
In the same token, it’s propelling me forward; I need to reach the summit so that I can have a clearer vision of the task ahead of me. I keep pushing through.
And as my hand reaches over the top of the cliff, there is a small hand, reaching down to me, in a gesture of help.
I can't see the figure attached to the hand, yet I grasp it, and allow it to help me climb over the edge, to the safety of the cliff top.
As the relief of making it to the top abates, I can finally see who the helping hand belongs to; it was me, at age 9.
I am looking into the eyes of the younger me; innocent, hurt, betrayed, pained, violated, confused, uncertain - how could one little person hold so much pain in their eyes?
My younger self starts speaking to me, and she is reminding me of why there was so much heartache behind the blue windows to our soul: Prolonged and sustained sexual abuse. Parental Divorce. Parental mental health issues. Lack of validation. Feelings of never being good enough - good enough to be heard, believed, or protected. A poor choice of marriage partner, a matrimonial life full of emotional and physical abuse, followed by bankruptcy, single motherhood, and divorce. Financial ruin and destitution. Judgement. R**e. Self hate. Loss and grief - unimaginable loss and grief. Pain. Major mistakes. A diagnosis of Bipolar Disorder and Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. More loss and grief. Betrayal. Desertion.
It is like my entire life was flashing before me.
Like a gust of wind, it all hits me, and threatens to knock me off my feet.
I am overwhelmed. I feel as though I was back in the ocean, struggling to get air - just like the others I could still hear, crying, out in the distance.
Then a sense of calm washes over me, and a realisation.
I look to my younger self, and feel so much compassion in my heart. I realise that in that moment, I need to be the adult that I had needed when I was that 9 year old girl.
I lovingly tell 9-year-old me that she will grow up to be so strong, so powerful, and so determined, and she will cease to care about what others thought of her - they don't know of her struggles, and she will know that they in fact have their own burdens to bear.
I explain that she will overcome so much adversity, and it will be very difficult at times - there will be times where she will want to break, quit, or give up - but she won't. She is strong, and she knows deep in her soul that she was put on this earth for a purpose, and she will fulfil that purpose, but only if she believes in herself.
Gently, I tell her that she is not responsible for all the wrong that has befallen her. She is, however, responsible for how she chooses to deal with it. She is not responsible for what has happened to her, but it IS her responsibile for deciding how she will live her life as a result of those experiences.
I watch as her face begins to brighten - the face of the younger me; my face. I watch as the fog lifts from behind my 9-year-old eyes, and for the first time, I see light.
The younger me hands me a small package, hugs me tightly, and then disappears. Just like that, she is gone, and I am all alone on the cliff edge - my only companion is the cries of the lost ones, down in the waters below.
I open my hand to look at the package I had been given. It is a single candle, and a box of matches. Although I think it an odd gift, I decide to strike the match and light the candle.
Frustratingly, the candle refuses to light. When the wick finally takes, a small flame flickers in the black of the night. Suddenly, a gust of wind snuffs out the flame and I am again plunged into darkness.
Determined, I remove another match from the box, and strike it against the side, igniting the red potassium chlorate. I take the flame, once again, to the wick of the candle, reigniting it. This time, the candle burns brightly.
So bright, in fact, it lights up the sky around me and I can see everything. There is now so much clarity.
I feel light in every way - light as a feather, for the weight that had been bearing down upon me has been lifted. And a light as bright as the sun, for I finally know who I am, but most importantly, who I am NOT.
I am NOT the result of bad experiences. I am NOT insignificant and worthless. I was NOT going to be a victim. I was NOT that scared little girl any more.
My silent reverie is broken by the sound of rocks falling to the side of me. I take the bright light of my candle to the edge of the cliff. I am astounded - in the illumination brought about by my candle, I can see some of the other victims climbing the cliff!
My light has made it so much easier for the others to see the way out of the water, and they were now saving themselves!
I did not want to interfere in their journey; I instead choose to merely introduce the other survivors to their younger selves, and I watch as the connections and revelations appear. I know this part of their journey is for them, and only them.
They just need the light to see what is possible, and for me to reintroduce them to who they were, who they are now, and who they truly want to be in the future.
More and more people see the light I am holding, and more and more begin swimming and climbing toward it. I feel as though I am a light house; standing tall on the edge of a cliff, shining my light out for all to see; showing them the path, and how to safely navigate it. I know I can not swim out to save them, they have to do the work themselves to get the benefits - it is as simple as that.
By shining my light so brightly, I illuminate the path for others to find their safety, their purpose, and their sense of self.
I help you to become the lighthouse.
