My Mother's Heart

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My Mother's Heart A mother's account of her journey through limitations out into the Light

Week 10 Day 2'Giving up' is as individual as we are. In my professional life, people initially came to see me at their w...
06/11/2024

Week 10 Day 2
'Giving up' is as individual as we are. In my professional life, people initially came to see me at their wit's end. Someone likely had said 'go and see Heather', often weeks or decades before (sorry to those who left it too late - I am still available online). What they heard was their choice, what they did next, even more so.

What did 'giving up' look like to me? Not sure, as I have not yet. No limitations, having discovered a new system of regenerating living beings, I intend she begun meaningfully speaking before I leave the planet. Goal, we will see - I work by unlocking blockages, and she has all the bits, like the young lad, if you read it, with the broken back choosing to straighten his leg out, I provide options, and like Kathryn peeing once by herself in.the loo only the one time, that is enough.

After all, when pushed whilst in my sister's care whilst I was hospitalised over thirty years ago, she popped out "where's Heather?' What else is inside? I want to know.

The first page in my 2005 manual asks 'who owns your thinking?' How do we think what we do, by choosing what reality to live in? It is all choice, yet so many must have backing, social validation before they commit to any course of action. Change is only scary when we accept feeling stuck.

I backed myself, somehow knowing that only I wore the consequences. Only I knew me also, thus I asked for information, I knew it then had to go through filters. Likely those independent seemingly belligerence ones, counter to orthodox acceptance as I ran my own race.

The core issue is that wanting change requires change. Being stuck in what I call the middle circle - personality cage, causes the wars, division, right and wrong polarization.

What next is who/what is a person, and why even are they here? I go with biology with its own rules, and explain about women having seven year cycles, men eight. This makes it easier to understand 'hormones', as how we feel dictates what they do.

How we feel changes this. Who knows what frustrations Kathryn's no voice had stirred up. When I had to fight for Kathryn's rights to not have to go through being a woman, as a baby emotionally, mentally, in menstruation, I was ignored.

For her being alive was hard enough, she was already water defensive, hated being wet. She had heroically withheld poo, could control her pupil dilation, heaven knows what else, so how would she be, feeling trickling down there and not being in control? Maybe monthly drenching herself and how much harder would this be for her carers?

When this protracted debate, fought against for by those academics who were being woke before most of us knew that if we thought something, it was (she may magically get better, then sue the NZ government for sterilizing her, and she wanted a baby).

It cost us largely. A ll those in the Court in Chch were women, who knew of this cyclic life interruption, it was an integral part of our lives. Add to this, the feelings she would likely act out, let alone sensations, possibly painful, with no way of communicating in either direction, but more with more unwanted 'behaviour', I felt that this was an unacceptable additional handicap she did not need.

Some ask the expected mental age, but what about her emotional age? Her accumulated wisdom, having observed life, watching the interplay of others intersecting what she wants, with her attempting to make sense of, always locked in, such trust must be there.

I did not capitulate. The case dragged on. Judge ordered I go off to explore where Kathryn may be placed if Patricia could no longer cope. Soul destroying seeing the cast away people I had seen in the psychopedic institution decades before be moved about daily, no individualized care, like walking, or wheeled pot plants, to be moved about to avoid the sun, day after week after month after year, after decade.

Is this living? Who stands up for us? Giving up is still no option. I have a 'pass out', for now. I will not allow the state to treat her as less than. The group soulless non acknowledgement is coming after all of us, should we have little or no 'currency', as she has. Who stands up for us, for you, if you do not for others now?

Is it up to me? Choices. Driven. Still. Thankfully, I have other projects to distract me. At no stage has Kathryn Skye given up. She could not give up, relentless life is, she is still here. I must trust she has her own team on other dimensions to ensure she is helping those she came in to.

Week 9 Day 7Looking for themes - in search of feelings to be found in this book (assignment for this week), I am stuck. ...
04/11/2024

Week 9 Day 7
Looking for themes - in search of feelings to be found in this book (assignment for this week), I am stuck. Emotions/ feelings? This self reflection is still on themes, as the key to unlock the point of even writing - how/,what defined me. I choose through my mother's eyes. Seeing these now as strengths, not weaknesses, as I couldn't, and can't not be that one.
1 - Belligerence.
That possibly describes how others may have seen me. I would have said it was me going my own way, doing my own thing. Not asking what others thought, but just went off and. . whatever.

Thus, me reflecting on what has come up for me in this time, initially I had to get the Skye years out of me, etherically bound up/constipated, coming out in bullets, and gradually others came along, as a counterpoint diarrhea.

Yesterday marked the birth of my number four baby, and the inevitability of leaving my two middle children to their fate, one with the state, one with his dad. It could be argued that it did not end well for any of us. Faced with Sophie's choice, I made the best of it. Thankfully I left others' judgments where they belong - with them. I had enough to juggle.

Possibly my clarity of purpose is seen by some as being obsessive, one eyed, or anti social. Knowing who I am was always me, thus my mother's various comments as to my personality.

2 - Not listening to limitations. That one defined my early life, as so much - sitting a certain way, being 'lady like', not allowed because of being a non boy. You name it, others' assessments of appropriateness due to my s*x got in the way. That limitation saw me bundled off to the local G.P. with dad for them to back each other up as to the foolishness of my being a doctor and juggling marriage and children.

Who expected me to do either? I was not planning to. Not 'allowed' to take psychics at high school as 'girls were no good at maths'. Of course I loved this and chemistry when I took them. Fighting against, it may have looked like.

Why the barriers because of others, and what they thought? I suspect looking back, my schooling years got in the way of my learning, constantly being held back, waiting for others to catch up.

3 - Contrariness. Appearing to perversely do the opposite was a theme - if others were, t'was likely boring, pitched to those who were easily pleased, comfy in complacency, no challenge in that, so I found the opposite, and likely all alone, no silly chatter to contend with.

4 - Diligence - if I said I would, I did. Closely allied to what my mother labeled as

5 - Bloodymindedness - 'pig headed' was another label. I would and did, not what others were.

6 - No 'give up' programme installed. Is this coupled with resilience? Knowing I was on the right path, ignoring nay sayers, not asking for validation, doing it because it was right. Whatever the 'it' was, however improbable.

How? I never thought about it, just was, always. Life did not let me down, I 'kept my spiritual nose clean', and easier life followed. Ignoring what was shown me as the next step, the right path, meant trouble. I eventually worked out to be that one who did, regardless. Not lazy, not expecting or wanting easy, I stayed the course.

7 - Leads into independence as I could only be me. Strengths not weaknesses, thus when apparent obstacles appeared, I did not see these as barriers, but tests to conquer.

How others have viewed these snippets is up to them. Self discovery in the ponderings is one aspect, but the question I was really asking past 'what was/is so special about me?' (as my students are often asked this of themselves), but why is this (whatever) not normal? How come others don't?

The ferocious mother? Not really, more one constantly being out of step as the world was not in step with me. Question being how to go forwards due to this? No give up programme, like a train line - only one option, and backwards not even considered.

Forge forwards, as it is the right way, for me. Only way I could/can. Thus, when accidentally pregnant, when I got too ill to do whatever, when Skye was doing 'dying swan' acts (often in ealier years), when there was a battle on for her soul, when life seemed too hard, when various men 'burnt out', when all agencies chose to be 'beige' about what was needed, I carried on.

Being me.
A soul afire

Week 9 Day 6:2Losing after winningFrom her near death/post physical rescue/ life retrieval prognosis of blindness, deafn...
02/11/2024

Week 9 Day 6:2
Losing after winning
From her near death/post physical rescue/ life retrieval prognosis of blindness, deafness, massive epilepsy, massive cerebral palsy, and profound intellectual impairment (but she will not live), to the below engaged, cheeky wee girl, we were on track, not for normal, but happy and healthy.

Until, as well as she had ever been, I took the executive decision and after years of procrastination, got the mmr shot into her. I had waited whilst I thought I had weighed it up enough though no medico (and we interfaced with a lot of them), would converse. I had no idea there were package inserts - had I been offered one, there is no way that this forever life destructive event could have happened.

I eventually decided that as she had so far missed the epilepsy expectation, and as it may come on with febrile convulsions (not knowing that these sovereignty incursions were the major causative factors), I determined that either measles or rubella could damage her further. I, and the kids had had these and mumps and chickenpox as youngsters, and as far as I knew, these were challenges all healthy kids took in their stride.

However, I did not have a healthy kid to jab. At that point, I had not heard a bad word about injuries after the expected, as media coverage of inconvenient truths seems part of their job description. I knew as a family we had had our troubles (my sister's near death, my cousin's actual death), but without joining dots, as silence as to the theory, not truth of that V process, I had not considered the possibility.

Though different with her smaller skull, Skye was relatively perfect finally: she was behaving temporarily as others would expect: she needed us and sought us out, she loved cuddles, tickles, and being with people. She had lost her autistic aloofness, her freaked out inability to adapt to changes, she was actively a person, eye contact always, and seeking out people as all expect youngsters to do.

Post 'v', she gradually shut down, with no one incident, except her fitting. I had half expected these, and at this age. I reasoned having seen her brain scan, I took it to be the increased load on her maturing brain, as I had seen a few very damaged children in my orbit die around this age. It took years for me to work out that this was very likely the before school round of jabs I had never given my kids.

She had had though, one (it only takes one) 3 in 1 and we descended into hell. Those lost years were not recorded. I will include in the final version of this book, or series, what to do when it is your turn to come join me in parental pariahdom, as no one wants to know, tells you it did not happen, and somehow we the deplorably damaged become invisible as we await the next catastrophe.

She had many, seemingly each outgunning the other to win; the screaming returned, as though (she was) possessed, the constant runny poos, the ripping her skin to bits, her inability to sleep, her loss of most of her hair, leaving a good impression of wearing a 'coonskin' hat, and her near dying.

Lost, there in body, missing in spirit, no one home, starting her repetitives inconsolable. We endured. She was imprisoned again. We had no time to grieve, she was such a loss, but we now had someone else. Much like I imagine dementia, but suddenly gone.
I loved her better again, not knowing what had happened I found Buddhist and vibrational helpers for the possession, I became adept at fighting on other levels for her encaptured self, I found remedies, modalities, and learnt to assist her gut, thus her self, back to here.

I had programme - patterning to fall back on, and we did, as a child in a house, such as she was, with two others to feed, school and live with was not possible without extra adults to tone this down, to bring normal to visit with them. I invited some male friends and acquaintances for a regular weeknight meal, so we had the bodies to work her.

She eventually became a jaded version, a semblance of the delightfully present one we had initially fought for, who was brought into life. She was never the same, always a shadow of who she had been.

She was psychiatrically damaged, living in another real to her world, populated with horrors from elsewhere, elusive to reach, to uncouple her from their clutches.

Decades later, I watched the first screening of Vaxxed in Brisbane. I had to walk out. On the screen was what I had lived through, played out in all those other families.

Week 9, Day 6Things I would differently do - on becoming an ex vaxxer. Hindsight, sometimes is an immediate regret. How ...
02/11/2024

Week 9, Day 6
Things I would differently do - on becoming an ex vaxxer. Hindsight, sometimes is an immediate regret. How could I have made maternity easier on me? Not listening to the medical others. I can think of no example where their advice worked out for the best.

I have no idea why there is no accountability, or checking to see if the accepted teachings leading to 'everyone knowing' are valid. Thankfully, overwhelmingly, I followed my own counsel. Having spent my first pregnancy studying all I could on nutrition and how to enhance our lives, growing our own veggies, being an avid vegan, believing I was living the best possible life. It took my weekly traveling up and down from home in Upper Main Arm, Mullumbimby to Brisbane where I was an acupuncture student to realise breastfeeding needed more than good ideals.

Being on the fringe in many ways, I noticed no judgements flying about as I crossed cultural norms. My biochemistry teacher had the fright of her life when she looked inside the cardboard apple box I had on my desk one evening, to find my baby gazing up at her.

In the late 70's, parents were not feared into following dictates, and fortunately, as I would not have bent towards compliance, young though I was. Having researched the impacts healthy eating and livin, and following nature had, injecting anything into my baby was outside the plan, and never considered. Assisted in that no maternal and child nurses saw us and we lived away from.both our families who were unable to medle.

Had I not caught hepatitis, I am sure that first child would have been better served. The gamma globulin administered changed him neurologically, and led him into weird episodes of illness starting with the ear infection, into occasional medical ventures, though never the paternal asthma or eczema I so dreaded.

I was steering a path towards allowing the blueprint to unfold, as seeds grow into veggies, acorns into trees, so I kept out of the way and let it. Undue pressure from the one who became his step-dad, and father of his two half siblings meant that at five and a half years old, my first born had the first of a few jabs of foreign ingredients that created a life time of diversions away from easy for him.

Healthwise, he was fine, but clarity, not so: testing past genius level. Even finding a spare place to sit, often it being on other's laps was his daily struggle. He was unable to stay to task, and it was not until he was eleven that I discovered besidesvall I was attempting to fix with chiropractic, elimination diets, supplements and whatever else I could trial, he also had radical visual distortions. Grateful in retrospect that he came first, I spent vast tracts of time and money attempting to help his socializing and school hassles.

My discoveries for his path out of potential dosing and psych controlling via the educational department showed me where to start for Skye when I attempted to rescue her hopeless, once she was reliably likely to live.

Not made easier by his very belligerent dad who worked against my best efforts. My eldest had a torrid time, as the constant upending his stable normal to visit with his dad, returning home to have to rediscover boundaries and acceptable behaviour.

My life as my second son's mother would have been immeasurably easier had the fear mongering/listening to experts dad had kept out of my way. Each 'required' injection, delivered on my, not the recommended schedule, still had consequences. I did not grasp the full extent of this till watching the banned movie f the same name, a few years ago.

The other parents who also watched the horror of intentional poisoning got a different version. I was already on a path of no sugar, no numbers, clean living, with a plethora of health helpers, not illness managers. I was evidently mitigating what would have happened by my full time interventions, attending various chiropractic, naturopathic, homeopathic, and anything else I could find to undo the weird that happened. A lot. It was not until very much later that I got that what was happening at my place was not how others experienced parenting.

Putting it down to the stress of the first dad interfering with life ease, it took having hindsight much later to see that these were warnings I could have heeded. My maternal line is not amenable to injectable contaminants.

None of my children copped the whooping cough component, as I have written of before, as it did not end well for me. My receiving that at three months of age gave me, and mum from me, whooping cough. Steering clear of trouble was my parenting style, and there was enough going on, managing the men in my life.

No jabs includes no vitamin K at birth. I had no idea they were even doing this, and the jaundice they all had as newborns showed up our inability to process the ingredients never needed, or intended by nature.

Skye was brutally afflicted with each jab, finding remarkably obscure illnesses that in hindsight, would have come as unintended consequences from the various other lifeforms passed on through the needles. Her immune system, like her central nervous system, was in strife on a good day. When challenged with a multiplicity of extras, it collapsed, often bringing me down with her.

Of course, it was not noted by the medicos I attempted to seek help with, after all my efforts had failed us. Later, I often wondered aloud how the average parent managed without the extreme resources I had to call upon, accumulated information garnered as I had a huge investment in keeping everyone away from those who did not know.

Likely the memory of watching my younger sister nearly dying led me away from those trained to administer 'care' without conscience. I had a healthy disregard of those who did not know wellness as the default.

Staying away from all medicos fell in a heap, when baby four, thirty years old today, went to live with his dad, whose handle on nutrition, child care and healthy living was amiss.out of my care, he did not thrive, and needed a lot of rescuing, which he received at any access visit I was allowed, along with real food, that often had him growing a clothes size from the week he was with me.

Unfortunately, when I got him back at twelve, my fear of being a neglectful mother won. One of my high school colleagues got polio in India and was saved by a nurse with a razor and a Bic pen on the hippy trail. He was to be in a state of near death, and when stabilized, in a wheelchair thereafter.

My son bore the brunt of my not researching further, and the two jabs he got at twelve and a half and a year later completely changed the course of his life. Illnesses happened, asthma, hormonal changes - starting to grow breasts and become disordered generally all began with those shots. I learned that no decision made in fear is the right one.

All my professional skills were needed. Maternity gave me a job - to keep my children away from those who did not have to live with the results of their mindless box ticking. We are all different, no one size fitting all.

Week 9, Day 5Mothers. I live in this splatful release,, as I review the photos in piles and in albums, as I own the eigh...
02/11/2024

Week 9, Day 5
Mothers.
I live in this splatful release,, as I review the photos in piles and in albums, as I own the eight years I had before the child who will be thirty tomorrow appeared, splitting my life apart, thinking of mothering and its impacts on women's lives.

Biology impacting on expectations. My own mother's maternity, so keenly yearned for, so perfectly planned, went out the window when she went 'safely' to the hospital in labour to be poked, prodded, drugged, done to all alone, till all those who needed to feel the baby stuck, had dome so. (Being a teaching hospital, this was what they did).

After the 12 hour second stage, someone brought out the same style of forceps I needed for Kathryn, and baby Heather emerged. To be filed elsewhere alone, with 'not to be touched' on the crib, for three days.

When were they planning on reuniting us? What was the plan? Why even? She believing me to be gone, no one having told her baby was dead yet, and began howling, keening her loss.
Not from a great beginning, that broken mother did her best.

Decades later, I stood in line at the post office, to have my toll call to her. "What are you doing a bloody silly thing like that for?" when I shared news of my implending maternity. She had recently accepted after years of being told that I was never going to be a mum, and what a waste, she told me. She warmed to the idea of being a grandma, though separated from us by the Tasman Ocean.

She loved babies and was a good grandma, my oldest son being sent over by himself a few times by himself to enjoy his times with her. Years later, I escaped to her with all my then three kids, intent on leaving my second husband. She, the tight fi**ed one, had seen some bruises on me when staying with us, and had paid for all our fares to spend at least a month with her.

I went back believing so many promises of his changes. Did not happen, it taking me nearly two more years to get him to leave. Programme and severe Skye fuelled chaos reigned, he wanted to be a free womanizer again. He left in the autumn, and I valiantly continued with volunteers, attending my last Institutes visit alone.

I was unable to juggle his expecting me to start work, (instead of still rescuing our daughter to support us), him never taking her for an access visit, and my eventual health collapse. Mum was my sanctuary, I took Skye and I to NZ in the September for two weeks, having decided there was nothing more of me left, and I would give her a dedicated holiday with me, then come back and give her away.

Not sure how I thought that would look like, but that version of me knew I was finished, nothing left to give. We had a glorious time - not even masking, as I saw the sights, Jane driving us to Queenstown to visit one of my acupuncture students, then back to mum via the West Coast, and glaciers on the buses.

I bungeed the Shotover. I changed me's. This radical shift would have not been picked up by others. I would have looked the same, but was not. Kathryn did a momentous shift with me. Invigorated, once I had worked out how to live in the Heather life, we went home, I found a media outlet that would televise the plight - initially the Courier Mail.newspaper, then onto the TV, the Hinch Report picking it up, and we were off to seek help where I had found the Option Institute, and Carl Delacarto programme (written of earler) in USA and in Europe.

Next time I was over seeing mum, she told me of a past flatmate who had rung her, seeing a woman's magazine article and wanting to do donate. Mum did not help her, and said to me "I hope that you don't expect me to give you any money. I am not throwing good money after bad".

I assured her I was not expecting, as I knew her. I looked at her and doubted that when she needed help in her declining years I would remind her of this. Such a tortured soul herself.

She did all she was able to, and having my two sisters with their eventual six daughters, and not being allowed to see them due to her not joining the church they had aligned to, as she was seen as 'someone they used to know' did her no good at all.

Broken mother, broken daughters - they had both escaped her care as mid teens, in one case, and early twenties the other. They found the tribe they needed. I cartied on with that eldest responsible daughter one, regardless. Reminiscent of the days of old, I knew to look after family, and did till her end.

As I had with Kathryn, till again, it was more than one person could. Mum cared enough to arrive unannounced to be with me the last night I had Kathryn, before giving her to the state to raise. My going back to Brisbane to attempt to make it work with my new baby's dad fractured me fully, sending my wonderful older son to be with his dad, for me to be mother of one,

Num had my back as much as she was able. Vale Shona.

Week 9 Day 4:2Heartwarming.Kathryn bestows precious, in a way I have not seen anyone else. When Patricia was moving to t...
01/11/2024

Week 9 Day 4:2
Heartwarming.
Kathryn bestows precious, in a way I have not seen anyone else. When Patricia was moving to the North Island, sometime in 2005/ early 2006, when Duncan and I were living on the West Coast. This was before I went back to Brisbane to rescue my youngest, trapping me there to work to fund us having a trans Tasman marriage, we visited where Kathryn was parked by the government agency.

Stuck in a foster carer's home till Patricia found a suitable rental house that the powers that ruled us vetted as being ok. Seeing my daughter sitting holding hands with another 'hopeless' case, who had also been stuck in.the bottom of the worst class at the special school she was taken to daily, was a big surprise.

She was so touch defensive. I have no idea what happened to that young girl, but the two of them had shared history, and I grieve for all who have been cast adrift, like human flotsam, as they have no voice, thus no relevance, and are special to no one.

They were both non verbal, both marooned, no connection, only able to react to what was done to them. Kathryn would not have known why she was there, how long for, or where her third special mother had gone (Me, Resi, now Patricia).

No interest in TV, no fine motor skills, no reading, just being outside and running, putting up with people, coping with vast boredom, Never ending Groundhog Day. When we were leaving, after having being there with her, I lent in to kiss her (a hardwon gift from Robert, who spent a very long time getting her to allow this) she then went in her deep insistent voice "urrr, urr".

Surprised I looked at Duncan, and said "she wants you to kiss her also". Duncan looked like he had won the lottery, as he had. She in recognising a fellow open hearted being granted him something he will never forget. She knew he totally accepted her, she could feel the bond we had, and she was a part of this.

I am repeating a recent photo, as this was taken a year before, and she was looking at him. When you have someone as locked within themselves as she had been, this is a present of great presence.

Same day, she allowed my youngest to hug her. First time he had seen her. My two Scorpios, one gaining life from the other's vast loss.

Week 9 Day 4The gift of the Western world shutting downThis week's writing assignment is to write about the feelings fou...
31/10/2024

Week 9 Day 4
The gift of the Western world shutting down

This week's writing assignment is to write about the feelings found in this proposed book. I felt them yesterday and today. Reporting what happened is easier than seeing it anew from the outside looking in.

Grief. Having my children ripped away.
How did I cope? No drugs, no drinks, no wild behaviour - I went to work, suppporting others out of where they were, whilst she was in the mess she was in. She needed someone to do the best for her that was humanly possible.

My life would have been easier had I not had to negotiate with all levels of bureacracy, surviving on getting hints from parents of similarly woefully affected adult children. Being the bottom of the barrel is tricky. New found rights are not written for the depth and breadth of handicaps.

The people who care deepest (parents), are often seen as impediments to their differently abled adullt offspring. The perceived need to protect them against parental interference stymies logic and is outside sensible bounds. It almost guarantees that aging parents will give up.

Case in point - my all year battle in the Christchurch Family Law Court over her menstrual management. My pragmatism up against civil servants' wokeism. Kathryn's needs were flagrantly ignored by those paid to mind them.

Instead, I was seen to be standing in the way of the new direction of government policies. To argue the toss, countless hundreds of thousands of dollars, possibly well over a million were spent by the kiwi taxpayers over a couple of years to ensure she stayed intact.

Kathryn's being kept whole was the only concern - in case she came out of wherever she was, and wanted to have her own children, then suing the government. Specialists were flown in, no expense spared, hypotheticals were put together for gynecologists to consider, multiple government agencies were collaborating, when all that was required was some common sense.

What if she were r***d? How could she parent when she was still in her own nappies? How could she be granted an abortion, and before then, how would she get over an assault?

At the end of the case, Kathryn's lawyer shared that she had never had seven up against her on the other side before. I represented myself. The Judge was solely tried. Kathryn did not win.

Moving on nearly twenty years, I see that the gift of 2020 was that Kathryn was no longer expected to go to day respite programmes. She was safe and loved, and could be herself.

As long as she was with her family, outside, exploring, not being crossed, she is happy, and always has been. What gave her freedom was altered. The novel pretend virology have her her freedom.

In 2021, the jab she 'had to take' did not mess with her. Maybe her life plan is out smart. She is the most stable she has ever been.

I have no words for the extreme gratitude that her new family have been able to do what her blood relations could.

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