Okay.  Those of you that know me or have read enough of my works, know I’m one odd bird. But guess what?  I have accepted I’m perfect just the way I am.  And I like myself just fine.  In fact, I’d even go as far as to say the l word.

Self-love is a great feeling for a girl who struggled with issues of inadequacy and insecurities for forty years straight.  Now, I’m not preaching or claiming I’ve been miraculously cured with a wave of a new year, but I am saying these last few years have most definitely led me up a high steep of inner-work to a wide plateau of inner-love.  And the best part is being able to look down and see where I’ve been and realize ,with every molecule of my body and every speck of light of my soul, that I’ve made it.

Sure there are other peaks and valleys ahead, but this one, this forty years of my trekking, swimming, climbing, clinging, hiding, hollering and weeping, is done!  Am I yodeling?  Am I skipping like a grade-school girl on her way to an Easter egg hunt? You betcha!

So much has happened since I felt called to write my life story.  To date, I have a triad of spiritual healers supporting me, including a chiropractor, acupuncturist, and masseur.  Most of whom I only discovered a few months ago, and all of whom I was able to afford because a ninety-seven-year-old lady smacked into my van when she ran a red light.  Amazing, how one event changes a life.

I was thinking back to  two years prior.  It was the fall of 2007.  I was dependent on pain medication and weaning myself from anti-depressants, twenty-five pounds heavier, addicted to eating (especially wheat and sugar products), haunted by a toilsome childhood, angry at my parents, angry at life in general, terrified of dying, fearful of life, dependent on what others thought of me, in constant pain and fatigue, concerned about a suggested kidney biopsy and full-hysterectomy, and generally in a constant state of distress and worry.

Everything turned in the early winter of 2008, when I was led to self-healing.  It began with a holistic doctor, and went on from there through my own independent research and connecting with other healers.  I changed my diet, eliminated the drugs, bought a far-infared sauna, cleaned my house of toxins, including dangerous cosmetics and other beauty products (see environmental working group), incorporated herbs and vitamins into my days, began juicing, eating organic, drinking filtered water, and reading about energy-works including chanting, Feng Shui, chakras, and the likes.  Change didn’t come easily, but it sure came fast; I went through some awful and ugly bouts of detoxing, including all-over body hives.

One of the first things I gained back, after I changed my way of living, was the energy needed to give back to others.  Still feeling weary and in pain after physical exertion, such as bending and standing upright for extended periods of time (fibromyalgia/chronic fatigue), I wanted to give to others without increasing my physical pain.  I knew I couldn’t do any type of volunteering or I’d face the physical consequences of having to rest in bed for several hours to regain my strength.   In the spring of 2009, again after a series of events, I was inspired to complete a hundred-page homeschool website.  My way of giving a little back.  The whole project, including training myself how to build a website, was completed in a short five week period—it happened so quickly, I felt like some force had overtaken me and written the entire thing herself.  Where that energy and drive came from, still baffles me.

After that, I found WordPress and Twitter, and with the help of several new found friends (You know who you are), I was motivated to rewrite my manuscript from start to finish for the third time.   I also applied for college and am now completing my master’s degree in the field of education.  Now I’m thinking I’d like to do something with my ability to have precognitive dreams and pick up on  auras and energies.  A whole new world has opened right in front of my eyes.

My little miracle boy, my middle-guy with Asperger’s Syndrome, has so remarkably changed, sprouting a depth of empathy and strikingly acute communication skills, I once again find myself dumbfounded and humbled in thankfulness.  You wouldn’t know today he was the same wide-eyed little boy who couldn’t be in a room without screaming in panic or throwing a heated tantrum in rage.  You wouldn’t know he didn’t know how to approach other children and make conversation, or how he couldn’t function in most social situations without a string of mishaps.  So many of his strengths and positive attributes have blossomed—so much of the negativity has withered away into nothing.  He is my little gem—a true blessing.

Also, recently I have, with great efforts, corralled my three ninja-boys into a state of semi-calm; this, after years of seeking help through therapists in attempts to control the constant state of chaos in our home.  In addition, this past summer, I have stood tall and smiling through a car accident, flooded house, demolition of half of our house, a broken washer, failing computer printers [3 of them], dead car battery, broken dryer, etc.

In honor of the same old me and our same old house, both of which have been repackaged and reenergized, I’ve decided to make everyday about honoring and loving myself and others  Now that I’ve got this toolbox, from years of therapy, self-improvement books, and, as of late, four years of writing and redrafting my life story, it’s mighty easy to reach inside me and pull out a tool to enhance, improve, or lighten the day.

My favorite tool so far is chanting; I’m just starting out with the process.  But I love to close my eyes and OMMMM!  The vibration is intense and wild.  Another favorite has to be the breathing, letting out the air and the tension.  I’ve been teaching my boys about the power of sound and breathing—explaining to them, in mommy-language.  And they’re getting it.  “Those words hurt me, hurt me at a cellular-level,” I announce with a serious glare and raise of the brow.  And the boys gaze out with curiosity and struggle to lower their frantic shouting and insults at each other.  Their slaps are lighter, their stomping softer.  And I recognize it’s a start; it’s another start towards peace.

Gone are the days I hoped to be like everyone else around me—to emulate the accepted masses in hopes of achieving some semblance of normalcy, and ultimately fostering my self-esteem.  Everyday this year, since the completion and final editing of the last draft of my novel, I’ve awaken each dawn to a greater acceptance and sense of accomplishment.

I guess that is why this whole literary agent search and publishing hopes hasn’t fatigued me or stifled my dreams.  I guess that is why I am still smiling despite the generic rejection letters of my initial queries.  I’m smiling because God fulfilled his promise to me, from that long ago night when I saw a cross on the road.  The night a voice called out to me and instructed me to write.  I’m smiling because I know in God’s time this part of my journey—the four years of writing my life story—will come to a close.  And once again this little odd, disheveled-feathered bird will be high on her peak singing and praising, remembering in our oddities there exists a greater truth, remembering how God promised me if I wrote, there would be great healing.