As you now know, Jordan’s issues were mostly resolved by this juncture. Imagine my utter confusion in that my full time project to address my son’s suffering had suddenly come to an end. It was so abrupt, really, that I felt like Wile E. Coyote after a 4.5 year chase of the elusive Roadrunner.

I was so resigned to be living this nightmare for the rest of my life that my whole psyche was skating frantically on air. I’d run out of tarmac to try and gain purchase on, I was a post-traumatic distressed wreckage. Waking in the night suffering asthma attacks and suffering fatigue in the daytime so chronic, I couldn’t muster how I would get through another day, or even put another meal on the table. The headaches and dizziness were unbearable.

After sliding down that wall to stare at myself in the hall closet mirror, as mentioned, I didn’t recognize the face staring back at me. Who was this beleaguered, swollen, overweight, and lifeless woman? Why is her face so pale? Why are her eyes so dead and vacant? Did she always have dark circles under her eyes? What does the poor thing need? I wrapped my arms around myself and wept.

My whole life felt like I’d been suppressing my own generative capacity. Taking the good government job with the pension out of some elusive expectation based on my familial matrix. The essence of my life force was barely surviving in an 8 X 10 government cubicle where I felt souls like me had come to die. It was an insidious nightmare, but I had no clue what I should be doing? What was I meant to be? Did I have any functional purpose left? I was numbed out. I’d lost all contact to myself and others.

And then I got my first Heilkunst Medicine, a dose from my very own brown bottled dropper of “NSOL” for grief, anger, fear, guilt and resentment and my whole world spun on her axis. No, I mean literally! The grape vine wallpaper in my kitchen turned in undulating circles. I thought I was tripping on some LSD slipped into the water supply. I was dizzy, felt underwater and slid, once more, to the floor … this time in the kitchen. The kids watched me plummet as we ate picnic style from the linoleum tarmac.

Join me in listening to Chapter 9 – Treating Mom.

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