Alysha O’Leary @alyshaolearyofficial

“I wasn’t abused, I was sheltered and kept away from “secular” people, but I wasn’t abused.”

“ABUSE”

The migraines were the worst, sometimes lasting days on end.

I was told it was “hereditary”, from my grandmother, to my mother, to me.

“Abuse”

I thought I needed time away as an adult to explore my freedom “I’m a naturally curious person, that’s why I feel the need to get out and about, to always be busy and doing something. To get out of the house.”

“Abuse”

I tried many things, I thought myself fearless, traveled crosscountry in my car in my 20’s. Hike alone, did dangerous sports, slept in my car in remote rest areas, became a firefighter, I wasn’t afraid of dying. In fact I even thought “I wouldn’t mind dying for another person, to do something heroic. To sacrifice myself.”

“ABUSED”

Home wasn’t comfortable, just familiar. Home was where we had holidays, and birthdays (though many times growing up, mine was “forgotten”). And the familiar bullshit too: “Have you gained weight?” “Why don’t you have a boyfriend yet?” “You’re never home to help me!” “You don’t care about me”

Meanwhile, doors were slammed in my faced, screamed at, ignored for days on end (twice it was for a whole week), and was always somehow my fault.

My body eventually stopped talking to me, it just SHUT DOWN.

It couldn’t keep screaming louder, it’s voice grown hoarse.

“abuse”

My body would violently shake, trying to ineffectively release the accumulated trauma, so of the most horrific buried SO FUCKING DEEP. At first it was just a singular event. A hospital visit.

Then as I was forced to be at home, no more escaping with work, it got worse. It became daily.

My body screamed in silence at this point. My mind still unable to comprehend the “gibberish” my body was native in. But it wasn’t gibberish, it was childlike, and required patience and clarity.

“abuse”

Finally, my body said “ENOUGH”, and I kept dropping to the floor. PARALYSED by the stress of the environment I felt captive in, but was supposed to call “home”.

In my moment of darkness, contemplating the darkest of choices.

I found a voice miraculously. Or rather serendipitously Instagram suggested her to me.

I had already questioned my upbringing at this point, religious RIDICULOUSNESS.

I believed in a god, a universal creator. But a wrathful bearded man in the sky? I think the FUCK not.

I saw the words “mother wound”. My physically wounded self felt heard. “What could it hurt?”

The better question would have been “What could it help?”

She helped everything.

I had found a voice for my frustrations though it was still barely a whisper. Her voice was a balm, I felt seen in my pain and heard in my silence. The abandonment of my father, the enmeshment of my mother (I grew up more her spouse than a child). And I was told there was no one to blame.

It wasn’t about finding fault with these people, so inadequate to raise a human with unconditional love. But rather to see myself, to love myself, exactly as I was.

I was told I was too quiet. Too loud. Not loud enough. Don’t mumble. Don’t shout.

Nothing was ever enough, unless it was something for them to brag about. And even then, I was somehow lacking. But it wasn’t me who was truly lacking, it was their self hate and criticism projected on me.

“Abused”

“You were abused.” these words rang in my ears, not really registering. The narcissism program I bought to heal from my father, (an official narcissist according to the courts of New Mexico) but I wasn’t expecting to face that term, to feel it applying to my mother.

At first it was subtle, I thought “she must not be that bad” but the twists in my stomach, the knots that I had just from 10 mins with her. I needed to get away. And soon enough it happened, though not in the way I expected, it was a final blow from her, a real punch to my gut.

“Pay more rent or get out”

Unable to drive, some days unable to walk, I found a temporary home. Which proved to be a different kind of chaos. One that pointed out to me, the different ways that narcissists can present. One loud, one silent. One angry, one passive aggressively violent. Both I had to tip toe, both I felt like a role playing scene, a side actor in their movie.

Yet, it gave me time to comprehend, just how badly abused I had been.

It gave me time to clear out my body, from the inside out “Heal Candida Now”, a Health Mastery program that cleared inflammation (and parasites!) out.

I just wanted to see what it was about, “What could I lose?”

The better question, “What could I gain?”

The fog in my mind started to clear, the cleaner the food I ate. My symptoms disappearing over the weeks. What were migraines? And as the cravings would come, “I want chocolate NOW”

I could finally understand and hear what it was all truly about.

My little 3 and 5 year old selves were the first to appear, both of them crying, just wanting someone to hear. I felt their emotions, I witnessed their pain, I soothed them with love instead of sugar and chocolate. I felt how badly they had been pained.

The memories that surfaced were VIOLENT, both father and mother, separate. Neither bothering to question the other.

The last time I spoke to my mother, asked her about these memories I had come up about my father (did she know? Would she fess up?) and the room I used to be left in alone.

“Oh yeah, I remember that room. And I had my suspicions about your father, I didn’t feel comfortable with the way he’d kiss you and pin your hands to the bed.”

My heart stopped. She KNEW and did NOTHING.

This was the end.

With courage, convictions and forgiveness in my heart. I left that abusive family, not blaming, not shaming. Just not taking part.

NONE of this would have happened, had I not been led by Jesus and followed my heart. My intuition.

I would not be walking this day, driving, let alone breathing. Had I not been led to Liana Shanti that day. November 21st 2020.

Liana, thank you.

Signs and symptoms are your body LOVING you.