Becoming Her

 Dark night of the soul. That’s what they call it, yeah? When the world as you knew it ceases to exist and you travel to the depths of your being to look for the answers on how to survive. And that’s not a bad thing, I tell you. Sure, it may look bad, but it’s what I call a beautiful gift wrapped in ugly wrapping paper. Yes, you’re being stripped of everything you are and everything  that made you feel safe, secure, and loved. But it’s not without purpose. It’s the combustion of your phoenix.

Shadow work. That’s what you do when you’re experiencing your dark night of the soul. You ask yourself the hard questions. You cry the ugly tears and scream to the heavens and rip away the things that no longer serve you. This is a time to recognize what is your fault - and unfortunately, you’ll learn that a good majority of it is. Cause and effect and all that jazz. Not everything, of course, but if you’re doing shadow work in the dark night of your soul, then you should know that you have to step up to the plate and accept responsibility for your own actions or lack thereof. It’s a reckoning. 

When my kids told me they were moving away and I realized that I’d literally be isolated with no support system, I freaked the eff out, let’s be honest. I dissociated. I became The Hermit. I increased my meds. I’d read 15 books in a month because I couldn’t stand my own reality. And it wasn’t just them leaving, either. It was about realizing that I probably don’t ever really want another romantic relationship, although I think I’ll miss flirting. It’s also about aging. I’m watching my face fall, my hair turn silver, my belly plumping. Two blinks ago, I was a thirty-year-old single mother, a bartender in Daisy Dukes. A blonde bombshell with an exotic appeal. I had charisma. I had confidence. I had a sense of purpose. Then, one day, I woke up to a silent apartment with the knowing that no one on earth was going to pop by to see how I’m doing, or drop anything off, or come over to play. There would be no holiday get-togethers. It was my first year in 52 of them to be alone on my birthday, Thanksgiving, Christmas… I missed the kids birthdays.

But I’ve also spent the last decade learning how to manage my mental health, how not to want to disappear myself when the world goes dark and I don’t understand what’s happening or why I’m alone. I’ve built a solid medical support team. I have learned coping techniques. And I’ve evolved. That’s the important part. Keep evolving. And I understood that this is the Universe giving me a big time out so I could get to know myself on a deeper level and work through some of my trauma.

When my son told me they were leaving, all three of my kids individually told me that this was my time to get back to authenticity. They all wanted to see me get back in touch with my magic, which had been dormant for so long. I was full on witch in the open when my kids were small. In fact, I moved to another state, in part, to separate myself from family who didn’t approve of my lifestyle. It wasn’t Christian enough. I wanted to put a cauldron on the mantle and a broom by the door, crystals above doorways, and pentagrams on the walls. I didn’t want to have to hide my tarot cards. I didn’t want to hide anymore. I didn’t want to shrink myself to make someone else comfortable.

And here I am 23 years later shrunk so small I hardly recognize myself anymore.

So when I was fet up with my own bad attitude and ready to face my dark night of the soul, I committed to the shadow work and hunkered down. That’s where I’ve been the past several months.

I’m calling this phase of my life Silver Light Born in Darkness. Like a seed that’s been planted in fertile soil. Alone in the darkness in the ethereal realm of becoming.

I am consciously aware that I am morphing into the crone. I’m watching it happen in real time and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. The bags under my eyes are heavier. The skin on my eyelids is saggier. My jowls are droopier. My teeth do not gleam. I’ve got wrinkles around my lips. And I know I’m not alone in this. The opposite is true. Every single woman on earth who is blessed with a long enough life goes through this transition. We can’t help it. It must happen. But it’s here we have choices. Do we freak the eff out and panic and throw a tantrum, get lost in depression, and determine that we’ll never be considered beautiful (or useful) again? Or, do we see the beauty in the silver in our hair? Do we remember all the smiles that led to those wrinkles? Do we appreciate all the things these tired eyes have seen?

In part of my conscious quantum leap, I had a meditative chat with myself about my authentic self. If money wasn’t an issue, if time wasn’t a confinement, if energy was abundant, if I could not fail, and if I were to glow at maximum volume, what would that look like? Who would I be? How would I speak? What would I wear? How would I live? What habits or rituals would I have? And then I decided that I cannot wait for her to just show up one day like an apparition ready to guide me to a new reality. Nope. I am that apparition coming to myself from the future telling myself to get my shit together and get on with it already. I’m holding up the show. I call it a quantum leap, but it’s one that happens in slow motion with a hell of a lot of effort.

The answer to that question is that I would live a fully enchanted life. Maybe I’d own a magic shop where I could not only showcase all the things like the herbs, crystals, tarot cards, books, singing bowls, but could also do tarot readings (on Mondays when the moon governs intuition and psychic abilities and on Wednesdays when Mercury’s gift of communication comes into play). I could host classes for things like broom decorating, and then buy brooms from attendees who are interested enough at getting good at it to sell it to me for the shop. We could also have incense-making classes. Candle-making classes. Maybe we could do some drum circles or meditation gatherings. I could have parties on the full moons, sabbats, and solstices. It could be my Nine of Pentacles moment.

But we can’t wait for that, now, can we? How do I bring that into today? How can I step into that identity, embrace that reality, become that version of me? How do I get my magic shop? Right here, that’s how. In this space. In this blog. On this website. Do I ultimately want to house my own branded products? Why sure. But start where you are and work with what you have. Am I a web designer? Not by any stretch of the imagination, but Chat GPT is really good at helping me create and repair HTML code and helps me with the design aspects, like getting the right hex codes for the color palette I see in my head.

I’ve decided to stop coloring my hair. I’m leaning into the aging process, hoping to do so more peacefully than I have this past year. I’ve purchased a few items of clothing that fit the vibe I imagine. I’ve started using roll-on essential oils to draw symbols on my wrists, chest, and neck. Small changes, but effective for a start. I’m lighting incense and pulling tarot in the morning, as well as checking the day’s correspondences. I’m spending time deep diving into myself through words, storing them here in the empty space where I no no one is currently reading.

Another big decision I made is that I am going to move on March 21st of next year. I had been wobbly on whether or not I could do it. I’m hesitant to give up a job that pays good hourly, has health insurance with dental and vision, life insurance, a 401K, paid vacations, and all the perks. I can’t afford to give up health insurance due to my osteoperosis and required medications, so letting go of that security is going to be scary. But so is the idea of staying here another year. I believe I did (or am in the process of doing) what the Universe intended when it plucked me up by the ankles and strung me upside down like the Hanged Man. I’ll never be “ready.” I have the next eight and a half months to figure all of that out. In the mean time, I’ll just continue over here quietly building my magic shop, spending quality healing time with myself, marinading in my own energy, aligning with the right frequency and operating at the right vibration to make this a successful quantum leap.

By this time next year, I’ll be living in Kentucky, looking back on this with proud tears in my eyes knowing that I survived the hardest three years of my life, and will have come out glowing and radiant like The Empress. I’m excited to see where this website is by then.