The Winding Path Of Unlearning

Photo Credit: Jim Palmer's Facebook Page

Photo Credit: Jim Palmer’s Facebook Page

She had shoulder-length dishwater blonde hair; a tangled mess of hopeless obedience and listening to the utter disdain in the verbal diarrhea that her “loved ones” spewed upon her. A mixture of spiritual, emotional, and mental abuse that she would take with persistent belief because, after all, why would any adult ever manipulate her inquisitive nature and force feed her a long-line of utter – for the lack of a better word – bullshit? 

Although, this young girl would eventually see past her “loved ones” incessant litany of misguided beliefs, lies, and malicious teachings, she would find her voice. It would take nearly 30 years, but this young girl and her shoulder-length dingy hair would transform into this beautiful, fearless creature which would be enunciated with her brilliant and vibrant red hair; an outwardly reflection of her boldness that she was freeing.

No longer afraid of differentiating between truth and deceit; from love and hate; from tenacity and scarcity; from purity and pervasiveness; from humility and narcissism; from her and you.

Before the “loved ones” embedded her mind with twisted fallacies, contempt, insecurity, and clouded sense of whom she was, this young girl was carefree, inquisitive, fearless, joyful and had this beautiful ideal of what God was – and that was- God was all around her; in nature, in the way she delicately attended to help a mother cat giving birth, the way she tucked her feet behind her as she blew at a daisy, and the way her eyes dissected the clouds.

Before she was told that she was “insignificant” because she wasn’t aesthetically pleasing or how she had “no value” in life because “no man will ever want” her or the fact she unrelentingly was bombarded with false illustrations of what God thought of her; she wouldn’t be worthy of God’s love if she wasn’t a size 2, beautiful, and a virgin; she wouldn’t be valuable in God’s eyes unless she was a submissive and a domesticated house wife; she would never be anything in life and she would be better off dead.

This young girl would grow up to be a withdrawn teenager feeling empty, isolated, and without purpose; she would listen to all those lies and believed them to be the truth. The truth out of the wolves’ mouths; she would question her own life as she tried to end her own in a variety of ways: pills, razor blade(s), and suffocation.

This young girl would encounter a variety of symbolic addictions, and at the end, she found her own transformation.

This young girl would turn into a mother, and would start seeing that little girl again; she would become fearless, bold, bright, and inspirational.

This young girl began seeing her worth; she began exuding the light she was originally created for; a deep-seated boldness that she finally understood and utilized.

She’s still unlearning what her “loved ones” told her — every day, she continues to make progress to what she knows she is, rather than what the world is telling her she is.

That young girl with dishwater blonde hair is me.

I was that girl who was berated with fallacy after fallacy from mankind’s need for a social construct to dull and silence my emerging voice for they know – like Jesus of Nazareth – it all starts with ONE voice.

It starts with one example.

It starts with one monologue.

It starts with one story.

It starts with one heart.

It starts with one observation.

It starts with one application.

It starts with one inspiration.

It starts with one evolution.

It starts with one REVOLUTION.

I’m just one little girl from northeast Indiana trying to share my evolving story residing in Denver, Colorado. I’m just one person that is unlearning a myriad of faux teachings “loved ones” (including old churches, misogynistic church leaders, and bigoted “Christians”) have force-fed me for years, and in the process, I’m having a new spiritual awakening, that I hope above all hopes, can awaken one other person.

In the words of a new friend, I am a “bell-ringer” …..

Come and ring a bell, too, won’t you?



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