My journal: Scars of gold

I’m out in Alabama this week saying goodby to the life I destroyed and kissing my loved ones goodbye, who, incredibly, still care about me on a deep level. God made women superior to man, anyone who disagrees just isn’t paying attention to reality.

There is no anger here. No animosity. Just sadness and a sense of loss deeper than I can fully accept right now. That’s why I am writing it out. Because if I don’t process the pain and try to make sense of this, I promise it will destroy me. And I’m tired of destruction and loss. 

So I’m house-sitting. Dog watching. Taking care of loose ends while my (ex) girlfriend is in Mexico on our 3-year anniversary trip that I blew. So like I do when I’m searching for answers and feeling like a candle in the wind (I heart you Elton John), I went to church. A new one because I had no spiritual practice out here. Sunday’s were better spent on yard work or beach days or whatever.

And like church always does in the most eerie of ways, it answered my unspoken question:

How did I fail so incredibly at being a family man?

The church is called South River Park Church in Fairhope, Alabama. It’s a nice little place with a cozy congregation where you can tell at once that everybody knows everybody. They prayed for bright futures for their graduating high-schoolers and then went onto the message.

I’ll admit it, I was emotionally drained and zoned out more than once. I was drifting off because it was all just surreal. Simultaneously living a life and knowing it’s over in a few days, quite possibly for good. Knowing things will not last and will never be the same, but getting the chance to know that, and appreciate it accordingly. A painful and wonderful blessing.

The message was about leadership in the home. The pastor put it perfectly…

“The first department of education was not in Washington DC, it is in the home.”

During our relationship I had no cause to fight for, so we fought a lot. What example was I making for her two beautiful little girls? I’ve been an educator most of my life but when the girls would get home from school, I wouldn’t be all that involved. Hey, I had stuff to do and they have fantastic teachers so it was reasonable to be largely hands-off. Oh Lord I’m so very sorry for being a self-absorbed, ass-backward sloth.

The sermon addressed the father’s role, specifically. How his role is to lead. Now if you’re cringing and damning the patriarchy, there’s no need. It’s a matter of energy, Divine Masculine and Divine Feminine. AndI’ll be a little loco here and say that biological gender doesn’t even matter much here. Why we are made up of what we are made up of is a mystery that I credit to our Maker. The Great Spirit. God.

So here’s the scoop on these two universal energies, the

There’s no need for me to go deep on the subject of energies because it’s been done so well by the healers and energy therapists out there. But if any of this resonates, I urge you to check it out. Doesn’t matter your faith or lack of. The proof is on the pudding, as a wise person once said.

So back to my confession. My pity parade. My lesson. I was unhealed and they played out as self-destruction.

Hell on earth is destroying the things you love.

Oh boy, it’s hard stepping back into the life I lost for a few horrendously short days to make things a little less tragic before we move onto a separate chapter of our lives. Yes, of course. But it’s important. Vital to me, actually. Because with clear eyes, an open, bleeding heart and new found faith, I know there’s nowhere I’d rather be. And that sucks.

So what can I do about it? Find the good. Fix the bad. Do my damnedest to see this as a test of faith and let the pain teach me, because it’s a good teacher for a guy like me. 

Because what has all this taught me? That I’m not a man and never really have been. I didn’t know how. To be compassionate toward myself though, I also didn’t know what I didn’t know. My vices, my excuses, my fear, my capriciousness, weaknesses, and imagined grievances, they defined me. Through a lifestyle unaligned with my highest self, I bled my goodness and strength daily. And it cost me everything. So I’m rebuilding. With God on my side and a heart that is finally beating true, I am making the choice, daily, to heal my wounds and create scars of gold. 

the power of perception

One response to “My journal: Scars of gold”

  1. […] is beyond coincidence. For example, please read the post I wrote the other day about my life imploding to see what I […]


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