Coming Home to Self
For years I searched outside of myself for answers. I didn’t realize that they were already inside me—waiting for safety, gentleness, and a deep connection to Spirit.
Why I do what I do.
The swing creaked beneath me as I leaned back, stretching my legs toward the sky. I was just a child, but I felt it—the infinite, unnameable connection to something far beyond myself. Blue sky above, air rushing past my ears, the Universe cradling me in its vastness. I was free. I was part of everything.
Then came the command, "Carol, come inside!" In an instant, I fell back into the reality of my life. My instinct was to run away—and I did. I ran to the other side of the yard hoping to escape my mother, but her voice got more insistent and I knew that if I didn’t obey, there would be consequences. The sacred silence shattered, replaced by the ever-present demand to be dutiful, obedient, perfect. That was my role in the world and seemingly, the story of my life. A role I never auditioned for but played to survive.
I grew up in a house built with care but filled with fear. Perfectionism wasn’t acknowledged—it was expected. My six siblings and I walked on eggshells, bracing ourselves for the next outburst, command, or critique. I’ve never been in the military, but I feel like I know what boot camp is like. Love from my mother, if it existed, was cloaked in control and manipulation. Love from my father came infrequently, but was at least it was genuine. Shame, guilt, and criticism were the norm.
My father nicknamed me after a cartoon character, “Little Lulu”(my middle name being Lucia)—who was "always in and out of trouble, but mostly always in." The nickname was said playfully, but it stuck like a tattoo on my self-worth. I felt like I was never did anything right, I was inadequate. Even a “B+” on my report card brought disappointment—”Why isn’t this an “A”? A smudge of lipstick playfully tried on with friends during recess in fourth grade brought hard punishment.
I know that this may not seem like much compared to the abuse others have experienced, but we all process even seemingly minor criticisms and punishments differently. Through age seven, most of us believe everything we’re told. As a sensitive child, I couldn’t make sense of the harshness. I learned to censor myself early. I was shy and insecure. With every passing year, another mask layer was laid over my true self. I learned to adapt to people and situations like a chameleon—surviving, but not thriving—playing it safe. The truth is, I never had the chance to think or speak for myself so I only had an inkling of who I was and what I wanted. One thing I knew for sure was that I had to escape the prison that was called “home.”
This confusion echoed through my teens and twenties. I followed the path that was laid out for me: college, marriage, motherhood. I became a wife at twenty, a mother of two by twenty-five. We moved three times in nine years, and each time I gave up pieces of myself—career, friendships, identity. I thought that’s what being a good wife and mother meant.
But deep inside, a whisper of my soul’s connection to “All That Is”—which I felt whenever I searched the skies—remained. The whisper that remembered that there is more to the world than this material realm. The whisper that knew there was more within me to know and understand about this connection—and I was determined to listen and learn.
I was in what I eventually came to see as a verbally abusive and lonely marriage. I didn’t think I had permission to leave. I didn’t know that my needs were allowed to come first for a change. We were living together but were miles apart—strangers occupying the same space. What would everyone think if we divorced? What about the new house we finally just built—after dreaming about it for over 20 years? I numbed the confusion and sadness with sugar and flour until I was falling asleep after every meal. I was diagnosed as hypoglycemic and pre-diabetic. Well, no surprise there as all the meals I prepared for my family had sugar and flour—sweet and sour this, honeyed that. An orange soda would knock me out so that I slept instead of dealing with the truth. My body was trying to tell me that I needed to pay attention to what I had been avoiding. It started to shut down. That’s when the whisper could no longer be ignored.
A 12-step food recovery program brought me back to life. I cried through my first meeting. I felt seen, heard, understood, and valued for the first time in my life. That space of unconditional acceptance gave me the clarity to stop hurting myself and start seeing myself. I realized that escaping through food was not a solution—it only caused a distorted perception of myself and others. It may have numbed the pain, but it didn’t solve the problem.
From there, my path unfolded. I found sponsors, mentors, and spiritual teachers. Some helped me grow. Others mirrored the same toxic dynamics I had known all my life. It was painful—and perfect. Because I was learning discernment. I was learning to listen to my inner truth. I know now that I was still a long way off, but at least I was on a path.
It took a couple of years of recovery to have the courage to leave that 22-year marriage. I left a career as a Business Specialist at a research institute that I had worked hard to build. I moved to New York City with a promise of a new life as an administrative intern at The Juilliard School, no plan except to do the next thing that unfolded before me—and a deep knowing that it was finally “my” time—time for me to discover who I really was without anyone looking over my shoulder to criticize, judge, or control me. I temped, cater-waited, acted, auditioned. I rode the subways, buses, and trains exploring NYC with my soul wide open. I felt more alive than I ever had.
I didn’t have all the answers. But I had something better: the courage to start asking new questions—questions like:
“Who am I when I’m not performing for approval, validation, or love?”
“What if I try a different approach?”
“Who am I when I say no?”
“What would my life look like if I actually trusted and believed in myself?”
“What if I could learn to love, accept, and forgive myself and others?”
“What if my parents and former husband were doing the best they could, just as I was?”
“What if I could release shame and guilt and embrace self-responsibility?”
Over the years, I’ve had many incredible teachers—and survived manipulative ones. I made mistakes—a heck of a lot of mistakes. I got lost more times than I can count. Then I found myself again. I began to understand that the search for healing wasn’t about finding someone to fix me or even me fixing me. It was about remembering who I already am and that I was never truly lost. I was learning—and thankfully, my beautiful soul connection to Great Spirit kept me safe as I was, and continue to be, guided back to where I needed to be.
During this process I discovered hypnotherapy, PSYCH-K, and other modalities that heal by accessing the subconscious mind. These tools transformed me. They moved me forward faster and deeper than decades of earlier work I had done. It was like finding an elevator after years of taking the stairs. I’ve released generations of inherited beliefs. I’ve reprogrammed many of the subconscious patterns that kept me stuck. This all takes time and I am still letting go of some of my shadow self. The biggest lesson was that the most important answers I continually sought were not to be found in books, teachers, food, or anything outside of me—they are within me as I clear the interference that blocks my connect to my soul and Spirit.
Today, I live in Southeastern Kentucky. I’m stepping fully into my role as an energy healing practitioner. I help others uncover the truth of who they are—just as I’m still uncovering mine. If we humans really innerstood how powerful we are when we have that deep soul connection to God/Pure Source Energy!! I am an eternal being and know that it’s necessary to continue to learn, evolve, and grow. I’ve also learned that I don’t need to be perfect to be loved. I’ve learned that gentleness is a strength, not a weakness. I’ve learned that discernment is sacred. I’ve learned that I am my own authority.
The swing is still inside me—the child who saw God/the Universe in the sky is still here. But now, I don’t have to wait for quiet moments to feel that connection. I carry it within me and connect with it every day and throughout the night.
If you’re reading this and recognizing parts of yourself in my story—know this: you are not alone. You are simply being called back home to yourself. And if you need guidance and support, I would be honored to walk that path with you.