The Fall.

I believe I had finally hit rock bottom. Crying, kicking and screaming on my kitchen floor. Desperate for answers. Feeling totally alone even though I was surrounding by many loving people.

My amazingly supportive husband helplessly cradled me in his arms as I sobbed. No one understood what I had been going through. He tried, but he admitted that it was probably easier to witness than be the subject…or victim.

After years of appointments with medical specialists, that day I cracked. I had attended an appointment with the neurologist to review the results of my recent head MRI. After many tests over the years  continually yielding negative results and no answers to my mysterious symptoms, I was recently referred here to rule out  the possibility of a brain tumour.

The good news that day was that there was no sign of a brain tumour.

I burst into tears and managed to beg the question aloud, “but then what am I supposed to do, I can barely function with these symptoms?” The doctor reclined in his chair, put his hands behind his head, and in a rather matter-of-fact voice said to me, “look, I know what we are going to do now, we are going to get you an urgent visit with a psychiatrist for an evaluation.” I willingly accepted his suggestion.

I truly believed I was going crazy. I had many nights where I lay awake in my bed thinking about the only sensible explanation for my symptoms was that I must be experiencing the beginning of a sinister mental illness. I imagined what it would be like to live the rest of my life on medication and feeling victimized by my condition. I tried to envision this fate and what it would look like to continue raising my kids, maintaining my career, and being desirable to my husband. My own thoughts made me feel very low and sorry for myself.

Although I  had these thoughts, something inside of me resisted every time I let my mind wonder there. At first I thought it was denial, since obviously I would prefer not to be mentally ill, but I know it was something else deep down telling me that its not over.

I owed it to my family and myself to keep searching for the answer.

That night that on my kitchen floor, I told my husband that I was  really sorry to have dragged him into this mess. I was truly a disaster and at a complete loss. I didn’t say it out loud, but I thought our family may end up happier if I wasn’t a part of it and pulling them through this. I sobbed into his arms and admitted I am unwell. I don’t know with what, but something. And it is affecting every singe part of my life.

I don’t see the world the same way anymore.

After a bath, I finally did calm down. As I had regularly over the years, I spent the rest of the night scouring Google for answers to my mysterious symptoms.

And by some magnificent serendipitous search result, the answer appeared perfectly clear. The Kundalini Guide, a handbook of the sort which would explain all of my symptoms and this bizarre awakening phenomenon. Authored by a Psychologist, Ph.D. who has dedicated the past 30 years of her profession to this transition period.

As I read her entire site including her essays and blog, I knew I fit here. I just knew deep down. Everything had become clear. It was as if I has wiped all the fog off of the window and could finally see through it again.

It was late into the night, and although my eyes were exhausted, my mind was racing. I booked an assessment and online session with Dr. Bonnie Greenwell. I anxiously awaited an opportunity to speak directly with this expert.










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