I think this belongs to you

I now possessed a solid awareness of who I was and of who I was not. Having this simple understanding, I was able to grasp the transparent truth that this “poisoned apple” didn’t belong to me. In fact, it never did.

I Think This

Belongs To You

By Kacie Brockman

Welcome to the other side of fear; this is where the actual fun begins. All those years we’ve spent running so hard and fast have brought us here to this moment. A short distance from the finish line, some of us might be imagining the various rewards that await us, while others might be contemplating whether we even possess the right to finish this race. Consciousnessly or not, each runner is evaluating and determining his worthiness to win. Some of our wounds are still sensitive and raw, while other runners bare only their scars. The roads we have traveled have been treacherous, yet through it all, we’ve somehow become of one spirit, one tribe, and one community. We are the defiant ones that wouldn’t let go of the rope getting dragged for miles. I will not say that we’re stupid, because that is not so. But one must concede that we are some of the most optimistic, eager to forgive, and hard-headed people with the determination to “change him” type of people around. By repeatedly applying variations of our choirlike mantras, “if we could just love them enough.” And so we thought that if we suffered long enough, endured the abuse long enough, maybe they might understand how much we loved them.

And then they might just be able to love us back.

Listen, loving her enough, loving him enough, loving any of them enough isn’t humanly possible; but what IS ENTIRELY possible is spending your entire life attempting to provide them with the joy and life fulfillment that they should have gained through their own experiences rather than yours. 

Understandably, we want them to love us; but they won’t because they can’t, at least not in the way that we love. They love the way that we make them feel about themselvesThey love the fact that we love them. They LOVE that they can repeatedly hurt us and yet we return to them; reinforcing that of which they crave. They treat us as the bottom of their boots and yet there we are still.

Can you begin to see why they despise us. Why they look down on us? Why the abuse continues? This must be the clear evidence that supports their belief that they are superior to us. It makes me physically ill looking back at what I tolerated, and the precious relationships I continuously relinquished for the sake of wanting him to love me.

This was more than once, more than twice, this was, “GOOD GOD YOU’VE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!” three times I’d been driven to the edge of sanity. Three different individuals with highly covert Narcissistic traits took me on the scenic route of their own choosing, with each gaslighting, mind-twisting, terror inciting turn I was lost before we even started. So, yeah…political correctness does not get to ride shotgun as these… (Kacie, be nice, be nice, don’t say it…) individuals would much rather be reading my obituary tomorrow morning over breakfast than my blog. They loved no one but themselves. But oh! And their little dogs too. I’ve chosen to privately refer to them as whatever I like, just as they’ve chosen for example to turn and walk away from a critically ill human being that was literally begging only for water, well, because Toto had an appointment with the dog groomer. And upon walking out the door advises said dying person (who only hours later was admitted into the ICU for 5 days) with zero humanity or compassion, “Just call 911 for Christ’s sake!” In my world as well as my blog, abusers don’t receive the privilege of being identified as a card carrying, diagnosed NPD. The generally politically correct psychiatric community can urge the public all they want to develop a compassionate understanding of the narcissist and his “lost” self, but the fact remains, it is not, nor has it ever been an officially recognized diagnosis. I kindly request that research be conducted before admonishing me or any one of the ABUSERS TARGETED VICTIMS.

My view on the meta-physical mechanics of each life’s purpose is that there is an individual lesson of great significance continuously being applied throughout our lives. In my case, the successful understanding and application I might have obtained in the earlier part of my life, I did not. So the learning opportunity was presented again yet formated or structured differently. This process would continue until at some point the student would gain a better understanding of a specific life experience. This understanding is a critical part of the purpose for which we are here in this life. But I digress…basically, the fact is I’ve never been the sharpest crayon in the box, and so the lesson was applied again, and again, and….

It is my intent by hanging all of my dirty laundry out in public, by opening my family’s closet of skeletons, by all of this writing, is that it won’t take you, your loved one or another entire family having to endure years contaminated with tormented loss, confusion and despair. I am praying this awareness be understood and processed in far less time for you.

The tricky part is that an internal shift must take place and a willingness to surrender must occur. A surrender perhaps of life held convictions or embedded belief systems has to happen in order to allow room for an “alternative truth” or “just another possibility” if you will. I encourage, invite, and challenge you to step into the light of the possibility that there may likely be another truth albeit a harsh one. I am hoping that your willingness alone will suffice. That was all it took for me and then I began to wake up from the heavy slumber of a denial system that had overstayed it’s welcome. It wasn’t long for me to feel the freedom of living an authentic life. If your willing, the Universe/God/Source will guide you to your personal truth. The floodgates will be opened as they were for me, and an end to your suffering will surely find its way to you. 

  It has for me that’s for certain. Once I got it, I mean I GOT it. It was as if the blindfold had been removed and there it was. The truth and I staring at one another with the usual awkwardness of a first meeting. This revelation occurred after I’d inadvertently landed in what I perceived would be a logically sound discussion with someone I admired, trusted, and deeply loved. It did not go as I had planned, and before very long, my heart was shattered. I understood early on that alcohol was a factor, so I attempted to disengage, that one attempt to assert a boundary just spiraled into another lecture from this intoxicated and irrational person. But the conversation continued into the next day, by his initiation. I believed that as it was morning, perhaps we might have a more productive outcome. I was asserting myself for the first time ever and establishing imperative boundaries for my personal preservation and growth. It wasn’t well-received at all.  

A covert narcissist is often just too arrogant, lacking the understanding that one needs to gather authentic intelligence or facts to back up their allegations. Narcissists in their grandiose notion of superiority don’t believe they should be questioned and that by their status alone, they should never be required to prove anything. But initial lies can only survive so long, and then there’d better be some real truth to move forward. 

Having no real substance to support his argument, he went directly to what has proven successful in the past. In my case, I was not nearly as emotionally healthy as I am today nor was I as educated. So facts to support any false claims, and there were quite a few, well, they just weren’t necessary back then. The only card ever put into play was the one which I consistently provided, the “scapegoat of the family-drunk-addict-pathetic-excuse-for-a-mother-perpetually-unemployed” card was placed face-up on the table and that was that. Game over and so there I’d go crawling right back under my rock with my bottle of vodka.

After later analyzing the conversation, I understood what had just transpired. I gained an immediate awareness about the culprit and the exact nature of what has been at the very core of every relationship, personal or professional and even the relationship I’d had with my children as well as myself for over 49 years.

The specific points of contention were my unwillingness to yield to him and also the fact that I’d made many, valid points that could not be reasonably contested. Within moments of the realization that my boundaries were not to be moved, came a myriad of deflections, projections, thinly veiled insults, blanket statements, and straw man arguments. There were many flying in but could fine no landing zone. I now possessed an acute awareness of who I was and of who I was not. Having this simple understanding, I was able to grasp the transparent truth that this “poisoned apple” didn’t belong to me. It never did. I have repeatedly acknowledged ownership of my wrong doings, and have taken the difficult but necessary actions to correct or repair the damages that I alone created. But this poisoned apple? Perhaps it was the alcohol that exposed his betrayal. . Regardless, a shallow attempt to conceal his contempt for me had been noted. His affect was bitter and his words saturated with hostility. As the lies began to take center stage, the accusations began. What I think hurt the most was the fact that I’d been completely duped once again into believing someone loved me. As the lies took center stage, the carefully crafted but equally as cruel criticisms made their poorly costumed entrance. Accusations were lodged that I was making accusations, and from thereon the entire performance was a comedy of errors as the improvisation of the truth began and the curtain closed with applause as several texts not intended for me, but clearly about me, were then mistakenly sent to me. This was the day I recognized “the poisoned apple” for exactly what it was. And so I refused to take it because it simply wasn’t mine to carry. This belonged to him and him alone. So there I left it, every single bit of it.

ALL OF THIS – this that you’re seeking, the knowledge and understanding of the various traits/tactics/inner workings of the narcissistic mind; Investigating every website that refers to NPD, gaslighting, exposing the narcissist; ALL OF THIS – this that you’re doing, all the fighting back against the blatant lies and the absurd injustice, the hours of documentation, and the therapist appointments; scrambling your brain in a desperate, yet futile attempt to make others understand what you’ve been through;

ALL OF THIS – this that you’re hoping for, holding tightly to the notion that by understanding the narcissist, their wounds, how to communicate with them they’ll magically wake up to how much you love them; fantasizing what it will look like on that glorious day that you and your child will be vindicated and the truth will be set free;

So even all of this does not hold the answer for which you so desperately seek. It is, however, leading you, guiding you and gently nudging you to awaken to the one true answer.

Aren’t you tired of repeating the same lesson? I will attempt to explain what happened for me, where my answer came from and what specifically the answer was. Let me first say, that initially I did not like it one bit. But then I realized that if this were indeed the answer, then a large portion of my current heartache and the likelihood of future suffering might actually be eliminated.

The answer I discovered was that all the years of misery and suffering was not necessarily caused by the abuse and cruelty of the narcissist. In fact, the lesson has never been about them at all really. It is and always has been about one person,

ME.

I told you you wouldn’t like it. Because surely after the sheer hell they’ve put us through, having tormented us and possibly our children for years, stripping away our dignity, self-worth, and oftentimes our sanity, by God this belongs to them! Not us! Right?

Wrong.

The Mirror, remember?

They were showing us what we just couldn’t see, or refused to see.

They were simply treating us precisely as we agreed they should, and continued to mirror the value we’d placed upon ourselves long before they even came onto the scene.

Because every time we tolerated one minute more of the abuse? We became their cosigner. Every time we accepted one hour more of their behavior? We agreed with them. Every day of compliance with an assigned role of being a scapegoat, or the receptacle for everyone’s secrets, shame and lies? We acquiesced and gave them our blessing.

We subscribed to every issue.

We cosigned every deal.

Every time we engaged in irrational and illogical arguments that could go around and around for hours?

*God…Please let these words, my words, this explanation touch someone who so needs to understand this right now. Please pour your light and understanding onto this one gravely critical fact…*

The times they succeeded in driving us to our knees as they threatened to kill themselves? When they held the barrel of a loaded shotgun in their mouth? When they grabbed a 7 month old infant from his sister and held a hunting knife to his throat? By God we conceded to every one of these horrors by choosing to wake up the next morning in that same monster’s bed.

We permitted it by staying. We allowed it to continue by keeping it secret. Please make no mistake…

By our silence, we shook hands with their insanity.

Now we need to answer the question, “Why?”

Why did we stay?

Because we loved them? Are you kidding me? Who loves this type of creature? At the core of this exam, that will not suffice as the answer.

Absolutely not.

We BELIEVED the abuse was measured out in direct proportion to our worth.

We BELIEVED that we weren’t valuable enough to protect ourselves.

Read that again.

WE BELIEVED WE WERE NOT VALUABLE ENOUGH TO PROTECT, DEFEND, OR PUT AN END TO THE ABUSE.

Again.

Allow this to marinate.

Your value is defined by what you allow.

Your value is set by you.

Only.

You.

As the lightest twinkling of an awakening begins, I say to you,

Welcome.

This is the space where healing can finally begin.

You are not alone. And you are so fucking worthy.

~Kacie Brockman

#maybehedoesnthityou but,….

#Maybehedoesnthityou but he won’t let you go home or see your friends very often or at all.— Akilah Hughes (@AkilahObviously

#maybehedoesnthityou but he tries to control who you talk to, where you go, what friends you can have, and acts like it’s out of love.— sailor mourn ⚰ (@detricotage) May 9, 2016

#maybehedoesnthityou  but he constantly criticizes your clothes, your makeup, your body, instructs you to work out and be more ‘feminine.’— Laurie Penny (@PennyRed) May 11, 2016

#MaybeHeDoesntHitYoubut he makes sure you believe that you’re too broken/damaged to ever be wanted by anyone else— Just Juanita (@Just_Juanita May 9, 2016

#maybehedoesnthityou but he cheats left and right, and makes it feel like it’s you’re fault that he did it and that you can’t leave— lauren (@l0ve_lauren) May 11, 2016

#Maybehedoesnthityou but he’d convince you to hate your parents & friends and to push them away completely because they didn’t like him.— Queen Bitch (@MacaelaRipley) May 11, 2016

#maybehedoesnthityou but he rips your infant/toddler/small child from your arms and threatens you that you will never see your baby again. #maybehedoesnthityou but maybe he threatens you that he’ll convince the court that your unstable and bipolar so you will never have you child. #maybehedoesnthityou but has forced sodomized sex against your will with small child in bed at the same time #maybehedoesnthityou but he follows through on every single threat he’d made during the marriage! #maybehedoesnthityou but convinces everyone that none of this happened and your just a jealous or bitter lying albatross – February 16, 2020 -Kacie Brockman

#maybehedoesnthityou but he tells you he’ll kill himself if you break up with him.— Jenny Jaffe

#maybehedoesnthityou but he never lets you forget that he could leave you for someone prettier, less “slutty,” less emotional, less damaged.— Ella Dawson (@brosandprose) May 9, 2016

#maybehedoesnthityou and he treats you like property and not a person— Keegan Kenzie (@Keegannnnn)May 9, 2016

#maybehedoesnthityou but he says you should be grateful he doesn’t— audrey honeydrone (@singing_ghosts)May 9, 2016

Lemondrop Liars

“And it was determined that THAT was a lie. “

Maury Povich

I learned to lie by the very best, my mother. A theatrical, dramatic, and visually stunning woman, who could charm her way through life, or so she thought. I learned early on about white lies. Harmless lies that quickly evolved into what I now refer to as lemon drop lies. But it took me a “minute” longer, more like 40+ years to discover that my Mama had leveled up in the lying games.

The occasional white lie went something like this, “Oh no, we can’t make it, my husband has to work that night.”

Then came the lemon drop lie, “Oh no honey, we’re not racist, it has nothing to do with the fact that he’s black. We don’t have a problem with it. We’re just protecting you from the other parents that do.”

When I say leveled up, I’m not sure how to describe the lie other than a complete and unstable depart from reality. It goes something like this, “ You know Kasie, I just realized that I’m not as strong as you are anymore.” We were on a Skype call and she was down south at my brothers house. Now also important to mention, no one was talking to me at the time. Except for her. I mean for months. Nobody would talk to me, or answer my calls or my emails. But she would, sometimes. And she picked this specific visit at my brother’s house 600 miles away, to skype me out of the blue. Why? To set the trap. That is why.

She’d begun to wage a smear campaign against me. At first I didn’t understand what she kept talking around/talking about (you know exactly what I mean if you’ve ever experienced one of the covert narcissist’s attacks. They’re often so confusing but of course you’re the one, the only one that can’t understand them) so I asked. Her timid, childlike reply was, “Well, that time I came to your house and you shoved me out of the garage, I realized that I’m just not as strong as you are Kacie.”

She had certainly upped her game to a new level alright. I was frozen in sudden confusion but slowly what she was doing began to take hold. I slowly replied, “Mom, …what are you…doing?” She proceeds to repeat herself in the same manner as before. I suddenly realized she was laying a trap. I firmly responded, “Mom…listen to me clearly, I have never touched you or pushed. Not once, not ever.”

“You most certainly did Kacie, you just don’t remember. You were probably drinking. Anyways you know that isn’t why I am calling you, I’m only talking to you because I love you and I’ve missed you. Why do you always want to fight” Then leaving no opening for a response, she continues, “I’m not going to allow this. I’m having a good time here with your brother.”

Yeah, um…ok. No. She clearly called to set me up on camera alleging that I’ve physically abused her. I appropriately defend myself because it never happened and now somehow I’ve started a fight with the intention to ruin her trip.”

Continue reading “Lemondrop Liars”

Pray

This new idea challenged every single derogatory comment, harsh criticism, and uneducated label I believed…

Pray

Part 1

by Kacie Brockman

I remember the first night in rehab. Mind you, this is the first night out of jail, the first night understanding that I would never see my child again, and also realizing that I had nothing and nobody left in this world. So when I asked the house mother, “What do I do?” I was not prepared for her reply.

“Pray.”

Excuse me, what?

She had to be kidding. I needed help. Concrete, real, serious help. And that’s all she had? Pray? I truly believed I was in some cheesy hokey-Podunk rehabilitation center as she obviously had no professional training if that was her best answer.

But that was all she had,

And so that was all I got.

That night anyhow. Later she gave me something more, or perhaps it was an intercept by God. All I know is that I had been given a reprieve.

On Mother’s Day 2014, when I could not call, write or see my child and absolutely believing he was gone from my life forever, I was at the bottom, and I think the lowest I’ve ever been in my life actually. I reached into a bag that had been brought down by my family that contained approximately 10 Vicodin tablets, which a friend had given to me many months prior.

I took 2.

4 hours later, I took 3 more.

The next day I swallowed 5 with a smooth glass of ice-cold 2% Milk, and then I waited for the relief to embrace me, an embrace of comfort and warmth that I’d come to know far too well.

Then the counselor announced there’d be a drug test that evening. I’d been there only a few days and still on a highly monitored release until sentencing. And now I knew it was all over. My own damn doing. What now Ms. Book Smart?

I prayed.

For those who do not understand alcoholism or drug addiction, let me ask you this. Have you ever felt the sharp, agonizing pangs of loneliness and despair? An aching and relentlessly brutal sense of abandonment deep inside of your soul? But if somebody, anybody, would just come up and hold you for a moment, you might be okay? Might you be “just okay” for a minute?

Until you’re able to wrap your mind around this, you will never be able to fully understand what it’s like to be an alcoholic or a drug addict. So please, put your judgment down. In fact, put it away, far away. Because you don’t yet possess the capability to help an addict when you have no idea how excruciating it is to feel so utterly alone in this life. This world, this very existence can be unbearable for some, and if they know there is a way out, even for the briefest moment, they are going to take it. I mean, it’s sitting there…. right there beside you, only a short text away.


It’s indescribable how in that very moment, there is this absolute mental barricade that blinds you from seeing the ruinous reality that has already manifested in your life. The very existence from which you are now trying to escape from and which was significantly created due in part to that damned dependable, escape hatch.

It became a personal experience of infinite imprisonment inside Pandora’s Box- or another translation, Hell on Earth.

Often contributing to this perpetual cycle is that whatever the alcoholic or drug addict is feeling, enduring, or merely trying to survive through, are the reactions and verbal assaults from loved ones who’ve been deeply affected. Family or friends might inadvertently continue to reinforce the embedded belief system of the addict by voicing their own valid resentments and understandable anger.

As difficult as it is and while it might take enormous restraint, it is not in anyone’s best interest to vomit up your anger and pain upon the addict.

“You disgusting, immoral useless piece of trash drug addict, alcoholic, junkie, yes you are alone, for a good reason! My God, look at you! Get it together. You’re the only one who can fix this! Who in their right mind would even give you another chance? You’ve been given so many. You’ve burned so many bridges. You’re Pathetic!”

And please, for the love of all that is right and holy, do not, I repeat DO NOT establish a tough love agenda without Professional Support AND Education. This has proven deadly when applied irresponsibly without giving the addicted family member an option or opportunity to go to rehab or providing them with a positive reinforcing and achievable goal. Think BEFORE you react.

In my life, in my experience, this was precisely the case. I was efficiently and effectively cut out like a cancerous growth that had infected the family unit as a whole. Final words spoken to me before the procedure began will never be forgotten as they’ve been branded into my heart, my spirit, and my being for always. Yet, although some of my family had issued statements stemming from sincere concern, anguish, and pain, others, which I have now come to understand, were carefully crafted to inflict the most significant collateral damage possible.

It ends up a catch 22 for everyone. I have been blessed or cursed if you will, to have experienced both sides of the coin. At one time I could have told you which hurt more, yet today after all of it, I tell you this, each is equally paralyzing.

Mercifully a few months later came a day by which that indoctrination was to be critically challenged. One voice, it took only ONE person who possessed the power and strength to create some severe holes in that belief system. These are the words, her words, that changed everything.

“”I’ll tell you who you are—- amazing daughter of the highest King. An heir to the throne. Redeemed. Restored. Delivered. Beautiful. Wonderful. His workmanship. A masterpiece. You have been born for such a time as this! You are a conqueror, an overcomer, and an amazing friend! You are real. You are loved. You are amazing, and God has put a destiny and purpose in you. The only truth is what God says about you-and well, he made you, so you’re pretty darn special!”

S. Dillon

This new idea challenged every single derogatory comment, harsh criticism, and any uneducated label I’d come to accept and believe.


Pray

Part 2

Coming In From the North We Have Wind Speeds Picking up…

“Meteorologists rank hurricanes from one to five based on the Saffir-Simpson scale. The scale is a yardstick that takes into account a hurricane’s wind speed, storm surge, and air pressure. The scale begins with a Category 1, the least powerful and dangerous hurricane, and moves towards its climax at Category 5 — the most catastrophic.”

Category 1 hit me when I miscarried my son in 2004. Then I faced a Category 2 when I almost lost my second son in premature labor, forcing my hospitalization for 2 months and then my baby’s for another 3. Category 3 came with little warning as well. This storm lasted for an excruciatingly long season, subsequently resulting from my incarceration. (which for legal purposes I am not YET at liberty to discuss publicly.)

Then the Category 4 shit storm of 2018, which again buckled me to the ground. I am still Convinced of an agenda born and nurtured by a relentlessly manipulating matriarch. My conclusion, real or perceived, is that her plan was to extinguish my existence from her perfectly choreographed performance. I had become too much of a liability, always asking questions and probing for the truth. I gave her the opportunity she’d been watching and waiting for by falling off the wagon once again. She knew it was coming, hell she was the producer/writer/director of my life for God’s sake.

I am an alcoholic. Plain and simple. I’m accountable and responsible for EVERY SINGLE TIME that I ever placed that bottle to my lips. No one ever forced me, and of that, we can be sure.

But what if?

What if there was a cog placed in the machinery decades before. Or, for example, a virus if you will, which had been deliberately released to infect the host. What if someone wanted me, my inquisitive nature, my tendency to express trauma through writing, my high intelligence, what if they tried to contain that somehow? What if by creating/causing/spoon-feeding a lifetime of absolute inner confusion, fear, and self-doubt, slowly but steadily ensuring a structural weakness of some kind would appear leaving the host with zero credibility? What if it were more beneficial for me to be sick than well? What if by a simple tug here or push there, I could be entirely manipulated with pinpoint accuracy?

Think these “What if’s” preposterous?

Think Again,

And Again,

And Again.

I began to clear away the wreckage and rebuild. Alone. Alone except for one small but incredibly powerful and determined rogue soldier who’s always been able to think and react with complete independence. Still, beside me come what may…

Recently a Fierce Shit Storm forecast forgot to announce it’s arrival. It was coming in from the North and bound to arrive within minutes. There was absolutely no time to prepare. And so it hit. And it hit hard. No amount of preparedness would have helped me to escape or stopped the catastrophic fallout from this storm. All I could do, yet once again…was pray.

As cliche as it may sound, I got on my knees, and I begged my Creator for wisdom, strength, and discernment.

And I prayed, “Please help me, I can’t do this anymore.” And BOOM- prayer answered. Well, sort of…I wasn’t going to get out of it that easily. There was a pop quiz first before the answered prayer… I had to take an enormous leap of faith.

By enormous, I mean nothing left in the physical world to support your jump whatsoever. But you jump because it’s the only moral choice you have left. There are always choices. Always. But (whom/which/what) do you choose to serve?

Be careful what you pray for and be prepared to receive what you prayed for. If your feet aren’t steady and your mind isn’t ready, an answered prayer can be awfully slippery to hold onto.

Isaiah 42: 16-18

And I will bring the blind by a way that they knew not; I will lead them in paths that they have not known: I will make darkness light before them, and crooked things straight. These things will I do unto them, and not forsake them…

When God permits suffering, He also provides comfort. Trust me on this fundamental truth. He doesn’t allow you to endure life’s arduous trials without giving you the resources, support, and understanding that you will need to get through it.

Isaiah 41:10

So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.

On the surface, it looks insurmountable, whatever tribulation or difficulty you may be facing, as impossible as it may seem, it is absolutely survivable. And you will be okay.

These life lessons provide us with opportunities to gain wisdom, compassion, and experience to become the complete and whole human beings that God intended for each of us to grow.

What I want you to understand, it’s okay to fall apart, it’s okay to break down and completely crumble when faced with an undeniable truth, a severe life transition, or maybe a devastating health issue that’s beyond our control, it’s perfectly okay to fall apart…

But stand back up. No matter what, always get back up. You don’t stay there, you can’t. However comfortable it may appear at the moment, if you stay there, you will most surely die there.

So you will rise, and you will rise again. With each obstacle that we overcome, we are stronger, wiser, and more capable of facing the next one and the next one, and …well, you get the picture.

If you feel like you can’t stand back up, if you genuinely believe in your heart of hearts that you cannot arise out of the muck and mire, out of the trauma, or quite frankly, an excruciating shitstorm, then call out to God. YOUR GOD. Your source, your Creator, your Lord, your higher power, I don’t care what “translation/identification” of God you choose, because from my experience, he’s been there when I didn’t have any idea what or whom to call him. He still appeared and provided me with his divine comfort, mercy, and grace.

And to be quite honest, God should have been my FIRST choice, not my last resort. That understanding would have made this entire journey far less painful.

He will send angels that don’t look like angels, they may look like strangers you might pass on the street, or perhaps they might seem like an old friend from high school that you haven’t seen in 30 years, or they could look like someone that would never be accepted by society’s “norms.” And you know what? When you are broken and afraid, and you don’t know what direction to move on this game board of life’s new and dangerous reality, those angels will guide you home. They will guide you back to self. They will teach you about who you are, about what you are capable of, and they will teach you about your worth, your value, and your real purpose. And I promise you, by the grace of God and the angels that he delivers, you will always find your way back home.

Always.

Love, Kacie

“…And you can take that to the bank! ; )” -Michelle G. – a guardian angel of sorts