Yesterday I learned that I have been a teacher, and a spiritual teacher, in many "past" (or parallel) lives. This made so much sense.
As a little girl, I was obsessed with becoming a teacher. I setup class rooms. Always had a chalkboard. Knew how to maintain and average a gradebook. And my favirite thing to do was a trip to the Teacher Supply Store, which my father obliged. One of my most prized posessions was an overhead projector. I felt legit. And my friends enjoyed playing school with me, too. It seemed my future was set.
Then, sexual trauma happened. That little girl who had a zest for life, who knew who she was, where she was going, and what she was meant to do, deminished into a black hole, void of feeling anything but inadequate, broken, and hopeless.
That little girl rose from the ashes after years of cognitive behavior therapy, numerous breakdowns and bouts of agoraphobia. But the dream was played out. It no longer captivated her because instead of just rainbows, she now saw darkness. The school system is broken. And still feeling broken herself, what chance did she have of changing it? So she tried on different hats. But none of them fit, and none of them made her feel passionate.
I am that little girl. And it's okay to feel dispassionate. It's okay to realize a dream didn't come to fruition. It's okay to be afraid of going against the grain. And it's okay to change my mind. It's also okay to grieve the loss of the dream. I accept this aspect of myself and love it as part of me. We are going to get through this together and find our life spark again. ❤