Within the Shadow I Am Drawn to the Power
The light in contrast to the darkness: It is only because I have known the darkness that the light has the power to engulf my soul.
At nine years old, on the air force base in Clovis, New Mexico, aside from my brothers and my Mom, I recall that arrowheads, leaves, and rock collecting were what I loved most about living in New Mexico.
I remember being in awe of the beauty inside the rocks.
Every rock, even if it looked similar on the outside, seemed to have different sparkles and color patterns on the inside.
I couldn’t wait to see what I would find when I broke them open.
Each leaf that clung to the trees spoke to me about their birth in the spring with all their crevices, lines, and colors in each shape.
I also remember finding them on the sidewalks along the paths I would walk and feeling their sadness as the trees ached and cried for their loss in the fall.
And the arrowheads whispered of a history that at that time I did not know of, but somehow felt at the core of me.
As I held each one, I would close my eyes and somehow know without doubt that I was from a different time.
A time when we used every part of animals without waste- for food, shelter, and warmth.
Even the blood was used to show strength in war and to demonstrate our grief.
There was a time when we treated our earth with more kindness, aware of its spirit as we listened to its guidance.
Those Indian historical romance books I read were not just about the love stories; they resonated with a time that I knew I had to have lived in one of my other lifetimes.
I even aspired to be like Indiana Jones, an archaeologist who went on adventures to discover answers through ancient artifacts about the past.
At that age, I remember sharing all my discoveries with my Mom, and she shared in my joy.
The darkness in contrast to the light: It is only because of the light that the darkness drowns me in its despair.
In much earlier years in New Mexico, two other experiences stood out throughout my childhood.
The first experience was with the unknown dog:
I loved Goofy, my first dog ever.
Goofy made me think all dogs were friendly.
Little did I know I would be taught a lesson I would never forget at five years old.
I remember going to my friend Lupe’s house for the first time.
I walked with my Mom and remember getting so excited that I broke away from my Mom’s hand because I saw Lupe’s dog by the fence.
I raced ahead and opened the latch to Lupe’s front gate of her fenced-in yard, where I met the angriest dog ever.
The dog I so anticipated meeting growled and bit into a chunk of my skin from my tummy.
I never looked at dogs the same again.
I had learned that, as much as you want to give all dogs the benefit of the doubt, you must be careful because it doesn’t matter how much love you have for them, some will still bite you.
The second experience was with the man:
At six years old, my middle two brothers’ father left me home alone, I swear, to test me.
When he came home, I learned I had failed his test miserably.
“Why did you answer the door when I told you not to?” He had yelled at me.
Looking up at him, I remember being afraid. But I answered, “Because it was our neighbor, and he said you told him to come and check on me since I was alone.”
“Didn’t I tell you not to answer the door?” His eyes had that hard, dark glint that I had seen before.
It was the same look that he gave my Mom right before he started to beat her, kicking at her while she tried to protect herself on the floor.
He was the reason I learned to read eyes.
Eyes were not something that I paid attention to initially because of love.
Eyes were something I learned so that I would know when my Mom and I were in danger.
I knew what was coming.
That night, I remember lying in my bed in my room, crying from pain, telling my Mom that something was wrong with me, my shoulder and neck hurt.
She told me I was fine, that I would be okay.
She told me it was just bruised, and she put ice on it.
I remember not going to school, and I remember feeling that pain for days after.
Was I ever angry at my Mom?
No, I wanted to believe her.
And I also knew he controlled my Mom.
My Mom was afraid of him, and I was scared, too — not just for myself but also for my Mom.
I hurt for her, and I understood that she felt powerless against him.
How could I be angry with her when I felt powerless too?
The first time I questioned my power:
That day, I woke up to the school calling me at 10 am.
“You need to come pick him up, he was leaning back in his chair and bit his tongue very badly when he came back down to the ground.
Daniel is in the nurse's office and is asking for you.”
This was not the first time I was told that Daniel was not sitting still.
When he first started school, at least once a week, he came home with red behavior cards for talking to his classmates during class work time or for not sitting still.
I picked him up.
I made sure his tongue was okay.
I made him soup for lunch and instructed him to let it cool so he wouldn’t hurt his tongue more.
I told him we would talk about his behavior when I woke up. I was tired, extremely angry, and not in the right frame of mind to speak to him.
I could tell he knew he had pushed my boundaries by looking at my eyes.
I had barely gotten him to school after my 12-hour graveyard shift and had just fallen asleep when the school called.
I have been told that when I smile and laugh, I have a mischievous sparkle in my eyes like my father’s.
This day, that was not the case.
I could feel the anger in me.
I knew my eyes would scare him like they had done before.
Billy told me the first time he saw me get angry that he couldn’t believe the change in my eyes.
He had said, “You know that you scare Daniel with how your eyes turn cold and dark. It is as if a light switch turns off any love that you have within you. He told me he thinks you hate him sometimes, or that you could kill him.”
I couldn’t understand why my son would ever feel this way. I never once in his life thought that I hated my son or have ever contemplated killing him or anyone else for that matter.
Still…, why did I almost embrace these words?
I remember almost being okay with what Billy told me because, in the end, didn’t Daniel need to know that his Momma meant business?
Daniel was a boy then, but eventually he would be a man.
Did I want him to think he could grow up one day bigger than me and walk all over his Momma?
I justified this even further- I mean after all, despite the fear I caused him, did I not always ensure that he never went to bed, thinking I didn’t care?
I remember after whatever discipline I gave him, whether it was grounding him or giving him spankings, always making sure that a conversation happened shortly after and always letting him know that regardless of my disappointment in his behavior or in the discipline that he was given, I loved him no matter what and that I didn’t find enjoyment in being angry with him.
I often told him that I was even more angry with him for his behavior because the time I had with him when I wasn’t working was so little, and the last thing I wanted was to spend it disciplining him.
After that conversation with Billy, I became more aware of my anger and how my son perceived me.
Still deep down, I couldn’t help but question why this was something I did not want to change.
Where did this come from?
It came from my desire to have power.
“I don’t want child support from any of them,” my Mom told me when I told her she didn’t have to work two jobs if she would just talk to our dads about helping with our financial care.
My Mom, like me, refused to live off the system or anyone else.
Once my Mom was finally free from her last relationship, she wanted no hold on her from anyone.
To her, this equalled power.
I have become the same woman.
My son’s father was not on his birth certificate for a reason.
This equalled power.
I am just as stubborn and unwilling to allow myself to become dependent on anyone.
Recently, I was told, “You know, once Daniel is working, you don’t have to keep your second job.” I adamantly refused this idea…
And what about when he leaves me again?
Two jobs until my business takes off equals the ability to care for myself without anyone's support.
This equals power.
“I am inclined to disagree with Jung when he says the Shadow is the person that we’d rather not be. The Shadow is that unadorned part of ourself, it is flexible the way it stretches and contorts. The Shadow is our dark side, the side we hide and climb into, not the person that we would rather not be, but the person we would rather be.”
Quote by Chloe Thurlow, The Fifty Shades of Gray Phenomena
In summary, I read another quote stating that we choose the masks we wear because that is who we want to be.
Both of these were extremely thought-provoking to me.
I had always thought about our masks hiding our vulnerabilities, but had never contemplated that the mask I have worn is the person I would rather be.
I always thought that we didn’t want to be like our shadow.
In the darkness of my shadow is a love of power.
Is there not some right in that wrong?
That love of power has made me grow into a leader.
That love was born from the powerlessness that I felt as a child.
Power dynamics have always been something that I have been drawn to in my fantasies and my relationships.
Is this why the idea of plutonian relationships holds such attraction for me?
I look for these specifically in combined astrology charts because of their magnetic and intense influence.
Is this because I need to have these imbalances of power brought back to the surface so I can learn to empower myself?
I am still learning.
With Pluto in retrograde, this will only intensify my need for self-analysis.
There are many stories of superheroes who have empowered themselves by embracing their powers, but there are also stories of villains who have misused that power.
Where is the line drawn?
I could be walking a slippery slope.
Can’t this embracing of power hinder me from being vulnerable?
Without being vulnerable, how will I know what it is like to have you love the real ME?
Question:
What animal do you prefer to face?
Would you prefer to approach the man standing at the gate waiting for you, or the unknown dog?
Both scarred me. One forever changed my perspective on dogs.
The other forever changed my perspective on power.
Answer:
I still trust the dog over the man.
However, I know that I have to face my biggest fears to reclaim what was taken from me.
Because of this, I would empower myself with my body, mind, and spirit to ensure that no one ever holds me powerless again as he once did.
I would approach the man and stand tall against him, for in my darkness lies my power.