There's a Portal. . .part 1
Time Frame: Fall 2011
It had been over a year since our first meeting with Dr. B, the shaman, and while I wasn't necessarily accustomed to the weirdness in my household, it was becoming harder and harder to truly rattle me. In my newly found wisdom on all things cosmic, I had adopted an approach of complete neutrality when it came to Lizzie. I was determined to stay open, but my inner skeptic was certainly alive and well. So, when she opened up to me about her experiences, my replies were always: Hmmmm. Tell me more. What do you think about that? It sounds like you are figuring things out. . .etc., etc. I was still wondering if giving her words too much attention was "feeding the delusions," so I tempered my replies with very little emotion. Yep. If I'm being honest, I still wasn't completely sure we shouldn't be headed to the psych ward.
Bandit, a magnificent blue merle Australian shepherd, had joined our family in January of 2011 and had made a staggeringly positive impact on Lizzie. He was a trained emotional assistance dog and he did his job remarkably well. He was 8 years old when he joined us and he and Lizzie bonded immediately. (He will soon be the subject of many blog posts as I compile his story for you. Stay tuned!)
Bandit was by her side every second that she was home. One night after her bath and bedtime routine, she flew back down the stairs with Bandit dutifully on her heels. With hands placed dramatically on her hips, she made the following announcement:
"Mom, there's bad energy in my room, and I'm not sleeping in there ANYMORE. I'm packing up my Barbies and I'm sleeping with my little brother downstairs in his room!"
Remember all that bragging I did earlier about staying neutral? Well, yeah. Before I could catch them, my eyes rolled into the back of my head and I let out a sigh of total exasperation. In response, her little body stiffened in defiance. My mom hackles stood straight up, and it was officially ON!
"Lizzie! We JUST finished re-decorating your room with ALL THE STUFF YOU PICKED OUT! You have new furniture! It's beautiful! I did NOT just do all this for you to sleep on the floor in your brother's room! You have your dog, you have your stuffed animals, and YOU'RE FINE. You are NOT moving into your brother's room."
Her little third grade self was not budging.
"MOM. I'm TELLING you. There's bad stuff in my room, and I'm NOT sleeping in there!"
We went back and forth while my nerves continued to fray and she continued to dig in.
"Ok. We're going upstairs. I'll show you there's nothing going on in there, and you WILL sleep in your room!
I ran up the stairs with her and tried to soften my tone. I was SO DONE with all this nonsense and at this point was really convinced it was part of her power play to gain some control and avoid bedtime. We went around the room and I opened all the closet doors, dresser drawers, and covered the room in words like "nope, nothing here. . .see--all good. . .safe in the closet. . .you're all set!"
Feeling more than a little too bitchy all of a sudden, I offered to sing some songs with her and snuggle in her bed a bit so she could settle down and she grudgingly agreed. She climbed in under the covers and Bandit assumed his position on the floor right beside her bed. After several verses of You Are My Sunshine and On Top of Spaghetti, I left her to go to sleep. I closed her door, and heard the familiar, comforting sound of Bandit leaning against the door and sliding down to the floor to begin sentry duty. He would stay there all night, literally, physically blocking the door.
I wearily descended the stairs, satisfied that I had won the battle of wills. This confirmed for me my suspicions that this was less about bad mojo and more about a power struggle . After all, my girl was one bull-headed kid. . .and I knew she was jockeying for some control. I had to show her I was the alpha dog, right?
The night was uneventful as were the next few. I gave all this no more thought. Then that weekend I heard,
"Come on Bam Bam! Come! Bandit, COME!"
When I investigated, I saw Lizzie on the third step of the stairs with her hands around Bandit's collar, trying to pull him up the stairs. He was stiff-legging it at the bottom of the stairs, clearly refusing Lizzie's commands.
My heart sank. Bandit was already 8 years old. Instantly I assumed his hips were bothering him. He had had some trouble learning to navigate the stairs when we first got him (he had lived his entire life in a Florida ranch) and now I just knew the stairs had aggravated arthritis that we hadn't known about.
When Lizzie saw me, she bristled and announced yet again, "THIS IS IT! I'm telling you, I'm sleeping downstairs from now on."
Not knowing if Bandit was in pain, and because it wasn't a school night, I surrendered this battle to the kid. I figured we'd just save this for Sunday night. She ran the rest of the way up the stairs and Bandit waited at the bottom, intently following her as she disappeared into her room. He was still in place when she came bounding down the stairs with two big bags of Barbies, her pillow, and her blanket. She had been serious! In her mind, even the BARBIES weren't safe in her room! In that moment, it hit me that whether or not I believed her, she was convinced. I decided it was time to email Dr. B. and get some help.
I didn't fight Lizzie over the next few days as she bunked with her brother. And while Bandit would faithfully wait at the bottom of the stairs, he still wouldn't go up with her when she occasionally went in to her room for clothes or other toys. Dr. B was scheduled to make a house call in a few days and I decided to bide my time until then.
Dr. B. arrived in the afternoon and we all headed upstairs to discuss the predicament. Bandit. . .well--you guessed it. . .waited at the foot of the stairs. Halfway up the stairway, Dr. B started cringing. He announced matter-of-factly that he could "already feel the problem."
(Ooops. There went my eyes again. . .really needed to get all this rolling under control. . .)
Dr. B asked Lizzie to fill him in as we entered her room . She calmly but adamantly launched into her explanation.
"There something REALLY bad over here, over my Barbie house, in this corner. And over by my closet too. Oh, and there's a man who sits on the foot of my bed every night and watches me sleep, and I don't like it."
I watched my child interact with Dr. B as if they were twins with their own secret language. I was clearly an outsider. She was speaking English, but I had NO IDEA what she was talking about. And why was I just now hearing about this man on the foot of her bed?? I had never been so relieved to have some back-up in the form of Dr. B, who sent us downstairs while he "did his thing," and Lizzie went out to play.
Bandit assumed his position at the front door to await her return and I sat in the living room with my thoughts. What had I done? SERIOUSLY? There's bad cosmic ghost shit in my kid's room and I've been forcing her to sleep up there? I had been so certain this was all a game. . .even with all the experiences of the past 16 months. It dawned on me that she hadn't told me about the man because she knew I wouldn't believe her. She couldn't trust me. As I sat judging and condemning myself, Dr. B. called down from the top of the stairs.
"Have Lizzie come on back up!"
I called Lizzie in from outside and she ran through the front door and straight up the stairs. Bandit hopped to attention and. . .
RAN UP THE STAIRS RIGHT BEHIND HER.
Well, damn. Guess it wasn't arthritis.
I followed and heard Lizzie exclaim, "It feels EMPTY in here!"
What a strange word. Empty. Not, "It feels better," or "It feels safe."
It feels empty.
Dr. B said that was what he was going for, and with that, Lizzie ran back out to play. He started chuckling as he caught my expression. "Let's go downstairs and I'll fill you in."
Dr. B was a master at easing me into the information I needed. He knew how to push me just enough so I would open up my awareness, but he held back the things he didn't think I was ready for. He explained that she was absolutely right--dark energy over the Barbie house and by the closet. The man on her bed was a benevolent spirit who was watching out for her. Dr. B advised him we had that job covered and invited him to head into the light, which he did. Dr. B went on to explain that Lizzie was responsible for all these energies in her room because she was opening portals in order to "play" on the other side.
With that word, my open mind instantly slammed shut.
"Are we talking, "RUN TO THE LIGHT, CAROL-ANN" kind of portals?" Images of 1982's Poltergeist raced through my mind. Dr. B laughed it off but said, "Well . . .of a sort. . ."
Oh good lord.
"But don't worry, I've closed and sealed it, and I've worked on Lizzie's ability to open them. She's still so open energetically and so persistent, but she's not ready to understand or protect herself. We'll need to keep a close eye on all this."
Yeah. Ya think? And DON'T WORRY?
This was not the last I would hear about this portal.
Meanwhile, I struggled with tremendous guilt. I had allowed my brain to overrule my heart and I had forced my child into a scary situation. I relied on logic and my training as an educator and my understanding of child development. And in the process I had taught Lizzie she couldn't be open with me because I wouldn't believe her. Mom guilt sucks.
I wish I could say it was the last time I doubted her or challenged her motives. I'm human and so is she. But that's what this journey is all about--expanding and accepting and forgiving and loving unconditionally. And today I can say I'm further along than I was on this day in 2011. . .and that's progress!
It had been over a year since our first meeting with Dr. B, the shaman, and while I wasn't necessarily accustomed to the weirdness in my household, it was becoming harder and harder to truly rattle me. In my newly found wisdom on all things cosmic, I had adopted an approach of complete neutrality when it came to Lizzie. I was determined to stay open, but my inner skeptic was certainly alive and well. So, when she opened up to me about her experiences, my replies were always: Hmmmm. Tell me more. What do you think about that? It sounds like you are figuring things out. . .etc., etc. I was still wondering if giving her words too much attention was "feeding the delusions," so I tempered my replies with very little emotion. Yep. If I'm being honest, I still wasn't completely sure we shouldn't be headed to the psych ward.
Bandit, a magnificent blue merle Australian shepherd, had joined our family in January of 2011 and had made a staggeringly positive impact on Lizzie. He was a trained emotional assistance dog and he did his job remarkably well. He was 8 years old when he joined us and he and Lizzie bonded immediately. (He will soon be the subject of many blog posts as I compile his story for you. Stay tuned!)
Bandit was by her side every second that she was home. One night after her bath and bedtime routine, she flew back down the stairs with Bandit dutifully on her heels. With hands placed dramatically on her hips, she made the following announcement:
"Mom, there's bad energy in my room, and I'm not sleeping in there ANYMORE. I'm packing up my Barbies and I'm sleeping with my little brother downstairs in his room!"
Remember all that bragging I did earlier about staying neutral? Well, yeah. Before I could catch them, my eyes rolled into the back of my head and I let out a sigh of total exasperation. In response, her little body stiffened in defiance. My mom hackles stood straight up, and it was officially ON!
"Lizzie! We JUST finished re-decorating your room with ALL THE STUFF YOU PICKED OUT! You have new furniture! It's beautiful! I did NOT just do all this for you to sleep on the floor in your brother's room! You have your dog, you have your stuffed animals, and YOU'RE FINE. You are NOT moving into your brother's room."
Her little third grade self was not budging.
"MOM. I'm TELLING you. There's bad stuff in my room, and I'm NOT sleeping in there!"
We went back and forth while my nerves continued to fray and she continued to dig in.
"Ok. We're going upstairs. I'll show you there's nothing going on in there, and you WILL sleep in your room!
I ran up the stairs with her and tried to soften my tone. I was SO DONE with all this nonsense and at this point was really convinced it was part of her power play to gain some control and avoid bedtime. We went around the room and I opened all the closet doors, dresser drawers, and covered the room in words like "nope, nothing here. . .see--all good. . .safe in the closet. . .you're all set!"
Feeling more than a little too bitchy all of a sudden, I offered to sing some songs with her and snuggle in her bed a bit so she could settle down and she grudgingly agreed. She climbed in under the covers and Bandit assumed his position on the floor right beside her bed. After several verses of You Are My Sunshine and On Top of Spaghetti, I left her to go to sleep. I closed her door, and heard the familiar, comforting sound of Bandit leaning against the door and sliding down to the floor to begin sentry duty. He would stay there all night, literally, physically blocking the door.
I wearily descended the stairs, satisfied that I had won the battle of wills. This confirmed for me my suspicions that this was less about bad mojo and more about a power struggle . After all, my girl was one bull-headed kid. . .and I knew she was jockeying for some control. I had to show her I was the alpha dog, right?
The night was uneventful as were the next few. I gave all this no more thought. Then that weekend I heard,
"Come on Bam Bam! Come! Bandit, COME!"
When I investigated, I saw Lizzie on the third step of the stairs with her hands around Bandit's collar, trying to pull him up the stairs. He was stiff-legging it at the bottom of the stairs, clearly refusing Lizzie's commands.
My heart sank. Bandit was already 8 years old. Instantly I assumed his hips were bothering him. He had had some trouble learning to navigate the stairs when we first got him (he had lived his entire life in a Florida ranch) and now I just knew the stairs had aggravated arthritis that we hadn't known about.
When Lizzie saw me, she bristled and announced yet again, "THIS IS IT! I'm telling you, I'm sleeping downstairs from now on."
Not knowing if Bandit was in pain, and because it wasn't a school night, I surrendered this battle to the kid. I figured we'd just save this for Sunday night. She ran the rest of the way up the stairs and Bandit waited at the bottom, intently following her as she disappeared into her room. He was still in place when she came bounding down the stairs with two big bags of Barbies, her pillow, and her blanket. She had been serious! In her mind, even the BARBIES weren't safe in her room! In that moment, it hit me that whether or not I believed her, she was convinced. I decided it was time to email Dr. B. and get some help.
I didn't fight Lizzie over the next few days as she bunked with her brother. And while Bandit would faithfully wait at the bottom of the stairs, he still wouldn't go up with her when she occasionally went in to her room for clothes or other toys. Dr. B was scheduled to make a house call in a few days and I decided to bide my time until then.
Dr. B. arrived in the afternoon and we all headed upstairs to discuss the predicament. Bandit. . .well--you guessed it. . .waited at the foot of the stairs. Halfway up the stairway, Dr. B started cringing. He announced matter-of-factly that he could "already feel the problem."
(Ooops. There went my eyes again. . .really needed to get all this rolling under control. . .)
Dr. B asked Lizzie to fill him in as we entered her room . She calmly but adamantly launched into her explanation.
"There something REALLY bad over here, over my Barbie house, in this corner. And over by my closet too. Oh, and there's a man who sits on the foot of my bed every night and watches me sleep, and I don't like it."
I watched my child interact with Dr. B as if they were twins with their own secret language. I was clearly an outsider. She was speaking English, but I had NO IDEA what she was talking about. And why was I just now hearing about this man on the foot of her bed?? I had never been so relieved to have some back-up in the form of Dr. B, who sent us downstairs while he "did his thing," and Lizzie went out to play.
Bandit assumed his position at the front door to await her return and I sat in the living room with my thoughts. What had I done? SERIOUSLY? There's bad cosmic ghost shit in my kid's room and I've been forcing her to sleep up there? I had been so certain this was all a game. . .even with all the experiences of the past 16 months. It dawned on me that she hadn't told me about the man because she knew I wouldn't believe her. She couldn't trust me. As I sat judging and condemning myself, Dr. B. called down from the top of the stairs.
"Have Lizzie come on back up!"
I called Lizzie in from outside and she ran through the front door and straight up the stairs. Bandit hopped to attention and. . .
RAN UP THE STAIRS RIGHT BEHIND HER.
Well, damn. Guess it wasn't arthritis.
I followed and heard Lizzie exclaim, "It feels EMPTY in here!"
What a strange word. Empty. Not, "It feels better," or "It feels safe."
It feels empty.
Dr. B said that was what he was going for, and with that, Lizzie ran back out to play. He started chuckling as he caught my expression. "Let's go downstairs and I'll fill you in."
Dr. B was a master at easing me into the information I needed. He knew how to push me just enough so I would open up my awareness, but he held back the things he didn't think I was ready for. He explained that she was absolutely right--dark energy over the Barbie house and by the closet. The man on her bed was a benevolent spirit who was watching out for her. Dr. B advised him we had that job covered and invited him to head into the light, which he did. Dr. B went on to explain that Lizzie was responsible for all these energies in her room because she was opening portals in order to "play" on the other side.
With that word, my open mind instantly slammed shut.
"Are we talking, "RUN TO THE LIGHT, CAROL-ANN" kind of portals?" Images of 1982's Poltergeist raced through my mind. Dr. B laughed it off but said, "Well . . .of a sort. . ."
Oh good lord.
"But don't worry, I've closed and sealed it, and I've worked on Lizzie's ability to open them. She's still so open energetically and so persistent, but she's not ready to understand or protect herself. We'll need to keep a close eye on all this."
Yeah. Ya think? And DON'T WORRY?
This was not the last I would hear about this portal.
Meanwhile, I struggled with tremendous guilt. I had allowed my brain to overrule my heart and I had forced my child into a scary situation. I relied on logic and my training as an educator and my understanding of child development. And in the process I had taught Lizzie she couldn't be open with me because I wouldn't believe her. Mom guilt sucks.
I wish I could say it was the last time I doubted her or challenged her motives. I'm human and so is she. But that's what this journey is all about--expanding and accepting and forgiving and loving unconditionally. And today I can say I'm further along than I was on this day in 2011. . .and that's progress!
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