Finding Courage to Let You Out: Living Our Human Ness with Our Human Mess

By Dr. Natacha D. Nelson D.C M.A.

Have you ever looked at your life and wondered, “How the F**k did I end up here?”
Have you felt the inner conflict of your head pulling you one way, and your heart luring you another, uncertainty and the unknown keeping you stuck?
“Finding the Courage to Let YOU Out” takes you on a journey to the center of human emotions. Honestly examines the pain of addiction, depression, anxiety, guilt, and shame. Revealing ways we keep ourselves tethered to a life we may have outgrown.
“Finding the Courage to Let YOU Out” explores the influence of family, friends, society, circumstances we are born in and those we create. Bringing clarity to choices made when emotional and mental worlds collide.
While we cannot change the past, or undo what’s been done, We can make peace with choices made, actions taken, and behaviors expressed. We can learn to connect the dots of past events, neutralize the emotional charge , and minimize their influence in the present.
We can learn to trust, allowing our most Authentic Self to guide us, to make decisions more in alignment with a fulfilling way of being.
In “Finding the Courage to Let YOU Out,” we explore what it means to be human; our human NESS and our human MESS, struggling to find the courage and confidence to show up in the world as the person we are meant to Be.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press
• Release date: Jan 14, 2019
• ISBN: 9781982218737

Dr. Natacha D. Nelson D.C M.A.

Dr. Natacha D. Nelson D.C, M.A. has dedicated her career to understanding the connections between physical, mental, emotional and spiritual well-being through principles of Chiropractic and Spiritual Psychology. For twenty years, she has worked in private practice, helping thousands of patients understand and care for their body and health. She lives in Los Angeles, with her daughter, where she continues her work as a Mental Health and Wellness consultant and educator. Visit www.lifedoctor.guru for more information on developing your personal or professional Mental Health and Wellness Program.

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PART 1

Chapter 1

Why do I have to go? Why are you sending me away? I want to stay here and be with you. Please, Mom, don’t make me go.

My lopsided, sagging braids mirrored the feelings in my heart. Holding my mom’s hand while walking through the international terminal at the San Francisco airport, thoughts swirled through my head as I hopelessly wondered how to change her mind.

I was eleven years old and not sure how to get my mom’s attention to tell her how scared I was, to let her know how terrified I felt to speak up. Honestly, I did not want to spend the summer in Europe with her friends—friends I didn’t remember ever meeting. Being with our distant family without her, without Grandmommy, seemed cruel. Heartbroken and discouraged, I gave up trying and accepted that I would not see her for eleven weeks.

At the gate, the ticketing agent put a blue, white, and red plastic pouch around my shoulders. It’s the unmistakable announcement to the flight staff and other passengers that I was a minor traveling alone and that strangers should help me if I became lost. I didn’t want strangers to look at me or to help me. I didn’t want to be alone. This was not how flying was supposed to be.

I was supposed to be sandwiched between my grandmother, Jeanne, and my mom, Arlette. This was how each of the dozen previous flights to France and Germany were.

I knew Mom loved me. I wished I knew why she was sending me away. An entire summer without her and my friends, and without the comforts of my room. I knew I should not ask why. Asking that would indicate that I was scared and questioning her decision. Neither was allowed in our home, according to Mom. Showing any emotions, especially in public, was unacceptable and forbidden.

At eleven years old, I was tall enough to stand eye to eye with my mom, but I dared not look into her eyes. I was grateful for my physical stature, as I attempted to appear older than my age. I carried my head high, shoulders back, and chin up, desperately attempting to convey the courage, confidence, and strength missing just below my skin’s surface.

I hugged Mom while mining deep for the highest level of false bravado I could achieve. Using all of my might, my full-toothed smile took over. My smile veiled my quivering lips. I willed my eyelids to stay open while tilting my head slightly back. My warm, unseen tears slid down the back of my throat.

I did it. There was not even a sniffle as Mom and I parted. My wobbly knees buckled beneath the heavy burden of hurt and despair lodged in my throat. When I reached my assigned seat, the overwhelming emotional toll forced my legs to collapse. Crumpling, my body followed.

It took the entire flight, eleven hours, to regain my composure, to retrieve my energy reserves to face what awaited in Dusseldorf. I hoped the daughters would be nice to me. I wondered if they spoke English. Or maybe French? Maybe Mom told me, but I felt too betrayed by her to pay attention as she explained the details. Completely shocked, I was only informed a few days ago about this trip.

Feeling abandoned after her sudden announcement on my last day of seventh grade, I wondered what other secrets she was keeping from me. Was this trip really only eleven weeks? Or would it be longer, maybe permanent? What else was she not telling me? I never knew what was in her mind. She only shared with me what I needed to know, when I needed to know it, leaving me to follow her directions.

Besides, my ideas were dumb. Nothing I had to say was important. I guess I was not old enough to have ideas that mattered. So much for spending the summer with Suzie, my new best friend. My plans with her were overlooked.

When the food cart came down the aisle, I was so hungry. I knew that if I asked, the flight attendant would give me extra. They always did. Maybe because I was a kid. Maybe my dimples and my big, brave smile were irresistible. Or maybe they felt sorry for me too. This time, I was flying alone. She would definitely give me more. She gave me an entire bag containing one hundred miniature servings of peanuts, an entire can of orange soda, and an extra one to keep for the movie. I was going to be okay.

In a calmed, dreamy state, my mind drifted to eighteen months earlier.

Chapter 2

I’ll be taking Grandmommy to the doctor today, then I will pick you up from school.

As I ran to catch the bus, I said, Okay. Bye.

It was rare for Mom to pick me up from school. Normally, Grandmommy waited for me at the bus stop, and then Mom came home much later, after Grandmommy and I had dinner. Dinner was just with my mom that night.

Grandmommy is staying at the doctor’s tonight, she said as we ate. I will bring her home tomorrow.

She’s okay, right? I asked.

Yes. Nothing’s wrong. My friend Ingrid is coming tomorrow from Germany. Just for a little while. She wants to visit California. She’ll be staying in the other room, so please take your toys out and make room for her.

An eerie stillness hovered over the house; I missed the sound of Wonder Woman playing in the background. It was Grandmommy’s favorite television show. Watching Linda Carter spin into character to save the planet always made her giggle. The night didn’t feel the same. I was supposed to be in her bed to snuggle myself to sleep. I would put my cold feet on her, and she would squeal, pretending to push me out. But I wouldn’t leave, and she wouldn’t make me. Once her electric blanket got as hot as she liked, I would leave to my bed.

That night, I just went straight to my room after I cleaned up. I was too sad to be with Mom. She seemed sad too. I thought she wanted to be left alone. She didn’t ask me to come in, so I didn’t want to bother her.

There was no smell of breakfast the next morning when I woke. Oh, yeah. Grandmommy was at the doctor’s office. At least she would be back that night. The house felt weird without her. There was a void.

You can take the bus home today, Mom said. Ingrid is here from Germany, and I’m checking on Grandmommy today.

Ingrid greeted me at the bus stop. Grandmommy must be too tired to walk the few blocks. I couldn’t wait to see her. Mom was home too. How fun that everyone is home, I thought.

Come sit over here with us, Mom whispered.

I looked around but didn’t see Grandmommy.

Mom said, I took Grandmommy to the hospital yesterday so the doctors could help her. They were not able to help. She died this afternoon.

Silent and limp, I fell into Mom’s arms. Despite the swell of tears, I didn’t cry. I was angry and felt confused. I felt numb.

I didn’t know Grandmommy was sick. She seemed fine to me. No one told me she was sick. I didn’t get to say goodbye. Mom lied to me. She lied to me. I couldn’t believe she would lie to me. Why would she keep this kind of secret from me? I didn’t know I wasn’t going to see her again. She didn’t even take me to the hospital. How come she wouldn’t let me see her? I hated her for keeping this a secret from me. Grandmommy was gone, and I didn’t get to hug her or say goodbye.

I fell asleep while thinking, Grandmommy died today. Grandmommy died today. Grandmommy died today. I wished I could get up and take the needle off the scratched vinyl to make the unacceptable voice in my mind stop. I wanted to stay awake until my mom came in. I wanted her to hug me. I wanted to cry. I was not sure if it was okay for me to cry, at least not in front of her. Maybe it was best if she didn’t come in so I could cry.

I woke up to the smell of breakfast cooking. It was all a nightmare, I thought; Grandmommy was alive. I rushed into the kitchen, but my heart fell, seeing Ingrid’s beautiful breakfast on the table. The nightmare was real. I could not cry. I could not make her feel bad. I didn’t want Mom to see me cry. I knew seeing me cry made her feel bad.

Taking a bite of the Nutella on toast crushed my heart. This was what Grandmommy always had waiting for me after school. I would never get to have this snack with her again. Waiting for my mom, who had not come down from her room yet, I ate another grilled toast with Nutella. Then another. By the third piece, my stomach felt stretched to its limit, but I ate a fourth. In my stomach, it was as if the bread soaked up all of my swallowed tears. With an aching stomach, I went back to my room. Hoping Mom would come comfort me before school, I deliberately took longer to get ready, in case she needed extra time to find the right words for me.

I heard Mom in the kitchen with Ingrid. Realizing she was not going to open the door to my bedroom, I came out on my own. Mom was crying at the counter; I let her know I was ready for school, making no mention of her ignoring my silent pleas for her comfort. Peering at Mom, I wondered why she didn’t come into my room to comfort me, to talk with me. I desperately needed her to tell me what would happen next. Would there be a funeral? What would that be like? Would I see Grandmommy’s dead body? I was not sure if I wanted to or not. I hoped I was not too scared. I had never seen a dead body before. TV didn’t count; it’s not real. Who would take me to the bus stop? Who would be waiting for me after school? What would happen to me? Would I be sent to live somewhere else? So many questions I needed answers to, in order to feel safe. Terror rose in my body; I was uncertain of what life was going to look like now. Would I be separated from my mom?

Do your best in school today, she said. I know it is hard. But I know you will be okay. Just be brave. Ingrid will be here this afternoon.

Go to school? I had to go to school?! How was I supposed to go to school? What was I supposed to say? Did I just act the same, as if nothing happened? I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. How was I supposed to act? It was probably best if I said nothing. As long as I didn’t cry or act sad, no one would know. No one would ask. I would just try to focus at school until Mom told me what to do. Until she told me what would happen next, I would just stay quiet and not ask. For now, no one needed to know.

Until she told me what to do, I would fix myself my favorite snack: toasted bread with Nutella. Two pieces with extra Nutella melting in the crevices. Just how Grandmommy would have made for me. I can imagine her smiling at me as I sat at the table for snack time. I must have been hungrier than usual; I had two more slices.

Chapter 3

There had been no funeral. Grandmommy’s ashes arrived in a small box labeled Cremains; I wondered what happened to that box. Mom never told me. Mom had moved on, accepting the death faster and better than I did. Although I still wished she would come talk to me about Grandmommy and the circumstances of her death, I long ago gave up hope that she would open my bedroom door for a heart-to-heart talk with me. Heart-to-hearts were just not her style.

Mom didn’t say much about Grandmommy. Each day, she and I went through the day, speaking of logistics, sharing the basic, day-to-day operations: the time and place of school activities, pickups, drop-offs, meals, and classroom necessities. We didn’t talk about Grandmommy. We didn’t talk about her, although my heart yearned to know more about her. My aching heart felt incomplete. Without a funeral, without talking about her, my heart had no closure. A loud silent gap remained between me and Mom.

Grandmommy died of pancreatic cancer, Mom finally said. It was sudden, and there was nothing we could have done. There is nothing the doctors could do. You’ll be starting a new school in the fall. Let’s focus on that. Be brave and strong. We will be okay.

I didn’t press her for more details. I knew not to ask; she wouldn’t answer my questions. I knew she loved me. I knew she would do everything she could to keep us safe, to keep us together. This was really all I needed to know. It was just me and Mom now, just the two of us. It was probably better if I just stayed quietly in the background, letting her handle life for us both.

I wished I had a sibling, someone to share this experience with, someone to help me understand the pain I felt. I wished I had close family I could call. Cousins from my dad’s family lived nearby, but I didn’t feel close to them. Not close enough to call for help. So many confusing feelings and conflicting questions went through my mind. Death felt heavy. Maybe that’s why we didn’t talk. Death was dark, depressing, and sad. No one wanted to talk about this kind of stuff, especially with me; I was just a kid. It was best if I kept my feelings to myself. No one wanted me to remind them of death and loss. I guessed I shouldn’t talk about it.

I was abruptly awakened by the pilot’s announcement: We are beginning our descent into Dusseldorf. We will be landing soon. The familiar nauseating feeling returned. I hoped the family was there. I hoped Ingrid would be with them; she was the only person I knew there. I had not seen her in over a year, since Grandmommy’s death.

Chapter 4

The mother of the house in Germany was intimidating. She was part of Mom’s past, although I didn’t exactly know how. Mom spent four years in Germany before immigrating to the United States. She didn’t share; I didn’t ask. Mrs. Schmidt seemed okay, if one followed the rules (rules I had yet to be made aware of). I was confident I would be made aware of them in time. The house felt strict, more intense than I was used to. Even though it was summer, the sky was gray, and the buildings were damp and cold, accurately mirroring my emotions. Mrs. Schmidt sits beside me with her two daughters, aware of my malaise. Together at dinner, the first leg of my summer plans were discussed. I would be in Germany a few days, and then we would all be traveling to their summer home in Italy. Seven to ten days later, my aunt was to meet us and take me to Montpellier, France. I would spend the remaining weeks with family in France. It all felt methodically organized and to the point. Feeling oddly reassured, I fell asleep. There was a plan, and I was made aware of the plans in advance.

The vibrant colors of Italy lifted my spirit. The sun offered daily kisses on my skin. The ocean air whispered healing notes in my ear. Feeling free to explore the neighborhood alone, the vibrant summer colors along the walkways left a trail for me to find my way back. Every store became more alive than the last, the local summer produce and market goods on full display. I visited my favorite local delicatessen every day, my French mannerisms assimilating quickly to warm bread and cheese for a midmorning snack. Returning each afternoon, I quickly adopted the Italian way of a midafternoon gelato. With my American-accented French and deliberate attempts to incorporate the few Italian words I was learning, the store owners smiled and welcomed me back each day to teach me my word of the day, usually corresponding to the gelato flavor of the day. My secret pleasure was making sure to order a different flavor each visit, just to try them all.

Alone, enjoying my snacks, I felt free. There was no one I needed to engage with, no one I needed to try to understand, no unstated rules I needed to interpret. I didn’t need to read anyone’s mind to know what I was supposed to do. I could just sit with my bread, cheese, and gelato; no need to explain to anyone, no need to ask permission. No need to disguise my feelings. No need to feel anything. Maybe this trip would turn out okay after all, even better than I thought.

It was too early for dinner with the family, but I was hungry. I sized up the contents in the refrigerator; a lonely piece of cheese begged me to eat it, so I did: a nice snack to hold me over. An unspoken rule made its presence known. With her curled lips and wrinkled nose, Mrs. Schmidt made her disgust over my action quite clear. Embarrassed to be caught eating unauthorized food, the lemon gelato and cheese made its way to my throat in a liquid vurp (vomit burp). How could I be so stupid? I should have known better; this was not my house. I could not just help myself to whatever I wanted.

Two days later, Mrs. Schmidt informed me the plans had changed. My aunt was no longer coming to pick me up. I would be sent by train to Montpellier. Again, I was being sent away. I guess Mrs. Schmidt changed her mind about having me with her family. I must be too much trouble to put up with.

I boarded the train with twelve sandwiches (six Nutella and six cheese). I promised myself to only eat one per hour, ensuring enough for the ten-hour ride.

I pretended to read, but my attentive eyes were on each passenger’s gestures. It was a full cabin, exchanging people at stops every hour. I wondered if people noticed I was traveling alone. I wondered if they even saw me. I removed the plastic Minor Traveling Alone announcement from my neck, hoping to inconspicuously blend in. Wanting to go unnoticed, I made no sound. I closed my eyes, pretending to sleep, but the sound of a rustling newspaper became louder. The smell of cigarette smoke filled the cabin. The thought of chocolate Nutella called to me. I was hungry.

It was okay, rationing my one sandwich. Still hungry, I helped myself to a second, vowing this would be all I ate for now. My hunger was augmented by the sounds and smells of so many strangers. I devoured all twelve sandwiches before the halfway mark. What was I going to do next? Although I was full, what if I got hungry again? What an undisciplined child I was.

Chapter 5

My tante greeted me