None of it happened overnight. None of it came easily.
It took months to pull it together after years of trying to hold it together. Money was impossible to save. My health was poor and my future uncertain. My body was stuck in stress and survival. I rarely got the opportunity to sleep more than a couple of hours at a time and the sleeping I did manage to do was on a sofa.
For the final few years I slept solely on the sofa. For the last decade I felt like I was somewhere I shouldn’t be and wasn’t welcome.
I shared in 12 step meetings that I didn’t feel like I had a home, really, anywhere. I shared with close friends the struggle of being treated like a burden all of the time. I got tired of being judged and criticized without any attempt to ease the pressure or lend a hand.
It started with the image of a bed.
I intended to manifest. I wanted to create the home I’d always pictured. My mind was so far gone I couldn’t imagine things ever being any better. I couldn’t imagine much possibility outside of what I’d known. I wasn’t in a position to muster extravagant or oppulant visions of beautiful decor or stunning architecture for myself.
The best I could manage was the image of a bed. I pictured a luxuriously comfortable sleeping space for myself covered in pillows and a beautiful down-filled duvet. I imagined a space I’d be drawn to and calm in.
From the bottom of the shoe closet where I hid away from the screaming, I disassociated by methodically designing the most personally important aspect of my new life.
It started with the image of a bed I wanted to be in. It started by picturing a safe and welcoming space.
It became real because I chose to believe in the image I made. I get to sleep in MY bed having done so long enough that I’ve almost forgotten what it was like to be on the couch at all.
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