A Defining Moment

The story of our life is not our life. It’s simply our story. It is my belief that our way of being is subconsciously based on a defining moment that impacted us in our childhood. If we had the ability to take that moment, delaminate from it, and view it from a distance, we could see that what happened to us, actually happened for us. We could use our “story” as a way to “wake up.” That story, that first moment in time when our small world turned upside down, determines who we become in the world. Everyone has one an original incident, and how we hold the defining moment that unsettled us determines our experience of life, not the event itself. The beauty of it all is that from that event—and the stories we’ve told ourselves about it—become our greatest gifts. There is a saying, “Where we are the most wounded, we are the most accomplished.” That moment in time is what we bring to the party, determining our jobs, careers, or passions. We need its abrasive sand to form the pearl we become.

• During the time I lived with my mother, from age five through nine, I suffered with vomiting spells, dehydration, and malnutrition. She cooked only occasionally: one-pot meals like soup or spaghetti, so my main diet was Wonder Bread and Bosco sandwiches, Frosted Flakes, and packets of Kool-Aid powder. On the flip side, as an adult, a friend and I launched a natural carrot juice company and for five years, Country Fresh Products supported our families, becoming the largest juice company north of Santa Cruz.
• Because my mother often couldn’t pay the rent, we moved from place to place. Every time we moved or I enrolled in a new school, I’d go through the stress of trying to remember how to get home. All I wanted was one house to live in. I find it noteworthy that today I co-own a real estate company and sell homes for a living.
• I was a clumsy kid. My sister called me Grace. It was painful and at times dangerous living in my body, and I recollect having the ability to leave it. I think I must have gotten too far away once and lived down the street for a while. I had little awareness of my surroundings, so I was covered with scabs and bruises from tripping or bouncing off the nearest furniture. When the opportunity to learn to dance presented itself, I took it by the hand, and after years of practice I re-inhabited myself. If my sister could see me now!
• I spent my childhood dazed and confused. After years of personal transformational work, I’ve come to a clarity that is equal to my confusion. However, I still am confused, but now I’m aware of it.
• Driven to understand my fractured family, I’ve amassed thousands of hours on our genealogy, digging up details, recording our stories, keeping the family together.
• My experience of my relationship with my mother compelled me to resolve it. Writing our family story gave us both the opportunity to be seen and heard.

However, I didn’t plan on doing any of these things. They were never my dream. I was caught in the undercurrents, driven and enveloped in these endeavors. I believe they became my way to heal what was sidelined in me. They’ve also been my way to make a difference to others.

Cathy Clemens, age 6

In my defining incident—dropped off at my mother’s doorstep at the age of five—I created some beliefs about myself. “How did I get here? She doesn’t care about me. I didn’t do anything wrong.” My bottom line became, “I am invisible, I am not cared about, it doesn’t matter to her if I’m here or not. I am a victim in these circumstances.” That’s my recollection, my interpretation of what happened. My mother’s story would have a different spin.

My version of the incident was cemented in my psyche, and follows me around like an unrelenting beggar. Whenever I’m triggered and overly upset about being ignored or left out, I know I’m being thrown into my past. I know because the feeling is visceral, and because I’ve had so much practice, I recognize it instantly. These incidents happen throughout my life, and they all have the same flavor. The cast of characters changes, but I’m the director of this play: it’s my movie camera, my repeated patterns, my Groundhog Day. Until I recognized that I was the one who was making it real, gathering all the evidence and having everyone agree with me, I was stuck. I created primary relationships that echoed the one with my mother, feeling invisible and not cared about, the “innocent victim.” It’s so perfect that I married my mother, a man whose tagline in life was, “Don’t know, don’t care,” who by the end of our five-year marriage occasioned in me all those old feelings of being unloved. I had to realize I had a part in creating these relationships, and in a weird way benefited from them. In my mind I confirmed that my story was true. Even though I was miserable, it was familiar territory; I knew the rules. And I got to be right. However, my mindset didn’t serve me or contribute to my betterment in any way.

With a lot of coaching and self-reflection, I was finally onto myself and the racket I ran. I still get caught on occasion, but I don’t go as far down the rabbit hole. I also rebound faster. If I feel myself getting snagged, I pause and think, “It appears there’s still work to do around this.” It always has to do with unfinished business with my mother who continues to show up on a regular basis in the guise of others.

I still spend a good part of my life in confusion and getting lost, however, I’ve come to terms with it. It’s frustrating; it wastes vast amounts of time, but I’ve seen parts of the world I might’ve missed and I’ve gotten to know gas station attendants everywhere. I have to ask for help, something I’m not very good at. I questioned my teacher Michael about it. Know what he told me?

“To the degree that you have confusion, to that same degree you have a crystal clarity. Your gift is in both. Your confusion in an odd way serves you; it softens your shield, and is one of the few ways you become vulnerable.”

Hence, with all of this, I embrace what happened to me as a kid. Viewed from a distance, with perspective and no judgment, I see how it all happened for me and molded me into who I am today. Besides, I’d rather have my incident than some that happened to a lot of others; things could have been much worse. I turned out fine. I not only survived, but I’ve thrived. I may be a bit neurotic, a tad obsessive-compulsive, and still am directionally challenged, but I do get things done!

So that’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.

Catherine Sevenau
6-30-2016