Picking up... Not exactly where I left off!

Last Thursday, I tried something I had never tried before. I went to a Rosen session. Developped by Marion Rosen, it supposedly will release old memories that have been stored in your body, allowing for them to be set free, and for the body to heal. Although it has not been scientifically proven, there are many strong believers out there based on their own experience, that it actually works. (One of them is actually the Princess Märtha-Louise of Norway!) So, when given the opportunity, I had to give it a try!

I was not prepared for what would come up. I had an idea or two (or three!) of what might come up during such a session. I don't mean to be dramatic - but still I would say that I have been through my fair share. And there are certain episodes, more than others, that have remained engraved in my memory. But that is not at all what came up!

During the session, the practioner lady asked me if something in particular had happened to me during the ages of 10-11. So I began to think. And as the memories came flooding back to me, I realised that it had indeed been a very intense time of my life. You see, I was on the brink of adolescence, all new thoughts and feelings cramming up inside me. Adhering to the cult of terminal uniqueness, I naturally believed that nobody else of the entire face of the planet, could ever be having the same types of feelings, or could be asking themselves the same difficult questions that I did. During this time, I did not only go through changes on the inside, but on the outside too. Some dramatic events had taken place within the family, which lead to us moving to a different town, and me having to change schools. I became separated from my best friend, and from a boy I was having a huge crush on. I don't think I had ever felt more lonely before.

Only, I had nearly forgotten all about it - until now, that is.

What's more, it made me realize that this was the moment when I stopped being able to write freely! Starting at the age of six, from as soon as I learned how to, I had always been writing - stories, articles, poetry, you name it. It was like I had this endless, creative well inside me, always overflowing. But, from then on, writing became more of a chore. And ever since, it hasn't been the same. Even though I kept on writing, it never came as easily to me as it did back then. It seems my creative well dried up. All those years, I have missed it sorely.

I am not happy where I am now, professionally, so perhaps this is something I ought to take, at least a little bit, seriously. Perhaps writing is what would really make me happy?!

My creative well, that could become overflowing - once again?