Sri Lanka: Clarity That Came Without Ceremony (Part Two)
On exorcisms, the perils of shushing your heart, unconstrained silence, and human connection
Although I started writing this as a “part two” of my previous Sri Lanka post, it does not start where Part One left off, in the beautiful sea of emerald flora in Ella, Sri Lanka. It starts 100 days prior in Costa Rica, where my sabbatical travels began.
In Costa Rica, I expanded my notion of spirituality. I had a guided psilocybin ceremony, during which I experienced — what I can only describe as — an exorcism. My guide named it a “soul retrieval” which is a gentler description, but my adoration of spooky things is going to insist we name it an exorcism 😈
Doesn’t matter what we call it, the intention and the resulting outcome was to cut the cord on thoughts or beliefs that have been weighing me down for a very long time.
I knew exactly the cord to cut.
It formed over thirty years ago. On the other end of the cord is a soul-sucking worm that has dosed me daily with an elixir of shame and hateful contradictions to my self-worth. Fighting against its control of my waking thoughts and nightly dreams has often felt like a one-woman battle for survival.
And I’ve tried to rid myself of it. Oh man alive, have I ever tried. With therapy, with meditation, with endless hours on a bike. Through confessionals with my closest friends, and over-sharing with near-strangers.
And yet. This snarling, persistent worm — with its controlling black eyes, indigo slime-oozing bloated body, and venomous drool — did not let go.
So when I learned that a cord-cutting would be a part of my psilocybin ceremony, I was as hopeful for relief as I was skeptical about its effectiveness.
The ceremony was transformative. After the exorcism/soul-retrieval, I felt physical relief. Additionally, throughout my following 3 months of travel, the daily obsessive thoughts — both waking and in my dreams — ceased. And in the days that followed the ceremony, self-forgiveness started to unfold. For the first time, I understood that ‘teenage me’ did not have the skills, knowledge, or experience that ‘current me’ has, and I should not be judging her for not doing better.
But two questions remained:
What was my flaw 30+ years ago (during my high school years)? Was I complicit in the trauma that happened?
And how has that event and its emotional impact contributed to the battles I’ve fought in my career and my romantic relationships?
Clearly, the cord between the worm and my subconscious had been severed, but there were practicalities I still hadn’t settled.
The answers to these questions have come in bits and pieces over the years, through therapy, meditation, books, conversations. But without a utility drawer to put them in, they just ended up like rubber bands, paper clips, matchbooks, and safety pins: tucked in wrong drawers, cluttering space meant for something else, lost when I needed them most.
That utility drawer — in the form of articulate, rational, and complete sentences — came to me in Sri Lanka, thanks to the quiet, the time, and the immersion in nature.
The Right Words, Finally
One morning in Ella, unceremoniously, the words came to me as I was showering, brushing my teeth, and getting dressed for a hike on Little Adam’s Peak. The words did not arrive with fanfare. They did not come during meditation, or with a beam of sunlight shining down on me at the summit of a mountain. They did not jolt me awake in the middle of the night. They emerged slowly — the way a long morning takes all the way through coffee, breakfast, a shower, and a commute before you unfold to a fully-awake state.
But even though they came without ceremony, they came clearly.
Over thirty years ago, during high school, I experienced what I can now call a predatory, manipulative, and sexually abusive relationship.
I’ve never wanted to see these words as the truth because doing so requires that I see myself as a victim. Victim. That word is the problem. By not calling it what it was, I denied my reality, holding that teenage girl to standards I had the privilege to learn over many years, expecting her to have the knowledge that I was still acquiring in real-time.
Before Ella, my version of the story named me as “the problem.” I blamed myself for what happened and spent thirty years trying to fix something about myself. I have been trying to find logic, retrospectively, from a situation that had none. After Ella, I understood: I didn’t do anything wrong. He did.
That girl — high school me — was a victim of abuse who turned into a woman who has been paying the price for impossibly not having the skills or knowledge to protect herself when she was a kid.
I have given a lot of energy over the years to the guy who did this to me — trying to understand his motivations and behaviors. But he does not deserve my energy — he never did. The person who deserves it is that teenage girl. To her, I want to give my deepest apologies for not being there for her, and for every scarred, imperfect, evolving version of the woman she became.
What the Summit Made Clear
When I got to the top of Little Adam’s Peak, I found a remote lookout where I could be alone and silent. The words that had come to me that morning rose again. This time more slowly and deliberately, making sure I heard them now that I was still.
And then the pieces connected.
My drive to get him to love me — my first experience with love — was so consuming that I abandoned everything I wanted that didn’t gain his approval. I was so focused on earning his love that I hushed everything my heart was asking for. I went along with things that made me feel terrible because the alternative — losing his approval — felt worse.
I had an interesting illustration on this lesson on my plane home while watching the movie Wuthering Heights. Catherine denied herself what her heart was asking for, which was frustrating at best. But her choice to silence her heart deeply affected everyone around her … Oi! The only words that came to me were, “What a fucking mess you’ve made, Cathy!”
In my career, the pattern shows up as me always trying to please my boss or my CEO — deferring, shrinking, performing — for the sake of acceptance. In romantic relationships, I silence myself for fear of rejection.
The unconstrained contemplation this sabbatical afforded me helped me to see it clearly: a blind drive for acceptance and external validation has conditioned me to override my heart’s requests. Whether the stakes are small — what to eat for dinner, when to schedule a meeting — or big — deciding to get married, defending a promotion — I’ve hushed my heart for the sake of ensuring acceptance from whoever I needed it from most: my spouse, my boss, my CEO, my family.
Mourning Endings (Which Are Really Just Beginnings)
The complete understanding of my evil worm brings waves of feelings, but mostly longing and devastation over the unattainable: a past that cannot be revised and a future that cannot be known. And yet there is wistfulness — a relief that the past is in the past — and more confidence to soldier forward, as I always have, but this time without the extra weight of a wicked worm in tow.
Before I left Ella, I bought a bracelet strung with carnelian stones. A reminder. Of the feeling in that moment on the mountain. The complete freedom from self-blame, from self-sabotage, from thirty years of trying to fix the wrong person. A reminder to move forward confidently, boldly, in the direction of my own heart.
All we have is each other
I am moving forward with a new perspective, in deeper service of myself, and know that the healing is ongoing. New experiences — like leaving a job that is not serving us, and traveling the world — can catalyze healing. But if there is a magic way to heal, it is with authentic human connections. These connections reveal our whole selves — past, present, and future dream selves — simply, boldly, and realistically.
I don’t know the details of what lies ahead for me — in career, love, or life — but I know that I want human connection to be at the center of it. I want to have a hand in rebuilding our humanity that has been lost through the universal trauma of pandemic isolation, power-hungry governments, and digital-first experiences. One way that I can start doing this is through authentic, vulnerable, and honest story-telling. Sharing what feels most personal almost always reveals what is most universal.
Personally, I’m ready to be free from the bitter elixir of self-doubt and shame, and would rather partake with you in a celebratory cordial that fills us with love, joy, hope, and courage. 🥂
May your life be filled with kisses, gratitude, and contrary
Thank you for being on this leg of my journey with me ❤️
Beautiful my friend.
Thanks for this honest, authentic and vulnerable story. I am very happy to read that you see the little girl you were and that you get rid of your self-doubt and shame. You are such an amazing and beautiful woman, you deserve all the love and esteem in the world.