“HOLD STILL, Pat! I have to try and make you look good for our family photos!” my mom screamed at me, scissors in one hand and Scotch Tape in the other.
I squirmed as she ripped the tape off my forehead, positioned a bowl on my head, and went to work.
Five minutes later, I had a bowl cut with bangs so short they didn’t even touch my eyebrows.
I wasn’t allowed to protest.
“No more bangs,” she finally declared. “I don’t have time for this nonsense.”
For years after the Scotch Tape incident, my only allowed hairstyle was a simple barrette holding the top part of my hair back.
She even washed my hair herself until I was in the 7th grade. When I finally revolted and washed my own hair, I unintentionally flooded the bathroom.
I won the right to wash my own hair, but how I wore it—and what I wore—remained tightly under her control.
Using babysitting money I saved up, I bought a pair of bell-bottom jeans that were the height of fashion in the ’60s. For a week, I wore those jeans every chance I got outside of school … gawd and my mother forbid such attire in a public setting.
Then one day, she sweetly announced, “Oh honey, I’m so sorry—I accidentally bleached your jeans.”
Even at 13, I knew better. My mom only used bleach on whites. It wasn’t an accident; it was a power move. And it worked—for a while.
Fast forward decades later, I found out about one of my past lives. I was an illegitimate Native American child in the late 1800s Pacific Northwest, sent to a federal boarding school.
There, I was beaten and raped for holding on to my culture.
They hacked off my long, beautiful braids into an ugly bob and forced me to wear white people’s clothing.
It stripped me of my identity, leaving deep scars of fear and shame.
When I connected the dots, it all clicked. My soul had planned the fights with my mom—not to torture me, but to heal me. She was supposed to make me angry, so I would reclaim my power and individuality.
The Scotch Tape, the bleach, the battles—they weren’t about her controlling me. They were about me learning to stand up for myself.
My purpose is to live my own life—and teach others how to do the same.
Taking responsibility for your beliefs and judgments gives you the power to change them.
Byron Katie
The timing of your struggles and opportunities is no accident. It’s all part of your soul’s plan.
Clues to the main struggle you came here to heal is in your month of birth.
How you handle and heal your struggles—and how long you let them drag you down—is up to you.