For my 50th birthday, I took myself to Southern Thailand for a month-long trip with my long-time boyfriend. My fantasy had painted a thoroughly romantic trip, involving intimate, solo walks along the blue Andaman Sea, warm waves lapping at our feet. When we arrived at the airport in Phuket it was nearly dark. By the time we arrived at the “beachside” hotel in Kata which had been arranged by a friend back in the States, it was completely dark. I could neither see the beach nor hear the rolling waves, but figured it was out there somewhere and I’d see it the next morning, on my birthday.
At first light, I jumped out of bed, threw on my bathing suit and a light dress and dashed out the door, my boyfriend following closely behind. A mile later, past high rises, honking cars, Speedo-clad Europeans and what appeared to be 10 miles of beach umbrellas, we finally looked at the Andaman Sea. To say I was devastated would be the understatement of the century.
The reason I share this nearly 10-year-old tale has much more to do with my consciousness than it does unfulfilled expectations. I only thought I was celebrating my fifth decade in silky Thai-style. The real reason I was there, come to find out, was to expand my consciousness, to liberate myself from a lifetime of feeling abandoned by everyone who ever mattered to me. That belief had cost me 25 years of migraines. It also nearly cost me my life when I ran away from home as a child, having convinced myself that a ten year-old would be better off leaving than being left.
Here’s where my consciousness did a 180-degree about-face. Nearly a week into the completely regrettable vacation, when I knew I had to do something, anything, to end my misery, I politely excused myself from the restaurant table in Ao Nang where my boyfriend sat with the two traveling companions with whom we’d connected in Kata. After a quiet, two-hour stroll on the unspoiled beaches on the other side of the Andaman Sea, I knew what I had to do. The traveling comrades and my boyfriend were still sitting at the same table when I returned from my walk. After explaining that it was my birthday and my fantasy and that didn’t include traveling with anyone but my boyfriend, the three of them looked at each other, abruptly got up from the table, packed their things and left me standing––alone––in the restaurant of the hotel.
In that instant, I felt the stinging pierce of abandonment, and the concomitant, familiar headache, a feeling that had cost me dearly most of my life. Was it the walk on the beach when I heard my Higher Self encourage me to speak my heart’s truth? Or was it simply the right time, at the right place? I don’t know, but I do know that I heard this, very loud and clear: He may be abandoning you, but you, dear one, do not have to feel abandoned. That is your choice. You can choose to be free.
I never had a migraine again.
Stay tuned for Part 3: Choosing to Follow One’s Heart is Healthier than One’s Head
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