My wake-up finally happened with a devastating accident. From time to time, I still experience guilt because my 3-year-old had to almost die before I finally woke up and left the low vibration and negative world in which my mind had trapped me. But the path to a spiritual connection with the universe and being fully present in your life is never easy.

Growing up


I grew up French Roman Catholic and went to mass every Sunday. I believed in God while I was growing up, but I had no connection to God. And when stuff went wrong, I blamed God and prayed. Actually, the only times I prayed were when things got rough.

When stuff went wrong, I blamed God and prayed. Actually, the only times I prayed were when things got rough.

Growing up, I also had a lot of resentment towards God. My sister is a year older than me and was born with special needs. My parents placed a lot of responsibility on my shoulders, as I had to take care of her and pretty much become her protector. I had to be independent and strong, since she got teased a lot for being handicapped.

I was so mad at God. I often asked myself why I couldn’t have had an older sister who was normal, who would show me how to put on makeup and share clothes with me.

Once I turned 17 years old, after graduating from high school, I felt free. I quickly left home and didn’t look back for a long time. I moved across the country, and the liberation of not being responsible for someone else was freeing. Slowly, though, my roots that connected me to my family pulled me back home.

Things started going wrong


I married and had three children. But life began throwing obstacles into my path that eventually led to my wake-up call. We lost my mother-in-law to breast cancer in 2008. In 2009, we went through an ugly three-year custody battle in order to adopt our oldest son. In 2012, we almost lost my youngest son at birth. He had breathing issues and was placed in intensive neonatal care for a month. Later that year, the whole family was involved in a car accident. Thankfully, everyone was OK.

That still wasn’t enough to wake me up. In fact, all it did was make my resentment towards God grow stronger. I was angry and negative. I had a “Why me?” attitude. Why did this happen? Why can’t it be someone else for a change? I was the victim.

In the fall of 2013, I decided to go back to work. I hated my job, and I was a very negative person at this point. I also hung out with negative people.

A family friend I trusted with my life agreed to watch my two youngest boys while I went to work. My middle son was three years old and my youngest son was one.

The day my life changed


Vicious dogSeptember 25, 2013. That day, my life changed.

As I was getting ready to wrap up my workday at 5 p.m., I got a call from my friend. She was in a panic. Her dog had viciously attacked my 3-year-old son’s face and stomach. He was being rushed to the hospital as we spoke.

I immediately ran out of the house with my 11-year-old. As I ran into the hospital, the doctor came rushing out and pushed me back. He said I had to wait to see my son. I was hysterical. I wanted to see my baby boy and kiss his sweet, smiling face. The doctor looked devastated and told me it was the worst animal attack he’d ever seen, and that they had to wrap him up to transfer him to a bigger hospital. He told me he didn’t want a second victim—meaning me.

Finally, I got to see my son as he was being wheeled out to the ambulance. He looked like a mummy. His whole head and face were bandaged up. I could only see the slits of his eyes. I kissed him, squeezed his hand and told him I’d be right behind him, following the ambulance. The rest of the drive was a blur. I called my husband to tell him what had happened, since he was working out of town. That was a very hard call to make.

On arrival at the next hospital, they wheeled him straight into surgery that lasted for nine hours. I had doctors, police officers, social workers and nurses ask me how this could’ve been done by one dog, to one child.

The anesthesiologist walked out of the surgery room, angry with me. He threatened to report my friend and me to Social Services, as he was 100 percent sure my son had been left unattended.

However, my friend’s Mom explained how she’d fought the dog off my son in the backyard. Without her bravery and quick thinking, my son wouldn’t be here today. She was shaking as she spoke, and her hands were full of dog bites and blood. She hugged me and cried, telling me she’d tried her best. For the rest of my life, I’ll remember and be grateful to this woman for her act of bravery.

Why, God?


When I at last got to see my beautiful son, he was unrecognizable, and my heart broke into a million pieces. His face was swollen and covered with hundreds of stitches, and there were tubes coming out of his stomach to help drain the stomach bites. I felt like the worst mother in the world. I’d failed to protect my son. If I hadn’t gone back to work, I thought to myself, he’d still be perfect and all smiles.

The tears are streaming down my face as I’m writing this, since reliving the feelings of worthlessness and helplessness is very hard.

Late one night, I was sitting in the hospital room staring out the window at the lights of the city, and I broke down. I was so angry. I wanted to smash everything in the room. I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs, “Why, God? Why did you do this to a 3-year-old? WHY?!”

I stuck my fist into my mouth and screamed. I felt so alone. My husband was out of town working so we wouldn’t get behind on our bills, and my parents were taking care of my other two boys. I wanted to give up. I wanted to be dragged to a mental hospital and be locked away. I was utterly broken inside.

Getting help for myself


The next morning, after my breakdown, I reached out to a nurse who put me in touch with the hospital psychologist. I needed to speak to someone. I knew that to make it through this, I had to be strong, and I had to be in the right state of mind for my son.

I knew that to make it through this, I had to be strong, and I had to be in the right state of mind for my son.

The psychologist met with me right away and I let it all out, everything about being so angry with God and feeling abandoned. I said that I was tired of being strong for everyone. He looked me in the eye and said, “Sometimes we don’t know why bad things happen, but how you deal with them is how you’ll get through them.” He said that being angry with God was understandable, but it wouldn’t help with getting my son healed. I was wasting my energy being mad.

I reflected on what he said, and realized that God hadn’t punished me. This had happened for a reason. Maybe one day I’d find out why, but for now, I had to pull myself up by my bootstraps and slowly put one foot ahead of the other.

My son was in the hospital for two weeks. They finally sent us home with wound instructions and plastic surgeon appointments. It was hard. To this day, I don’t know how I got out of bed every day. Some days, I just wanted to shut out the world. I also began resenting my husband, who was constantly working to help us stay afloat, as I’d quit my job to focus on helping my son.

My son became a different child. He was scared of everything and had constant nightmares. He went through surgery after surgery to help repair the scars and his eye (the doctors are still amazed that he isn’t blind in one eye). Every time we went out in public, people would stare or whisper. Some people would just straight out ask what happened.

PTSD (Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder)


Teenage Mutant Ninja TurtlesIn March of 2014, I found my son hiding under the kitchen table with his hands over his ears, rocking back and forth. I got on the phone and made call after call to get him some professional help. Finally, we were put in touch with a psychologist who dealt with trauma in children.

My son was diagnosed with PTSD (Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder) and was in therapy for a year. Every week, we went to play therapy. At first I was negative, wondering how playing with toys would help my son. I wanted to scream at the therapist that it wasn’t working. But she told me that time would heal all, and I trusted her.

During one session, he had a breakthrough. At that time, he was four years old and loved the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. He was playing with figurines, and I was April, the female sidekick to the Ninja Turtles. He was Leonardo, and Leonardo got hurt. My son lay him on his side and made April walk away from the scene.

The therapist asked why April wasn’t helping Leonardo, and my son said April was too busy working. She couldn’t help. I understood that my son, at the age of four, had felt that I’d abandoned him. I was his Mom. I was supposed to be his protector.

With the help of the therapist, I talked to my son. I told him I was sorry for not being there for him when he was so scared, and gave him a big hug.

Slowly, I started getting my son back. He became less fearful and began smiling. At his last therapy session, his psychologist threw a little party for him. I cried when I hugged her, as she was the one who’d helped me get him back. When we left the hospital that day, it felt like there was light at the end of the tunnel.

I started working on myself


During the time we were dealing with my son, I’d also started working on myself. I read a book one evening on a woman who’d seen the other side when she died and had come back. For the first time, I started questioning everything I’d been taught in church. I wondered why we were here, why horrible things happened to people, and who was God, anyway? My mind broke open with a thirst for knowledge. I started reading book after book about spirituality—whether it was New Age, Christian, or Buddhist—and I also began meditating to connect myself with God.

I’m still on this journey today. I still read books, attend workshops, write and watch videos on anything that can benefit my life. I know that my soul has lessons to learn in order to further grow and develop—that’s why my older sister with special needs was placed in my life, and I’m grateful for her soul, too. I know that bad things happen, and if you’re negative all the time, you’ll receive negativity in your life. The saying “You reap what you sow” couldn’t be truer.

What happened to my son was the way in which my spirit guide and angels forced me to wake up, although I’m still sad, sometimes, that I didn’t wake up sooner. I’m grateful that my son is still here and alive. I’m grateful for my whole family and everyone and everything that has been placed in my life.

Today, my son is thriving, and so is my relationship with my husband. By getting myself the help that my soul needed, I was able to become a better Mom to all three of my kids, as well as a better wife and friend. I cut out all the drama because I realized it’s just not worth the energy.

To be grateful and see beauty


Don’t get me wrong, it’s not all sunshine and lollipops with rainbows of positivity over here. I still get dark, negative moods, but I know now how to pull myself out of them. My favourite phrase that I whisper to myself when things are hard is, “The universe has my back.”

When I get out of bed, I set my intention: to be grateful and see beauty in everything.

This has never been truer. I don’t sweat the small stuff anymore. My anxiety has almost disappeared. I pray to God and my angels, and not just when times get hard. I also pray for other people when they’re going through a rough time. Love heals all.

When I get out of bed, I set my intention: to be grateful and see beauty in everything. It’s like a veil was lifted off my eyes.

I decided to start writing a blog, as I now know writing is part of my soul’s purpose, and I’m hoping that my blog entries will help some people on their personal journeys of the soul. I expect criticism, and my words may not be for you, but maybe they can be of some help to someone, somewhere.

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by Danielle Czarnecki
image: 1. Pexels 2. By William Tung from USA (Wondercon 2016 – TMNT) [CC BY-SA 2.0 ] via Wikimedia Commons

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