I ‘need’ to feel.

When I was younger there were quite a few things I did that helped me calm down and helped me in those frustrating cycles of persistent arousal. I am once again in the middle of one of those cycles. Yet I don’t engage anymore in self-bondage as I scared myself quite badly. It isn’t safe behaviour and I like breathing for as long as I can. But I have picked back up something that helps during those moments.

In my younger days, I made my own ‘thingie’ out of rope and knots and used to beat it against my back. Sometimes rhythmically, sometimes painfully but a sense of calm always overtook me. Now, I’m using a cheap belt and it’s not going to last long. It’s already fraying and cracking. I don’t get the swing I used it get. The sensation isn’t the same either.

I’d love to lie to myself and say I don’t know why I’m doing it but that’s not true. I know I’m chasing ‘release’ and relief that I know it can give me if I swing it hard enough or long enough. I know I need a better belt. I suspect that it will do in a pinch but I think I might be seeking something else. Not sure what though.

I was one of those who got belted by their parents. Never on the back but buttocks and legs and those left raised welts that took a week to disappear. I was also one of those defiant enough that I learned how to ‘turn it off’ and ended up with no welts much to parental frustrations. I’ve never understood how this behaviour could produce a calm that now I’m seeking once again. I don’t get it.

For now, the ‘reward’ seams worth chasing. It’s causing me to reflect and redefine myself. I don’t see myself as a person who seeks out pain, at least not in a physical sort. Or maybe I’m returning to this because seeking out emotional pain has been too costly? I don’t know. I just want to feel something. Is that so bad?

Brain Fog

Brain Fog.

There are days I wake up and I have no energy, no motivation to do anything beyond peeing and breathing. Yeah, peeing is far more important than eating on those days.

This stuff, I call brain fog. I have no clue what it really is. I have moments I’m clear headed but exhausted, moments where I get clear headed and energy but mostly I battle various intensity of brain fog. I’ve figured out sometimes I can fix it though diet. I try to keep sardines, potatoes, almonds and bananas around. Most of the time, I don’t have any of it.

Right now, I’m at a 6 with brain fog, on a scale of one to ten and ten being somewhere just vegged out on something, just not here and one is super max energy and I’m blowing through things and making people scared with my activity. I have no idea how tomorrow will be. None of this I’ve ever been able to predict and it sucks big time. I’ve had plans for my life for a long time. Every time I get started, I run into bigger and deeper levels of brain fog. Kinda like I ran out of brain juice and I putter down like a train without steam.

This is a major problem in my life. I need to figure out how to fix it.

The Deamons Among Us

Learning how to Love Yourself Part 2

Everyone ends up in deep conflict once in a while. But rarely does one end up in a full-fledged battle with themselves. Not me, I was in an ugly battle for my life with myself.

You know how family conflicts turn ugly? Take that and intensify it by a factor of a hundred and that might come close. I found out first hand just how shitty I can be. I am not a fair fighter. When the cause is important enough, nothing is barred, nothing is fair. I was an evil bitch. Just as weird as it sounds to me still, the bitch I was being too was myself.

Isa and Autumn are much like sisters in personality. Isa is my love, sensuality and emotional side. Autumn is my hard nose, logical, protector and feeler of all the ugly emotions. And me, well I was asleep. Shhh, I may be whole now but I can still break into my parts and talk still. Weird how that turned out.

And like any family of sisters, the fights are all too often over a man. And this was the case. I was in a fight over my husband, over my poly family and later on over my involvement in M/s relationships. Autumn was angry as hell. Not only did she not agree with my marriage, she didn’t trust my choice. It was she who was picking a ton of battles. In singleton speech; I was conflicted and unsure of my choices.

My husband is a man with flaws but a good man. And he was tossed into a situation without all the knowledge that would have helped us out. I couldn’t give him what I didn’t know. So when there were moments that Autumn would peak and lash out, he would be at a loss. Not only did I not know what happened, I wouldn’t remember. It was a crazy making time. Isa was often hurt emotional because she would catch the brunt of the consequences of Autumn’s actions. And Isa’s pain would inflame Autumn’s anger. It is a vicious cycle that had to be broken.

And what stress would create this crazy making cycle, you ask? Poly.

About nine years ago, I found my dear boy and his wife. I’ve known him since we were in high school. He was the one I let go and yet he was the one that got away. He is the father of my angel baby. I had a lot of emotions that I had vet to processed at all. After he left me and moved away, I boxed up his memory and tossed it in the back of my mind, deep into the shadows. My feelings couldn’t hurt me anymore. I could barely remember them.

He was once the one who’s word was my law. And I was only sixteen, physically.

Back then, I had no clue about Domination and submission. It came naturally to me and it scared the hell out of me. For what is this strange power to speak and then I lose my will to go against what he said? Worse, that even actively trying to disobey would have me crumbled down into a heap on the spot? It terrified me. And I hid as best I could my reaction to him. This was craziness. Why would I obey?

So when he came back into my life, I was a married women with a child. My husband knew my past with him. He could remember things where I could not. And I was like a moth to a flame. I could not deny I would do anything to get my dear boy back. In fact I did everything I could to do just that. Even ignore the hurt I was causing my husband.

That’s how the war began. Between compromise and unyielding desire; the players were set. The pawns were moving across the table and the queen sat protected by her king.

Autumn came out more often and picked fights with my husband. And Isa would run away on weekends into the safety of him who’s word was once law. Actually his word was still law. It took me a very long time learning how to say ‘no’ before I could shake it. To this day I have to actively use ‘no’ when dealing with him. Distance has made things easier as well as having a Master. But in person, it’s an effort.

I was tearing my marriage apart, on purpose. Autumn does not forget nor does she forgive. She is unyielding once set on her purpose. Oh Dreamwaker; this is why I asked about how to learn to forgive.

I was out of control. My blackouts were frequent, hours out of a day, weeks at a time. Home was full of emotions that I couldn’t figure out. Bitterness and hurt hang in the air like perfume.

One weekend I was with my boy and his wife and Autumn got caught out. Not only are my alters split on emotional lines, they are split on skills too. Isa is the writer. Autumn is my art, my gamer, my logic. And she was needed to do a job. My boy knows me well, too well. “Who are you?’ Caught what no one had ever caught and as such I could not switch back to deflect the answer because it was he who’s word was law. I must answer. I speak words which never before spoken “Autumn” and switched in the blink of an eye.

We all had a very long conversation with him. I’m still not sure all that was said. There is a wall still in the memory of that conversation. I didn’t believe him. I didn’t want to believe him. This I already knew but I sure as hell didn’t want this to be real. I thought if no one had ever noticed and confronted me, then it was just all in my head. Those voices were just figments of my over active imagination. I could live with the fear of being crazy and do my best to work on not being so. I could control myself. I must control myself. Ha! What a lesson to learn. I could not control what I refused to acknowledge.

The dam was breached and the floodwaters were rushing in. The voices were back. This time they weren’t going to accept getting boxed away. They weren’t gonna take my refusal of their existence. Quite frankly, there is nothing more shocking than getting slapped in the face. I had lost control over the most basic of things; my body. Autumn was strong enough to steal body parts at her will.

Becoming co-conscious was both familiar and weird at the same time. Instead of having my angel and deamon on my shoulder, I was instead the angel with a deamon and a very drunk, rude and crass man who could make her laugh on her shoulder. The I that I once was, was deeper inside sleeping in a grave only chiming out my age, an age that had no relation to my physical age. I had been emotional stunted at 12 and had remained that way.

I had died at 12 and my body lived. I know this know now. I even know when this happened. I know when the angel came out as primary. I gave up at 12. I had went catatonic once and wanted to sleep, see nothing more of this world, escape the abuse and be done. Except I blinked my eyes open at the end of the day and I got up. We were once a co-conscious system way before then. It was confusing as the voices were gone and I wasn’t sure what happened. I simply carried on. My angel, my Isa carried on with my life. Autumn took the abuse and kept it from Isa. And Jay, that crazy man in me would steal the memories, box them up and sit on them. Asking my age, was always a bit of confusion. It was the only clue that something wasn’t right for even Jay stole the memory of being split.

The first steps to healing is accepting there is a problem. The second is figuring out what to do about it. Of course I hit the books and read everything I could about this physiological condition. Even in that, I know I’m a bit weirder than most who claim DID. The core was build twice each with different rules. The maxim we had lived under was simple; “don’t get caught.” Fear was real and the consequences of being caught was frighteningly real. I was a child of seven afraid that I was deamon possessed, of being banished from her home, afraid of hellfire, afraid of seeing the dejection in her mother’s eyes if she knew her daughter had deamons inside her. The second time being built, the maxim was simpler “keep moving forward.” Hellfire had nothing on her as she lived in hell everyday.

To be continued…

Part one


-the examination or observation of one’s own mental and emotional processes.

This year I am doing things differently. Typically I avoid the end of year review till the last day and often extending it till five days into the new year, all the while avoiding anything of a deeply personal nature. This year I started taking a good look at my life, my actions and my mistakes I’ve made starting on December 1st. I’m just coming up for air as I write this.

I know I am a reflective person yet introspection is different. I find that I am willing to hold up the light of truth to my character and examine it for flaws and errors to seeing out the best way to patch and repair the holes. What I find good is that I am standing still, letting that light shine in to reveal the shadows of my soul. I have no idea why I thought hiding from myself was worth it. The pain of it, the pain of being me…can never heal if I refuse to accept it as part of being me, part of my past and not live in that head-space any longer.

I thank the gods that I am such a record keeper. I write, journal, record so much in words, pictures, phrases and even calendars. I can piece together more often than not whatever missing pieces that may occur.

It is those very records that have shown me the existence of a huge flaw in my character. I simply do not ‘see’ positive and loving actions and motives if it is towards me. I not only don’t remember then, I don’t recall them, I don’t feel their impact either. It is as if I immediately shied away from it, as if terrified and erased it from my mind.

Such behavior can not be healthy at all. It has not been healthy. It’s been a source of fights and issues I can see now. I want to be loved so much..and yet I had no idea that there was a wall there preventing me from seeing that I am loved. I don’t think this is a natural part of my personality. It taps into a deep core of pain and I am on the verge of tears just to open up and write this. Whatever the core of this is, is so far back in the past I may never find it or I may know exactly what it is too.

This very well could be a behavior I learned from my mother. She was big into saying ‘Don’t say you love me, show me instead.” However she didn’t react well to verbal words of affection or even acts of love and care. I knew those words were a problem for me, just wasn’t aware of how deeply the issue went.

My mother was the first pattern of behavior that my life is based on. As it is for any child, they learn not only from what their parents say but as well as the behaviors their parents exhibit. As adults, hopefully we spend a lifetime correcting and adjusting malformed behaviors.

My mother had deep emotional scars. Even as a child I was aware of them and in awe of her personal strength and never held her in fault. I understood the grip that her past had on her and that she wasn’t always able to control herself. But I knew she was the best that she could be; and I was proud of her for that, and that it was a daily struggle she went through. And I realise now that my emotional side did not escape the impact.

I am the product of at least three generations; on both sides of the family tree, of domestic abuse, childhood sexual abuse, depression and alcoholism. And I see the threads of scars that go back further than me in my behaviors and thought processes.

Love does conquer all. I had to love myself to see this wall was there. This barrier that’s build on the lies like “I am not worthy of love, I am not lovable, If they knew me, they wouldn’t love me,” and the sheer mistrust in motive on a perpetual level that it overrides what one’s own eyes see; is coming down. I am tearing it apart piece by piece.

I will see clearly. I will be open to the fullness of life’s experiences. I will not hide behind walls. I am moving forward, my heart lighter and strong.

Simple truth:
I love myself and I am worthy of other’s love.
I love, worthy.

Reinventing Isabella

Reinventing myself.

I’ve been here a while puttering about and adding bits and pieces to this blog over the years. Even porting it from one site to another before landing here at WordPress to enjoy total contentment of the structure and ease of writing. I signed up to do the blogging challenge with The Daily Post and the first post is a simple one; Introduce Yourself.

I did that a long time ago. Even added more to the pages here about myself. But that’s not the point. That was the me who posted, oh so many years ago. I have changed, the blog’s focus has changed and come back together. I’m not the same person anymore. I have grown.

So who am I and what am I doing here?

Well, I am Isabella LeCour. I am an empowered woman. I carry so many labels; eclectic Pagan, Mother of two, writer, poetess, bi-sexual, polyamous, kinky as hell, and a lover of life. I started writing to hone my skills. Back then, I’m talking years and years ago…before the internet, I started keeping journals in which I kept every little thing that crossed my mind, though Dreamsthe pencil onto the paper. It was cathartic, healing, a comfort in bad times and it was something that is very much a part of who I am. I write.

I write here mostly for myself, ah well that’s not quite true. I’ve censoring myself here for a long time. I think my long time readers know this too. I’ve avoided topics that make me uncomfortable, topics that just don’t quite feel right to hear myself talk about. I wrote to keep writing, to be heard, to be read because it is my passion. But in doing so I’ve cut myself away from the very things readers like reading. It’s time that’s changed.

I had envisioned this blog to be a platform of self discovery. For the most part, it has served that service very well for me. I’ve learned that I am too often concerned about how others take my words. Taken to the extreme, it leads to self censorship.

Seeking Sanctuary was envisioned as a blog about seeking that place of safety no matter the storms that comes in one’s life. It’s about my journey as I seek my place of Sanctuary. It’s about coming to own what one believes in. It’s about never giving up when things knock you down. It’s about still being able to fully love after the most shattering of heart breaks. It’s about being able to pick yourself up after you just cracked all over the place. It’s about the search for the silver lining in the storm clouds. It’s about putting one foot in front of the other and keep moving forward. It’s about the power of Hope. It’s about the story I’ve never told.

It’s time for me start telling my real story.

I was born back in ’77…..naw..I’m not going to start out that way. Too long, too dry, too typically normal. But in many ways my early childhood was typically normal for a white middle class suburban American. And that’s where normal ends for me. And no quips about normal being a setting on the dryer either!

As a childhood sexual abuse survivor, it does get tough to talk more than dry facts of my life. It’s equally tough to say I was also a motherless child and one that became more parent than child to my biological father and a surrogate mother to my sisters. It is far easier to discuss the unusual religious upbringing I had when my mother was alive and to discuss the amount of cultural shock I went through when she died and everything I held dear was turned upside down.

It’s come close to impossible to admit I suffer from depression. Strangely, I can admit I have PTSD from the sexual abuse and from domestic violence and it’s aftermath. I can easily admit I have sexual hangups and issues to this day regarding the past. But it frightens me to stand here and say I have Dissociative Identity Disorder, DID for short. It frightens me to say, yes I have problems. But I have no problem saying I’m still looking forward, moving forward, still picking up the pieces and will not give up Hope.

I’ve come a long way already. I’ve broken from the chains of my religious upbringing to be just who I am. My sexual identity, the way my heart works even my spirituality is all a blossoming of freedom. My freedom to make my own choices and to live the life that makes me smile. It’s such a simple thing. Almost everyone takes being able to make choices for granted. I was not raised to have choice, or a voice, or an opinion, or hopes and dreams. Having a choice is precious. And I choose to be a Dream Chaser. I choose to follow what makes me smile.

That is what this blog is about; my journey of seeking that place where I feel most at peace with myself. It is I, who is Seeking Sanctuary. I am grateful to all of you to be with me on this journey as we spin so fast around the sun, living our lives seeking each our own sanctuary’s.

I stand before you to say…

I have a problem.

I’ve thought of it as a time management problem, a priority problem, a procrastination problem, a depression problem, just plain lazy problem (that one did no good for my self esteem) or anything else that got close to describing the problem.

It’s a priority problem alright, just not the one I thought it was. I thought I had lost my time management skills. Forgotten how to set list, check off the to-do’s, and plan my day according to a schedule. But I don’t think that’s the issue.

I haven’t valued myself enough. I haven’t been taking care of myself. I’ve tried to do too much for everyone else, ignoring my own needs in the process. My kids were on the top of the list and I was on the bottom. And I never got to the bottom of the list because I’d flip right around and start at the top again.

My problem is far deeper than just a need to take five to take care of myself. I need to learn how to be selfish, how to put myself first and take care of my goals in life without the guilt of not taking care of everyone else. I need to stop avoiding my needs and address them head on.

Realising what exactly the problem is explains a lot to me. I never could understand what happened to the “me” before I assumed a lot of responsibilities. I was driven, goal orientated and a planner. I had not planned for what happened. I tried to roll with it but I see now that I lost myself in the process. I did not value me enough.

I resolve to value me each day.

I resolve to take care of my needs and not ignore them.

I resolve to “mother” myself.

This all ties into several mantras I’ve practiced for the last few years;

I deserve to be Loved.
I am free to be Me.