When the Student Is Ready…: Journeys of Self-Empowerment and Transformation

By Evania

Three seemingly unconnected strangers are brought together when traumatic, transforming circumstances force them to look deeply at how their lives have been created. One is a victim of domestic violence, the second is a corporate high flier, and the third is a young woman experimenting with drugs and alcohol. In their individual quests to find answers and meaning for their challenges and lives, they find that they are connected strongly in ways that surprise and amaze them.

Through the help of an extraordinary woman and a group of people who have come through their own ordeals, they understand that they all share a journey and purpose that can be touched upon not only through dialogue with their inner selves, but also through communicating and emotionally bonding with those who have experienced or are experiencing similar events.

Through dropping their emotional and mental shields, they are brought to a deeper understanding about compassion and love. And they find that as they change, so too does the world around them. They see how powerful their creative powers can be and how their actions, words, thoughts, and being can impact on everyone around them as they awaken, step by step, to their own potential and potent conscious expression.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press AU
• Release date: Jan 3, 2014
• ISBN: 9781452512242

Evania

When a personal challenge brought Evania to her knees in the 1990s, a life changing spiritual experience transformed her view of herself, her purpose, and her world. A former police officer, Olympic shooting finalist, and journalist, her "seeing the Light" experience thrust her into the consciousness movement where she found challenges and tools to help her more deeply understand the condition of human being and her life purpose. Moving closer to more personal "service" work as a Funeral Director, counsellor for homeless and abused teenagers, and other career directions as she became more in touch with her own "injured" self and began a deeply healing period of time through meditation practices and other natural healing modalities, Evania now lives in Maryborough, Queensland, Australia where she undertakes volunteer work in Nursing Homes, is a massage therapist and natural healer, teaches meditation and is a Jin Kei Do Reiki Master. She is enjoying a more spiritually-aligned life where she pursues a simple and honest life, and as best she can she walks her talk with serious and fun-loving intent to create a better world through example, compassion and kindness.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Annette opened her eyes and was careful not to move. She just lay there on her back looking up at the ceiling.

The first few seconds after opening her eyes each morning were her only moments of peace. That momentary peace lasted only until her fear and emotional responses took over to become a customary dread about how the day would unfold.

Funny, she thought. She had never noticed the small crack in the plaster directly over her head. And she had been staring at the same spot every morning when she had awoken… for years.

As the rising sun filtered softly through the lace curtains, she grimaced with pain as she gently moved her head to look at the face of the man who lay sleeping next to her. How often had she done this in the mornings – just looking deeply – searching his relaxed face as he snored in his oblivion. It was habit to look.

Yet, each morning she looked intently, searching, questioning, not even sure what it was she was looking for. Perhaps she was hoping to see the handsome, energetic youth of her memories. Perhaps she was hoping to recognise that spark of something, whatever it was she had glimpsed when she had first laid eyes on this man – who became her husband and fathered her two children.

She lived in hope of an answer, and hope for many other things.

This morning she was struck by the texture of his skin. His stubble couldn’t hide his blotchy appearance. His skin was mottled and dry looking from too many drinks over too many nights in a row.

As she noted the hair receding from his forehead, she wistfully recalled the long curled lock of hair that used to flop up and down with a will of its own when he ran around the football field in his younger days. That lock of hair had captivated her. It intrigued her. Just as he had himself. It seemed so long ago now, but in reality was less than a decade. She sighed. How things change, she thought.

As Annette looked at Peter, she realised that she felt somehow different this morning. Something had changed but she wasn’t sure what. She was different. As if she had woken up as someone else.

Not wanting to disturb her husband, Annette slowly moved out of the bed and tiptoed out of the room and headed down the hall. With a movement made practised from thousands of times before, she opened the door silently and slipped quietly into the children’s bedroom.

Crystal and Matthew were still asleep. A long-legged, energetic and dynamic child, Crystal lay sprawled and scattered across her bed as if she had been fighting with her dreams all night. Annette smiled ruefully at the thought.

Matthew lay with hardly anything out of place. Contained. Silent. A timid young boy who exasperated his father. A father who kept pushing the youngster to be something other than who he was. Annette’s mouth tightened at the thought.

She looked at her children. The question rose in her mind as it often did as she reflected upon what type of mother she was being to her two beautiful miracles.

Tears welled in her eyes as she moved silently out of the room and went to the bathroom.

Annette looked at herself in the mirror. Long, lank, mousey coloured hair framed brown eyes and a pale face. There was nothing outstanding, nothing memorable, nothing lively in her face. She looked older than her 26 years.

This morning, for the first time, she looked closely at a feature on her face that she usually tried to ignore, and would normally quickly cover with thick make-up as if to erase its existence.

The bruise on her right cheekbone was ugly. So deeply purple it was almost black – with a fine tinge of yellow around the outside. Instead of reaching for the heavy-duty makeup that she normally slathered on when necessary, her hand reached up and instead, gently touched the badge which had come to symbolise her life.

Her whole being cringed as she remembered the backhander that Peter had delivered the day before while telling her how hopeless she was. What a failure she was. Couldn’t she do anything right?

This is all your fault, he had ranted and spat at her.

Up until this very moment, she realised she had actually believed him.

Annette saw the episode as if it was happening to someone else. Strange, she thought. She also saw clearly that her normal reaction was to do everything she could not to think about these things. Ignoring it as if it didn’t exist was her sanity safety mechanism. It had been habitual.

Hmmmmm, she vocalised quietly to her image in surprise. How interesting that I see this so clearly.

As if a stranger in her own body, she witnessed the movement of her fingers as they traced the outline of the bruise and then moved up to near the hairline of her scalp.

Timidly, her shaking fingers pushed back her hair to show a ragged and long white scar. She remembered the ashtray flying across the room before striking her. Another badge testifying her own belief that she deserved nothing better. She had deserved to be valued just as little as the objects that had been thrown at her during seven long years of marriage.

She looked down at herself and really saw herself as she was in that moment. Saw for the first time how thin she was. Funny, she thought for the second time that morning. Immediately she countermanded the thought and scolded herself. It isn’t funny at all, she thought. Look how thin I’ve become.

Her eyes flickered uncomfortably across her breasts – no longer perky, plump and gravity-defying. Now they were more like small and unappreciated fruit just withering on a vine. Her hip bones jutted out under the pale skin, which was a dramatic background to display the large, unhealthy looking bruise which covered her lower rib cage. The large swathe of purple hurt as she touched it, poked it, explored it – as if for the first time.

Still feeling different, Annette looked up and into the mirror – looked into her eyes as if searching for an answer. Then she said quietly, but simply to her reflection, Annette Burford, that’s it! Enough is enough.

All the reasons for leaving, which were also the reasons she stayed, went through her mind.

The hope and belief that everything would change one day and get better, the accompanying fear of further beatings, the fear of financial inability to survive, the shame of people thinking she was an idiot for having chosen someone who would mistreat her so badly, the shame of actually letting out the secret of her life, the shame of being out of control of her life, the fear about the children being lined up for similar treatment. All these thoughts and more now played across her numbed and detached inner screen of witnessing.

Thoughts that she had been trying to avoid came rushing to her. She was surprised in herself as she saw them all so clearly.

Surprised at herself that she didn’t even feel angry at this moment. She just saw it in a different way. Saw it with acceptance.

But NOT acceptability, she quietly but firmly said to her image. Not any more. Acceptance doesn’t mean condoning.

Another thought that this didn’t make sense crossed her mind. She wasn’t quite sure what she meant, but knew a momentous concept was bubbling inside her. Too deep to grasp. Fleeting. Just out of reach.

Finally, Annette nodded to herself in the mirror as if coming to some conclusion and understanding within herself.

With a new vitality, she cleaned her teeth, and gently washed her face.

No makeup today, she continued in a whisper to her image. She pointed to herself and said quietly as if an order to herself, No more covering up.

With a feline grace, she slipped silently and quickly around the rooms, grabbing only the essentials that she and her children needed.

She went into Peter’s study and opened the safe. She took out wedding documents, passports, anything she thought she might need in her unplanned new future. Then, she grabbed his hidden stash of undeclared money he had amassed from gambling.

Her first chuckle to herself came as she thought of her husband’s rage when he found she had taken something he valued.

All’s fair in love and war, she quietly said with a brief, unsatisfying smile.

The chuckle died in her throat as suddenly as it had appeared, as other thoughts broiled around in her mind.

They were old warnings that went in a loop in her head as a familiar terrified voice inside warned her not to make him angrier. You will live to regret it, it went on. Why bash on a hornet’s nest when you can walk quietly past it?

Hmph, she rejected her mind meanderings. I would rather live and regret it, than die by the hands of a bloody bully, she thought to herself. As she caught that last piece of wisdom she chuckled to herself and immediately felt stronger.

My goodness, what has come over me? she said to herself as she tried to understand what was happening.

Feeling encouraged and stronger than she believed possible, she took off her wedding ring and looked at it. It had once been a symbol of happiness and dreams, but had now become a reminder of her own living hell.

She placed it in the safe where it could clearly be seen, then turned her back on it and went out of the room to continue to gather needed possessions.

Annette placed the packed suitcases, an expensive leather briefcase that she claimed as a farewell gift from her husband, and a cardboard box of assorted bits and pieces, into the boot of the family car, then returned and woke the children gently but firmly.

From habit born of fear at their father’s increasing rages, they knew to be quiet in the mornings and didn’t protest even though they realised the routine was somehow different. Uncomplaining and silent, they dressed, and put their schoolbags on their backs and took their favourite comforters as they sleepily followed their mother outside.

They were still groggy and didn’t quite understand when Mum looked at them with a gentle smile and muttered, School is out for today.

Obediently, they settled into their seats while Annette checked their seatbelts, wrapped a soft, warm blanket around them and told them to go back to sleep.

She clicked her seat belt tightly across her, and drove away from the house that represented so many shattered dreams.

She was not even tempted to look back.

*      *      *

The stress levels were burning him out and he didn’t know how to handle it.

As Alex looked at his desk he felt totally out of control.

It seemed the more he did the fuller the trays became lately. Reports to be read. Reports to be written about the reports. Reports on the reports of the reports, he cynically snorted to himself. It’s all too bloody much, he sighed as he slumped back in is chair.

His secretary buzzed him and he heard her apologetic tone, I am so sorry to interrupt you Alex, but the boss just rang down and wants to see you immediately. I told him you had an urgent meeting to chair in a few minutes but he is in one of his moods.

Thanks Janet, he said. Just what I bloody need is his eminence in one of his bloody moods.

Alex opened up his drawer, popped a pill out of a sachet and as he slammed the drawer back into place and swallowed the tablet without water, he angrily pushed his chair back with his knees as he rose and then strode to the door.

As he came through his reception area he noticed on top of the desk a list of phone calls for his attention that Janet had not yet given him. Obviously saving them up for a better time.

Bloody hell Janet, what is this shit? he yelled. Is this all for me? Are you saving them up for a bloody Christmas present? Why didn’t you bring them in earlier?

He knew he was misdirecting his anger at her, but Heck, he thought, that’s what secretaries are paid good money to put up with, isn’t it!?

That unusually uncharitable thought immediately struck him back as if slapped as he saw Janet’s hurt face. He knew she was biting her tongue not to say anything.

Dear, loyal Janet, he thought with shame. She doesn’t deserve this crap.

They shared a deep look. His mouth opened and closed. His shoulders dropped. He opened his mouth again, but Janet just smiled, nodded her acceptance of his unspoken apology, pointed at the elevator and mouthed Go.

Feeling defeated by life, he hit the button of the elevator for the appointment with his boss, known unaffectionately by his employees behind his back as Der Fuerher.

Ten minutes later, and now late for his meeting, Alex thundered out of the executive office rooms absolutely livid with anger. He hit the elevator button so hard it hurt.

His thoughts were bombastic. The bloody moron. How on earth does he expect that to be done? What workers we have are already over worked and underpaid for the extra duties they’ve all been given after they chopped the heck out of middle management. We have not only trimmed the fat from our costs but we have been cutting into the flesh for months. Sick days and absences and staff turnover don’t seem to matter to the idiot. We are at breaking point and he doesn’t even know it. Or give a damn. All for the mighty bloody dollar and shareholders.

The acknowledgement to himself that he was one of those shareholders and that he felt guilt that he was obviously losing respect for his boss added to his momentum as Alex burst out of the elevator with a barely concealed rage that added to the forcefulness of his stride.

As his large frame barged back into his reception area he said to Janet, I suppose my wife has already called to ask what time I will be home so I can go to this bloody stupid dinner party she is all excited about attending with all the who’s bloody who of some two-bit hopped up bloody charity mob that are only sticking in their bloody money for tax write-offs anyway?

Knowing the family pressures, the stress-related increasing moodiness of her usually good-natured boss and the fact that his swearing usually meant he was trying not to totally blow his top, Janet said as gently as she could, Yes. I just got off the phone with Mrs Baxter.

With anger and a wish to lash out, as well as feeling simultaneously guilty and relieved that he had an excuse to miss something he had no interest in attending, Alex smirked and said to Janet in a cynical voice, What a shame.

His uncomplaining, long-term secretary was surprised to see Alex’s face turning red as he said, Janet. Please ring her up and tell I am not going.

Hitler has just given me another bloody project which will probably add on another four hours to my day’s schedule.

He stood there – totally immobile for a split second just looking at nothing in particular but with a glazed expression of sadness etched into his lined face – before he disappeared into his office.

Just as he slammed the door, Janet heard him say, It’s too much. It’s all too bloody much. I just can’t go on.

When he failed to come back out to attend his urgent meeting, Janet took a deep breath before buzzing him. Still receiving no response she knocked gently on the door and entered his room.

That was when she found him, collapsed on the floor.

*      *      *

It’s not fair, she yelled. The slam of the door reverberated through the many-roomed mansion as the young woman threw herself into her bedroom to shut out the once-friendly world that was now seemingly turning against her.

No one liked her. They were continually putting her down. People were looking at her as if she had two heads. She couldn’t go anywhere without someone judging what she was doing. She was sure sometimes she could hear their thoughts of judgement about her.

Her clothes weren’t acceptable. Her hair was too long. Her hair was too short. Her makeup was too over the top. Her body wasn’t good enough. Why didn’t she do something with her life? What good was she to the world?

Amberleigh put her head in her hands, and sobbed.

Suddenly she flung herself on top of her bed, pounded the brocade-covered pillows with her fists and screamed at the top of her lungs.

Eventually satisfied that she had made her point, and mindful that her throat hurt, she finally quietened down and sat on the bed and pouted.

Her old school friends all had jobs, or studies, or were married and had kids. No one seemed to have time to make for her any more. Other friends were scattered around the country and the world.

At 22 years of age, Amberleigh was bored. Exceedingly bored. Life was boring. And everyone in it was boring.

She didn’t have to work – ever – to make a living. Everything she wanted was provided for her. There was nothing she wanted in a tangible sense. But she wanted… something…

She kept up the train of thought, unable to drop it… Her parents were boring. They did the same thing all the time. Never changed their habits. Never changed their thoughts. They were as predictable as the sun coming up every morning. She shrugged as she thought to herself, Naaaaaa, even the possibility of the sun coming up every morning was not as predictable as her parent’s schedule. BORING means my parents.

The parties she went to were boring. The people she met there were boring. The drinking every night was boring. GOD, she screamed out. EVERYTHING is boring. Even I am boring.

She took a deep breath, and felt her heart hammering.

The pretty brunette looked around at the huge bedroom. It was lavishly decorated and ornate in lace and luxurious materials – all finely decorative and in the style of the city’s most expensive interior decorator. Everything was tidy – the maid had cleaned it up as always.

Even the clothes she had flung down an hour before and strewn over the floor and seat had been all put away. A place for everything, everything in its place, as her mother always said. She stared at the hygienic, almost sterile, room that was her private world – private except for the hirelings who would come and go silently but surely at scheduled times of the day.

There was nothing surrounding her which showed her own expression or character. Not that I even know what my own expression is, she thought to herself as she noticed how bare the room actually felt to her.

She realised she felt numb – sort of nothingy. Her mind was actually rather blank.

She felt like there should have been something there. But it was as if there was nothing to hang on to. Nothing in herself. Nothing outside of her. Just nothing. Nothing to look forward to. Nothing to look back on. Just – nothing.

This caused her to pause.

That’s it, she thought. I am NOT nothing because here I am. But who the heck am I?

Again, there was nothing there. No answer to her question.

After a while, she got up and went to her tidy closet. In a frenzy of activity, she started pulling things out of all her drawers and off their hangers. She found an overnight bag and started stuffing it with underwear, a few T-shirts, some pretty blouses, jeans, and assorted bits and pieces she might need.

She checked the ledge in her closet and removed a plastic bag from its hiding place and popped it in the bulging carry bag.

Amberleigh then moved to her desk – where everything was in its proper place. Of course, she mused to herself.

She pulled out the notepad. A notepad which bore the crest of the Bassington family just to remind everyone who they were dealing with, she thought to herself.

In case anyone here misses me, just know I have gone away to find myself. If I find me, I’ll be back – maybe. Amberleigh – your daughter – remember me? she wrote in a hurried scrawl.

Satisfied, she dropped it on top of her bed, grabbed her handbag and carry bag and moved to the door. As an afterthought, she rummaged through her bag, pulled out her