Courageously You: Magical Mind Games to Get Unstuck and Reignite Your Joy

By Colleen Vanderzyden

Stuck in stress, self-judgment, or fear? Courageously You is the shortcut you’ve been looking for to create profound shifts toward living the authentic, joyful life you deserve.

Ready to release the emotional turmoil caused by judgmental people or stressful circumstances? Would you like to muffle the voice of the inner critic that keeps you trapped in an endless “not good enough” story loop? Or maybe you want to let go of feeling like you have to keep everyone else happy by being who you’re “supposed to be.”

You’re tired of putting yourself last or feeling too scared to be who you truly are!

Rather than stumbling along without direction, doubting yourself, and feeling helplessly battered by problems and challenges, you’ll be guided on an adventure of self-discovery, reclaiming the power of your true self.

Stocked with powerful Magical Mind Games, Courageously You will have you confidently navigating life’s unpleasant twists and turns. As you play with these simple, yet profound ideas, you’ll transform your thinking, learning how to wholeheartedly trust and believe in yourself. You’ll break through the barriers that have kept you stuck, making intentional choices to live life on your own terms.

An enthusiastic professional educator, Colleen Vanderzyden has been teaching these empowering “how-to’s” for over twenty years. They’ve helped thousands of her coaching clients and radio show listeners embrace the freedom that comes from living in their truth, emboldening them to create a joyful life beyond their wildest imaginations.

Ready to manifest the life of your dreams?

This inspiring guide provides a clear roadmap to your courageous self!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Luminescent Press
• Release date: Feb 26, 2022
• ISBN: 9781662916748

Book preview

PART ONE

AWAKENING

CHAPTER 1

DOWSING RODS AND A SEASHELL

With a thundering crash, the old barn collapsed. Unbeknownst to me, this was the moment that changed my life.

The collapse wasn’t a surprise. My husband and I hadn’t done anything to maintain the old structure—the rotten boards of the walls had been sagging for some time. For several years, the holes in the roof allowed rain and snow to ruin the interior. The door was buckled and stuck in an open position.

We were a few years into our married life when we bought the house with the old barn out back. Located in a quaint village in upstate New York, the house was rumored to have been a part of the Underground Railroad and the site of one of the first women’s temperance meetings. It was spacious and at some point in its life, elegant.

Significantly older than the modern surrounding homes, it had a large backyard with pine trees along the rear border. On the right side sat the slightly leaning, decrepit barn, with its peeling red paint. The first time I walked into the aging building, I was wary of what looked like an unsafe situation. I hesitated at the door. Flipping the light switch, I was surprised when the bare, dim bulbs along the rafters lit up. With a quick scan of the interior, it didn’t seem to be imminently dangerous.

As I explored the dusty space, I could imagine it having been used for horses and carriages over a century ago. Some areas of the floor were dirt, and there were remnants of animal stalls. The use in the more recent past was for the storage of lawn mowers and gardening supplies. I sneezed, covering my nose against the musty smell of decaying grass clippings and layers of disuse.

For two public school music teachers with typically low salaries, the price of the house was doable. My husband and I looked past the sloping floors, cracked windows, and worn-out, stained carpets and made the decision to buy it.

Having the money to only pay for necessities, we ignored the structural problems of the leaning barn as time went by. We let it continue its slow deterioration, focused on other, more important jobs in the house itself.

And now, I was looking at the massive pile of broken and splintered wood. I remembered the electrical lines. Are they still live? I thought nervously. Can they spark a fire?

I called an electrician, and Larry came to the house the next day. He parked at the end of the driveway next to the collapsed barn. As he left his old truck, he glanced at the mess and raised his eyebrows.

That’s quite the pile, he wryly said as he casually sauntered toward me. Appearing to be in his sixties, he was dressed in jeans and a well-worn brown jacket. He seemed unflappable and laid back, projecting an air of self-assured practicality.

I’m worried the electricity might be live and cause a fire, I explained to him as I walked him to the area of rubble where the light switches had been. I think the wiring is buried underground from this corner and goes to the house over there. I pointed to the left back corner of the house that was seventy-five feet away.

We walked along the path where I thought the lines might be.

Nah, you don’t need to worry about that. It’s not going to catch fire, he nonchalantly replied.

Are you sure? I asked, a little skeptical. It’s an old house and there are issues with the electrical inside, so I’m not convinced things were done correctly out here.

Well, let’s find out what’s going on, he said.

He strolled back to his truck and returned with two L-shaped metal rods. He held the short end with the long bar facing forward as he walked back and forth over the possible electrical line path.

I watched, bewildered. The rods would face forward, parallel to each other, and every now and then, they would close in front of him, with the tips moving to the center of his body.

What are those? I asked. What are you doing?

He gave me a little smile, like he had a secret. These are dowsing rods. Do you know what dowsing is?

I nodded as I walked alongside him, tucking a loose piece of blonde hair behind my ear. A little, I replied. I remember learning about it in fourth grade. The teacher told us people dowsed to find the best location to drill water wells.

Yes, that’s true. But it can also be used for other things. When I walk over the electrical lines, the tips of the rods come together to indicate, ‘Yes, this is where the lines are,’ Larry explained.

My eyes went wide, and I stopped in my tracks for a moment. Really? How does it work? I said, surprised with his answer. This guy was just a local electrician who I’d found in the yellow pages of my telephone book. I never expected such an unusual answer, let alone the enthusiasm for the subject I heard in his otherwise unfazed voice. I’d had different spiritual experiences myself that were out of the box of normal society, so something fun like this intrigued me greatly.

I’m not really sure. He shrugged. Maybe it’s electromagnetic. I don’t really know. They move in certain directions for positive or negative answers. I’ve used them to find the best place to drill a well myself, or even to find lost items or people. I can ask questions about anything and get answers.

Larry continued, Watch what happens when I ask if the lines are live.

He proceeded to step over the presumed electrical path and the rods pointed to the sides rather than closing in front of him.

See? When the rods come together, it’s a positive answer. When they move to the side, with the tips away from each other, the answer is no. Your electrical lines are not live, he stated.

I stared at him, feeling wonder and awe. Furrowing my brow, my mind immediately started searching for different ways I might be able to use dowsing. Could I use it to get answers to my own problems? Would it help me make decisions?

Here, do you want to try? Larry offered the rods to me.

Yes, I do! I exclaimed eagerly.

He showed me how to use them. I was flabbergasted when I walked over the area of the electrical lines and the rods closed, just like when he did it.

I’d always been enthralled by the mystical. When I was growing up, I was fascinated by the supernatural. Was it possible that people had special powers? Could I create magic? I was curious about the possibilities that there could be more to life than what we experienced in our physical existences.

Dowsing was certainly magical and mystical.

Where can I learn more about this? I asked curiously.

I can teach you, he answered. Larry explained that he’d been working with dowsing for years and was eager to tell me what he’d experienced. He hadn’t met many people where he felt safe to talk about this interest. I nodded as Larry spoke; I knew exactly how he felt. Since the age of twelve, I’d had psychic moments of inner knowings and premonitions. I didn’t talk about these with most people and certainly not as part of a usual conversation with my electrician.

Although well drillers in our area dowsed for water in addition to relying on geological information, using dowsing to get answers to questions or finding lost people was beyond what was acceptable in his community. We made arrangements to meet in a couple of weeks.

Every now and then, Larry and I got together to talk about dowsing and play with the rods as we wandered in my backyard. Wanting to learn more, I discovered there were dowsing conventions and decided to go to one.

At a conference in California, I attended workshops on energy, meditation, personal growth, labyrinths, and other metaphysical topics. I felt like I was amongst people who understood the secret parts of myself I rarely shared with others. Everyone easily chatted about psychic abilities and inner knowings. Until then, I hadn’t realized the possibility in developing that part of myself. Dowsing was leading me to a further awareness of my inner potential.

My week at that conference was fun and interesting. People were excited and passionate as they discussed the various uses for dowsing. The applications were overwhelmingly centered on how it helped us access the hidden parts of ourselves that were connected to an all-pervasive, universal energy.

On the last day of the event, I hoisted my bag onto my shoulder and made my way into an inspirational writing workshop. Sitting in the front row, I let my curiosity wash over me. What am I going to learn here?

The teacher, a thin woman in her fifties with messy, short gray curls, explained that inspirational writing was a method to access our inner self and our connection to a higher wisdom. This wisdom wasn’t limited by our own thoughts and beliefs.

With writing, we can separate from our thoughts, the teacher shared. You become a channel to allow insightful messages to be expressed through you. As you write, you’ll notice words or sentences coming into your mind. Jot them all down as quickly as you can, without thinking about them. If you dwell on or judge what you’re receiving, you won’t be connected to the higher wisdom. You’ll be writing from your own mind, rather than connecting with an inspired source.

She turned her gaze across each of us gathered in the small conference room. Let’s try it! she exclaimed.

In the first exercise, we were to connect with an object from nature, like a rock or leaf. We would then be inspired to write a message. A basket was passed around containing various items. I chose a maple leaf. The directions were clear, if odd.

Hold the item. What does it feel like? the teacher asked. What does it look like? Focus on it. Notice as much as you can. What does it want to share? Connect with it and allow its message to come through.

It seemed simple enough. Hold the leaf and write whatever the leaf wants to communicate. But, as I held it in my hand, ready and waiting, doubt started to creep in.

Hmm. . . so I’m going to get a message from a leaf? Really? You’ve got to be kidding me.

I looked around the room, perplexed, wondering if anyone else thought this was strange. I seemed to be the only one questioning; the other dozen attendees were focused on their items, some of them already writing or typing fluidly in the silence.

I held the green leaf, ready to write its message. I analyzed it and studied the variations in color. I rubbed my fingers on it, feeling the smooth texture contrasting with the veins. I followed the directions as best I could, narrowing my blue eyes in extreme concentration as I worked hard to connect.

What does the leaf want to tell me? And . . . I got nothing.

Not a thing came through. As others were writing, I sat there, feeling like a failure. At the end of the process, people eagerly waved their hands, wanting to share their messages. I stared around at them in disbelief. People read their messages, excited to inspire us with the words they had channeled from their various items.

How did they come up with that stuff? I think they’re all crazy. I followed the directions, but it didn’t work. I’m horrible at this. Why didn’t it work? This is stupid.

I felt an intense heat rise in my cheeks and lowered my head. Obviously there was something wrong with me if everyone else could do it. After a few minutes of listening to their messages, the teacher again sent the basket around. We replaced our objects and chose a new one.

Ugh. Great. Now we’re trying again. Another time I can fail. Whatever.

The negative voice in my head took over, and as I picked a shell out of the basket this time, there was nothing I could do to stop it. Nothing works. This is just like my life right now: it’s falling apart. My marriage isn’t good. For the last five years, I’ve done everything I can, but it’s not working. What did I do wrong? I can’t do anything right.

As silence fell once again in the room, I reflected on how my life was in a state of inner collapse. From the outside, everything looked great. I had a good job, a husband, a house, kids, the dog and a cat . . . and yet I wasn’t happy. Something was missing, but I didn’t know what.

I can’t fix my marriage, so I’ve stopped trying. I don’t know what to do, but I do know that I’m tired of being depressed and hopeless. I’m tired of failing. I’m tired of feeling like nothing will ever change.

That inner voice was relentless, questioning my abilities and telling me I wasn’t good enough to get one ounce of connection from the objects in this exercise, let alone figure out everything else that was a mess.

This is just another opportunity to prove I’m not good enough. I’ll try one more time, but it won’t work.

This time, I let my attention fall to the shell resting in my palm. It was white with ridges, a common clam shell.

Yep, it’s not distinctive or even pretty. I definitely won’t get a message from this shell.

Although frustrated, I did my best to connect. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I felt the smooth, inner part of the shell and the ridges on the outside. As I gripped it, I felt the peace I got when I went to the beach, sitting in the sun and listening to the ocean waves. The beach is my favorite place.

I love to collect shells from the beaches I’ve visited. I have hundreds. My mind stopped obsessing as I smiled and relaxed into these memories. I took another deep breath, and the frustration finally left my body.

Something made a difference, because before I knew it, I had the little shell clamped in one hand while the other hand danced madly across my paper, urgently scribbling without any pause or judgment.

When I finished, I stared in awe at the almost unreadable scrawl. I’d written so fast it was a mess! I deciphered my creation with a growing sense of wonder.

What is this? I didn’t understand what was laid out before me in my own handwriting. There’s no way I could have come up with this. I would never use these words. They aren’t in my logical brain! So where did they come from?

I raised my hand, waving it around with a newfound energy. Let me read mine! This is amazing! I can’t believe it. I have to read it to you!

Within the messy writing, a phrase stood out: Be who you are, for who you are is blessed. In that moment, everything changed. I woke up.

Who was I? I had no idea. But I knew I was not the person I thought I was.

For my entire life, I always tried to keep people happy, unknowingly avoiding speaking my truth because I didn’t want to cause conflict or upset another person. I had become an extreme people pleaser who put others’ needs ahead of my own. I suppressed myself to avoid being judged, striving to be perfect in a way that was acceptable to everyone around me.

I’d unintentionally convinced myself that if I controlled it all, I would be happier. Instead, I became highly self-critical, to the point that I lost myself. I’d come to believe I wasn’t good enough for anything.

For the rest of the day, I walked around the conference grounds in a fog. The realization that I’d been living my life in complete unawareness was mind-blowing. I’d been living in a daze my whole life, not knowing how I truly felt or what I wanted.

The one thing I now knew was that the way I was