Thriving on Purpose

By Sylvia K Dorisme

Thriving on Purpose is a book written by Sylvia K. Dorisme, Founder of Zeal Technical Institute.

Sylvia has an incredibly powerful story and has undoubtedly defied the odds in her life time and again. Having migrated to the United States at 14 years old, she had a vision to become the first college graduate in her family, and

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sylvia Dorisme
• Release date: Sep 9, 2022
• ISBN: 9781088064849

Book preview

PREFACE

She was standing while looking out of the window as the man she loves — or at least thought she loved — watches her. Lost in her thoughts, she recalled her past and the long journey that brought her to where she finds herself today. The complex traumas of her life story are still relatively new to her even though many of them happened years ago. That’s what trauma does. It leaves its scars behind. She has had to weave her way through the maze of psychological, emotional, and physical abuse to find her footing. It is a journey she must walk alone if she hopes to recover her sense of being. But it is strange and difficult to decipher, and it leaves her wishing she had a degree in psychology, just to understand the behavior and mindsets of the people around her and why each one of them played a devastating role in her life.

Post-traumatic stress disorder has become her new buzzword, the leftovers of a life filled with struggling to endure massive trauma. There seems to be no end in sight as she lives in captivity with no obvious way to escape. But she can hear a faint wind and touch a soft wisping around the dark cave promising that there is a way out. She just has to find it.

She acknowledges that, back then, she couldn’t escape. She was trapped in the brokenness of those around her. She was collateral damage from the impact of their twisted stories. But now, now she has a firm hand on the reigns of her existence. And she is determined to save herself.

Childhood trauma is just one example of what she has had to suffer. She is a true survivor who carries on despite the symptoms she faces and the lingering pain in her heart. Love and having parents, can sometimes be painful, not warm and welcoming at all. Sometimes it wounds the spirit and bruises the body, instead of being protective and life-giving. It never gives but always takes away and violates the most sacred spaces of the heart.

But healthy love brings joy to the heart and marrow to the bomb. It lifts the spirits and gives life to all that is dead. It is that kind of love she now demands and offers, both to the world and to herself.

CHAPTER 1

THE GIFT OF THE MOUNTAIN

"If you are faced with a mountain, you have several options.

You can climb it and cross to the other side.

You can go around it.

You can dig under it.

You can fly over it.

You can blow it up.

You can ignore it and pretend it’s not there.

You can turn around and go back the way you came.

Or you can stay on the mountain and make it your home."

― Vera Nazarian, The Perpetual Calendar of Inspiration

My mind wandered constantly during my childhood years. I knew that I was obligated to do the right thing even as a child. Doing the wrong thing meant getting myself into trouble. And I had to do what needed to be done, to stay out of trouble when I lived with my parents. My terminal loneliness as a child left me incessantly puzzled. What was my life supposed to be about? I didn't understand who I was and my place in the world.

For the most part, life for me was an exercise in being ‘Alone’. Alone was a safe place where I could commune with my thoughts, where no one could hurt me. It was a haven where no one could dare to touch me or assault my body or wound my tender, innocent spirit.

When I was alone, I couldn’t be judged nor could be compared to others. There was no one to reject me. I learned to be confident while being alone. But just couldn’t learn to be confident when my friends and family were around. I always wanted Confidence to be my default, not just the persona I wore.

The only friend I had while growing up was someone I met by sheer luck. When we met, she had special skills — listening skills — that, as a child, were appealing to my lonely heart. I looked forward to spending time with her. She didn't live close by, so I would have to wait until the weekends, to be happy and feel alive. We would spend time together after church or when there was no school. I wasn't allowed to go to her house, so she would come to mine.

Just seeing the sight of her approaching, used to be enough to lift me from despair and send me soaring. It signaled that, for the next few minutes, I would be connected to another heart that saw me as I was and accepted me. Her visits would make the loneliness pack its bag and take a day off.

We would play outside near a little mountain, near my parent’s home. Mountains were always special to me. They represented a transformation from the depths to the heights. They promised that, if you are willing to climb, you will be blessed with a view that will melt your cares away.

We walked up the little mountain and found a special place where we could sit and look out over the island’s coast. From our special place at the summit, we could see everything the world was up to around us and the tiny homes in the distance and infinitesimal human figures scurrying about. We would see the nearby island lights come on. We often went there late in the afternoon before sunset, just to see the moment when the dark sky gave way to the Swindle lights.

We didn't feel the need to talk in those quiet and lovely moments. It was as if she could hear my thoughts, and feel my suffering internally. She could hear the cry of my heart. She was a true friend. She listened so carefully, so deeply, that I felt her sincere sympathy for whatever I was going through. I didn’t have to tell her anything, but I enjoyed the liberty to tell her everything I thought, everything I felt, and everywhere I hurt.

Up there on the mountain, we could dream and waste the day away. We had no cares or fears. We just had each other, the endless sky, and the occasional bird that flew by to remind us of the coming sunset. The silence was often our love language up there. I could hear her thoughts too. She could feel the words pouring from my heart.

When we did talk, we covered many different subjects, but then there were times when we sat for ten minutes not talking at all. When the day was spent, and hunger and thirst beckoned us, we would get up from our perch on the mountain and wander around, throwing rocks while looking up at the beautiful scenery of the island.

We were best friends until my 20s. She was a gift from God to me as I existed in an environment that was so judgmental, so uncomfortable, and so controlled that I didn’t get to enjoy my young life.

Eventually, we had to say goodbye and return to life. Real life — though I wasn’t sure which parts of my life were real. I loved my family, but my parents were the source of, much of my pain. I welcomed brief respites from it all, like going to church. But even church was an artificial respite from the kinds of abuses that cracked my inner shell and wore away the fabric of my confidence.

We all looked forward to church. I liked church, but it was another controlled environment, in my humble opinion. I was one of those kids, who liked to please people. So, whatever I needed to do to make my parents happy or the pastor happy, I did it, trying to be on my best behavior, to get their approval and acceptance.

My every move was watched carefully by my parents and the church leaders, at least while I was at church they did. We attended a Pentecostal church that was heavily managed. It felt like a cult in my precarious mind.

Women couldn't wear pants or earrings and had to cover their heads when they were in the church building. Every activity was monitored. Being there, felt like I was in a movie because I was always acting.

If I didn’t, I would have been judged and labeled. Many people were brought before the pastor for the talk when they didn’t measure up to biblical principles. It would get complicated quickly. Had I disobeyed the church’s rules, my parents would have been made to feel like they failed. So, I was on my best behavior to keep my parents from becoming disappointed in me.

It was all about control. However, they used the bible to justify their mild abuse of domination. Now that I am an adult, I