Eve’s Rebellion: A Journey to Sacred Activism

By Kris Niels

Embark on a soul-stirring odyssey with Kris Niels as she charts a course of liberation in "Eve's Rebellion: A Path to Sacred Activism." Through the prism of her own harrowing journey, Kris unveils the transformative potential of breaking free from the societal constraints and personal traumas that ensnare us. From the stifling grip of religious indoctrination to the suffocating confines of an abusive marriage, Kris's courageous narrative offers a beacon of hope for those yearning to reclaim their power and forge a path of authentic self-discovery.

 

As Kris shares her profound insights into the 12 Universal Laws and the principles of attraction and manifestation, she empowers readers to harness their inner strength and manifest happiness and success in their lives. "Eve's Rebellion" transcends the bounds of traditional memoirs, offering a roadmap to spiritual enlightenment and personal empowerment. Through thought-provoking reflections and practical exercises, Kris guides readers on a transformative journey of self-discovery, illuminating the interconnectedness that binds us all and the profound impact of reclaiming agency over our destinies.

 

Join Kris Niels on a captivating voyage of self-liberation and sacred activism, and discover the power of embracing your inherent divinity to effect positive change in the world. "Eve's Rebellion" is not just a book—it's a call to arms for those ready to break free from the chains of the past and embark on a journey of profound transformation and spiritual renewal.

 

About the Author
Introducing Kris Niels, a beacon of light in the realms of spirituality, empowerment, and holistic healing. With a rich background as a nondenominational chaplain in hospice care, Kris has made it her life's mission to guide women who have left organized religion on a transformative journey towards self-discovery and sovereignty.

 

Through her work, Kris utilizes a multifaceted approach that blends somatics, sexual and erotic education, and the embodiment of the Divine Feminine, empowering women to embrace their true essence and reclaim their power. Her compassionate guidance provides a safe space for women to explore their identities, heal from past wounds, and step boldly into their sovereignty.

 

Join Kris Niels on a journey of empowerment and self-discovery, where the sacred meets the soul and women are empowered to embrace their true potential. Through her wisdom, compassion, and tireless advocacy, Kris invites you to awaken to the limitless possibilities that await within, guiding you on a path towards healing, empowerment, and the realization of your deepest truths.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kris Niels
• Release date: Mar 4, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224416004

Book preview

How to Use This Book

Heal the root so the tree is stable.—Nazanin Mandi

This book is broken into four sections. Each chapter will begin with the wise words of wisdom passed down from those who have known trauma before us. Take a moment to meditate on this before you begin to read the essence of the chapter.

The next section you will find contains stories from my life. These stories will lead you into the related lesson which follows. You may have very similar stories in your own life. You may have worse stories. Or your stories may be entirely different - but you’re suffering just the same. Or perhaps you just need a guide on your way to spiritual awakening.

The third section of the book is where you will practice healing. Whatever trauma you have been through, similar or dissimilar to the stories I relate to you, understanding why you have responded the way you do, why you continue to take it, is not enough. It’s time to change. And this section will help you to do just that. It will give you ways perfectly within your abilities to practice changes within your everyday life. Things that can become habits; exercises to ease your pain and begin your spiritual awakening.

You do not have to live your entire life as a victim. It is time to heal within. Come with me and begin to replace fear with curiosity.

Chapter 1: Meet Kris

Sometimes I believe it is best to take the child’s approach to life, which assumes no limitations at all. Children set out to do things without knowing that they are not supposed to be able to do them.

– Les Brown

My Almost Amazing Boyfriend

Charmed, I’m Sure

When you think of Salt Lake City, I’m sure the first thoughts entering your head are the Great Salt Lake and Mormons. Rightly so. The Great Salt Lake is the largest saltwater lake in the Western Hemisphere. That makes it one-of-a-kind. Since the city itself was built around the Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints Temple (the Mormon Temple) and the tabernacle, it’s only natural that you would think of Mormons when you think of this city. For those of you who haven’t seen it, the temple surprisingly resembles the Neuschwanstein Castle built by Ludwig II, King of Bavaria (born August 25, 1845; ruled Bavaria 1864 – 1886; died June 13, 1886). The Neuschwanstein is the same castle upon which the Cinderella Castle at Disneyland is based which is also the one in the movie Chitty Chitty Bang Bang (you know, the old Dick van Dike movie about the car that flies and makes the sound chitty chitty bang bang; the child catcher; lots of singing).

We’ve all heard the expression, All roads lead to Rome. In the case of Salt Lake City, all roads lead to the temple. When Brigham Young led his pioneer-following west and established his Mormon state of Utah, the builders who settled in the Salt Lake City area were quite organized in their city planning. It is built on the grid system rather than the more haphazard building of older cities. It makes for very easy navigation.

This is where I grew up. As a member of the Mormon church.

My mother dreamed of getting married in the temple. It is a spectacular place. You enter the cathedral—which appears much more like a castle—through magnificent garden grounds with whimsical statues playing about before passing through enormous doors into the sanctuary. There are four staggered levels inside accessed by artistic spiral staircases. Golden Kris chandeliers hang everywhere. The ceiling seems to be miles high. It is every bit as awe-inspiring inside as the breathtaking outside.

My father loved to please my mom. So he agreed that their eternal wedding should take place there. That meant taking temple classes which were taught by a senior member of the church who also happened to be a City Councilman. It also meant regularly attending church. And my mother got her wish of having her marriage sealed for time and all eternity in the temple. A marriage that has been sealed in the temple by an authorized member of the priesthood exists after death, into the afterlife, for all eternity. A civil marriage dissolves at death (till death do us part).

Although my father’s churchgoing days were pretty much over shortly after their wedding, he thought it taught good values and expected us children to go with my devout mother.

On Sundays, he stayed home and cooked spaghetti for lunch to have it ready for us when we returned. Those are some of my favorite memories of him, Sunday lunch, or making big breakfast Saturday mornings.

But events I’m going to relate here could’ve happened to anyone in almost any American religious organization—or even none at all. Abuse is not specific to Americans by any means. It is endemic in all cultures around the world. And it often begins in childhood. With bullying.

That’s where I got my first taste. I was known as an overweight kid, and I got teased a lot. Things didn’t get better when I was the first of my friends to start my period. And to grow breasts. They pretty much come hand-in-hand. I can remember the kids calling me mountains. One boy, my friend’s cousin, went so far as to push me to the ground so he could shove his hand down my shirt to rub my breasts.

This wasn’t the only time I would be sexually molested. It wasn’t even the first.  I was once abused, so much younger, in a way that I suffered so much guilt and shame, blaming myself and keeping it secret from everyone, praying to God to forgive me, that I eventually suppressed the memory entirely. It was only much later that the memory resurfaced. Guilt and shame can keep us hostage in our lives in so many ways if left unresolved.

Predators, it seems, can detect those who have already been victimized because I was chosen as the target of sexual abuse yet a third time—by two males on the same day, when I was 16. The fact is that if you’ve been sexually victimized, you are multiple times more likely to be re-victimized. Part of the trauma of abuse is that you may detach or dissociate from the incident and, therefore, not recognize the danger signs the next time such a situation begins to form around you again so you can prepare yourself to avoid it. This is why it is so essential that trauma victims learn a new trauma response. Disassociation and detachment do not work to save yourself from being victimized or re-victimized.

As a junior in high school, I got a job at an assisted living facility. I was lucky to be trusted by my parents to drive myself. They thought I was responsible enough for that and for a job. I can remember my mom telling me to drive carefully and, Don’t be late.

I was nervous on my first day. I tried so hard to be a good girl; to make my parents proud of me, to do all the right things. I really wanted to do a good job. So I paid close attention as my boss gave me the rundown.

When a resident came into the lunch room and told me to suck his balls, it made me even more nervous and uncomfortable. And kinda sick to my stomach.

After lunch was done, I started clearing the dishes from the dining room to take them to the dishwasher. My boss put a fellow kitchen worker in charge to show me what else was required each shift because she was leaving for the day. 

He was a young man just a year or so older than I was. I was pretty shy around boys. I really wanted to do a good job so when he said, Follow me, the mops are back here, I mutely followed. He led me to a utility closet down a hallway behind the kitchen. He gestured for me to go in first. Then he closed the door and leaned his back against it blocking my way out. He leaned over and kissed me on the lips. Then ordered, Suck my dick,  as he dropped his jeans down.

I gasped, my mind going blank. Suddenly, I was angry. At the same time, something inside me knew I didn’t want to anger him. No, I said quietly but firmly.

His eyebrows creased in a little bit of confusion as though it had never occurred to him that I might say no. I shoved past him and he didn’t resist me. I was shaking as I stumbled out of that closet. Yet, I didn’t feel like I could leave because my shift hadn’t ended. I didn’t want to get in trouble. So I decided instead that I would just stay out of closed-off spaces for the rest of the day. I would, like the mature, trustworthy girl I was, discuss it with my manager the next day.

That nasty boy continued to taunt me for the rest of my shift even though I repeatedly told him no in the same stern voice I had used to get out of the closet and away from him. He followed me around, trying to corner me as I mopped the floor. He somehow managed to touch my breasts. He just didn’t seem to understand what no meant.

When I just couldn’t take it anymore, I shoved the mop at him and sternly said, This belongs in the back closet. Put it away. Then I went to sit next to the dishwasher boy who was about my age, thinking, "There’s safety in numbers."

From there, I watched the clock until my shift was over and it was okay for me to leave. I know I should have left earlier. And the more experienced me would have. But the girl I was then simply had to follow all the rules and stay until the end; I didn’t want to let anyone down.

I was finally able to escape out to my car, the little Toyota Corolla my dad had given me to drive. I couldn’t believe it, though, I had left the windows down and it had started to pour rain. Not only did I have to deal with the abuses of two men that day, but I then also had to sit on a soaking wet seat all the way home. I was so unnerved that the shock brought back the trauma of my early childhood and the guilt of my original abuse. It came rushing back like a flood and my tears began to match the rain. They poured down my face all the way home. I sat outside the house, clutching the steering wheel, bawling my eyes out until I had nothing left inside of me. Then I wiped my eyes and slowly walked up to the door.

I slunk my way in, trying to avoid my parents. Fortunately, they were both somewhat distracted. When my mom asked, How was your day, dear, she wasn’t really listening to the tone of my voice. She only heard the word, Fine.

I don’t think my dad heard me at all. I didn’t think he cared; we didn’t really talk much then. Eventually I got the courage to tell my mother about what happened. I ended up telling my boss what happened and quitting my job the next day.

***

Delivering Newspapers

I did get another job. My brother went with me for this one. We started delivering newspapers. The papers were dropped off at our house at 4 AM, then we threw them in the back of the little Toyota. We had to roll them up and deliver them to two routes in the neighborhood that included the house of the City Councilman who taught the temple class to my parents before they were able to be married in that great cathedral. At four in the morning, he would peek around the corner of his house at me in whitie tightie underwear. There was nothing else to look at at that hour. It totally creeped me out.

I told my parents about it. Liar! my dad barked. He’s on the City Council for hell's sake. His mother and her daughters taught your dance classes for years. Respected members of the Mormon church don’t wear that kind of underwear. They wear ‘the Armour of God’.  He referred to the undergarments passed down from Joseph Smith himself that had had only minor changes since its ‘revelation from heaven’ in the 1840s. It is the same modest knit white t-shirt and long boxer-type shorts worn by both men and women. They are kept so modest that they should not even be hung out on the wash line. Yet, I had seen this man in something much, much less modest on his body, outside, in the early morning light for all to see.

My father spluttered for a moment, his face turning deep red. We are not discussing what men wear underneath their clothing. But it isn’t whitie tighties! He screamed the last two words at me. I can’t say my dad’s response shocked me at all, because by all accounts seeing him in white tights made no logical sense! Quite honestly, I was equally as shocked. But I had seen him out there on numerous occasions wearing only whitie tighties.

Later, when I was alone with my mother, I asked her to please ride along on the route with me so she could see for herself that the Councilman was out there peeking and tell my father the truth. With the strangest little giggle, she agreed, but then only came out with me once. Of course he wasn’t out that day. She told me just to look away. But I couldn’t. If he was there, I wanted to be prepared to run. Who knew what else he would do? Obviously, he was up to no good. I know now that I might not have been able to run. Fight or flight. My choice was usually to freeze—and then fawn. To fawn, is to try to appease the person who is threatening you. To say whatever it is that might make them calm themselves, turn away from you, ease up on their attack—whether physical or verbal.

If the councilman came at me, what would I say? Oh, Mr. Councilman, you did such a great job teaching those temple classes to my parents, they talk about them still. And, What lovely whitie tighties, they remind me of the leotards I wore in the dance classes I took from your wife and daughters. Oh, yeah. That would stop him from evil intent!

Just a few years later, he got caught peeking over the top of a wall at a girl undressing in a tanning salon. He resigned from the City Council and turned into a hermit, rarely leaving his house. After that, I really didn’t trust men. I felt like men in general were dirty and only wanted one thing. Sex! But by then, I was already well involved with Jason —and having sex with him. It wasn’t until my second serious relationship that I found out sex could be pleasurable to a woman too. I think I actually believed at the time that was how you made a man love you.

***

What Dreams Will Come

I had a dream. One of those dreams so realistic that when you wake up, you’re almost unsure whether it was a dream or a memory. In this dream, I was wearing a hoodie I already owned in real life. I was a mother. The mother of a beautiful baby girl. I held her in my arms, and she looked up at me with all her sweet innocence. I could feel the weight of her, smell that scent that only newborn babies have, hear the little cooing sounds that she made. I remembered buying that little outfit she was wearing while I was pregnant and she was kicking in my belly.

My mother came and lifted her from my arms. I’ll take care of her until you get back from work, she said to me. And that’s when I knew I lived with my parents.

When I woke up, I was so angry. Why would I have a dream like that when I knew I would never have a child without being married. So why would I live with my parents with a baby? It made me so upset that I went to my closet, held out that hoodie, and threw it away.

***

Nearly the Man of My Dreams

The next year, at 17, I started EMT classes at night. I was in one of my slimmer periods from all the running around I did delivering newspapers and I was feeling a little more confident. So when Jason smiled at me across the classroom and winked, I smiled back. He was a handsome guy with dark hair and flashing eyes. Maybe just slightly dangerous looking. I could go for that, I thought. An older guy, in my first class beyond high school, and hot, I probably would’ve gone for anybody like that who gave me a little attention. Jason was the first. That in itself was a huge thrill.

At the end of class, I thought maybe he’d be waiting for me outside the doors. When he wasn’t, my mood plunged. I thought maybe he’d seen me stand up and I wasn’t as slim as I thought I was. I walked towards the outside doors with my head hanging and my notebook pressed to my chest. When I opened them, someone stepped in front of me. All I saw at first were his boots and jeans. They stopped me in my tracks. I looked up and there were those eyes. Laughing. Teasing. Maybe just a bit wicked. His hand was holding out a flower. A bit droopy, but a flower nevertheless. Maybe he wasn’t a bad boy after all.

I couldn’t wait outside of the classroom. I didn’t have anything to give you then, he said as he held out the flower. I couldn’t give you a used pen, after all. You’d have thought I was cheap. He flashed me a devastating grin that lit up a dimple on his right cheek.

Probably not, I whispered.

He chuckled as I took the flower and put it to my nose.

That was the beginning of his seduction. He wined me and dined me and constantly gifted me. It started out with a somewhat droopy flower and quickly escalated to a promise ring. And I loved every minute of it. He said, No gift is good enough for you.

I thought, "Any gift is good enough