Overcoming Suicidal Feelings

© mosaicscience.com

© mosaicscience.com

Jennifer shares her harrowing experience of growing up in N.Ireland, how she made it onto the path of transformation, and what it took for her to transcend her suicidal feelings. (In response to an article called "Suicide of the Ceasefire babies" (by Lyra McKee, read it here on mosaicsience.com).


I understand the feeling of despair that takes people’s lives. I grew up during the Troubles in Northern Ireland and made it out by the skin of my teeth. It breaks my heart to witness these soaring suicide rates, but I am not the least bit surprised.

After my own gang rape and suicide attempt at 19 years old, I reached a crossroads in my life where the choice was either, “DIE or face whatever you need to face in order to truly live”. There actually was no choice, really.

If I wanted to survive the straight-jacket of rage, paranoia, mistrust, SELF-HATE, shame, violence, rejection, terror, life-long bullying, addiction and darkness that my cells had inherited and absorbed, I needed a radical shift in attitude, consciousness, belief, environment and behavior.

I did a 180 degree turn, moved to the USA and started working directly with the light to clean out and purify the insurmountable block of shit that almost put me 6-feet under. That same smothering blackness that chokes the light of so many the world over. It’s a living nightmare. Its hard to describe to those who aren’t in it. It’s hell on earth. And I understand whole-heartedly why these Ceasefire Babies and their war-torn parents see no escape other than death.

The sobering part is what was required for me to break apart that epigenetic residue. The fear I had to unlock and embrace and the vehicle through which I transformed it, would shock your most bravest self - something far beyond what a traditional psychotherapist or psychiatrist is equipped to handle. I was facing this generational fear non-stop through my twenties and early thirties; owning it, pursuing it, studying it, shining light through it. This is not something that can be done on our own or with guides, therapists or mentors who have not already taken themselves through this same level of resurrection. It has to be guided by those who have walked the walk - otherwise it’s the blind leading the blind.

There was vicious, hateful rage that had to spew out of me to be lightened and purged, which had to be overseen by a very accomplished mentor, otherwise I would have never let it out and it would have continued expressing itself as bulimia, addiction and depression. It was brutal, intimidating, hurtful, controlling and far from pretty. It made me ugly and I knew it. Again, an aspect of healing that can only be handled by those who have been blessed and brave enough to traverse those burning coals themselves.

And then there was the shame and self-loathing. That too had to be faced and brought into the light. Body shame, sexual shame, rape-shame, “I was born flawed and fucked-up” shame, the “why does everyone seem to hate me” shame, and all of the hate-filled voices that accompany these vines of death at the cellular level.

On top of all of this, I also had to learn (and I mean actively put into practice) how to love myself. And love others. Not just with my thoughts or from a safe distance, but tangibly, physically, verbally and intimately. I had to re-learn the art of love. Which, to be quite honest, for a traumatized Northern Irish girl was way more terrifying than a street fight.

I had to learn to back myself up for the first time - to say no to the abuse I was sentimentally addicted to and to say yes to the true connection I seemed allergic to. All of this was like one big fight. This world had taught me to be at war with love, with truth, with myself.

It all had to be faced, embraced, owned, expressed and loved in order to be resurrected.

One thing I can guarantee is that none of this healing would have been possible without the transformative power of a greater “divine” intelligence that my own. There’s no way on earth that my limited intellect could have unraveled and transformed (through talk-therapy or any other means), this multi-faceted ancestral hang-over that my body and soul wore like a velvet cloak.

That stuff needs a crowbar from the heavens - the grace and help of all those who came before us in spirit - a mentor/healer who can facilitate such a powerful, intricate and sacred healing space - dedication and commitment to healing no matter the price - and a healing light that knows exactly how to take us to our edge of transformation but never quite over it so we can burn out what is not us and never was us.

It’s not an easy path facing stuff that’s thousands of years old on the inside. But it’s worth it. It’s so bloody worth it. Not just for us but for our children to come. It just takes absolute blind, faith and trust at times. And a big set of balls and vulva!

If you or anyone you know is facing this darkness, help guide them into the light. Literally. Workshops and healing spaces, led by accomplished healers and teachers who have gone through deep purification, where powerful surges of light and love pour through. This is what is needed. It is what I’ve committed my life to - creating these safe healing spaces where the light can get in and unlock the darkness. They’re powerful, they’re sacred, they’re miraculous, and they’re extremely challenging to the ego that wants to kill you. So be prepared to do the “hard, diligent work” (as Buddha referred), in order to realize you’re own enlightenment. Or since it’s Easter Sunday; to face whatever you need to, to resurrect the most beautiful, precious and divine you into the world.

If I can do it, anyone can do it... with a bit of help, a lot of bravery and a shit-ton of love.

Sending love to you all, and especially to my country people whom I love with all my heart and soul.

Jennifer Millar © copyright 2019. All rights reserved.