Tehilah, the beautiful angel, loses her wings through no fault of her own but carries the scars of that horrifying loss within her. It moulds her and redefines the person she becomes into a completely unrecognized entity. She becomes Shabina, an accomplished warrior without equal. This transformation comes at a price. Shabina continues to feel incomplete until a meeting with the interesting angel Ahava changes all this. Christina Foxwell uses this story to draw parallels with her.
The Glass Angel by Christina Foxwell is a motivational autobiography that enlightens you on the unimaginable ordeal she passed through at the hands of the men in her life. Her accounts are moving and thought-provoking. She is not lenient on herself but instead scrutinizes her decision-making thoroughly. Her explanations carry both the naivete associated with past incidents and alternatives to how she could have handled herself at the time. This book is a guide and a light to the millions of women and men going through similar struggles, believing they are alone. The strategies outlined very clearly in this book will light your path to peace and personal growth. The Glass Angel could not have arrived at a better time.
Tehilah, the beautiful angel, loses her wings through no fault of her own but carries the scars of that horrifying loss within her. It moulds her and redefines the person she becomes into a completely unrecognized entity. She becomes Shabina, an accomplished warrior without equal. This transformation comes at a price. Shabina continues to feel incomplete until a meeting with the interesting angel Ahava changes all this. Christina Foxwell uses this story to draw parallels with her.
The Glass Angel by Christina Foxwell is a motivational autobiography that enlightens you on the unimaginable ordeal she passed through at the hands of the men in her life. Her accounts are moving and thought-provoking. She is not lenient on herself but instead scrutinizes her decision-making thoroughly. Her explanations carry both the naivete associated with past incidents and alternatives to how she could have handled herself at the time. This book is a guide and a light to the millions of women and men going through similar struggles, believing they are alone. The strategies outlined very clearly in this book will light your path to peace and personal growth. The Glass Angel could not have arrived at a better time.
Years ago, I bought glass angels for my Christmas tree. They were so fragile and beautiful. At that moment, I felt like one of those angels myself, but I was imperfect. My wings were broken.
I have a story, which Iâll get to in Part 2, but first, in Part 1, I want to show how this glass angel and my story is an analogy for alchemyâthe seemingly magical process of transformation and creation. Maybe itâs a story thatâs part of your life, too.
I grew up in South Africa, where I was the daughter of a Pentecostal minister. I had a great love of God, and I knew I had a calling to be a diďŹerence-maker.
I did not follow the path of going into ministry at 17 like I thought I might. Growing up, I experienced deep-rooted shame and fear of not being good enough, which set my journey in a diďŹerent direction. I needed to walk a path that would not only teach me compassion, grace, love and hope but also allow me to give the same gift to others. Maybe this is the greatest calling. To be kind, generous and courageous. My personal story is about surviving domestic violence, unfaithful behaviour, intense rejection and judgment. It is one of learning how to survive in my world. The greatest gift of my story is about reaching a place where my alchemy was
the only choice.
You see, as the Broken Angel, I worked so hard to prove I was good enough. I was dedicated to my career and to making a diďŹerence to prove my worth. My intent was good, yet it was tangled up in my pain. I struggled with emotions; I was hard on myself and others, especially if they could not âsuck it upâ. I believed I could push forward and create the world I needed when I focused on my career. I hoped that this commitment would make me worthy and accepted. I found that all the striving, fighting and needing to âbe seenâ created armour that separated me from what I needed most, which was to accept and love myself first. You canât give what you donât have. Maybe at best you can replicate what you are and put that energy into the world.
My storyâs painful and shameful parts felt too hard to endure, so I started developing coping behaviours that would numb the pain or make me feel loved. In reality these mechanisms did neither and only deepened the wounds I needed to forgive and release.
What I actually needed to do was realise that I was never bad or unworthy of love: I am me and that is what makes me good enough. Beneath the pain and shame and the armour that protected meâwhich I called my Ninja BarbieâI was the answer. I needed to accept, connect and retell my story with love, forgiveness, hope and compassion. The story needed to start within me, including forgiveness of self.
As you read The Glass Angel, I hope you can give yourself over the metaphor and consider what you might be holding onto that is keeping you wrapped up in your warrior or protected self.
We all can go through alchemy; maybe itâs time for your transformation. I wanted to be at peace, and today I am living peace daily and embracing all my gifts. I am grateful. I recognise itâs a journey.
Part 1
The Story of Alchemy & Transformation
The Fall
The rain fell in great big droplets to the ground. The Glass Angel looked up toward the heavens as the cool rain fell on her face. She loved the rain, yet knew with the rain comes storms... Suddenly, the wind whipped through the air, and the Glass Angel was swept into the dark sky. She desperately tried to navigate her fragile frame as she was tossed like a leaf, to and
fro, up and down.
As suddenly as The Glass Angel was lifted, the wind smashed her down, and she hit the ground with a crashing thud. As she opened her eyes, all she could hear was the wind chiming and ringing in a place far away...dull and sharp, clinging and whining.
Excruciating pain poured like hot lava through her body. She looked around in horror and saw broken glass scattered across the dark earth. She knew immediately what she had lost. Curling up against a large oak tree, she started to weep, the sounds of her wailing filling the air. Her wings were smashed, and what remained of them lay glittering in the dark soil. Pain washed over her in waves of agony.
After what felt like hours, the Glass Angel stood slowly on unsteady legs and peered over her shoulder to assess the damage. Her once beautiful glass wings were now only ragged sharp edges, dripping in blood, which splashed onto the ground like more droplets of rain.
She gently picked up the pieces of her wings with shaking handsâŚthe best parts of her, broken oďŹ forever. She picked up broken trust, dreams, courage, gentleness, kindness, acceptance, joy and love.
Holding her broken wings tightly, she looked up toward the dark looming sky. âI am broken, ugly and scaredâ, she cried in shame.
She could never again spread her wings and soar through the night sky to catch moonbeams and radiate perfection, joy and light. She could no longer be a real angel.
Looking down at her shattered self, she could see how the other Perfect Angels would laugh at and shame her. These angels remind Broken Angels they should have stayed out of the wind. Their songs of judgement cut deep into the brokenness and never seem to allow healing.
Why do they tease and reject angels who were broken? All angels feared brokenness, yet the compassion needed to accept it was apparently simply too much to ask. So fear turned into shame and judgment, and subsequently meant isolation and loneliness for Broken Angels.
The Glass Angel knew her fate; it was one she had seen many times. It was the one angels feared, and here she stood, broken and bruised, living a nightmare.
The Dusty Path
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The Glass Angel looked at her dirty feet in the sand. Where did she belong now? Not with Perfect Angels, who navigated the winds with grace, beauty and joy.
She was now bound to walk the earth, alone and unworthy, and in her mind... worthless.
In that moment, a bright red, silk bag drifted down from the heavens and fell at her feet. She remembered stories of how the Broken Angels were given bags to carry their brokenness. She sat down and gently wrapped her broken pieces in the red silk. She painfully and slowly wound the silk around her body to keep her pieces close. The sharp edges of her brokenness pressed into her body, piercing her skin and drawing faint beads of blood. The wounds were perpetual reminders of the wind, the fall, the fear, the pain and the
shame of being imperfect, unworthy and unloved.
As the sun rose, a yellow glow on the horizon, she slowly stumbled down a dusty road. She had no idea where she was going, yet the path ahead seemed the only way; she could see no other.
She was tired and weary and needed a safe place to rest. As she walked, her tiny feet began to hurt; she could feel their soft thud in the dust, and it was as if her feet were the anchors to her flight and were slowly carrying her to her fate. The longer she walked, the more she felt the weight of the red silk bag and her brokenness that pressed and pierced her body in an always-present display of her shame and the pain.
After a few days on the dusty road, her legs could no longer carry her. She was exhausted and in agony. For days tears had rolled hot and sticky down her cheeks, and now she felt empty, numb and tired.
At that very moment of realising she could not carry on, she noticed an ancient city peeping over the horizon. Hope flashed through herâthe hope of rest. One painstaking step after another, she walked toward that beacon of hope, this hidden city in the middle of the dusty path.
The gate to the city looked as old as time itself. It was awe- inspiring. On the gate, displayed gloriously, were intricate, ancient carvings telling stories of the Broken Angels. These Broken Angels were fearless, hard and strong. They were fighting wars and being celebrated as heroes.
âOh, this must be the place for meâ, she whispered to herself. âI might be useful here; I might be able to be worthy again...maybe I have found angels who will accept me. Perhaps I can numb my pain here.â
Finding Strength
The Glass Angel raised a hand and knocked on the ancient gate; it resounded like an echo. Hope surged in waves as she waited. With a whining creek, a tall, strong angel opened the gate.
She was glorious.
She carried a blue silk bag around her body, and the hard lines of her face told an ageless story. She introduced herself as Aella, agile and fearless as a whirlwind. Aella welcomed The Glass Angel into the ancient city. All the Broken Angels passed through this city. It was the place where they would be given their names and be taught strength and ferocity. It was where their pain was taken awayâor at least expelled outwardly, to reduce the excruciating reminder of brokenness.
The Council of Warrior Angels who ran the city were teachersâteachers on how to numb the pain by staying fierce and fighting one battle after the next to win the ultimate prize. The Broken Angels were taught how to use their pain as a weapon and how to be known for their valour. Through these lessons, they would rise again into glory, just like the Perfect Angels souring in the sky.
The secret hope of every Broken Angel was to be loved and accepted again. To be free to fly in an endless sky. Flying and perfection were only dreams, but learning how to survive was a primal instinct. The council of Warrior Angels were all broken, hard and fearless, and they passed this legacy on to their students.
The arena of pain was where the Glass Angel was taught to rise. She was taught to numb her pain as she used her broken wings, the shards left from her fall, as weapons. She approached battles with strength and passion, using her small stature to her advantage. She looked so fragile, yet when she rose to battle, she won more times than she fell.
Her red silk bag wrapped around her body continuously drew blood and always reminded her of the reason for fighting. Eventually, she developed the ability to carry the bag with ease. Some days when she was quiet, she could feel the brokenness, and it took her to a dark place. She longed to put the brokenness down, but there was no way. Often she would awake to a new morning with tear-stained cheeks and a heart that felt like it would shatter like her wings.
Every day she spent training, fighting and winning, she developed more armour. She had walked in this ancient city a small angel only wearing a red silk bag. She now wore a bright armoured breastplate, a helmet of gold, daggers forged from the brokenness of her opponents and a large leather girdle wrapped around her to hold her red silk bag in place.
On her final day of training, she was given her warrior name, Shabina, which means âeye of the stormâ. This name befit her brokenness and also her fierce rising.
In years to come, she became known for her ability to lead the charge and would earn enough gold to live in a mansion on the cityâs outskirts. She had all she thought she needed to prove to the world she was whole and strong, and yet she was still broken. Still heavy, and still carrying great pain with her. The numbing she used to win battles lasted only for a certain time, and then when all was quiet again, she could feel the walls shouting her name in jest. She had thought the more challenging the battle, the task or the opportunity, the
more worthy she would feel.
She would exchange all the gold in the world to feel whole, free and shameless.
The Call
Her quest seemed fruitless. The more she won, achieved and received, the more she needed. It was like filling a bottomless pit. Always hungry, always needing more. The legacy that followed Shabina was The Fierce One.
The more scars she received in battle, the more Shabina wanted to be perfect. In her dreams, she danced in the moonbeams; she was free, without pain, joyful, and whole! It felt like a cycle from which she would never escape. She longed not to feel the weight of the red silk bag. The armour meant to keep her âsafeâ was slowly suďŹocating her light, her feeling. It was as if she was becoming so hard that she was losing the essence of being an angel altogether.
The realisation that she was in a vicious cycleâof needing to feel, and needing to be accepted to be loved, and then using her legacy to âwinâ the hearts of others only to be caught in the next painful cycleâwas terrifying. Something inside was calling her to look at the world diďŹerently, yet the shame, fear, anger and disappointment were sticky webs, keeping her locked in. She dreamt of feeling the dust between her toes, the wind in her hair, releasing the silk bag, taking the armour oďŹ. She dreamt of being free, at peace, and feeling love, acceptance and kindness.
One night, Shabina awoke from a recurring nightmare where she fell from the sky and landed in excruciating pain and desperate loneliness. Its haunting persistence was suďŹocating! Rising from her rug in her beautiful curtain-adorned room, she stared out into the desert. The smell of dust and heat even at night was overwhelming.
To clear her mind, she needed to walk. So she adjusted her red silk bag, picked up her armour and slipped out the front door.
As she walked along the dusty road, she was reminded of the day her wings shattered. The day she walked on this very same dry and dusty road. As she walked, she kept telling herself to breathe. Breathe, be free...be light...fly...maybe I canâŚperhaps there isâŚHOPE!
A while into her walk, she saw a fire glowing in the night. As she got closer, she noticed someone sitting in the warm glow. It looked like an angel. An angel wearing a golden cloak. As she drew nearer, she felt waves of peace radiating from the angel. Shabina was drawn to the light, drawn to the peace. It was like walking toward a cold glass of water after a hot walk in the sun. Absorbing this peace would quench her thirst.
She thought to herself, âItâs like I have been called to this fireâŚto meet this angel⌠to feel the peaceâŚâ
âWhy not sit downâ, the golden-cloaked angel whispered. She hesitated for a second, wondering if this was a dream and if it was even safe. Slowly she pulled her dagger from her
leather girdle and shifted restlessly.
âYou can sit and be at peace; I wonât hurt you. I can see you, Shabina, or should I call you Tehila?â
Her eyes widened. âTehilaâŚno one has called me that since I was an angel in the sky. Tehila means âSong of Praiseâ, and you can see MEâŚsee Tehilaâ, she softly said.
The Seed of Love
Tehila took a deep breath, recognising the fear that would usually set her warrior in motion, yet choosing to breathe peace. She slowly replaced the dagger in her girdle and asked, âHow do you know my name? My origin name?â
The angel looked up and stared into her eyes. She felt such love, such acceptance, such belonging. âI know your name because I have been called to meet with you and share a story.â
âWho are you?â
âMy name is Ahava; it means love.â
âWhat a beautiful nameâ, Tehila murmured.
âThank you; love is something we all have, Tehila. I am named after the source that feeds acceptance, belonging, forgiveness, kindness, honesty, hope, togetherness and peace.â As Ahava spoke, Tehila could feel hot tears run down her cheeks. Love was a strange and beautiful concept. After all the years of proving, fighting and winning, and still feeling empty, this simple word filled her with dread and anticipation at the same time. She wondered as she stared into the fire if there could really be acceptance, belonging, forgiveness, kindness, hope and peace for her? She realised at that moment that if love was the source that fed these beautiful elements of life,
what had she been living on?
With a shaking voice, Tehila asked, âAhava, if love feeds beauty in the world, what feeds striving, perfection, judgement, anger, competing, proving and winning at all costs?â
Ahava looked intently at her. âFear and shame are the roots of these behaviours. The fear of not knowing what tomorrow will be, of not having enough, of not being accepted, of being rejected, followed by the shame of not feeling worthy of love and belonging.â
âShame and fearâ, whispered Tehila. âI have been feeling like I am in a continual cycle of proving I am good enough, of working hard, of needing to be the best, of needing to be seen and acceptedâŚand yet I never felt like I was at peace. My fear of staying out of judgement and shame has kept me running, fighting, winning. It has also kept me alone.â
Ahava turned his face toward the glow of the fire. âMay I share my story with you, Tehila? Itâs a story of how I was once called Praelia.â
âPraelia!â When she heard his name, she was taken back to when she was training to be a warrior. There was a tale of a fierce, angry, ruthless warrior by that very name. He was the leader of the warrior army and known for fighting with great skill, winning many battles and always ready for the next. He was rewarded for his legacy with fame, money and fortune. One day he never returned to the ancient city, and no one could find him. There were rumours that he had found grace and peace. That he was no longer the same. The warrior elders quickly squashed these ideas, as they believed the only way to
be was just as they had becomeâstrong and hard.
The Gift of Grace
 âI am sure you have heard of the Legends of Praeliaâ, Ahava continued as he stared into the firelight. âActually, the story started with a free, curious and mischievous angelâan angel called Ahava. As a young Angel, I was so playful; I remember being filled with joy and dancing in the sky. I remember looking at the earth in wonder, and of course, my curiosity was endless. So endless that on one night, when the clouds gathered in grey puďŹs over a roaring sea, I decided to feel what it felt to navigate the wind. As I took flight, I realised I would never navigate this wind. The wind showed me the power of nature in all her glory. I struggled with each breeze; the more fearful I became, the less I could fly. The wind and rain swept me across the ocean and thrashed my body into the ground.â âTehila, I remember feeling the crush of my wings as they smashed into the earth. I know you know the pain. It scorched me from within. Eventually, I opened my eyes, and as I looked behind me, I realised that where once my beautiful wings were, I now had sharp, rugged, bleeding edges. Their pieces were scattered around me, broken and glistening in the sunlight. My tears fell to the ground without warning. As I cried, I remember promising myself that I would never trust the wind, the rain or anyone but myself. I would rely on
only me.â
âAs you know, we all receive a silk scarf from heavenâ mine was purple. I collected my broken pieces and tied the remainder of my broken dreams to me. The pain would remind me never to trust, never to laugh, never to be open to others; it would remind me to be tough and strong.â
âOn reaching the ancient city, I received my nameâ Praelia, the ruthless warrior. It suited me because already I had hardened my heart to my true name of Ahava. Fear had taught me to survive through the storm, so fear would be the source of my survival in this cold world. As you know, I became a renowned warriorâone that amounted to fortune, fame and a following. Yet the quiet call of who I really am never left.â
âOne night, I awoke with the same dream: I was navigating a storm, which thrashed me to the ground. As I awoke, I knew that I needed to be free, free from the self-imposed prison of protection that was slowly turning me into hardened, unforgiving stone from the inside out.â
âI remember waking from that dream and walking out into the night, on a road not far from here, I came across an angel named Grace. Grace had a beautiful essence that drew me inâforgiveness and love, for me, so undeserving. Grace allowed me to sit with her. She looked into me and saw Ahava; she reminded me that the angel I had become, Praelia, was only my protection. That the angel I really was would never leave me. The essence of my heart was intact. That curious, kind, beautiful angel was hidden inside me, whether my wings were broken or not.â
âAs she reminded me of who I really am, I remembered feeling grace and love wash over me. At that moment, my heart started to beat so diďŹerently. It beat with peace and forgiveness, with acceptance and love. It radiated hope and joy.â
âTehila, my heart spun golden threads that took each broken part of my wings and put them back in place. Each shard was no longer separate and sharp, but part of a whole, part of what it would always becomeâa glass tapestry of hope, worthiness, peace and light.â
With that, Ahava dropped his golden cloak to the sand, and from his back rose the most beautiful, imperfectly perfect, golden and glass wings. They were breathtaking in their full, outstretched glory and seemed to pull Tehila closer. It was the gift of GRACE!
The Alchemy
âAhava, I feel so at peace, and yet, I still feel so heavy, so burdened with my painâ, Tehila cried.
âUntil you allow yourself to be here with me right now, you will never be freeâ, Ahava said. âUntil you see your life as a gift, you will always see it for what it isnât rather than what it is and can be.â
âHow can I see my pain and rejection as a gift?â shouted Tehila. âHow can I forgive the angels who laughed at me and judged me for my brokenness? How can I forgive the warrior angels who scared me? How can I forgive the wind, the sky, the earth for putting me in this position? How can I forgive myself! What is the gift in all that?â
Ahava looked into Tehilaâs eyes and said, âTehila, when you hold onto the pain and anger, the shame and lack of forgiveness, the cycle of emptiness and searching will never leave: it will swallow you entirely, and you will eventually harden to life, become brittle to the world, and never truly feel again.â
âSo where do I start, Ahava? I am tired and wearyâŚmaybe I should just surrender to the darkness and pain once and for allâ, Tehila whispered.
âMaybe you can look back at the journey of your life and see the giftsâ, answered Ahava. âThis reflection will allow you the peace you so need, and you will see how your heart transforms and you can beâand always wereâwhole.â
Tehila took a deep breath and stared into the firelight. She slowly reflected on her journey while staying anchored in the present moment. The wind, the earth, the pain, the joy, the hope, the discipline, the ability to live, the forgiveness of her teachersâ harshness. The releasing of shame.
As she reflected on shame, she looked at Ahavaâs wingsâso beautiful, so imperfect, so peaceful.
âI am good enoughâ, she whispered. âI am filled with love; I am forgiving; I am kind; I am joy; and my life has a purpose. The stories that were the most challenging have the greatest lessons. There is a gift in everythingâŚâ she spoke slowly, letting go of her assumptions and the fear and shame around them. As she did, the red silk bag fell to the ground like an autumn leaf gently swaying in the breeze. Her armour fell to the ground in a heavy thud.
Suddenly Tehila realised that as she embraced peace and love, her heart had started creating the most beautiful golden threads. They came alive, picking up every broken piece and weaving each one back into its place.
When she looked over her shoulder, she saw that her wings were whole and beautiful. They radiated love, joy, hope, kindness, peace, forgiveness and acceptance. They radiated life, and they were so fluid. So unlike her original wings, these wings were even more powerful and held a presence that radiated out of her.
âAhava, I am me againâI am Tehila!â she cried with joy. âI am free! My fear no longer burdens me; I am no longer broken! Maybe I was never brokenâŚmaybe I was on the journey of alchemy all along.â
She stretched her wings and soared into the night sky. The moonbeams caught the gold in her wings and radiated light and brightness into the darkness.
âI no longer need to fight for worthiness, acceptance and love. I realise it comes from within me; it was hidden in me all along. I needed to walk my path to learn about grace, shame and freedom. I am so grateful for my journey!â
The Mission
Ahava and Tehila cried tears of joy together. âWhat will I do with my life now, Ahava?â she wondered.
âWell, Tehila, you now have a choice to do whatever you please. As you know, there is a great need in this world to remind broken warrior angels who they really are. We were not meant to be alone; we were meant to be together, to support each other, to live with joy and to create peace from within. We are called to make this world a better place one angel at a time.â
âWhere do we live now?â Tehila asked Ahava.
âWell, we live in the world and the homes we have created. We choose to find love, and we choose to see good. We choose to live our alchemy. You see, you will continue to transform the more you do the work, the more you learn about forgiveness and the more you nurture the best of who you already are.â
After much thought and peaceful reflection, Tehila whispered, âSo I have a missionâI need to help other angels unlock their hearts. I need to help them see that their broken pieces donât mean they are not worthy of love; it means they are perfect in their imperfection. Only when they see who they really are and embrace their story will they be free.â
Quietly Ahava stood and handed Tehila a beautiful gold and red cloak. âThis will keep your wings safe. It will also remind you of your mission, your calling. It is a cloak of love and hope.â
Tehila wrapped the cloak around her. She was ready to share her story; she was ready to walk beside others; she was ready to see the beauty in alchemy.
Tehila joined Ahava and so many other Alchemy Angels in their mission to teach, to share their stories and to help angels unlock all of who they really are.
The Lesson
The story of Tehila and Ahava is one that I have lived personally. The teachers in our lives can allow us to experience healing or challenge us to harden up, be strong and continue the cycle of pain. Yet the gift we all have is one of choice.
The broken shards of the Glass Angelâs wings are the stories of fear, shame and separation we have lived and relived without realising. The brokenness represents unmet expectations, broken promises and injustices done to us as well as hurt, pain and rejection.
We will never be free if we keep these stories tied to our worth and belief of who we are. We will keep reliving the fear of what we are not, and we will never be who we want to be. Our warrior self will take over and will sow seeds in our life of further pain, fear and wanting.
I have found that no matter the riches, possessions, success or position we hold, these warrior selves will never give us peace and the ability to love ourselves truly and live our purpose fully.
Are negative emotions and stories destructive? Yes, they can be. If we hold onto these, we will continually search for the next thing to help us feel love and acceptance and to numb the pain so we can survive.
I have also found that the word âloveâ can be so challenging. I have often wondered why it can create such a visceral reaction in others, in both positive and fearful ways. Then I remember how I reacted to that word. Love felt like a promise of acceptance that I was never allowed.
What is love? I have a few thoughts:
â˘Â Love is unconditional, deep aďŹection for yourself and others.
â˘Â  Love enables us to be open and generous.
â˘Â  Love lets us be with others.
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Love starts inside us, and itâs unconditional. I always thought I was giving love while helping others, yet I was providing this help through my own conditional lens of my fear. This meant helping others was a way to not focus on me and what I need to work on, a way to fix what made me uncomfortable. Remove the things that I judged myself on and saw in others.
So, I had become a fixer in my journey. Until I could heal myself, I would always see what others needed to do diďŹerently, perfectly or not at all. My shame of what I saw held me in place. I thought if I could âfixâ others, then they would be perfect, and I could take their pain away (and I would feel better inside and I would be accepted as good enough).
I know now that we are called to support each other and walk next to each other. To provide options and insights, but to allow others to choose their journey. We are called to sit next to each other in the most challenging times, and to be peaceful and present, just holding the space with love.
We are called to see who others really are. The love we have for ourselves allows us to navigate boundaries and create a world in which we can fully live. A world where we can feel and where we can feel with others (empathy, connecting emotionally and feeling what others are feeling).
My journey on this path has taught me many things:
â˘Â  We were not meant to be alone; we were meant to be together.
â˘Â  Our strength to protect is less eďŹective than the courage we need to show up and show who we are every day.
â˘Â  Our imperfections make us beautiful, and the acceptance of our own and othersâ imperfections allow us to create a tapestry of what it means to be human.
â˘Â  Boundaries are critical, and using our voice to share what is okay and what is not okay allows us the opportunity to encourage openness and honesty.
â˘Â  Recognising the stories that bind us to our pain and the triggers that can pull that pain back into focus is part of our healing journey.
â˘Â  Reframing our life as a gift is the greatest gift we have, and it will help us release shame and embrace ourselves for who we are and life for what it is.
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The Glass Angel is a book of three Acts. In the first, author Christina Foxwell presents a fictional tale of a glass angel who experiences hardship after she damages her wings in a storm. Immediately following this comes Foxwell's revelation that the glass angel in her short story is a metaphor for her own traumatic experiences growing up in a strict Cristian community during South African Apartheid, including her abusive marriages and challenge of being a single mother. The third and final act introduces self-betterment activities for readers including how to turn negative "moth thoughts" into positive "butterfly thoughts".
This book pitches itself as an informative self-help guide, yet the opening third, with fictional tales of fantasy and magic, is bewildering (pun not intended). My honest thoughts while reading this section were why is this story here and why am I reading it? A short story through and through, "The Story of Alchemy and Transformation" reads like a bolted-on piece of copy which should have been published separately. Compare this to the the autobiographical element of this book, which contains by far the best content for its ability to draw at raw emotion, and it is easy to identify where Foxwell's skills truly lie.
While some chapters could have been tightened with the assistance of a professional editor, others were desperately lacking. So much more could have been expanded on Foxwell's personal relationships with friends, her domestic servant and even the church. This would have come into its own in helping highlight the fallout that came following the separation with her first husband, the protection and safety those secondary relationships offered. It impacts on the rest of the book; you almost feel cheated when areas are skipped over in haste, almost as if Foxwell would rather not dwell on certain topics and move swiftly onto the author/reader exercises towards the end of the book. As a result, there is a sense of lacklustre to complete the activities on the reader's part, like being hurried into the giftshop of a tourist attraction thirty minutes before close.
The age old phrase goes "write what you know about" and in this instance Foxwell would have done so better by herself and readers to have sold us a hard-hitting memoir of her triumph over adversity, not a self-help guide.
AEB Reviews