Whenever you’re not fully conscious of your intentions, autopilot’s on. In that mode, you take your Ego’s orders.
Soon after my son was arrested, I told Barbara Huson I wanted to publish an essay about the events that led to our circumstance––a male gynecologist’s ignoring my refusal of an injection.
Concerned, Barbara asked, “what’s your intention?”
I’d convinced myself I wanted to protect other women from gynecological violence and the abuse of power. The timing seemed urgent––Trump had won, misogyny was spreading. I had reasons.
Barbara, her hand on her sternum, pressed on: “Are you sure you’re not looking for retribution?”
I was sure. But I was mistaken––I actually was, I know now, looking for retribution. I wanted to inflict pain and shame on this doctor, destroy his reputation, fill him with the same despair I had in me.
But because I didn’t see that, the worm of unforgiveness burrowed deep in my brain.
Last week, I worked on an AI project where I had to embody a “bad actor.” It was commendable work, aimed at reinforcing AI models’ safeguards. But when one of the tasks had me portray someone who wanted clear instructions to harm someone or myself, I had to quit.
Consciously embodying the intention of harm made me sick. My hands shook on the keyboard and I felt lightheaded. After two failed attempts, I exited the platform, disgusted.
That’s when the true intention behind my thoughts about the doctor in my son’s case became conscious to me. I’d wanted to hurt him––not physically, but morally, as I felt he’d done to me.
I’d wanted retribution, and it was making me sick.
Because my harmful intention was unconscious, I couldn’t drop it. And carrying it, I couldn’t have peace.
What’s the true intention driving your life?
Love,
Carolina
Carolina Perez Sanz 