If your wounded mom's higher self could speak to your concious self

What the higher self of a wounded mother might say is something like this, deep, painful, and real. It’s the truth of this work. And it reinforces the necessity of accepting our parents as people.

Jung often said that if we don’t accept our parents as people, we can’t progress. It took me a long time to understand that simple sentence.

This is for those of us who carry the wound of having a mother whose soul, for reasons we may never fully understand, chose not to heal in this lifetime.

My mother’s life was heavy with trauma. As kind and attuned as my grandparents were, they couldn’t help her overcome it. And when I think about souls, I believe theirs knew, and her soul knew, that she needed to go through this for a greater purpose. For my soul, she was the perfect mother for my awakening, and I love her for that. 

Her pain wasn’t hidden; it leaked into everything. As a child, I didn’t have the words for it. I just felt it, the ache, the emptiness, the space between what I needed and what she couldn’t give.

Her inability to show up became the reason I had to learn how to show up for myself.

Her unprocessed grief became the raw material of my own alchemy. Every silence, every abandonment, every rupture, they all became part of my initiation. Not a clean or graceful one, but a holy sacred initiation.

Today, I’m honored to be the soul who gets to tell my daughter’s soul: I am awake. I am healing. I am trying to walk with consciousness, so her soul can ignite more gently.

Healing, for me, hasn’t been about trying to fix my mother, or even trying to make sense of why she couldn’t change. To be very honest it was a subject in the past, later I knew it wasn’t healing. Healing its about choosing differently. It’s about accepting the parts of me that became the mother to every wounded man who crossed my path, because that’s what I saw in my own mother.

It’s about facing the parts I once didn’t want to look at, bringing them into the light, into the sun, and allowing the alchemy to happen.

This is shadow work.

This is the sacred choice to turn pain into power, grief into grace.

It’s a story of breaking patterns.

Of seeing through projections.

Of bowing to what was, and still choosing to become something more.

Haux haux

Monique

(I saw this online some time ago, and I wish I could credit the original source. Im recreating it as best as I remember it.)