I used to believe I had to prove myself worthy of everything. To convince people I belonged.
Even when I achieved what I thought I needed to, I wouldn’t pause to feel gratitude for making my wish come true. Instead, I immediately started chasing the next goal—another thing I thought I had to achieve just to prove my worth, to prove I belonged.
Time and time again, I chose to look outside myself for love and acceptance—because inside, there was so much pain. To look within and bring to light the immense weight I was carrying would have put my whole nervous system on high alert. It would have meant acknowledging that my mother did not show me love, warmth, or kindness. And it would also have meant facing the truth that I never let her close enough to see the real me, to tell her what I was truly thinking, what mattered to me, or the aching stories of my adolescent heart.
Of course, these explanations feel clear to me now, and I write them here so you can understand the complexity of the mother wound. They are clear because I’ve done the hard work. I’ve allowed myself to feel the pain all over again in therapy. I remember once my psychotherapist began to cry as I told her a story from my adolescence. What stayed with me was not only the story, but the realization that what had felt normal to me was in fact a level of pain so deep it moved someone else to tears. That moment gave me a profound aha:
just because I survived something does not mean it was okay.
For years, I had convinced myself it was normal, but in reality, I was gaslighting my own emotional world. By not allowing my emotions to rise and shed light on what had happened, I ended up normalizing what was deeply toxic. This belief etched itself into my nervous system and subconscious as: “It is unsafe to disagree with your mother.” And I can’t explain enough how intricate and limiting this unconscious belief turned out to be—shaping my lifestyle, my relationships, and even my inner peace.
For over a decade, I struggled with the pain and sorrow of the mother wound. But walking through it also transformed me. It led me to understand that my true calling is to help others navigate their way through that pain. And the truth is: it doesn’t have to be as hard for you as it was for me. You don’t need to relive everything in order to alchemize the pain. Healing can become lighter and lighter through meditation, theta healing, authentic spiritual guidance, and energy alchemy.
Recalibrating your energy so that your outer life reflects the profound healing within can be a deeply creative and empowering process.
When you begin alchemizing your pain, you open the doorway to creating a life aligned with your highest purpose—a life that feels warm and breezy, tastes delicious, smells of everything you love most, sounds like the most liberating song you’ve ever heard, and looks like heaven on earth.
One of the most surprising shifts for me has been in my relationship with my mother. I can now kindly disagree with her (yes, the audacity!) and hold space for myself no matter how she responds. Over time, she has changed too—because when I healed the wound between us, the energy shifted for both of us.
What has transformed most profoundly is the energy of love I am now anchored in. It’s unconditional. I no longer need to change to please her, nor do I need her to respond in a certain way to feel safe. I show up as myself, she shows up as herself, and what arises between us is no longer pain—but true, deep connection.
This is the gift of healing the mother wound: it frees up an immense amount of energy. Energy you can use to create a beautiful, aligned life story—one that anchors your relationships in authentic connection, and helps you live in genuine peace and freedom of mind and heart.
I’m holding space for you to begin this journey too—to heal your mother wound, to liberate yourself, and to step into the life your soul has been longing for you to live. If it feels right, write to me.