Mother And Me: Part 1
The winds of change are blowing into my life.
My deepest, most heartfelt desire has been to write about my mother and our complex, turbulent relationship. She has been in spirit for decades, but I see the writing as a memoir that could transmute and celebrate our life together as our loveliest gift.
Undoubtedly, my mother was the first and most influential female in my life, despite my reluctance to admit it. However, I was only aware recently of how much that relationship shaped my subconscious and my fundamental belief system.
Our old unfinished business has persistently haunted me since her death. In our last phone conversation, right before her end, she expressed rage, hatred, and deep sorrow over my leaving Japan. That still lingers with me to this day, and a vivid flashback constricts my heart.
Nevertheless, as I mentioned, I have longed to write about our relationship. However, writing about us is extremely difficult; it gets under my skin. As I attempt to reflect and express my thoughts, I find myself getting frustrated, trying to find adequate words in both English and Japanese. I feel stuck in the stifling old energy that is still active within me. In the past, every time I started to write about us, fear blocked me. I had a visceral reaction, feeling overly anxious and nauseated. My throat would tighten, and I would feel as if I were suffocating or that something else would stop me from going further. Through the power of words, I asked my spiritual guides to bring our past to light in peace. I asked them to help me clear the path and break the toxic family cycles that have shadowed my whole life. It would be optimal for healing and releasing our inherited wounds and trauma that my ancestral family has passed down.
More than twenty years ago, my mother's death was a catalyst for my spiritual quest, which started with past life regression and Brian Weiss's teachings. Searching for guidance to resolve our family conflicts and ease my guilt was the beginning of my soul retrieval.
I saw my mother only once in 29 years after I left Japan. Apparently, I tried to put her out of my mind. Watching her suffering, addictive behavior, extreme codependency, expectations, and constant demands when I was a little girl scared me. I was an empathic, intuitive child. Her heavy burdens frightened me to the bone. Subsequently, I ran away from Japan to the US when I was in my early twenties and ended up in a marriage from hell in a redneck life of mind-boggling poverty. I went from worst to worst. When my mother died, I did not attend her funeral. After that, my family ridiculed and ostracized me for good, which I fully accepted. I surrendered my family rights.