For as long as I can remember, my healing journey has been a winding road paved with heartbreak and resilience. Twice, I found myself standing on the edge of life, ready to let go, yet here I am, looking back at the most profound source of my pain: my relationship with my mother.
I was born with an innate sensitivity to emotions, a deep receptiveness that later became my greatest strength as a therapist. But as a child, this sensitivity was my curse. My mother, burdened by bpd and delusional episodes, was emotionally absent. Her struggles consumed her, leaving no space for the warmth and care I so desperately craved.
She wasn’t completely devoid of love, she was, in fact, a narcissist who could be warm and understanding to others but not to me. She went out of her way to empathize with everyone else, yet my emotions were always dismissed. This contrast was unbearable. People admired her generosity and often said, “How lucky you are to have a mom like her.” They had no idea what it felt like to live my life. I never corrected them because it seemed futile, but their words stung deeply. Sometimes, they would even team up with her, calling me rebellious or ungrateful for not following her every wish. It felt like I was drowning in a sea of judgment with no one on my side.
Growing up, I felt like an outsider at family gatherings. Other children shared stories of their moms making their favorite dishes or understanding their unspoken feelings. I had no such tales. My childhood was marked by a void, a longing for love that seemed forever out of reach. This absence etched a belief deep into my being: I was unlovable, an enigma no one could understand.
As the years passed, this emptiness turned into resentment. And resentment, when left unchecked, gave birth to hatred. I remember the first time I tried to win my mother’s love by the only drastic measure my teenage mind could conjure: attempting to take my life. At 16, I swallowed three tablespoons of sodium bicarbonate, hoping to elicit her care, her concern, her love. Instead, my screams of pain brought a neighbor rushing me to the hospital, not my mother. And when I woke, her face wasn’t one of relief but of disdain. I was, in her eyes, the perpetual troublemaker, the thorn in her side.
That moment shattered something within me. I survived, but the scars lingered, both visible and invisible. I’d cry for hours, wondering, “Why does she care so much for strangers but not for me?” The years between 16 and 20 were a haze of physical ailments and emotional numbness. My body ached under the weight of unprocessed pain, and my mind spiraled with questions I couldn’t answer: Why was I even born? What purpose did my existence serve? Friendless and isolated, I buried myself in work to support my mother and pursued my studies in psychology, driven by a faint hope that understanding the mind might one day help me heal mine.
By the time I turned 20, I had reached another breaking point. My health was in shambles, and my spirit was fractured. I often wondered if I was doomed to carry this pain forever. But deep within the shadows of despair, a flicker of light began to emerge. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there. Something inside me whispered that perhaps the answers I sought lay not in the external world but within myself.
Then, one day, as I scrolled aimlessly through Facebook, I came across an ad. Someone claimed they had freed themselves from pain through meditation and life transformation. Skeptical yet desperate, I clicked and enrolled. That decision marked the beginning of my journey to understanding and healing.
It wasn’t easy. Sitting in the fire of my pain, day after day, was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I began to work through my feelings step by step:
- Meditation: I learned to sit with myself, even in discomfort. Meditation became a daily practice, teaching me to observe my thoughts without judgment and create space between my emotions and reactions.
- Reparenting the Inner Child: I nurtured the parts of me that felt abandoned and unloved. I imagined giving my younger self the care and validation she never received. *”You deserve love, little one,” I whispered to the frightened child inside me. “You’re not broken, and you’re not alone.”
- Understanding the Brain: I delved into how the brain works, learning about neuroplasticity and how our thoughts shape our reality. This understanding gave me the tools to start reprogramming my mind.
- Breaking Addictions to Old Patterns: I confronted the addictive pull of negative thoughts and emotions. It took immense effort to break free, but I realized that holding onto these patterns only hurt me.
- Finding Fulfillment Within: I shifted my focus from seeking validation and love outside myself to cultivating inner peace and contentment. I learned that true fulfillment comes from within.
Forgiving my mother was the hardest part of my healing. It took years of inner work and countless tears to let go of the pain she caused. I realized that holding onto my anger was only poisoning me, not her. Now, I meet her without the resentment that once consumed me. Even when she tries to trigger me by showing concern for others while ignoring me, I no longer feel the sting. I’ve also set firm boundaries to protect myself. She no longer has unlimited access to me, and I don’t let her drain my energy whenever she pleases.
Today, I write for people who feel like I once did because I know how isolating and hopeless it can be. Sometimes, finding a written piece online that resonates can be the spark someone needs to rebuild themselves. That’s why I share my story, to offer hope, connection, and a reminder that healing is possible.
