In The Corners of a Dark Room...

Last night’s conversation with my husband was both a deeply emotional and pivotal moment. We were discussing my blog post, "The Missed Embrace," which, for me, is one of the most vulnerable and raw reflections I’ve ever shared about my mother wound thus far. During our conversation, he seemed rather uncomfortable and said, "At some point, you just have to get over it," I felt something stir deep within me, an ache of being misunderstood. His words, though not ill-intentioned, felt like a dismissal of the profound and lifelong healing journey I’ve only just begun, a journey that involves unraveling decades of sadness, anger, trauma, and shame.

It made me realize how often the depth of our healing goes unnoticed by those around us. When he said, 'I just don't want to see you suffering,' what he really meant was, 'I don't know how to handle this or help you, so why don't you just keep it to yourself and we can move on?' He might not see my suffering, but by pretending everything is fine, the consequences of keeping everything bottled up spill over into how we react to things in our lives.

This process isn't something you can "just get over." Healing a mother wound runs far deeper than simply moving on from past hurts. For the first time in my life, I’m facing this wound head-on, peeling back the layers of anger to reveal the sadness beneath, acknowledging the pain behind the shame. This is not a quick fix; it’s a lifelong endeavor to heal the emotional inheritance passed down through generations. Each generation before me carried their unspoken, unresolved trauma, and I’ve been unknowingly navigating a life shaped by carrying this extra luggage in the shadows. It’s like living in a dark house, bumping into these boxes of inherited pain without knowing how to unpack them or where to begin.

I’ve always said I didn’t want children, and that choice stems from the way my mother treated me. I was terrified of continuing the cycle, of unconsciously inflicting the same wounds onto my own children. So, while I may not be healing for the sake of my own children, I am doing this work for something much greater. This healing is for the branch of my lineage I carry, and in some way, for the tree of humanity itself. If I can bring a little light into this lineage of pain, perhaps that one limb can finally thrive. My personal healing, while intimate, is connected to something much larger, a breaking of generational cycles and, hopefully, a small contribution to a more healed future, not just for my family but for the collective.

My husband’s words reminded me of how easily we are taught to minimize pain, to sweep it away under the rug or ignore it. But for me, “getting over it” doesn’t mean pretending the past didn’t happen. It means turning on the light in that dark house and finally seeing the boxes of trauma for what they are, acknowledging them, feeling the weight of them, and slowly, carefully, unpacking each one. This isn’t work I’m doing only for myself. It’s for the generations before me who couldn’t find their way out, and for the human experience that benefits when even one person has the courage to confront their own trauma. The work is proven to be messy, overwhelming, and so emotionally exhausting but it is necessary. Without it, we remain in the darkness, unknowingly passing that pain onto others (like saying to the next generation... here you go, you deal with this mess).

I may not have children, but I hope this healing work ripples out into the world, creating even the smallest shift in the collective fabric of humanity. Healing my mother wound isn’t about fixing the past; it’s about ensuring that this pain doesn’t continue into the future. And that, in itself, is enough to keep going, no matter how misunderstood or difficult the journey may feel at the moment.

When I explained this to my husband, in the middle of my tears, I helped him see that this moment wasn’t about "getting over it." It was about finding the courage to sit with my sadness, to release the anger that has protected me for so long, and to finally allow myself to feel what I’ve buried for years and most importantly let myself be seen in the raw in the light, without fear or shame. In that moment, he understood. He saw that my pain and sadness are not emotions to be hurried or brushed aside, but ones that need space, space to be seen, to breathe, to be acknowledged with compassion, not dismissed.

By sharing this with him, I helped him realize that healing isn’t about quick fixes or solutions. It’s about being willing to sit in the mud with someone as they wade through their struggle, to offer a non-judgmental space where emotions can rise to the surface and be safely released.

Healing is about peeling back the layers, of trauma, anger, and grief, without fear of rejection or shame.

This is the kind of space we all need, where pain can be witnessed with tenderness, where there’s no rush to resolve or repair but simply to be with what is.

In the wake of last night’s conversation, I find myself reflecting on the intricate dance of healing and the sometimes painful disconnect that can arise between those who support us and the profound, often invisible work of mending deep emotional wounds. The discussion with my husband last night unveiled a deeper layer of understanding, or rather, misunderstanding, about the journey of healing from a mother wound.

His words, "At some point, you just have to get over it," echoed in my mind long after the conversation ended. While I know his intention was to alleviate my suffering, I felt an ache deep within, as though my healing process was being gently dismissed. This moment illuminated a fundamental truth: the healing journey is not always visible or easily understood by others, even those who love us dearly.

Healing from deep emotional wounds is not a straightforward path. It’s a journey that involves peeling back layers of sadness, anger, trauma, and shame, emotions that have accumulated over years, sometimes decades. This process is ongoing and deeply personal. Each step forward often reveals more to address, and each new layer of understanding can bring a mix of relief and additional pain. It's not just about confronting past hurts but also about rebuilding and redefining one’s sense of self.

My husband’s discomfort with my deep emotional process is something I empathize with. It’s not easy to witness a loved one struggle, and sometimes, in our desire to protect and support, we might unintentionally encourage them to suppress or move past their pain. His statement, though well-meaning, highlighted a gap in our understanding. It’s not merely about “getting over it” but rather about embracing the healing journey in all its complexity.

What I’ve come to realize is that while my healing journey is deeply personal, it also affects those around me. Suppressing emotions by stuffing them in a "box" or pretending everything is okay might seem like a way to protect our loved ones from our pain, but in reality, it often leads to unresolved feelings spilling over into our relationships and daily lives. The work of healing is not just about finding closure; it’s about integrating and processing these emotions in a way that allows for growth and change.

I hope to bridge this gap by fostering more open conversations about what healing truly involves. It’s essential to acknowledge that healing is not about erasing the past but about understanding and integrating it. It’s a continuous journey that requires patience, empathy, and support, not just for the one healing but for those who walk alongside them.

My husband’s initial reaction may have triggered me, but through our conversation, he came to see that I don’t need someone to tell me to move on.

I need someone to hold space, to honor the complexity of my emotions, and to recognize that true healing requires us to release the weight we’ve carried for so long, in the presence of someone who is willing to bear witness.

That, to me, is what true support looks like.

To anyone who finds themselves on a similar journey, remember that your process is valid, and your healing is deeply significant. It’s okay to express the depth of what you’re experiencing and to seek understanding from those around you. Healing is not about forgetting or moving past pain quickly but about allowing ourselves the grace to navigate it with kindness and compassion.

Thank you for joining me on this journey and for your support as we continue to explore and embrace the complexities of healing together.