and gratitude fills my heart today.
I recognize now like one looking back on a dream, that even my want to defend myself against my mother’s egoic ignorance is a wounded healer dynamic. Gratitude and awe fills that space of tension. My mom is playing out a role. She invited me to participate. That is all.
My responsibility to her is not to shrink myself into that reactive restrictive relationship. My responsibility is merely to model integration.
I had felt the real fear of impressing upon her, my family, or others, and so becoming responsible for whatever might ensue. My proximity brought with it a belief in duty to perform. These feelings were real, but based upon a false belief. It wasn’t until today that I see entirely the whole fabric. That my consciousness is the light of the house; not of the “daughter”, or the wounded healer. My light falls upon the mother and the daughter, alike. My consciousness holds them in perfect unity, and my actions become integrated and cohere to a new bandwidth. One in which polarized roles are transcended and transmuted to the one.
“Forgiveness cannot happen from a position of separation, from one of the roles- victim, tyrant, savior, rebel- only by embracing the unity.” -Brad Laughlin
I experienced the unity of this dynamic quite differently. There was quite a bit of difficulty to see my false responsibility. It is easier to recognize a victim or rebel role. A savior or wounded healer feels like he is doing good. It feels like the right thing to do. To protect the innocent. To heal the sick.
I see a profound connection between my mom’s relationship to me and my dream about my willingness to set my son free. My mom never willingly set me free. Her control is still willed and is oppressive to me. The cord was never cut. My willingness to let my child experience his own challenges without me handicapping him was not my mother’s choice. In fact, that particular rage, fear, and intensity of feeling to control the situation out of responsible duty is what she is addicted to. It is what allows her to place herself squarely on the side of “good mother” and convince herself that these feelings means that she loves her children. She is afraid of setting me free. She is afraid of whatever lies behind that particular transition.
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