The Wound That Revealed the Whole

There are moments in a healing journey when everything suddenly connects — when pain, memory, and meaning align to reveal a pattern you didn't know was there.

Let your body answer. Let it show where tenderness is needed.

For me, one of those moments came during my breast cancer diagnosis in 2015. Shortly after receiving the diagnosis, a question rose from somewhere deep inside me — clear, almost like a voice:

“What are you here to teach me?”

In that instant, I sensed that my illness wasn't random. It was personal — a message from within—a teacher disguised as a diagnosis. At the time, I couldn't articulate it, but something in me whispered that my body was mirroring old pain — the kind of pain that doesn't show up on scans but lives quietly in the heart.

💔 The Mother Wound and the Body's Message

As I began to heal, layer by layer, I started to see that my cancer carried the energy of a wound I had never truly faced: the mother wound — that place within me that learned to survive by being self-sufficient, quiet, capable, and good.

Like so many daughters of emotionally unavailable mothers, I had internalized the belief that love had to be earned. I became an expert at doing, performing, helping, and holding everything and everyone together. But my own needs, my softness, my longing to be nurtured — those I kept buried. My body, it turns out, was "keeping score."

Beneath the diagnosis was a deeper invitation:

“It’s your turn to be held.”

I came to understand that illness was not my enemy but my mirror. My body wasn't betraying me — it was communicating. Every cell seemed to echo the same message: it's time to listen, to feel, to mother yourself in the ways you never were.

🌙 The Awakening

As I explored the connection between emotional pain and physical expression, I discovered the work of teachers such as Gabor Maté, Alice Miller, Bessel van der Kolk, and Dr. Ryke Geerd Hamer. Their insights resonated deeply — each one pointing to the same truth I was living: that the body and the soul speak one language.

The more I wrote, meditated, and practiced non-dominant handwriting — allowing my inner child to speak — the more I began to remember what had been forgotten. This wasn't just physical healing. It was a reclamation.

That realization became the seed of everything that followed — this unfolding creative project that became A Hidden Wholeness, the PowerPoint presentation I created to teach others about healing the inner child, the "Morning Pages" practice I share on my website.

🪶 The Birth of A Hidden Wholeness

The phrase came to me like a whisper — not as a title, but as a truth.

Wholeness had never been lost; it was only hidden beneath the layers of adaptation.

Everything I had ever sought — peace, love, belonging, safety — was already within me, waiting to be seen. When I began to trace the threads backward, I realized that every event in my life, every challenge and synchronicity, was part of a larger tapestry of becoming.

That's when I understood my life's purpose in simple words:

Connecting the Dots to A Hidden Wholeness.

To "connect the dots" means allowing what once felt separate — the physical, emotional, and spiritual — to speak to one another. To reveal a "hidden wholeness" is to uncover what was always there: the quiet brilliance beneath the survival patterns, the love that never left.

🌕 The Feminine Flow

Healing the mother wound opened a gateway to something vast — a feminine current of intuition, tenderness, and deep emotional intelligence that I had suppressed for decades.

I began to trust my intuition again. I started to notice synchronicities, dreams, and signs that reflected my inner growth. Even my relationship with the moon — that same moon that comforted me as a child when I felt alone — returned as a guiding presence.

When I was four, after a moment of fear and punishment, I remember pedaling away on my bike beneath the night sky. Someone had once told me, "When you look at the moon, it follows you wherever you go." And it did. That simple realization filled me with wonder and a sense of safety. I see now that it was my first experience of spiritual connection — the feeling that something luminous and steady was watching over me. Through that same light, I've learned that reflection itself is sacred.

Healing, I've discovered, is less about striving and more about remembering — letting the moon, the water, and the heart lead me home.

🌊 The River That Carries Us Home

Recently, when I pulled the rune Laguz — the symbol of water, intuition, and flow — I was reminded of the river that runs through every stage of my journey. I even smiled at the synchronicity: that the person who has played such a significant role in my latest emotional and spiritual awakening bears the last name Waters. It felt like a wink from the universe — a reminder that everything is connected, even the details we once thought were random. But that's a story for another post.

For now, I return to this truth:

Healing the mother wound revealed not just my pain, but my path. My body was never broken; it was wise. My story was never separate pieces; it was a constellation. And my task — my vocation — is to keep connecting the dots that lead us all home to a hidden wholeness.

💞 A Reflection for You

Take a moment to place a hand over your heart. Ask gently: What part of me is still waiting to be mothered? Let your body answer. Let it show you where tenderness is needed. And remember: you don't have to earn love. You already are what you're seeking.