The mother wound is very much alive.
It’s dark and penetrating, sometimes creeping up from some long-denied place inside, while other times barrelling at us full-speed, with ferocity and little warning.
For some, the wound appears deep burgundy-black; for others, piercing blood-red. For still others, it may appear as a myriad of haunting, pervasive colors, filling the deep wells of our soul and its broken places with its unnerving presence.
This mother wound—the embodiment of painful energy once carried by our maternal ancestors, passed down through us for generations and lifetimes—affects each one of us in different ways. Few can say their maternal lineage didn’t experience painful loss, persecution, abuse, rape—even murder. Few can say these collective energies don’t pool into a current-day ache deep in our bellies, in the very wombs that are the givers and receivers of life, leaving us with widespread physical aching, stabbing pains, unsolvable worries, pelvic syndromes, mental fatigue, confusion, fear, and hidden shame.
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