It has been four long years since I last laid eyes on my parents, a period marked by what I consider the fifth and final abandonment. The wounds run deep, and I am forced to revisit these chapters of my life in 'The Mother Wound Chronicles,' right in the middle of a battle for my children's rights. Little did I expect to revisit these dusty old manuscripts so soon, but an unexpected birthday card and gift, sent with an ominous "special delivery" requirement, have pulled me back into the dark, questioning the reasons for maintaining any semblance of contact.
To comprehend this twisted tale, let's journey back to the fragmented memories of my childhood. My early years were a stark duality: weekdays spent amidst the chaos of my parents' home and weekends finding solace in the loving embrace of my grandparents. My mother, our primary caregiver, was no ordinary parent; she openly declared herself a practicing witch, immersing us in a world of incantations, candle magic, and peculiar rituals. The contrast between my grandparents' orderly sanctuary and my parents' chaotic abode was stark, leaving an indelible mark on my young mind.
As a child, I was well-acquainted with the occult, supernatural, and various forms of magic, due to my mother's practices. However, a chilling encounter in my late teens shattered my illusions of safety. While living in London, a city teeming with excitement and opportunity, a night of revelry took a sinister turn when I stumbled upon a group conducting a séance. The subsequent events unfolded in a crescendo of scratching, shaking and a physical attack that put me in hospital, culminating in my escape from not just the building, but the city and the entire country.
That paranormal experience shook me to my core, prompting me to distance myself from the occult world. Fast forward to the present, and a birthday card from my estranged mother triggers a flood of memories.
The connection between my mother and a terrifying chapter of my life becomes clearer when I revisit the year 2015, a mere nine years ago. Amidst a relentless smear campaign orchestrated by my ex-husband, I discovered that my home, devices, and car were all bugged, and every aspect of my life was under constant surveillance. Shockingly, my mother decided to add her own twist to the tale.
She claimed that my home was cursed, sitting atop a demonic cesspit harbouring dark entities hungry for my soul. In a cruel twist, she detailed how she had visited my home in the astral realm with her spirit guide to cleanse it, but the entities proved too powerful. To compound my distress, she insisted that my son was under nocturnal assault, his soul wounded by malevolent forces.
The revelation, coupled with the memories of my London encounter, threw me into a state of terror. My own mother had weaponized my deepest fears, introducing an invisible battleground where both my ex-husband and supernatural entities sought to destroy us. Little did I know that the mere belief in such darkness could manifest negative energy in my home.
Years of healing and self-discovery have elevated my understanding of sovereignty, allowing me to raise my frequency and create a protective shield against lower vibrational entities. But as I stand at the crossroads of accepting or rejecting the olive branch extended by my mother, I cannot ignore the haunting memories that led to our estrangement.
As a mother of three, I grapple with the inconceivability of subjecting my own children to such psychological torment. The 'Mother Wound Chronicles' reveal a chapter where a mother inflicts deep wounds, preying on her child's vulnerabilities and conjuring nightmarish visions beneath their very home.
Despite the pain and darkness that lingers, I stand firm in my newfound strength, knowing that I, my children, and my home are safe and shielded. The scars may be etched into the narrative of my life, but they serve as a reminder of why some chapters must remain closed, and certain ties severed.
I would like to add a little endnote, the 'mother wound' has been the catalyst throughout most of my life's journeys and it was not my plan to dive to these depths so soon, it is also not my intent to attack or make anyone feel bad, including my mother. But these words and wounds echo inside, never being heard, never being told, so it was that twist of fate, that prompted these chapters, and whilst I mean no malice, I must also be truthful to myself and my journey.
