The mother wound...

Why does a pie server take me back to 17 year-old me crying and screaming to be actually heard and understood?

Because clearly, I am still struggling with being heard by the one person who has known me the longest.

Because, when it was pointed out that we "needed" one, I replied that we are in fact happy to use a knife for the 2-3 times a year we actually have pie and we didn't need one.

Because if I wanted one, I would buy one.

Because instead of a loving gesture of providing, it feels like blatant disrespect.

Because it happens over and over again.

Like someone would rather assume to know what I need in my life better than me.

Like I am still a toddler, incapable of running my own household at 42 years old.

Like I am doing something wrong by not having something others see as a "need" that I don't.

That is the mother wound.

And it runs deep.

It's just a pie server, you say.

No big deal.

Nothing to get upset about.

But it isn't the pie server.

It is the desire to be heard.


That was me journaling out my feelings to discover where my emotional response stemmed from.


The work on MYSELF continues.

There is healing in writing it out. It also brings up the words of affirmation that I need to here.

My voice has value.

My opinion matters.

My choices are my own.

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