Part 2 💖 The Mother-Daughter Healing Journey

Releasing blame, reclaiming truth, and choosing love over old roles

Some stories don’t rush to be told. They wait patiently—until our hearts are soft enough, our nervous systems regulated enough, and our discernment strong enough to meet them with clarity and compassion.

After sharing Part One of this reflection—about the rescuer identity I carried for so many years and the blind spots it created—I received a flood of responses from those who saw themselves in the story. It seems many of us are deep in the process of unraveling inherited roles and finding our way back to the truth of who we are beneath them.

If you haven’t read Part One: The Role I Didn’t Know I Was Still Playing, I invite you to start there. It explores the moment I came face-to-face with the “rescuer” identity I had unconsciously carried for years—how it shaped my relationships, especially with my daughter, and how I began the process of unraveling it with compassion rather than shame. This next chapter picks up where that one left off, as the healing deepened into my maternal lineage and brought long-buried truths to light.

This next chapter in my journey brings the story even closer to the truth of home.

After years of trying to be heard in my relationship with my mother—of naming what hurt, asking for acknowledgment, requesting to be released from the role of family rescuer, longing for repair—I came to a moment of surrender.

Not the giving-up kind, but the sacred kind. The kind that comes after you’ve spent enough time performing, hoping, and hurting. The kind that asks you to walk away, not with bitterness, but with love for your own becoming.

I chose no contact.

Not to punish, but to heal. Not to avoid, but to recalibrate.

And during those two years of silence, I got to work—not just on boundary-setting, but on something even more foundational: I cleaned up my own victim narrative.

Because I saw how tempting it is to stay stuck in the story of what someone else did or didn’t do. And how that story, while it may be rooted in real pain, can become its own kind of prison. I began to see how I had wrapped my identity around a certain kind of wounding—and how, if I wasn’t careful, it would define me.

I didn’t want that.

Not for me.

Not for her.

Not for the legacy we’re here to rewrite.

So I turned inward. I did the work. I reclaimed my voice and gave myself the validation I had been waiting for others to provide. And when I felt a genuine shift inside—a deeper stability, a sense of spaciousness—I knew I was ready.

I reached out.

What I didn’t know at the time was that my mother had also been doing her own inner work. She had been in therapy. She had been reflecting, listening, sitting with things. She had honored my request for space, even when it was painful for her.

When we finally reconnected, I could feel something had changed.

Her energy had softened. She didn’t meet me with the usual defenses, but with openness. She was able to listen. And for the first time in our long and complex relationship, I felt something new—possibility.

She shared that in her family of origin, being wrong was not an option. There was no model for making mistakes, no framework for being accountable, no encouragement to say I’m sorry. She had developed a self-concept of being “the good one,” and anything that threatened that identity felt unbearable.

But now, she could see it. She could feel the distortion of that role. And she was willing to own it.

That in itself was healing.

But then came something else. Something she had never shared with anyone—not even my father, who crossed in 2009 and whose transition opened the portal to my multidimensional remembrance.

She told me that shortly after I was born, while lying in her hospital bed, she had a strange and overwhelming experience. A presence entered the room. A voice—not hers—spoke with piercing clarity:

“She is not yours.”

Even now, those words move through my body like a key turning in a lock. Not dramatic. Just true.

She said the moment stunned her. She didn’t know what to do with it, how to speak about it, or even where to place it in her consciousness. So she tucked it away. She told no one. Not even my father. But the imprint of that moment lingered, shaping our relationship in subtle, unspoken ways. We didn’t have the language for it back then. Most people still don’t.

And suddenly, threads I had spent decades holding began to weave themselves together.

The feeling of being an outsider in my own family.

The phrase I heard again and again as a child: “We don’t know where you came from.” I always thought they meant it metaphorically—because I was unusually mature, unusually sensitive. The one who noticed too much. Felt too deeply. Read the room before I knew how to read.

She also shared something else that day: she and my father never could explain my conception. (A story, I’ve since learned, I’m not alone in carrying.)

My arrival, our relationship, the emotional distance, the unraveling—it was all part of a much larger story. One that we agreed to live out together. One that would hold keys for both of us, if we chose to turn toward them.

And I didn’t feel betrayed by her confession.

I felt relieved.

Seen.

Validated at the soul level (notice how the external validation came after I did the inner work... thus is the mirror dimension we live in!).

For so long, I had held a quiet sense of otherness inside me. Like I was never quite synced with the rhythm around me. And now, I understood where it came from—and why it mattered.

Of course, my path has been unusual. At first, she couldn’t quite wrap her head around what I do. The spirit mediumship—that she understood.   That was familiar. She had grown up hearing stories about her Slovak grandmothers cleaning the church after hours, only to find themselves sitting quietly while the ghost of the dead priest delivered his homily at the altar. They waited respectfully until he was done. That kind of otherworldly presence wasn’t strange to her. It was just part of the family lore.

But the multidimensional fieldwork? That was another story entirely. The planetary gridwork, portal repair, timeline negotiations, and the larger cosmic mission I’ve been stewarding across lifetimes—all of that was harder for her to grasp.

To be fair, it’s not exactly dinner table conversation. We’re talking full-blown 007-level intrigue here: covert missions, interdimensional interference, high-stakes recalibration of ancient stargates, and navigating distorted agendas from beings who’ve long forgotten they are Source Love too. (For the whole story, you can head to Eesha Patel’s "First Contact" podcast interview.)

At first, she didn’t know what to make of it. She’d yawn, change the subject, or look visibly uncomfortable when I’d try to share. And I would retreat again—gently, quietly—not wanting to disrupt her worldview, not wanting to feel like a problem or a threat.

But something shifted in her after I did the inner work. Like a mirror. She made an effort. And I noticed. Now, she regularly asks how the fieldwork is going—with genuine curiosity. She may not understand all of it, but she no longer meets it with dismissal. She meets it with presence. And for me, that’s no small thing. It's like a small miracle.

Because here’s the truth: my work as a metaphysician and multidimensional field agent has brought me face-to-face with levels of interference, distortion, and energetic warfare that are difficult to describe—let alone prove. These are not just spiritual concepts. They are real, embodied experiences. And for years, I didn’t have the support or safety to speak about them plainly.

So I carried it all quietly. For my safety, and for theirs (or so went my story).

Because I am not here to win a war.

I am here to end it.

To help close the loop of separation consciousness.

To invite all beings—regardless of how far they’ve wandered—to remember themselves as Source Love.

That’s the truth I serve. That’s the mission I hold.

This reconciliation with my mother helped me name another pattern I’ve long lived with: hyper-independence. Lone wolf. The belief that I have to do it all on my own. The impulse to isolate during moments of acceleration—not because I’m afraid, but because I’ve seen what happens when I shine too brightly in rooms not yet ready to receive me.

Even that, I’ve come to understand, has been part of the healing.

To soften again.

To let others in.

To laugh when I can.

To lighten up, even when the work feels impossibly vast.

Because yes, we chose this.

Out of love.

Out of remembrance.

Out of a deep soul-knowing that we came to this planet—not just to survive the old cycles, but to end them.

We are here to embody new templates.

To live from love, not distortion.

To reclaim our wholeness and offer that to the world.

And to stop shrinking ourselves to fit into systems that were never built to hold our light.

Because at the end of the day, the worst betrayal isn’t being misunderstood by others. It’s disavowing your truth so you can be more palatable to those still stuck in valid, yet distortional constructs.

If you’re walking a similar path—if you’re beginning to see just how deeply you inherited the roles you now long to break free from—I want you to know you’re not alone.

 So many of us came in carrying the weight of ancestral distortion—stories of silence, shame, judgment, invisibility—not because we failed, but because we agreed to help transmute them. To end what others couldn’t. To do the inner work that allows something new to begin.

 But let’s be honest: it’s not easy. Especially when those closest to us—our family, our origin points—are still actively living inside the very patterns we’re trying to dissolve.

It can feel lonely.

It can feel overwhelming.

It can feel like no one sees the version of you that’s trying so hard to evolve.

 And yet… the part of you that’s terrified to be rejected is the same part that most wants to be seen.

 What if the fear of not being accepted is what’s blocking you from experiencing real connection—first with yourself, and then with others? What if not being seen is just a reflection of the parts you’ve been taught to hide?

 This is the work I'm most passionate about right now.

 It’s not about fixing yourself.

It’s about finally facing yourself.

With love.

With honesty.

With space for the tenderness and the truth to walk hand in hand.

Shadow Gold Alchemy is open now through August 22nd.

 This private 1:1 mentorship is a space to:

 ✨ Lay down the old roles and return to the essence of who you really are

 ✨ Transmute shame and fear into clarity and love

 ✨ Gently unravel ancestral distortions and liberate your own voice

✨ Be seen—not just for the masks you’ve worn, but for the soul you came here to embody

 ✨ Discover hidden blind spots that will have you shouting “Eureka!”—like you just struck gold inside your own story 

What's Included:

  💖 Twelve 60-minute private Zoom sessions with me

💖 Recordings and personalized written reflections after each session

  💖 Powerful metaphysical recalibration and support through the shifts

 💖 A safe, sacred space to return to your truth—again and again

  👉 Click here to apply

If this stirred something in you, if you feel an ache in your heart right now… follow that.

It’s not too late to become who you came here to be.

Let's do this, together  

A’sha Love

P.S. Have you had a moment like this—where you saw your life differently, from a soul perspective, and everything finally made sense? Where you could feel the roles falling away and the real you coming online? If you’re reading this somewhere you can comment, I’d love to hear. And if this came by email, feel free to reply and share what’s stirring in your heart.