Watching my Mother's awakening

Two years ago, I walked with my mum through a park. Our relationship was dissolving, and for the first time, I wasn’t sure her love had no limits.

I wasn’t at the worst place I’d ever been, but maybe the years had worn away. The constant turmoil, the need to be saved, the weight I’d placed on her shoulders to rescue me time and time again…

I had already awakened. I’d been through my dark night. I knew who I was now.

She didn’t.

We sat on a park bench after walking for a while, and I could feel it—she was upset, unsure of who I was anymore, or how I conducted my life. I told her:

“Say whatever you need to, and please don’t hold back. It’s important you say everything.”

And she did. Trepidation gave way to release. She laid it all down—the weight, the concerns, the heaviness she carried about me. And I listened. I accepted. I addressed what I could, and we found a way forward that soothed us both.

I don’t need to share context. Because what mattered then is what matters now.

Back then, she watched me. She felt my truth, my integrity, my unconditional love. And she asked me quietly, “Is this real?”

I told her yes. That she would see. And I didn’t falter.

Of all the soul recognitions in my life, nothing has ever matched what I’ve shared with my mum.

Over the past two years, I’ve opened up more—about my knowings, soul contracts, and how I see the human journey. I told her with my own trepidation: “You know this too. You’ve always known. You taught me this way. You just lost touch, like so many do.”

She was a 70s hippy—dismissed by family, dismissed by society. Enough to bury the gifts of an incredible medium and hide them away for decades. But I’ve never doubted her knowing.

In the last year especially, I’ve seen her apply what I’ve shared. I’ve watched her life begin to shift, not because of me—but because she’s listening to what she already knows. She’s remembering.

And tonight, she said something that nearly undid me:

“I’m beginning to put myself first.”

That’s not easy for an empath. It feels alien. But what shone through wasn’t selfishness—it was integrity.

And then she said the most beautiful, truest thing:

“I know I’m a good person.”

I remember saying the same to myself before I crossed my own threshold.

Her awakening is beautiful to see. And I’m here for all of it.