I was amazed at how a medical intuitive could tell I was silenced as a child through biofeedback from a hand sensor board. It showed how my life story had impacted my body.
I heard a ring and woke with a start. It was still dark. Alarmed, I fumbled for the phone. Half-dazed it dawned on me that the sharp voice was my mother’s. "I’m worried about the lump in your breast. It’s malignant!" She said abruptly. "Cancer treatment is expensive," she fumed, "I think you should marry Bud. He has health insurance." "Mom, thanks for your concern but I have my own insurance," I spluttered in a strained tone.
"Good!" my mother snorted. She requested more information on my insurance and hung up. Flabbergasted I could not comprehend it all. "Malignant," the dreaded word echoed in my brain. I felt nauseous. "Had I been given a death sentence?"
My mother is a physician," I thought wearily. "Surely she knows about the power of suggestion." It bothered me that she wanted me to marry my boyfriend for his health insurance. Thankfully my mother was wrong. The lump was benign and I forgot the incident. A few years later I went to see Wim, a medical intuitive who uses biofeedback from a hand sensor board to detect the health of forty-four body organs, our energy field or aura, and our seven energy centers or chakras. Wim moved his long, concerned face from side to side as he studied my chart. "You were silenced as a child," he said gently. "I can tell from your mouth." The blood drained from my body. I nodded, unable to speak. His expressive eyes held pain as he pointed to my chart again. "Your esophagus is flat. You did not eat!" I gasped, "I did not want to live!" I whispered in a voice high with grief. "Why?" "I was heartbroken about my mother’s absence in my life. I had to adapt to the lives of others," I sobbed. He looked troubled. "What happened?" "My parents hated each other. My mother was twenty when I was born. My father, who was twelve years older, said he was sterile. She felt betrayed and left him after my birth. I lived with relatives until seven when my mother got her medical degree and remarried.
I felt like a constant irritation. It was a relief to be placed in a boarding school at thirteen after the birth of my sister and brother." I stopped to wipe my nose with a Kleenex. "My mother has not spoken to me for most of my adult life," I explained in tears. "She recently wrote, ‘It is obvious to me that you are seething with jealousy towards your sister. I have never had to reprimand or insult her. She goes out of her way to do good, not evil.’"
I was crushed. I wondered if her character assassination of me had influenced my stepfather, brother and sister. Wim shook his head. "Don’t own her judgments! Stand up for yourself. It is time to tell yourself, I am here. I must be good. I am worth eating for. I am worth living for," he offered encouragingly. "I’m in shock," I lamented. "I counseled families and children for twenty years and thought I had dealt with my pain. And here it is again!" "You sacrificed your life away. You got lost. Give yourself compassion. Do the same work you did on others. Do it on yourself," Wim said firmly. "My father says my mother loves me but I don’t feel it," I sobbed. "I went to Zimbabwe on vacation at my mother’s recommendation. I was stunned when I arrived to find that the country was at war and tourists had been killed. Some years later my mother told my sister that it was too dangerous for her to sail across the Atlantic Ocean but it would be great for me to sail around the world." "Does a part of you want to die to please your mother?" Wim asked touching my hand. "It’s true ! I didn’t realize that," I gasped. "I’ve been reckless. I lived in dangerous neighborhoods, backpacked alone and hitchhiked on sailboats. I whispered. "But you’re still here," he said smiling. "I felt cherished by my grandmother, friends and clients," I said hugging myself. "I’m glad you’re alive," Wim beamed. I flushed. "Thank you!" "Your first chakra’s energy is very low," Wim said with distress. "Your chart shows that you are ambivalent about living. To thrive you need to embrace your life. Your aura also shows a mind-body disconnect. You need to accept yourself and connect more with the outside world. When you let go of your fear of abandonment you’ll find that you are a part of, and influence, all of life." I gulped. "I felt adrift living in two countries. Neither country claims me." I was amazed how Wim could tell how helpless I felt in my early years and how my life story had impacted my body. I mourned once I understood where my death wish came from. How I had allowed my mother’s rejection to hurt me.
Once I stopped seeing myself through my mother’s eyes I accepted myself, became more receptive to the love of others and lost my fear of abandonment.
My mother is in her late 70s now and has dementia. It affects her speech, short-term memory, the ability to count and to deal with mechanical things. She takes care of herself and her house well and loves to garden and to listen to classical music.
Bud, my husband and I recently had a surprisingly good two-week visit with my mother. She was open, upbeat, positive, appreciative and kind—qualities I’d not seen much of in the past.
Bud, my husband and I flew to South Africa in late 2006 when we heard that my father, who is in his late 70s had inoperable lung cancer. The doctors did not recommend chemotherapy or radiation when he had a stroke that left him paralyzed on one side.
My Dad died on Jan. 20, 2007. We were at his bedside along with my mother and brother. He stopped breathing 20 minutes after Bud and I arrived back from a short tour around South Africa. We were deeply honored to be with him when he made his transition. Bud and I took my mother to a nearby botanical garden afterwards. Being among the beautiful flowers calmed her down.
My mother continues to be warm and upbeat when I call her.
Although the letting go and the forgiving my mother has many layers and seasons I’m grateful that we have a more positive relationship.
The story alleviates a long felt pain. Thank you and God Bless You, Niki.
Sincerely,
Regino
Reviewed by M. B.
1/26/2005
I resonated deeply with this story. I've always been estranged from my mother (I think because I was born deafened) and she died 2 years ago before we could make peace. That's a tough situation to live with. I wish I had read this story 2 years ago. But as they say, it's better late than never.
