07/28/2026
Four years ago today, at 1:22pm, my mother took her last breath.
In the six months before that, we worked on healing generational trauma, hers, the women before her, mine.
We did repair work. That kind of repair only happens once you've done your own inner work, learned your triggers as a GPS instead of a landmine, and can witness someone's story without flinching.
It looked like prayer. Ritual around her body. Hard conversations that got the wound out of the tissue and into the light.
It's the same work I return to every year on pilgrimage in Ireland, remembering what was lost, letting it move through instead of letting it stick inside.
My mother's trauma got exacerbated by a system that has minimized women's pain for centuries.
First it was hysteria.
Before that, it was the Magdalene Laundries in Ireland where her grandmother emmegrated from to USA as an indentured servant.
Before that, the burning times.
She was raised inside decades of medicine built through a white male lens, where women get diagnosed and medicated instead of actually helped. I learned in my own healing that medication was never the answer.
The root was.
You don't need a terminal diagnosis to do this work.
What we've lost is ceremony itself, washing the body, honoring the passage over days not hours. That practice translates to any ending, literal or metaphorical.
Repair doesn't undo the wound. It's a scar, restitched, still functional. That's not nothing. That might be everything.
We're at a threshold right now.
This , and the week after, feels like a tension rod about to release. Your triggers right now aren't the enemy. They're guidance.
Light a candle.
Take a breath.
Ask.
I'll be doing the same today as I honor my mother and the work we are doing together.
Tomorrow I leave for a ceremonial gathering for women where I'll hold space in the Matriarch temple bringing these teachings with me.
1:1 sessions open now.
2027 apprenticeship (6 spots) & next year's Ireland pilgrimage.
To Book or apply 🔗 https://HealingWithSpirit.as.me/
Love you, Mom. WE are still doing the work.
