korean mom trauma
my healing path is deeply inspired by ancestral shadow embodied in my mom. from a very young age, i witnessed her struggling hard to be a caretaker, be strong, do what’s necessary to be a “good person” according to korean cultural and christian standards, which most of the time translated into straight up neglecting betraying her own needs. it was heartbreaking to witness.
rejecting help from anyone as she serves everyone first, while resentfully feeling unappreciated. picking up the trail of mess left by her husband, angry that he’s done it yet again - she picks it up dutifully, bedgrudgingly. screaming with hurt to be heard by him, as he continues to ignore and trivialize her rage. i was very protective of her, and then eventually i became angry with her too - for not leaving. i remember pleading with her in 2nd grade to get a divorce. her troubled marriage seeped into everything. “if only your dad didn’t / wasn’t ____ , then i would be free.”
i witnessed her many times gathering up all her anger to finally leave him, and like sisyphos would fall back into it. i watched her becoming weaker with futility in her anger and depression, living with a partner who disacknowledges her reality. i felt the futility of being her child, born imprisoned in her prison, that was my grandmother's prison, and the fact that nothing i could ever say could make her change her mind — would make my blood boil for emancipation.
i saw eventually that no one was forcing her to stay there, the prison door was unlocked, yet she was held captive by the belief that a good person endures and sacrifices for another. as did her mother.
the real emancipation must come from the prison that we’ve internalized, being born into this reality of emotional barbarism, the ‘emotional dark age’ as spoken by teal swan, the belief patterns and coping mechanisms we’ve downloaded that are on default factory settings set up for feminine yin feeling suppression that makes us serve the idea of what being a good person does, while 'othered' deeper authentic aspects of us remain caged up.
i watched her futility become my own version of futility in situations where i overstayed despite aspects of me cringing to be freed, in jobs i couldn’t leave, relationships and places i felt stuck in. in rage i couldn’t let myself express. "what’s the point of screaming if no one’s going to hear you" i thought
i'm here now to say: the point is to scream. to acknowledge what wasn't there. to face the pain of the truth. of reality. and finally allow yourself to receive now what wasn't able to be given.
calling in the presence of a timeless divine mother. to intercept with divine mothering our mothers didn’t get. the emotional nourishment she didn’t receive, the support connection resources understanding that wasn’t there for her, and therefore couldn’t provide.
we need to go back to the source, that is within our emotional body, from where traumas of being unheard are stored, and release them. who is the real you, buried under societally culturally indoctrinated beliefs about what ‘good’ and approvable is.
let our mother's wounds our wounds become the fuel for our own emancipation.
own your rage, own your depression, own your grief, own your rejection, own your deepest desires. the world thirsts for your authenticity.