Ancestral Mothers

I am writing this as my truth—nothing more. I know not everyone shares my beliefs or experiences, and I respect that fully. But as a healer, this is my journey. For some time now, I’ve felt strongly guided—by my inner knowing, by the lineage I carry—to stop holding my voice back and begin sharing what I experience more openly.

Today I had a spinal energetics session with a practitioner I trust deeply. I debated switching it to massage because I’ve been dealing with lingering chest pain since last week. But after teaching yoga that morning, I felt very clearly that I needed the energetic work instead. Something felt ready to move.

I went in without a grand intention. I simply wanted to release what felt like heaviness in my chest—energy that didn’t entirely feel like my own. As someone who is sensitive to others’ emotions, I sometimes notice my body holding things that aren’t mine to carry. I also asked, quietly, for insight into my ancestral line and how I can continue healing patterns that run deeper than one lifetime.

It’s easy for me to enter a meditative state during bodywork. With practice, I’ve learned how to move between deep inner awareness and staying grounded in my body. As the session began, I felt the presence of ancestral archetypes that have appeared to me before in dreams and regression work: an Anishinaabe Chief, a Celtic woman healer, and the masculine counterpart I understand as my twin flame.

Whether one views these as psychological symbols or spiritual presences, what matters is what moved through my body.

I saw us standing together in a forest filled with warm golden light. We formed a circle, palms touching, rooted into the earth. Then the sensation shifted. A sharp, intense pain rose in my chest—like my heart and lungs were being compressed and pulled apart. It was overwhelming. I asked my practitioner to help clear it. She instinctively placed her hands over my heart.

What I understood in that moment, my guides telling me, the pain was not entirely mine.

When I consciously chose to release it—when I told my body it was safe to let go—the pain lifted almost instantly. I began to sob. What surfaced felt connected to my mother’s lineage. Even though we no longer speak, I am still aware of the emotional field between us. Distance does not always dissolve energetic ties.

Later in the session, I felt myself gently rocking, almost like a child being soothed. I felt supported. The message that came through was about releasing inherited anger—anger carried by persecuted healers, by Indigenous ancestors whose lands were taken, by generations who experienced power, control, and suppression. I was shown that while acknowledging history is necessary, continuing to carry hatred only prolongs suffering. Healing requires transforming that weight into something different.

At one point I moved into child’s pose on the table. I felt a physical sensation up my spine, as though something was being pushed upward and out. The image that came to me was of squeezing the last bit of something from a container—old energy finally leaving the body. I cried deeply. It felt ancient.

I was also shown something practical: some of my neck and shoulder pain is connected to a dental issue I’ve been avoiding. Not everything is mystical. The body holds very real, physical causes alongside emotional ones. But the pain in my chest—that felt ancestral.

From there, my awareness shifted to Scotland, a significant part of my heritage. I saw landscapes, battlefields, old trees whose roots hold centuries of memory. I had impressions of past lives as a field healer running into conflict with herbs and remedies to tend the wounded. Whether literal or symbolic, the message was clear: service and healing are woven into my lineage.

I then experienced something unexpected. I felt the presence of my maternal grandmother, whom I never met. I felt her sorrow regarding her daughter—my mother. I felt regret, forgiveness, and love. I understood something important in that moment: the resentment and hatred we hold in this lifetime does not carry the same way beyond it. Souls continue learning. Growth does not stop with death.

I also felt my mother’s love for me, even though we live completely separate lives. I realized something profound: you can maintain boundaries and still love someone. Love does not require access. Boundaries are not hatred.

Toward the end of the session, the energy moved into my throat. My practitioner noticed the shift immediately. The message was clear: speak.

Women in my lineage were silenced—whether through patriarchy, religion, fear, or persecution. I have often softened my words to avoid conflict. I avoid arguments online. I choose my words carefully so as not to offend. But the guidance was not about fighting. It was about honesty. About no longer shrinking.

Those who resonate will resonate. Those who don’t are free not to engage.

I do not need to convince anyone of higher dimensions or spiritual frameworks. But I also do not need to hide my lived experience.

Near the close of the session, I allowed space for grief connected to my twin flame, who ended his life. I felt unresolved pain—particularly around unspoken sorrow. I spoke aloud, “It’s okay,” over and over. It felt like witnessing, like allowing release. Whether one views this as symbolic closure or spiritual healing, it brought peace.

We ended the session as it began—in a circle. I felt warmth move up through my spine and out the crown of my head. I felt calm. The chest pain that had lingered for days was gone.

What I take from this experience is not that everyone should have the same visions or beliefs. It’s that our bodies hold stories—personal, ancestral, relational. Some are physical. Some are emotional. Some feel larger than one lifetime.

Healing requires willingness. It requires discernment. It requires both grounded awareness and openness.

Every journey is different. No experience needs to be compared.

This is mine. And I am choosing to share it.