Four windows into my lineage — my Latvian grandmother, my mother, and little me. These snapshots carry the threads of the women who came before me.
Can You Heal a Relationship With Someone Who Has Passed? My Folk‑Hearted Answer
Lately I’ve been strengthening my connection to spirit — that quiet, ancient light that lives inside all of us. And a question rose up like a whisper from the old world:
Can you heal a relationship with your dead mother?
(Or any loved one who has crossed over.)
My experience is yes.
Spirit doesn’t die. Spirit doesn’t leave.
And healing can continue long after the body is gone.
This story is still unfolding, but I’m sharing it because someone out there might be walking a similar path. And if you’re younger than I was when I found this peace, maybe these words will reach you sooner.
Before anything else, hear this:
You are not broken. You are not unworthy. You are not unloved.
The universe holds more love for you than you can imagine.
Growing Up in a House Full of Shadows
I grew up in an emotionally abusive — and sometimes physically abusive — home. My sensitive, neurodivergent nervous system didn’t thrive. I shut down to survive. I believed the lies spoken over me.
When you’re inside abuse, you can’t see the wounds of the person hurting you. You can’t see the story behind their behavior. That doesn’t excuse anything — I did not deserve what happened — but understanding the roots of someone’s pain can change how you carry your own.
So let me tell you about my mother.
My mother holding me in the early days — a quiet moment from a story I’m still learning to heal.
My mother escaped Latvia during WWII when she was just two to three. She lived in a displaced persons camp in Germany until she was nine, then immigrated to the United States in 1950.
She was brilliant — truly brilliant — the kind of mind that could have been a scientist. She worked hard to perfect her English, hiding her past behind flawless pronunciation, except for the occasional “welcro” or “wault.”
Her childhood was chaos. Survival. Dysfunction.
Perfection became her armor.
And I believe she carried those expectations into motherhood.
There were four of us, but I was the oldest — and I was the one who didn’t fit her idea of what a child “should” be. I was the black sheep. Not smart enough, not pretty enough, not thin enough. I didn’t understand it then. I didn’t understand it when she died.
But now… it’s all making sense.
The Sentence That Shaped Our Story
When I was 18, she looked me in the eyes and said she had hated me since I was two because I didn’t like to be hugged.
At the time, I thought, Of course I didn’t want your hugs — you hurt me.
But now, with a clearer connection to spirit, I see something else.
This week, while studying my soul contract and numerology, I saw my own struggles and strengths laid bare. Then I looked at my parents’ charts — both gone now, both younger than I am today when they passed.
My mother’s chart stunned me.
It spoke of a nurturing spirit.
A nurturing spirit.
And suddenly it clicked.
She was young. I was her first child. She had survived trauma most of us can’t imagine. She needed to nurture to feel whole — and she interpreted my sensory overwhelm, my neurodivergent need for space, as rejection.
She felt unloved.
She felt like a failure.
And that pain became the seed of our entire relationship.
She didn’t understand it consciously.
I certainly didn’t.
The Night Everything Shifted
I’ve forgiven her many times over the years, but that night of processing all this— for the first time since she passed in January 1999 — I grieved her from the soul.
I cried for her with love.
With understanding.
With the kind of compassion that only comes when spirit opens a door you didn’t know was there.
Her chart revealed something else:
Her soul destiny is my spiritual gift.
She was my shadow teacher.
I could see through her mask.
I could break the walls she built to survive.
And now, decades later, the pieces fall into place like old bones finding their shape again.
Yes — You Can Heal a Relationship With the Dead
Their bodies may be gone, but their spirits are not.
Healing is still possible.
Connection is still possible.
Love is still possible.
And sometimes, the deepest healing happens after they’ve crossed over.
If you’ve been abused, hear this:
Do not shame yourself for your feelings.
You are not alone.
You are loved.
You are perfect in the eyes of spirit, even in your most wounded moments.
A Few Images From This Journey
A drawing I made while processing the revelations of our soul contract
• Me with a wolf at a sanctuary in Texas
• My mother at age nine, right before immigrating to the United States
• Photos of me as a child
• My parents on their wedding day
These images are threads in the tapestry — reminders that healing is not linear, but it is real.
Pieces of my childhood stitched together — ordinary moments that now feel like clues in the long story of generational healing.
My parents on their wedding day — the beginning of a lineage shaped by love, hardship, and the ancestral threads I’m learning to heal.
Me standing with a wolf at the sanctuary — a moment where the wild recognized the wild in me, and the healing between worlds felt real and wordless.
A piece of my heart in color — an abstract map of the healing journey between my mother’s spirit and mine.
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Becoming Light Enough to Rise: A Story of Healing, Home, and Letting Go
This intuitive manifestation drawing represents my journey of letting go, healing childhood wounds, and calling in my future mountain home in the Boulder, Colorado area. The artwork symbolizes surrender, gratitude, spiritual growth, and the process of releasing old patterns to make space for abundance.
When I sat down to draw my gratitude for the mountain home I’m calling in — the one waiting for me in the Boulder, Colorado area — I didn’t expect the process to open so many doors inside me. But that’s what the Art of Manifesting does. It reveals the places where we’re still holding on, still gripping, still afraid to trust the universe with both hands.
Letting go and surrendering have never been easy for me. Maybe you feel that too. Life shouldn’t be this hard, right? Releasing what no longer serves us should be simple. But for me, it never has been. For years I blamed ADHD, or my Sagittarius need for freedom, but eventually I had to look deeper.
Have you ever finally thrown something out after years of not needing it… only to need it the very next week? Every time that happened, it reinforced the belief that I should hang on to everything. But the truth is, most of those things weren’t valuable. And when I did need one of them, I usually couldn’t find it anyway. They weren’t helping me — they were weighing me down.
So I kept digging deeper.
I realized I’ve lived with a mindset of lack and unworthiness for a long time. When I stand over the trash or donation bin, the thought isn’t really “I might need this someday.” It’s “What if I can’t get another one?” That’s the voice of scarcity, not truth.
And then there’s the sensitivity — the part of me that feels everything. Even objects. I’m almost 62, and I still remember being a child choosing between two winter hats and feeling bad for the one I didn’t pick. Maybe it’s trauma. Maybe it’s my soul contract. Maybe it’s both. But I’ve always been someone who feels deeply, who can’t witness physical pain in people or animals, who avoids violent movies, who connects instead to emotional wounds and knows how to help them heal.
When you feel that much, even throwing away a picture your child drew can feel like hurting them. With five kids, you can imagine how quickly things piled up.
But the truth is: the universe is infinitely abundant. And when we’re buried under clutter — physical or emotional — we’re sending out the vibration that we have no room for its gifts.
My childhood shaped this pattern more than I realized. My mother often gave my things to my sister, to the point where I hid my favorite belongings under my mattress. When she found them, I was punished. If I wanted something, she bought it for my sister instead. She told my sister I was jealous, when really I was heartbroken. I felt unseen, unworthy, and manipulated. And I carried that into adulthood — shrinking, staying silent, believing I had nothing of value to offer.
My sister and I were close, but I wasn’t there for her the way she needed. I didn’t think she saw any worth in me. When she told me how much that hurt her, I was shocked. I was too wrapped in my own pain to see hers. Our relationship has never been the same, and I hope one day we can heal fully. Shame doesn’t help. Blame doesn’t help. Only understanding how these patterns shaped us — and choosing differently now — can set us free.
These old wounds are why I held on to everything. Why I clung so tightly. Why letting go felt like danger instead of liberation.
But the weight finally became too much. It was drowning me — drowning my dreams, my creativity, my future.
So I began releasing.
Step by step.
Room by room.
A few tears here and there.
Especially when it’s something my children made.
But I’m reminding myself of what’s coming:
the lightness,
the clarity,
the mountain home in the Rockies,
the art and coaching practice that will grow there,
the community I’ve been missing,
the nature I crave,
the life that feels like home.
If you’re weighed down by stuff — physical or emotional — please know there is no shame in it. You’re human. You’re sensitive. You’re doing your best.
But you also get to choose your future.
Your words, your environment, your intentions — they shape your path.
You can create the life you want.
You can release what no longer serves you.
You can call in something better.
And you’re not doing it alone.
You have me — and all my Raven‑Sag energy — walking right beside you. ❤️
I was so happy holding my baby sister here!
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