During our journey, as we can call it, you’ve gained certain insights. You started to see things differently and received new inspirations. As a result, you’re undergoing a shift—a shift within yourself that’s leading to different behavior, and therefore, change. Perhaps you’ll relapse, or you’ll still suffer from the behavior of your environment that has not yet changed. But now it’s a matter of perseverance and staying focused. Forgiveness is an important theme when going through a shift. I’ve noticed it’s a difficult theme for almost everyone. When you forgive, you let go—and you don’t know where you’ll end up. As strange as it may sound, holding on to emotions you’ve carried for a long time can feel like familiar territory. It keeps you in your place, and it keeps others in theirs. But there is no growth in that.

So how do you start? Let me share a bit of my own process with you.

At some point, I forgave my mother for never letting me get close. There was always distance—both physically and emotionally. I can’t recall us ever doing anything fun together, or her ever coming to visit me when I lived on my own. From the age of 35, there was real distance because we stopped seeing each other completely. I made several attempts to let love between us blossom, but I never succeeded. And yet, I still feel love for her. Her inability to love me didn’t stop my heart from believing in love or from sharing it. That’s why it’s so important to work on yourself—because only then can change take place. Of course, I’ve felt deep sadness during this process, and my heart has been hurt many times. But life is too beautiful to get stuck in that pain. Other people are too important to not share love with. Forgiveness is a process—one that continues to return. New parts of the journey reveal themselves over time. Can I blame my mother? That question still lingers. After all, she too received little love from her own mother. When I look back at our history, all I can do is consider what I needed—or what I had. I especially needed her support when I confronted my father about the abuse I suffered at the age of 13. When I shared my story with the family, she chose to support my father and brothers—not me. I’ve healed the trauma from when I was 13, but it took me a long time to recover from the pain of being abandoned by my own family, because of her choice to stand by my father instead of supporting me. At the age of 35, I realized I had to face life on my own, accompanied by my loving husband, who has always supported me, and our sons, who were still young at the time. I ended contact with all my family members (around 50) people because otherwise, I would have been surrounded by so many people who also supported my parents, as  they would never acknowledge my story. I tried, but I was told to honor my parents. I knew I couldn't raise our children in that toxic energy and I wasn't sure they would be protected from it, so I chose to distance them from the environment that had caused me so much pain. They experienced love, support and safety from my in-laws and my husband's brother, so they missed nothing. Now they bond with there own in-laws and their girlfriends' relatives, which causes their family trees to grow.

What the loss of my relatives has taught me is how an older woman can support younger women. My mother and aunts had more life experience. They had already walked through many of the phases I was still encountering. And every time I entered a new phase in life, I felt their absence again. So this part of the story isn’t finished. Not everything has been forgiven. But it has made me very aware of the role I play—as a mother, and also as a mother-in-law. I hope my sons and daughters-in-law feel my presence and support. It saddens me that I am unable to fulfill my role as an aunt or as an older women for the younger generation in my family system. I am still in the process of forgiving myself for that.

The path of forgiveness is like a complex puzzle—one you must consciously piece together, so future generations don’t have to suffer the same way.

Can you recognize the patterns passed down through your motherline?

What experiences have shaped you—both as a woman and as a mother?

Which inherited wounds still ask for your attention, your awareness, and your forgiveness?

And what might begin to heal, not just for you, but for the generations that follow, if you choose to face them now?