This is how we heal.
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The Invisible Scars of Childhood: Recognizing and Healing the Mother and Father Wound
The wounds we carry from childhood aren’t always obvious—but they shape everything. If you’ve been following my recent posts on family roles and the sibling triggers I met face-to-face in Mexico, you already know how these invisible prisons get built.
Now, let’s talk about what healing really looks like—not just recognizing the wounds, but maturing beyond them. Integrating and making whole the immature masculine and feminine we inherited, so we’re no longer bound to old, toxic patterns and ways of relating. Learning to embody a self-possessed, grounded presence instead of shrinking, lashing out, or seeking approval.
This is the real work of healing—growing into who we were meant to be.
Why We Don’t Feel Our Mother and Father Wounds Until the “Wake-Up” in Adulthood
You don’t feel the Mother or Father Wound right away. As kids, we’re wired for attachment over truth—so we normalize what hurts. We shrink, shape-shift, and internalize the message that love must be earned.
Then adulthood hits. Relationships expose patterns. Shame and worthlessness surface out of nowhere. And suddenly, we’re not just reacting to the present—we’re living out the echoes of childhood wounds we never realized were still running the show.
Why does the pain feel worse now? Because we’re finally awake to it. And that means we can finally heal it.
The Roles We Played to Survive: Family Systems and Emotional Immaturity
The roles we played in childhood weren’t random—they were survival. If you grew up in an emotionally immature family, you likely became The Golden Child, The Scapegoat, The Caretaker, or another role designed to keep the family system intact. The problem is that these roles don’t just disappear in adulthood. They shape how we show up in relationships, at work, and in the mirror. Which role did you play? And more importantly—how do you break free from it?
Oh Hello, Old Wounds: Sun, Salt, and Sibling Triggers in Mexico
Siblings have a way of pulling us back into the past—right into the roles we thought we’d outgrown. I just spent a week in Mexico with mine—no distractions, no buffers. Just the five of us, living under one roof again for the first time in years. The whales we swam with rewrite their songs every year, passing them across the globe like viral hits. It made me wonder: Can we do the same? Can we rewrite the stories we’ve carried and the roles we’ve assumed since childhood?
Because as breathtaking as this trip was, it was also a mirror—reflecting old wounds, unspoken tensions, and the raw truth of how much we’ve changed…and how much we haven’t.