This morning, I sat with a choice that brought unexpected anxiety: To stop a small monthly donation I’ve been making for many months.
A simple act, right? But beneath the surface, my body trembled with the fear that if I did this, I’d disappoint someone. That I would be seen as unreliable. Ungrateful. A burden.
I’ve carried this fear for most of my life. Earlier today, during a root chakra visualization, I was shown why.
I found myself in my mother’s womb. She was sixteen. Alone. Abortion wasn’t an option, and the air around us was thick with fear and uncertainty.
That fear became my first language. My first imprint. Before I ever took a breath, I inherited a story of anxiety and survival. This is the burden I’ve unknowingly carried into every act of letting go.
And this morning, that burden came to light not just as emotion, but as revelation.
The Revelation
We hold our most profound sense of safety and belonging in the root chakra. But in our Western story, especially for those of us raised in religious traditions, there’s a deeper wounding:
That somehow, we were born bad, that something is wrong with us. That Eve sinned when she ate the apple and brought shame to us all.
But what if that story is a lie?
What if biting into the apple was never a sin, but a symbol? The first taste of self-awareness. And what followed—shame—was not divine punishment, but inherited trauma?
What if the truth is this:
There is nothing wrong with us—there never was. Biting into the apple allowed us to gain direct knowledge of our sacred, divine nature.
This morning, I began to feel that truth.
I lit a candle, wrote my release on paper, and will carry the ashes to the ocean, offering them back to something greater than myself.
This is not just releasing myself from a financial commitment, but a lifetime of fear and guilt, a lineage of shame that is not mine to carry anymore.
Perhaps this is now the work for all of us: to release what never belonged to us, to untangle the roots of fear in the body, and to remember that we are children of the Divine. We are inherently good, sacred, and free.
A Message From Mom
A few days after my mother passed, I was sitting in meditation, crying. Grief had cracked something open in me. I was sitting, meditating, my awareness on my breath, letting it all rise, when I suddenly smelled her perfume. It was so vivid, so immediate, I almost reached out to touch her.
Then I heard her. Not a thought, not a memory, but her voice—clear as day:
“I know I expected much from you, but it was never meant as a burden. It was a request. A preparation. We, your ancestors and I, know that you are strong. We are asking you to heal yourself. This will be your gift to us–your healing will heal us all.”
Perhaps those weren’t her exact words, but the message was unmistakable. She saw me. She honored my strength. And she asked—not demanded—that I walk the sacred healing path. Not just for me, but for those who came before.
I heard her again this morning, not in words, but in the silence after release.
My Vow:
I am no longer carrying fear out of obligation.
I am walking into healing by choice.
And that, too, is ancestral medicine.
What burdens are you ready to lay down?
If something stirred in you as you read this—an old fear, a story, a wound—it may be time to release it. Here is a simple ritual to support that release:
🌿 Ritual of Release and Reclamation
You will need:
– A candle
– A small piece of paper and pen
– A bowl of water, or access to the natural world (a river, tree, or earth)
1. Prepare a quiet space. Light the candle. Place your hand on your heart. Breathe.
2. Write down what you are releasing. A belief, a fear, a burden.
3. Offer it to the water or earth. Burn it safely or bury it with intention.
4. Speak these words aloud:
I release what no longer belongs to me.
I reclaim the energy I gave away.
I walk in truth, and that is sacred.
Let it be simple. Let it be enough. Your healing touches more than just your own life.
May you feel the ground beneath you.
May you remember that you are not alone.
And may your roots run deep in love, not fear.