The Weight of It All Was Never Mine to Carry
For most of my life, I believed the weight was mine.
The weight of my mother’s moods.
The weight of her cruelty.
The weight of trying to be good enough to avoid her wrath.
I carried it all 24/7/365, as if it was my responsibility to fix, to absorb, to endure.
Because that’s what I had been conditioned to do—take on the emotional burden of a mother who was supposed to carry me.
But the truth is, it was never mine to carry.
It was hers.
Her brokenness.
Her projections.
Her inability to love me in the way a mother should.
She dropped it at my feet and made me believe it was my job to pick it up.
And I did!
Because I was a child, and children don’t know that love isn’t supposed to feel like that.
But carrying that weight wasn’t love.
It was survival.
The Role I Was Never Supposed to Play
And I didn’t just carry it—I became the parent.
I stepped into a role no child should ever have to fill.
I became the caretaker.
The soother.
The one who anticipated every shift in her emotions before they turned into explosions.
I monitored her moods like a meteorologist tracking an incoming storm.
I adjusted, I softened, I performed—always a step ahead, always holding the fragile peace together by a thread.
Thriving in the chaos
And in some ways, I thrived in that role.
It gave me a purpose.
It made me feel useful, needed, almost safe.
Because when I was managing her, when I was doing everything right, I could sometimes delay the inevitable.
I could sometimes keep the peace.
But peace with her was never real peace.
It was a pause in the cycle of rage.
A momentary illusion of stability before the next eruption.
I lived on pins and needles.
The Truth She Confessed After Her Death
I see it now with painful clarity—because it was confirmed during a channeling session with her spirit.
I was never meant to be her emotional crutch.
Her spirit admitted that in death she could finally see the burden she placed on me:
“I never meant to hurt you. I never meant to bring forward all that came forward.”
She saw how I had spent my childhood as her emotional caretaker, how I had absorbed her pain so she wouldn’t have to.
She even confessed that she used to stare at me while I slept, wondering why she could feel love but couldn’t seem to express it.
That was never mine to carry either.
The Weight I Didn’t Know How to Put Down
And when she died, I expected to feel lighter.
But instead, the weight pressed down harder—because I didn’t know how to put it down.
I carried it for so long, it felt like mine.
Like part of me.
But it never was.
That impossibly complicated grief—the one that made no sense, the one that felt like mourning someone and escaping them at the same time—that was the reckoning.
That was The Hollow Passage.
And it forced me to confront the truth: the weight of her was never my responsibility.
I was never meant to hold it, bend under it, break beneath it.
The Moment I Finally Let It Go
Three-and-a-half years after her death, I finally let it go.
And for the first time in my almost 58 years of life, I feel free.
Read the Full Confessions in The Conversations We Never Had
You can read my full 45-minute channeling session where my mother’s spirit admitted the weight she placed on me—and the confessions that shook me to my core—inside The Conversations We Never Had.