What Would You Do To Save Your Mother’s Life?

Originally posted on August 03, 2022 on medium.com/@shamandao

Would you quit your six-figure job to remember who you were and why you were born from her womb?

Hue and baby Dao circa 1988

What would you do to save your mother’s life?
Would you quit your six-figure job to remember who you were and why you were born from her womb? Would you take that knowledge to become the catalyst for her healing, all the while healing your inner child?

Yes. And I’d do it all over again.

Mothers can be and are sometimes one of our hardest obstacles in the healing path. Their traumas become our traumas, their behaviorisms become ours, and their silent cries become our explosive cries.

They bore us into this world with an attachment to their identity. An attachment of need, greed, and the longing to belong laid upon our shoulders.

“Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you.
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts.
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams…”
Kahlil Gibran

Most people need therapy, instead, they have children. We become the results of generational trauma and behaviorisms instilled in our little subconscious minds, one verbal command after another.

How dare a grown woman without children say such things? Because mothers come to me to help break the chain of generational trauma from the actions they have awakened to. I have successfully assisted and am assisting four families (which includes the majority of the family members), including my own.

These mothers have awoken to their causes that affect their children from their suppressed and repressed emotions which transfer into their children’s auric fields.

Your energy speaks before you do and children are more in tune with energy than most adults are.

I was that child. I still harbor the slivers of the hurt child within and I am the catalyst for the generational trauma and behaviorism in my family.

Generational coaching and mentorship do not have one hundred-hour certificates you can obtain over the course of one week. I feel it must stem from the depths of your soul of absolute learning and action.

You must be the catalyst for change within your family to enact change from within to mentor or coach others to do the same. Because the truth is, the trauma and emotional bonds within the family dynamic are some of the hardest to heal.

I didn’t say to break or cut, I said to heal. There’s a difference.

No contact with toxic or emotional imbalanced family members is a starting must for those who are born into a physically, emotionally, and mentally abusive family. No contact is a lifesaver to the attachment bonds. But what happens after the no contact? Never to speak to one’s family again? Is that when one can say they’re healed from their generational trauma/behaviorisms?

Here’s the kicker. To run from one side of a spectrum to the complete opposite is a trauma response. To go from, “I’ll never do this to my kids,” or “I’ll never be this way,” when referencing how you’ll raise your children is a trauma response. Which pushes the need for healing straight into the shadows.

I know, because that’s how I perceived my upbringing. Oooooff, how the shadows will always make themselves known, one loud thump within your soul after another.

I reflect on my mother’s healing I began in March of this year after she told me she felt her soul wavering in and out of her body. After she left the hospital when the doctors told her they couldn’t pinpoint the root cause of the sickness that brought her into the emergency room.

I spent the last seven years with absolute dedication to learning about myself, my why, my trauma responses and immersed in trauma-laden countries. A need to understand how a flower can grow from concrete. An environment I chose to flourish in as my mother was still a seed, waiting for God to help her grow.

Seven years as a student, on a student budget, gliding on blind faith that it would all work out for the best.

And I’d do it all over again to save my mother’s life.

My Mom was sicker than normal in March of this year. The family could see and feel how weak she was. Her face said it all. My siblings and I cried knowing her time was up.

I saved her from the drowning ocean of depression that enclosed her entire life and mentally sunk her into her demise, one rumination after another.

I defended her from the blunts of trauma inflicted on her little eight-year-old body by my Grandfather, a Vietnamese man who saw her as a punching bag.

I healed her from the scores of rapes on her body as she escaped on boats from the shores of Nha Trang in Vietnam as the Northern armies descended to the South to capture the entire country.

I dove into the ethers to retrieve every single one of her trauma-induced soul fragments to put her back together again, just like Humpty Dumpty if he was a small Vietnamese child.

It took me over twelve years of subconscious spoonfuls of healing modalities masked as fun exercises to grant me permission to heal her. Twelve years of continual effort on my part, alongside seven years of self-mastery dedication (which was met with continuous scolds of, what are you doing with your life? why aren’t you making money? etc).

It took me two healing sessions to start the birthing cycle of her seed within our concrete environment. Her eyes saw the trees brighter. The food she cooked flourished with more love, as the love within her soul brightened.

It took me two more healing sessions to water her seed to begin wearing more form-fitted clothing. Her entire arms started to appear outside her tank tops, something she had never done before.

When she ate, she laughed as food became her enjoyment, not an escape she longed for, for her entire sixty-eight years on this Earth plane.

Her smile became genuine and she began not to enable her grown children as much anymore. At sixty-eight years old, my Mother began living her life for the very first time.

Once again, I’d sacrifice the seven years of finances, birthdays, and Amalfi wedding invites, and being away from my family and soul family all over again.

If that’s what it took to save my mother’s life and allow her to begin living.

IfI stayed on the path of a mortgage banker way back when, I would have had the money to fly in the best doctors and specialists in March of this year when my mother got sick.

That’s what a handful of wealthy professionals I’ve met in my travels did. One guy flew in the best doctors from Europe to take care of his mom as she lay unresponsive for months. He kept her alive as he raced around Europe calling in the top specialists. She suffered and was ready to leave this Earth, but he kept at it. Until I asked him a couple of questions. Only after he responded to my questions, was when she left her body.

Another woman held onto her mother’s soul as she flew the top doctors from the US to her mother’s bedside. Needled after needle, nurse after nurse and still, she wasn’t able to save her mother.

This is not to compare such stories, more so as a reflection of self. I can remember the times I wanted to quit on my seven-year path of self-mastery. It wasn’t easy to give up a comfortable life to pursue the rugged road of uncertainty. Armed with blind faith, fortitude, and a-bull-in-a-china-shop attitude, I set sail to remember my why. So that I could help others remember their why.

I had to learn how to nourish myself as a seed within the concrete jungles. I had to learn how to grow when all the odds were against me. I had to learn so that I could teach these lessons to the woman who I perceived was supposed to protect me. When my Mom didn’t know how to protect herself.

Did you hear about the rose that grew
from a crack in the concrete?
Proving nature’s law is wrong it
learned to walk without having feet.
Funny it seems, but by keeping its dreams,
it learned to breathe fresh air.
Long live the rose that grew from concrete
when no one else ever cared.

-Tupac
The Rose That Grew From Concrete:

I’ve been where you have been, that’s what makes me relatable to many of my clients. I hear you when you talk about abuse in every form because that was also my reality. What I had to remember and teach myself was this, it’s all temporary. Everything that you have and are experiencing is temporary. I had to dig deep to remind myself. To remind me to emotionally detach from the bonds which imprisoned me.

All the pain, the sacrifice, the longing, was all temporary and was part of the process all along. So that I could get to my goals set many moons ago.

Set the goal, whatever you desire from the depths of your being. Set it to fall in love with the process. Detach from the results to focus on your daily actions. As long as you are moving every single day either sideways, forwards, backward, and/or zig-zagged, you’re moving towards your goals.

If no one has told you this ever or recently, I believe in you. Yes, you reading this. I believe you have the power to change every direction in your life if you choose to, even if it takes twelve years or an entire lifetime.

The choice is yours to make. I love you.