My spiritual awakening started during a very difficult time in my life, when my marriage was breaking down. The separation from my husband was painful, but after some time I understood that I was not only dealing with the end of a relationship. It had opened something much older in me. The fear of being rejected, left or no longer loved was much stronger than the situation itself could explain.
That was when I started to see how much of my adult life had been influenced by things I learned as a child. I was used to keeping peace. I often stayed quiet when something hurt me, and when I did finally speak, I would usually question myself afterwards. I worried that I had said too much, been too direct or made the situation worse. Somewhere inside me there was still the belief that speaking honestly could cost me a relationship.
Around the same time, I experienced what I understood as a Kundalini awakening. Mine was not peaceful or beautiful. It became disturbed and at times frightening. I had very strong emotions, unusual physical sensations, intense dreams and periods when I did not really understand what was happening to me. This went on for a long time and forced me to look at myself in a way I had never done before.
I started doing shadow work. At first, I did not even think of it as a method. I was simply trying to understand why certain situations affected me so strongly. I went back to my childhood, my marriage, my relationships and my own reactions. I started noticing the same themes again and again: fear of abandonment, difficulty with boundaries, anger that I often kept inside and the need to fix things quickly whenever someone was upset with me.
The mother wound became an important part of this work. I do not use that expression to blame my mother. She has her own history and her own wounds, just as her parents had theirs. What interested me was what I had learned as a child about love and safety. I had learned that keeping peace was important and that sometimes it was easier to hold things inside than to say what I really felt.
During this same period, I was also having health problems. For several weeks I had been seeing doctors and having different examinations. I have Hashimoto’s thyroiditis and hypothyroidism and I take prescribed medication.
Hashimoto’s is an autoimmune condition in which the immune system attacks the thyroid. Hypothyroidism means that the body does not have enough thyroid hormone. My brother has hyperthyroidism, which means there is too much thyroid hormone.
These are different medical conditions and they can have different causes. I do not believe that our childhood directly caused either of them, but I did find the contrast between us interesting. We grew up in the same family and yet we learned to deal with life in very different ways.
I was more likely to become quiet, hold things in and withdraw. My brother reacted differently. Looking at the two of us made me think about how children from the same family can carry the same family history in completely different ways.
The difference between hypothyroidism and hyperthyroidism also had a symbolic meaning for me. One is associated with slowing down and the other with overactivity. I am not saying that a quiet person develops hypothyroidism or that an active person develops hyperthyroidism. That would not be medically correct. I simply noticed the contrast and found it interesting in the context of our family and the different ways we had learned to cope.
My thyroid also made me think because so much of my own emotional work was connected with speaking. The thyroid is in the throat, and in yogic traditions the throat chakra is associated with communication and expression. I see this as symbolism, not medicine. I do not believe that a blocked throat chakra causes Hashimoto’s. Still, while I was learning to speak more honestly and set clearer boundaries, I was also dealing with a condition in that same part of my body. For me, it was difficult not to notice.
Then I had a conversation with my mother that brought all of this very close to the surface.
I told her that I loved her but that I could no longer accept some of the words she used when speaking to me. She became upset and ended the call. My first reaction was exactly what it had always been. I felt that I had gone too far and wanted to fix everything immediately.
I knew that feeling very well. It was not really about that one conversation. It was the old fear that if someone was angry with me, I might lose them.
This time I waited.
Later, I called my mother again. I told her that I loved her and apologized if my tone had been too harsh, but I did not take back what I had said. I still meant that I would not accept being spoken to in that way.
Eventually, the conversation softened and we told each other that we loved one another.
For me, this was a small but important change. I did not have to choose between loving my mother and protecting myself. I could do both.
Anger was also part of this.
For many years, I carried anger from childhood, from my marriage and from situations where I felt that I had stayed quiet for too long. I used to think that anger was something negative that I needed to remove from myself.
Shadow work changed the way I looked at it. Sometimes anger was telling me that I had been hurt. Sometimes it appeared because I had ignored my own limits for too long. Often there was fear or sadness underneath it.
I also began to understand forgiveness differently.
For me, forgiveness does not mean saying that something was acceptable when it was not. It does not mean forgetting what happened or allowing the same behaviour again. I can understand that another person has their own wounds and still acknowledge that their behaviour hurt me.
This became especially important with my mother. I did not want to carry anger forever, but I also did not want forgiveness to become another reason for staying silent. I needed both compassion and boundaries.
That night, after the conversation with my mother, I had a dream.
I dreamed about my estranged husband. He was signing or closing some kind of contract. What I remember most was how calm he was. There was no argument and no visible emotion. He seemed completely certain about what he was doing. The surroundings were frozen and wintry and everything felt very still.
During or around the dream, I also remember feeling a pleasant and calm sensation in my lower abdomen. I do not know what it meant physically. I only remember that it felt peaceful.
Then I saw a woman I know who was pregnant. That image surprised me because I strongly associate this woman with independence and not with motherhood. When I woke up, both parts of the dream stayed with me: the contract being closed and the pregnancy.
I could interpret the dream in many ways. The contract could represent my marriage, an old pattern or simply the end of something. The pregnancy could represent something new. I do not know, and I do not want to pretend that I do.
What made the dream important to me was when it happened.
Only hours earlier, I had spoken to my mother differently than I had in the past. I had said what I needed to say, felt the fear that followed and still kept the boundary.
Then I dreamed about something being closed and something new beginning.
That was the connection I could not ignore.
The dream may simply have been my mind processing what had happened during the day. It may also have been connected with the shadow work and spiritual changes I had already been going through for years. I do not need to decide exactly what it was.
What I know is that the marriage had opened an old abandonment wound. The disturbed Kundalini experience forced me to look much deeper into myself. Shadow work helped me understand patterns that I had repeated for years. My health made me pay more attention to my body, and the conversation with my mother brought one of my oldest emotional patterns into a real situation where I could finally respond differently.
This is also how I have started to understand generational trauma.
I do not see it as one person causing all the problems in a family. I see it more as patterns that are passed down, often without anyone consciously deciding to pass them on. The way people speak to each other, the way they deal with anger, fear, rejection, control, silence and love can travel through generations.
My mother has her history. Her parents had theirs. My brother and I grew up in the same family but carried that history differently.
I cannot change what happened before me and I cannot change everything that happened in my marriage. I also cannot change the fact that I have Hashimoto’s.
What I can change is the way I respond now.
For me, that is where breaking a generational pattern begins. It is not always something dramatic. Sometimes it is simply noticing that the old reaction has appeared and choosing not to follow it in exactly the same way. The conversation with my mother was one of those moments. I was afraid that speaking honestly would damage the relationship, but I said what I needed to say. I later came back with love, but I did not take back the boundary.
The dream came immediately afterwards. That is why it stayed with me. I do not know whether the frozen landscape, the contract and the pregnancy had any meaning beyond my own mind. But I know that something in me had changed. For the first time, I understood more clearly that I could love someone without always giving up my own voice.
A note on health
This article is about my personal experience and the meaning I have made from it. It is not medical or psychological advice.
Hashimoto’s, hypothyroidism and hyperthyroidism are medical conditions and should be properly evaluated and treated by medical professionals. I am not suggesting that trauma, childhood experiences, Kundalini or chakra imbalance causes thyroid disease.
I follow medical treatment for my thyroid. At the same time, I continue to look at my emotional history and spiritual experiences because they are also part of my life. I do not need them all to have the same explanation.
A Prayer of Surrender
Take a deep breath. Place your right hand over your throat (the center of your voice and expression) and your left hand over your lower abdomen (the center of your vitality and creation). Read this prayer aloud to ground your physical voice in Divine authority.
✨ Ground Your Healing: Read this aloud right now.
Heavenly Father,
You know everything I have carried, including the things I have never been able to explain properly. You know where the fear started. You know the anger, the rejection, the things I did not say and the times I stayed quiet because I was afraid that speaking would cost me someone's love. I do not want to carry all of this forever. Please help me release what I no longer need and give me patience with the things I am not yet ready to let go.
Help me speak clearly without speaking from anger. Help me set boundaries without losing compassion. Help me love people without losing myself. Help me forgive without pretending that nothing happened. When old fear returns, remind me that I am no longer the child who had no choice. And when I cannot understand or release something on my own, I give it to You. Guide me in taking care of my body, my mind and my spirit. Thank You for staying with me through the parts of this that I still do not understand.
Amen.
Disclaimer: This is a personal story based on my own experience and interpretation. It is not medical or psychological advice and should not be used to diagnose or treat thyroid disease, trauma or any other health condition. Thyroid disorders need proper medical assessment and treatment.
