Reconciliation.

It wasn’t until adulthood that I truly grasped the depth of compassion and the significance of that true energy. As a child, I was filled with a heaviness, rage, and a sense of injustice. Sadness clouded my understanding, and my empathy was distorted, more of an environmental response than truth. But through my own healing, I began to recognize what compassion really means, and how energy must be honored and protected. My mother, like so many women before her, carried the weight of generational trauma on her shoulders. I watched as she struggled through her own pain, working to break cycles that had been passed down, not by choice but by circumstance. In many ways, she fought battles that I will never have to face because of her sacrifices. For that, I hold an immense amount of love and gratitude in my heart.

There’s something truly profound in witnessing a parent’s pain—especially when you recognize that their struggles were part of the reason you were able to live a different life. My mother’s journey wasn’t easy, and the choices she made often reflected the limitations imposed on her by her own trauma. But even as I honor her journey and the courage it took to break some of those cycles, I also have to acknowledge that not all of the trauma was healed. And that’s where the complexity of our relationship deepens.

Healing, as I’ve learned in my own life, is a choice. And while my mother made some brave choices to create a better life for me, there are aspects of her healing that she has not chosen to pursue. I respect her decision, because it is hers to make. We each have our own timeline, our own path, and our own lessons to learn. But the reality is that her lack of accountability for some of the pain she’s caused, and the choice to not fully engage in her own healing, requires that I set boundaries for my own well-being.

These boundaries aren’t about punishment or rejection. They’re about honoring both of our journeys. I can have deep compassion for my mother, recognizing the hardships she endured, and still create space between us to protect and preserve my energy. I can love her from a distance, while also recognizing that proximity to her doesn’t serve my highest good right now.

For many of us, it can be difficult to reconcile the love we feel for our parents with the boundaries we need to set. It feels counterintuitive to say, “I love you, but you don’t have access to my energy.” Yet, that’s where I’ve landed. Compassion doesn’t mean allowing myself to be drained or re-traumatized. Compassion, in its truest form, means acknowledging the pain, honoring the choices, and still choosing to prioritize my own healing and growth. The liberation of suffering starts within, because we cannot give what we don't have.

This has been one of the most difficult lessons in my journey—learning that I can honor my mother’s life and love her deeply, while also understanding that she may never be ready to heal in the ways allow access to me. And that’s okay. I can carry love, gratitude, and compassion for her, and also keep my boundaries intact. Because my healing is my choice, and that’s what I need to focus on to continue breaking the cycles she fought so hard to loosen.

In setting these boundaries, I am not rejecting my mother. I am choosing to honor both of our paths, while also recognizing that my energy is sacred. Compassion can coexist with boundaries, and in fact, true compassion often requires them. I can acknowledge my mother’s pain, hold space for her struggles, and still recognize that her healing journey is her own, just as mine is my own.

For anyone navigating the balance of compassion and boundaries, know that it’s okay to protect your energy. It doesn’t make you less loving or less compassionate. In fact, it’s an act of profound self-love, and it’s essential for breaking the cycles of trauma and pain for future generations.