In 2020, I had a conversation with my mother through the help of a medium, and it forever transformed my perspective on life, pain, and my role in the lineage of my family. My mother passed away in 2019, and though her physical presence was gone, her spirit came through in that moment, offering profound wisdom about her life, my own, and the legacy we both inhabit. It was not an easy conversation—her revelations about her life of suffering, mental illness, and generational cycles of abuse pierced my heart. But what she shared ultimately liberated me in ways I am still discovering.
One of the most transformative truths she left me with was this: “All the things we go through, all the bad atrocities, are not personal—they are spiritual.”
At first, I struggled to make sense of those words. How could pain and suffering, so visceral and real, not be personal? How could the atrocities we endured not cut to the core of who we are? But as I sat with her words, I began to understand that her message was an invitation—a call to rise above victimhood, to view life from a higher vantage point, and to step into the sacred role of healer and cycle-breaker for my family lineage.
This conversation wasn’t just about her life or mine—it was a profound spiritual teaching about how pain, suffering, and healing are interconnected, and how we have the power to transform them. These are the lessons I took away, and they are lessons I hope will resonate with anyone seeking to free themselves from the weight of generational patterns and step into their highest potential.
Lesson 1: Acknowledging Her Strength in Breaking What She Could
It’s easy to view generational cycles through the lens of what wasn’t accomplished—what patterns persisted, what pain was passed down. But when I look at my mother’s life, I see a woman who carried more than she was ever equipped to bear. She inherited pain, trauma, and limitations that she didn’t choose, yet she bore them as best as she could.
She may not have broken every cycle, but she broke some. In enduring what she did, she laid the groundwork for me to see what needed to be healed. Her life, though riddled with struggle, was not in vain—it was a bridge. She carried the curse far enough so that I could finally confront it, understand it, and release it.
This realization reframed my perspective on her life. Rather than viewing her solely through the lens of her mistakes, I now see her as a courageous soul who did what she could with what she had. Her strength, though imperfect, created the opening for me to step into my own healing work.
Lesson 2: Pain and Suffering Are Not Personal, They Are Spiritual
When my mother said, “The bad atrocities are not personal, they are spiritual,” she invited me to view our family’s generational pain from a higher perspective. Pain and suffering often feel deeply personal because they cut so close to the core of who we are. But her words reminded me that these experiences are part of a larger spiritual journey.
She wasn’t excusing the harm or minimizing its impact—far from it. Instead, she was encouraging me to understand that these cycles were not just about her or her choices but were rooted in inherited wounds that transcend one person’s life.
From a higher perspective, our challenges are not random acts of cruelty but opportunities for growth and transformation. They are spiritual lessons designed to teach us resilience, compassion, and the power of choice. My mother’s life was filled with suffering, but her suffering was not meaningless. It became a catalyst for the wisdom she shared with me, wisdom that now shapes the way I live my life.
By choosing to see life’s hardships as spiritual, we are no longer confined by the narrative of victimhood. We begin to see ourselves as participants in a greater story—one where we have the power to transmute pain into wisdom and suffering into strength.
Lesson 3: Breaking Generational Cycles Is Sacred Work
In asking that the generational cycles end with me and my sisters, my mother was passing the torch—not as a burden, but as an opportunity. She wanted us to have the freedom she never experienced, the healing she could not fully grasp.
Breaking generational cycles is not easy. It requires a willingness to confront pain that was not of your making and to heal wounds that you did not inflict. It demands courage, resilience, and deep self-awareness. But it is also one of the most sacred acts a person can undertake.
When we break a cycle, we don’t just heal ourselves. We honor those who came before us by transforming their pain into something new. And we create a legacy of freedom for those who will come after us. My mother’s life may not have been the final chapter of our family’s story, but it was an essential one.
Lesson 4: Reframing Pain as a Teacher
One of the greatest insights I gained from this experience was the understanding that pain and suffering are not just obstacles—they are profound spiritual teachers. They reveal the places within us that are out of alignment, the patterns that need to be broken, and the truths we must embody to move forward.
Pain keeps us locked in lower vantage points when we allow it to define us. It traps us in cycles of fear, anger, and shame. But when we face pain with courage and compassion, it becomes a tool for growth. It teaches us resilience, self-awareness, and the ability to see beyond the immediate hurt.
My mother’s life was a testament to this truth. Though she was unable to escape the confines of her pain, she passed on the lessons she learned to me. And in doing so, she gave me the tools to rise above the limitations that once defined our lineage.
The Dream: The Soil of Our Heritage
As I reflect on these lessons, there’s one final experience I must share—a dream I had of my mother just last night. It was one of those dreams that stays with you, even after waking, lingering in your heart like a divine message.
In the dream, I found myself back at my childhood home, a place I hadn’t visited in years. I was outside, working in the yard, a place where my mother spent hours tending to the earth. Despite the broken connections she had with humanity, she always had a profound connection to nature. The way she interacted with the soil, the plants, and the trees was nothing short of awe-inspiring. She didn’t just work in the yard; she became part of it.
In the dream, she was digging deeply into the soil, showing me the richness beneath the surface. She said, “This soil represents our heritage—dark, rich, and fertile. Only if we realize this.” She continued, “This soil has the power to give life, to grow generations of spiritual prosperity.” The image of her hands, deep in the earth, stayed with me long after I woke.
Awakening to Generational Blessings
When I awoke from that dream, I felt a profound sense of peace. My mother had come to me, not just with a lesson but with reassurance. She had confirmed what I had felt in my heart: I had transmuted pain into generational blessings. I had stepped into the role of healer, breaking cycles, and offering a new vision for the future of my family.
Her dream reminded me that our heritage, though marked by pain, is also rich with potential. The soil of our lineage is fertile, ready to nurture new life, new legacies, and new possibilities—if we are willing to tend to it.
Final Reflection
My mother’s life was a bridge, carrying the weight of generational pain far enough for me to step in and transform it. She didn’t break every curse, but she broke enough to give me the opportunity to heal, grow, and create a new legacy. Her life, her lessons, and even her pain were gifts, pointing me toward freedom and transformation.
Through her words, her dream, and her guidance, I have come to understand that pain is not a destination—it is a doorway. And when we walk through it with courage, we step into the richness of our heritage, ready to cultivate a future of spiritual prosperity and generational blessings.
I Acknowledge You, LaJuana June
This is the most deeply personal post I’ve ever created. In it, I honor my mother’s role in my soul’s contract—her hardness, emotional unavailability, and disconnect, though painful, were the very gifts that allowed me to become who I am today. Her role, as difficult as it was for me to live through, was necessary. She had to be that unyielding barrier, that rocky wall, so I could break through and release us all from the cycles of pain, generational trauma, and limitation.
She gave me the gift of vulnerability, openness, and a willingness to go deeper than she and others before her could. Her sacrifices, her choices—even her mistakes—were not in vain. They became the foundation upon which I now build a legacy of healing and spiritual prosperity. For that, I honor her.
~Ori Alchemy
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