The Rebirth Ritual: Becoming the Woman I Needed as a Child

This was my mirror moment.  

The reflection wasn’t pretty, but it was powerful.  

Because it showed me exactly who I needed to become.

🌑 My Mirror Moment

I wasn’t born twice, but I was broken once.  

And in the ruins, I found her.  

The woman I needed when I was small, scared, and searching.

The moment I realized I was reliving my childhood through my son wasn’t poetic; it was piercing.  

In the courtroom, in the manipulation, in the way his father was twisting love into leverage, I saw myself.  

A little girl caught between two people who couldn’t see past their own pain.

I remembered the silence.  

The way I learned not to mention my mother to my father, or my father to my mother.  

The mood shifts. The tension. The guilt.  

I remembered wondering if I had caused it all.  

If my existence was the reason love turned to war.

And now, watching my son carry burdens he never asked for,  

I knew I had to break the cycle.  

Not just for him.  

But for the little girl inside me who never got to choose peace.

🔥 The Rebirth Ritual

Healing didn’t come in a single wave.  

It came in fragments, like shards of glass I had to pick up with my bare hands.  

Each one cut me open, but also showed me something:  

A boundary I hadn’t set.  

A truth I hadn’t spoken.  

A part of me I had abandoned.

So, I began my ritual.  

Not with incense or moonlight... Though those came later.  

But with fierce, unglamorous choices.

I said “no” when I used to say “maybe.”  

I stopped apologizing for breathing too loudly.  

I let go of the guilt that was never mine to carry.

I wrote affirmations like spells:  

I am worthy of peace.  

I am not responsible for their wounds.  

I am the mother I needed.

I held crystals not just for their energy, but as reminders—  

That beauty can form under pressure.  

That healing is slow, sacred, and sometimes silent.

I turned to the moon.  

Not for answers, but for rhythm.  

She reminded me that even darkness has phases.

And through it all, I keep showing up.  

For my son. For myself. For the little girl who still lives inside me.

🌒 Still Becoming

I’m not magically healed.  

I still feel doubt. I still feel fear.  

I don’t always stay grounded, and I haven’t worked through everything.

But I’m learning.  

I’m better at catching the self-sabotage before it spirals.  

I pause. I breathe. I remind myself:  

The old way never led to peace.

So, I practice compassion.  

I practice patience.  

I practice new ways of coping with the damage that was drilled into me.

I try to be as grateful as humanly possible,

For the magic, the love, the moments that remind me I’m still here.

I accept that life brings hard calls and lasting impact.  

And I trust that I’m strong enough to navigate it.

I don’t have it all figured out.  

Not even close.

But the act of trying, of showing up, of choosing healing again and again...  

That’s what gives me strength.  

That’s what makes me whole.

🌟 

Every day is a New Beginning. Take a Deep Breath, Smile, and Start Again!

I wrote this piece not as someone who’s “healed,” but as someone who’s healing.  

Still learning. Still unlearning. Still rising.

If you’ve ever felt like you were carrying too much,  

like your past was shaping your present in ways you didn’t choose,

I see you. I honor you. And I hope these words remind you:  

You are not alone. You are not broken. You are becoming.

This is my ritual. My reckoning. My rebirth.  

And if it speaks to something inside you,  

I hope you’ll carry it with you like a crystal in your pocket,

a reminder that growth is sacred, even when it’s messy.

If this post resonated with you, I’d love to hear your story.  

Drop a comment, share it with someone who needs it, or tag me @SkyMomChronicles on social.

Let’s build a space where healing is honored,

Motherhood is mystical, and rebirth is always possible.