As I walk through the woods today, I was feeling a deep melancholy. I love my solitary walks in the woods, but today I was feeling a bit sad about being alone on my birthday.

When these feelings come up I know they are teaching opportunities, so I begin to dig deeper, search for the root, pull it up and examine it closely.

For many years I have spent my birthday surrounded by loved ones, being busy or traveling and being very much in the moment. That was not the case this year. Hence my first clue that there is something here that needed unraveling.

I sink deep within and embark on a quantum field trip back to the day of my birth. My mother was 34 years old in 1964, which was considered quite old for childbirth. When my mother went into labor, she was medically knocked out as most were in that time period. I sense her sadness that she is unable to witness her child’s arrival. My mother once shared that she had a mild stroke during childbirth, which I later realize led her down the path of undiagnosed postpartum depression. I clearly see the stage being set for this play and all the subsequent themes of each act, using this day as the jumping off point for the overall theme of this production.

Fast forward through the years of being literally forgotten, running feral and my mom, unable to even raise an eyebrow. I can see my character taking form: I dig into this persona and see my inner-child standing there, staring at me blankly. Tears welling up in her eyes. She does not understand why she was came here, why she feels so alone and why she is so unwanted.

For a weeks now, every time I come to the woods, the song “in a world of pure imagination” from the original Willy Wonka movie plays incessantly in my mind, to the point that I have to say out loud, STOP! As I write this I am finally understanding why.

A pivotal memory for my younger self is in second grade, celebrating my birthday with a handful of friends, going to see the new Willy Wonka movie. I had so much fun and ate so much garbage that I ended up vomiting in my parents car on the way home. But damn, it was a great party! This was also the last birthday before my parents split up. I would never have a birthday with both of them together again. Young me loved them both equally and unconditionally. After their split, I would wish myself into Willie Wonka‘s world of pure imagination, where we were all happy and together again.

For many years after my parents split up I lived in fantasies. I told lies about where my dad was, I pretended everything was wonderful, I fantasized my parents were getting back together and I became the consummate people pleaser. As I moved into scene 15 and 16 (years of age), I drowned my sadness in boys and alcohol. My mom knew, but she never said a word. She wasn’t capable of any sort of discipline or compassionate parenting or any parenting for that matter. She was confined to her own darkness, unable to see the light.

As an adult, my mother and I struggled for years to find common ground. She viewed my career path as me literally chasing my tail. She was sure I had no clue as to what I wanted in life. Then when I got married and had children, we became a more simpatico. The darkness was still there for her, albeit brightened by the magical little souls that I birthed.

With my last child I suffered severe postpartum depression. With the help of some good and then some not so good pharmaceuticals, a ton of talk therapy and deep soul-searching I can see and feel my mother‘s anguish, how she was so easily paralyzed by the darkness of her own unresolved traumas which kept her tamped down and emotionless.

At that time, my anger for my mom turned to heartfelt compassion. I was feeling the release of decades of shame for the way I felt and acted towards her throughout the years. I now understood why she was physically, mentally and emotionally unavailable for the majority of my life.

I pull my inner-child close and whisper in her ear, YOU are wanted, you matter, you are loved. And I hold her hand for the rest of our hike, smiling loving as I feel her sadness shift to happiness.

As I move through this birthday, my daughter and grandson come to visit. My girl looks so much like my mom. I begin to feel this deep sense of closure on these shadows from my childhood. I revel in the spirited play and unabashed love for everything that eminent from my grandson. And, I sense deeply, my mother stepping forward, thanking me for gifting healing to our ancestors on this day of my birth.

As I pull all these puzzle pieces of my past to present together, I am reminded of the beautiful healing power of the darkness, how all that is felt and unsaid is as much a part of our reality as the spoken word. Digging up the roots of my maternal lineage have shown me so much more than I can express here today. However, I can definitively say that my reflection on these shadows has offered yet another beautiful gift of healing for my soul on this day of my birth. And I’m sensing my ancestors agree.