My dad was an emotional wounded man

Becoming aware of the truth, heals and liberates us (all)

Today, I am thirty-two years old. It has been five years since I consciously began my inner work. During this time, I have immersed myself in every field of knowledge within my reach to heal the wounds and traumas of my childhood. I have researched, studied, and practised dozens of healing techniques — psychology, magic, the exact and holistic sciences, metaphysics, anatomy, biology, neurology, healing rituals, spirituality, yoga — everything that could bring me closer to liberation from the energetic chains of karma embedded in my family lineage.

In 2018, I began writing a book inspired by my own healing process, sharing the first steps that led me along this transformative path. When I completed Balance, I knew with absolute certainty that many more awakenings would come. I understood that each would bring further healing and insight — and I was genuinely open and excited for their arrival, for I recognised this as the path towards enlightenment. What I did not anticipate, however, was how deeply painful it would be, once again.

Today, I can finally acknowledge — with painful clarity — that my father was a narcissistic man: a deeply wounded being, yes, yet narcissistic nonetheless. It is perhaps one of the most excruciating truths I have ever had to face. Accepting this truth does not erase his virtues, but it invites me to focus on how his wounds shaped my understanding of love and the ways they echoed throughout my adult life.

This realisation came to me only recently. In truth, I had never even considered the term narcissist before; my comprehension of human suffering had always been linked to the emotional wounds and traumas born from ignorance. Yet truth, when revealed, demands the death of an illusion — and it is this death that the ego resists with such agony.

Through the path of healing, I have come to recognise the difference between unconscious judgement and conscious discernment — the former rooted in ignorance, the latter born of awareness. Still, we are human; the ego will fight until its last breath to preserve our false beliefs. But the pain that arises when the soul awakens is not real — it is but a shadow of resistance fading away. It truly helpful understanding that we are all wounded beings at some point but, at the same time, we are all also responsible for our lives.

I loved my father with every fibre of my being. I felt his suffering so profoundly that I unconsciously took it upon myself, hoping to ease his burden. He always seemed troubled — anxious, restless, or angry about something — and as a child, I learned to justify his misbehaviour at all costs, even when they destroyed everything around him. I believed it was my duty to prevent his outbursts, to keep the peace, even at the expense of my own serenity. I came to accept the unacceptable because I saw his pain and mistook it for love. It became acceptable to put up with much from a beloved one because — so I told myself — he was under terrible pressure, crushed by the blows of life, simply a victim of circumstance and of people who pushed him into aggression. Because he was my father and I loved him so deeply, I searched within him for the best of humanity, and that glimpse of goodness sustained me and made endurance possible. In Balance I recount moments when I truly believed he was possessed by demons: at times he could be achingly kind and pure, and at others the most violent, shadowed man I could imagine. I accepted that contradiction as reality.

At school, I had been taught that even God — who was said to be infinitely kind — could grow wrathful and cast his children out of paradise to suffer. So, in my young mind, I learned to reconcile love with punishment, tenderness with violence. I normalised the contradiction. I accepted my father's double identity as entirely "understandable." Those two personalities, the kind one and the violent one, lived inside the man who gave me life, those two personalities lived in the man I loved most in the world and in whom I trusted my safety. I learned that the same man who nurtured me could also destroy me; that affection and cruelty could coexist within one soul.  I learned that the man I loved deeply could also be abusive. I believed that the one who claimed to protect me could also harm me — and that his suffering somehow justified his actions. I learned to believe his excuses of him not being guilty of anything, but the victim of everything and everyone.

I loved that man wholly, and yet the day came when I learned to love him differently — from another level of consciousness. Today, I love him from a place of wisdom, compassion, and forgiveness, from the understanding that he acted according to his level of awareness. Yes, he wanted the best for me, but his ignorance led him astray. Yes, he longed to be the father he never had, but he simply did not know how.

Now, I choose to love him as he was, while releasing the version of love that once defined our bond. I no longer wish to embody a love entwined with pain, fear, or self-betrayal. I no longer feel at peace loving a man who carries unhealed anger,  a man who justifies his abuse and addictions with external reasons and denies responsibility for his own suffering. I no longer feel comfortable loving a man who feels like a victim of life and makes those around him pay for the hatred he feels within his soul. I no longer feel comfortable loving a man who does not take life with gratitude and care because he is angry in the depths of his heart with his own parents. I no longer feel at ease in environments of tension and violence. Those energies no longer belong to me.

Through the practice of Family Constellations, I have learned that healing begins when we honour our parents as they are — taking from them only what is good and releasing the rest — so that life may flow freely through us once again. Lise Bourbeau, in her book Heal Your Wounds and Find Your True Self, teaches that the parent of the same sex teaches us how to love, while the parent of the opposite sex teaches us how to receive love.

In my own life, as I transitioned from childhood to adolescence, I became ever more merged with my father’s energy. I felt responsible for his unhappiness; I believed that if I could just love him enough, I could save him. Thus, I unconsciously adopted his distorted way of loving as my own template for receiving love — a model both ignorant and painfully destructive.

I invite you to read my book Balance— to witness, in detail, the story of a profoundly wounded man who built a family with an equally wounded woman, and together brought four children into a cycle of unconscious suffering. I am one of those children — a wounded daughter of wounded parents, both victims and abusers in their own ways, survivors of survivors. But I am also a woman who has chosen to heal.

I want you to know that there is a way out. There are paths that lead to peace. There are methods to dissolve harmful patterns and awaken to a life of genuine love. Healthy love does exist. There are souls you can trust, homes where you can finally feel safe, and a world waiting for your wholeness. It really exists because we have the option to heal ourselves. Healing is real — and if you are reading this, it means your soul is already calling you home. Take the journey within, know that you are not alone. Many of us are walking this same path of remembrance, guided by knowledge, by truth, and by the infinite power of self-healing.

Book Balance 📖

Book Yin Code 📖

Alquimia app 📲

Become an affiliate🤝

Webinars🎁