Working with the Mother Wound – Part 1


Bringing the perspective of Loving Consciousness to the Mother Wound allows us to take back our power and change out of the costume of The Victim.  We understand now that we chose our Mothers and the roles they would play with us. We understand that there is great learning for us in all of the experiences given to us throughout this role. There has also been learning opportunities for our Mothers, but it is not our responsibility to to make sure that this learning takes place.

Understanding that our responsibility lies only with our own journey and learning, we are free to choose our next role. The next role we choose to play depends entirely on us, it our journey after all. Sometimes a change in role on our part will be enough to prompt a complimentary role change for our Mothers and so allow the relationship to also change and grow. Sometimes though, the role of The Wounding Mother must be retained, not for our learning, but for our Mothers’ and perhaps for other family members, and this is okay. We have only to walk our journey and be responsible for ourselves.

Kathy Baker

Image credit:Passionpng


The ‘in-between’


At this moment in time I find myself in a state of transit.  I am neither there or here. One chapter of my life has closed, but the next has yet to open.  As if to emphasise this experience it is occurring during the Season of the Eclipse, the season of old and new, of beginnings and endings. As I am writing this I sit between two eclipses so the energy that swirls around me sings to me of breathless anticipation coupled with the grief that accompanies significant change, of belonging, but not belonging.

For me this in-betweenness is playing out at the physical and spiritual/energetic levels. I am indeed in between homes, something those born under the sign of Cancer feel most uncomfortable about. Having left my home in Sydney with my husband to resettle in Brisbane, we find ourselves having to live with our son and his wife while we wait (oh how I hate that word) for our next home to be ready for us.  I have a home, but it is not mine. I have such an urge to nest and make this house bend to my energy, but it belongs to others. I must wait. Wait and tinker around the edges. Wait and not impose my self on this already perfectly humming household. There is a lesson here I know.

While I wait and tinker and pout, my husband must search for work. I know the pressure on him is growing.  The not knowing of the where, when, how, the in-betweenness, is heavy for him also. The circumstances that led my husband to this in-betweeness came through a great sense of purpose, strong decisions and a flurry of movement that saw him leave a job that had been breaking him down for some time. And now there is the waiting, the looking, the in-betweenness.

Spiritually I feel ‘in-between’ because I am having to work at being Present. At being grounded and Here. My spiritual work has travelled with me, thankfully, and is my constant, (thank you all my beautiful clients) though I feel that even this aspect of myself is changing. I know that I am being asked to grow and develop my gift further and, as usual, I do this with dragging feet and bad grace.  I am a very poor student. And as usual I do not know what my work will look like or feel like when I make the changes that are required of me. I am in-between. I have a ‘knowing’ but not a clear ‘doing’.

I feel that a significant theme of this ‘in-betweenness’ is Trust. I am being asked (made) to let go of the wheel and not “push the river”. I must Trust in myself. Trust that when I made the sacred plan for this life, and knowing me I would have planned it down to the last detail,  that I made all the right decisions and allowed for all the required experiences, including the in-betweenness, so that I could complete my work for this life.  And so I turn this in-betweenness into a period of Trust and I will spend some time floating on the river – oh but I just want the bloody map!


Follow your Bliss


Lately in my work as a spiritual medium and healer I have seen more and more clients, friends and even my beautiful husband, finally walk away from jobs and lifestyles that have been making them sick for a long time. It is as though we, as a community, are making a shift from living in our heads, bullied by fear of dire consequences for not maintaining the satis-quo,  to choosing to live from the heart.

Making the choice to listen to our heart creates a space for us that is free from the tyranny of logic, ‘risk management’ and fear. Within this space we are really able to consider our needs as spiritual beings and journeyers and to reassess our priorities. Earning large amounts of money and being able to maintain a particular social image  begins to feel very unsatisfying if that also means compromising significant relationships and our own health and growth.

Choosing to create a life that is simpler and has space for meaningful connections with ourselves, others and our Earth is empowering and enriching. For my own personal journey, listening to my heart and choosing to stand in my Truth and engage in work that feeds my Soul has been a wonderful experience. An experience that has shown me inner-strength I had not recognised and created sustained bliss such I have not felt before.

Kathy Baker

Image: Symphony of Love


Through the generations – my story (part 6)

At the time of my father’s accident I was thirteen years old and beginning to feel better about high school and life in general. My best friend from primary school was with me, and things at home had settled into a bit of a rhythm. My younger sister and I were quite infatuated with our little sister who was pretty and out going. My mother still struggled with her health, both physical and mental, and would run the house from her bed. Despite this, or maybe because of it, Heather and I had a lot of freedom riding our bikes and our horses around our local streets and the large paddocks at the end of our road.

All of this came tumbling down on the day of the accident. I can remember it clearly. My best friend and I were on our way home from school when her mother unexpectedly pulled up along side us in her large station wagon and beckoned for us to quickly get in the car. As I got into the back seat I saw the burlap from my father’s motor bike that he had had made to protect his legs from the bitter cold as he rode across the mountains and back to teach at the  TAFE college.  It was explained that I would be taken home to my mother and that my sister Heather was being picked up and taken home as well.

At home my mother sat both Heather and I down and told us that our father had been in an accident and was seriously injured. Afterwards Mum pulled me aside and told me that Dad wasn’t expected to live. She asked me to explain this to my little sister Anne, who was 5 years old at the time, because my mother didn’t think she had the strength to do it herself.  As asked I sat Anne down and told her that Daddy wouldn’t be coming home because he was going to live with Jesus in Heaven. We had  been attending Sunday school all our lives so I hoped that she would be able to understand.

My father did survive, but remained first in hospital and then in rehabilitation for many months. When we first visited him he seemed pleased to see us, though he didn’t remember our names.  I was shocked by the crew-cut misshapen being that had replaced my beautiful father. Before me was a dribbling embarrassment whose every second word was a swear word.  Nevertheless, I felt certain that he would recover fully and return to us the intelligent and proud man he once was. Needless to say this didn’t happen.

When my father was eventually discharged we all arrived at the rehabilitation centre to bring him home. The trip home in the family car was a slow one. My father could not cope with the stimulus of the car travel, finding it frightening to travel at the speed limit.  So my mother drove the 28km home at 30km/hour. I remember feeling embarrassed and terrified. If my father couldn’t even travel in a car, how could he ever get back to work?

By this time my family was existing on a disability pension and the food hampers that the local Catholic priest delivered. Mum’s own church community was conspicuously absent. The two horses, Lady and Billy, that Heather and I had charged around on were found new homes because we could no longer afford to feed them.  It was a sad parting but my sisters and I knew that it had to happen. Our mother was very stressed and this worry over money made her illnesses worse.

Kathy Baker

Photo by K Baker