What’s True
I was standing in my kitchen—the marble counters clean and empty, morning sun pouring through the windows. My dog’s leash was in one hand. My phone was in the other.
Then the text came from my daughter:
“I’m driving down with Cy and Juli.”
That was it. Seven simple words. But they landed with weight.
I can’t believe this, I muttered out loud.
Those words jumped off the screen and found their mark.
Like an arrow, they pierced me straight through the heart. I felt pain surge through my chest, my gut, my throat. And then came the stories—like a jukebox automatically dropping familiar records:
They didn’t think of me.
I don’t matter.
I’m not included.
That old ache of rejection came flooding back.
It’s a feeling I’ve known throughout my life. It cuts to the bone.
And like many of us, when rejection shows up, my instinct is to turn it inward.
To assume I must be the problem. That there must be something wrong with me.
In the past, I would’ve taken this hurt and quietly stepped away.
Withdrawn. Created distance. Protected myself with silence or busyness.
I’d separate from the very person I longed to feel close to.
But I’m trying a new dance these days. A more courageous one.
To stay with myself and stay connected.
To allow the hurt without turning it into isolation.
So I picked up the phone. With a tender, open heart, I called my daughter.
I let her know that something in her message activated an old pain in me, not because of what she said, but because of how I received it. I wanted to be transparent. Is there something unresolved between us? Had I missed something? Were we okay?
She listened and met me with clarity.
“We’re good, Mom,” she said.
And something settled.
At that moment, I didn’t need her to fix it. I just needed to come home to what was true. I needed to reclaim my emotional authority and take ownership of my part of the story.
Here’s what I’m learning—again and again:
Honor what I feel. Let it be real.
Feel it all the way. Don’t override or dismiss it in the name of being “mature” or “spiritual.”
Take responsibility for my response. The emotions are mine. The meaning I made is mine.
Stay in connection while being honest.
Let truth be a bridge, not a wall.
This is the quiet revolution of healing the Seal of Rejection—the sacred work of saying: Yes, I feel pain. And no, I won’t exile myself in response to it.
The 43rd Gene Key teaches us that truth often arrives through inner pressure—moments that don’t make sense at first, but that reveal insight when we stay with them. This moment was a an epiphany:
I am not the story I tell myself in a moment of pain.
I am something deeper, steadier, more whole.
This is the exquisite path.
Being with all of it—especially the tender parts.
Letting our truths rise like light through stained glass.
And choosing, again and again, to love what’s here.
