Essene Mirrors

Essene Mirrors

In 2005, my mother unexpectedly died of a drug overdose. I was in shock. Within minutes of hearing the news, I realized I would never have the mother I had always longed for. I had held onto hope that she would eventually change, but now there was no chance to reconcile our past. As painful as her death was, it was also surprisingly liberating. For the first time in my life, I felt free. I no longer carried the constant weight of fear—fear of what she might be doing, fear she might harm herself or someone else, fear she would make an irreversible choice.

From around age eleven—when I began living with my father—I would get a sinking feeling in my stomach whenever my mother called. She was so unpredictable that I never knew what to expect. Would she be kind? Would she call to curse me out and tell me how horrible I was? Would she disown me again? Would she call while high to share her delusional experiences or to process a recent fight? It was rare for her to simply call to see how I was doing, and even then, the conversation always revolved around her.

My mother frightened me. The fear of what she might do or say loomed over me every single day she was alive. I was scared she would physically attack me or that I would say something to upset her, giving her an excuse to lash out. I didn’t know how to have a loving, healthy relationship with her. It was a relationship built on fear—so heavy it suffocated me. When she passed, that fear disappeared instantly. What remained was a deep sadness that I never had a healthy mother and that we would never have the chance to heal our relationship.

What I didn’t anticipate was the gaping hole her death left in my heart—a wound that longed to be healed. This emptiness became so consuming that I feared emotional connection with others. I didn’t know how to form close, healthy, loving relationships with women. Intimacy and friendship with women terrified me. I believed I wasn’t good enough, kind enough, or inherently worthy of love.

While my mother was alive, nearly all of my female friendships were one-sided. I attracted self-centered and needy women whose lives demanded my attention. I gladly allowed it because, from childhood, I had learned that being the savior—putting others before myself—was the way to earn love. A sliver of affection was all I felt I deserved; anything more made me uncomfortable. In truth, I was attracting women who mirrored my mother. While she was alive, the women I attracted were relatively mild versions of her. After her death, however, I began attracting women who were unstable, erratic, and emotionally unwell. These women unknowingly gave me the gift of healing my “mother wound.”

🌿 The Essene Mirrors

According to Gregg Braden, we attract people into our lives who reflect back to us seven different “mirrors.” Each mirror represents a lesson we need to learn, and once we’ve learned it, the associated people or situations no longer appear. I deeply appreciate Braden’s perspective—it has given me great understanding and peace.

The most profound mirror I’ve worked with is the mother mirror. Braden considers the mother/father mirror the single most powerful pattern in life. It reflects the beliefs and expectations we formed through our relationships with our parents. This mirror often reappears in our intimate relationships and close friendships.

🌸 My Mirrors

Five years after my mother’s death, I became a mother myself and began attracting the mother mirror into my life again.

My first mirror was, by far, the most heartbreaking and challenging situation I’ve faced as an adult. Like my mother, this woman was mentally unwell. My mother had bipolar disorder; this woman displayed traits of Borderline Personality Disorder (learn more here). Part of me wonders if my mother had the same disorder, as she had received many shifting diagnoses over the years.

At first, it was hard to recognize the dysfunction because this woman was charming and manipulative. She appeared sweet and said all the right things, but behind people’s backs, she gossiped and tore them down. I had seen her do this repeatedly, yet I chose to respond with empathy, believing my love could help her heal. Over time, I realized she thrived on chaos. She created drama and lived for it—playing the victim to gain attention. My mother did the same.

Eventually, I began to notice how similarly she treated me. She constantly twisted my words and called me a liar, just as my mother had. She accused me of things I never said or did and went so far as to tell others I was a terrible parent. When her behavior escalated to physical assault and even threats toward my son, I felt enraged but managed to stay composed. She spread lies about me in our community, and I lost many friends because I chose silence. Instead of retaliating, I turned inward and began deep healing work with a spiritual mentor. Through that process, I found my self-worth, learned to say no to abuse, and established strong yet compassionate boundaries. The situation lasted two years and ended only when I involved a lawyer and the police.

This experience became my most important mirror. It reflected all my insecurities—my struggles with self-love, worthiness, and the fear of saying no. It taught me the power of boundaries and the necessity of self-respect.

When that ordeal ended, I felt triumphant. I believed I had learned the lesson and was free from the pattern—but I wasn’t. Over the next five years, I encountered two more mother mirrors.

🪞 Second Mirror

About a year and a half later, another woman entered my life. I recognized the dysfunction more quickly this time and distanced myself before things grew toxic. However, in doing so, I withdrew abruptly and without explanation, unintentionally hurting her. A year later, she confronted me, listing all the perceived ways I had wronged her. Despite my intentions, she twisted my words and began attacking my character and parenting. That confrontation gave me the opportunity to say, calmly and firmly, “No, thank you. Leave me alone.”

Although this experience was far easier than the first, it revealed my own imperfections—my avoidance of uncomfortable conversations and my lack of grace in setting boundaries.

🪞 Third Mirror

The third mirror appeared about a year later. I had known this woman for years, even meeting her while dealing with the first mirror. From our first encounter, something about her felt off. When a mutual friend later vouched for her, I gave her another chance, though I still felt uneasy. She bonded with people through gossip and shared others’ private struggles—including things said about me. When she began demanding things I wasn’t comfortable giving, I tried to set boundaries while remaining open. But she, too, began twisting my words and accusing me of dishonesty.

At that point, I recognized the pattern clearly: when someone insists they know my thoughts or motives better than I do, it is the mother mirror resurfacing. When my actions are misinterpreted as malicious, I know it’s time to walk away.

This final experience was painful but illuminating. Like the others, she spread lies about me and thrived in victimhood and drama. Yet, through her, I finally understood that I was done with this cycle. Each mirror had reflected my mother back to me, allowing me to heal what I couldn’t as a child.

I found my power. I found my voice. I learned to set boundaries, to love myself, and to recognize my worth. I am worthy of love. I am worthy of connection. I am allowed to say no—and have that no respected.

I am a loving, good person.

I reclaimed my power. I know it, and I feel it.

🌷 Closing Reflection

My healing journey both delighted and frightened me. I worried that, because I never had a healthy model of motherhood, I might not know how to be a good mother myself. The void my mother left created a pull—drawing in women who mirrored her so that I could finally heal.

Among the seven Essene mirrors, the mother/father mirror has been my most painful yet transformative teacher.