✧ The exercise that helps me heal a difficult relationship ✧
This is a personal reflection on a healing exercise that helped me soften resentment and begin repairing a difficult relationship.
A lot of what I write circles back to my father. I guess I’m still unraveling the fears, the attachments, the invisible strings that tie me to him.
Yes, he’s a good man. Hardworking, loving. But like all of us, he has his own limitations – ones that shaped me in ways I’m still learning to release.
There’s an exercise I do when I feel the weight of old wounds, when I want to untangle myself from the past. It’s something I learned from Louise Hay, and it always brings a sense of lightness.
I want to share it with you. Because maybe, just maybe, there’s someone in your life you need to do this with too.
Here’s how I do it — a healing exercise for difficult relationships
I close my eyes and picture a grand stage, glowing with warm light, like in a beautiful theater. Standing in the spotlight is my father. But it’s not easy. Some days, it’s hard even to picture his face, let alone imagine him smiling. The memories of tension, of distance, can feel louder than the light. But I try. I reach for moments when I’ve seen him laugh – playing with his granddaughters, chuckling at a good joke, smiling quietly as snow begins to fall outside the window. I hold on to those glimpses, to the softness that still lives inside him. And slowly, I start to see it. His smile. His eyes gentle. His body relaxed. A warm, golden aura surrounding him, as if he’s wrapped in pure love. I let myself take it in. I let myself see him happy, free. No resentment. No past wounds. Just him, standing in his own light.
Then, I step onto the stage. Now, I’m the one in the spotlight. And honestly? Sometimes that’s even harder. To see myself happy. To believe I could be. But I search for those moments too – the ones that remind me joy is still in me. The way I laugh when playing with children. The softness in my chest when I notice a flower blooming. The spark of life when a bee lands on my arm, and I watch it closely, feeling part of the moment. How my body feels when I hug a tree, solid and grounded. How I laugh, without thinking, when I’m with friends. I gather those memories like small lights and let them fill me up. I see myself smiling. Feeling whole. My entire being radiates peace and love. And in that moment, I feel it – I feel free. My heart feels lighter, my body at ease, like I belong to myself again.
As the exercise ends, something shifts inside me. A quiet relief, like I just set down a weight I didn’t even know I was carrying. I feel a little more at peace with my father. A little more accepting. Nothing outside of me has changed, but inside, something has softened. And maybe that’s enough for now. A little more space, a little more love – for him, and for me.
This exercise reminds me to let go of resentment, to see people from a place of love instead of pain. It teaches me that we all deserve happiness – including me. And with every time I do it, I feel my soul getting lighter, my heart a little more free.
When I do this, something shifts inside me. It’s subtle, but real. Like I just put down a heavy bag I didn’t even know I was carrying. I don’t have to force forgiveness, I don’t have to excuse anything – but I get to reclaim my own energy. I get to decide that I don’t want to hold this anymore.
So, if someone’s name came to mind while reading this, maybe this exercise is for you too. Try it. And see if, even for a moment, your heart feels a little lighter.
This healing exercise doesn’t change the other person — it changes the way I carry the relationship inside me.
✦ A letter that finds you when you’re ready ✦
Let my next whisper find you.
Leave your name below if you feel called to receive the next remembering —
not by schedule, but by truth.
This space is not here to gather people.
It is here to offer space.
These are not writings for everyone.
If they resonate, it is because something in you already knows.
This is not growth. This is a spiral.
You are already home.