A Family Secret, Unearthed

Part I

I thought I had a fairly normal upbringing—that is, until the time of my first Saturn Return.

I had been living in Chicago for the past decade or so, with my then partner of two and a half years. Luckily, I was coming to the tail end of a very dismal trajectory of daily drinking and hardcore drug use. For several years, I drank every day and regularly used cocaine, heroin, other opiates, and nearly anything else I could get my hands on. I did not experience a single day of sobriety during that time. And it is only by God’s grace that I am still here—and in one piece—today.

Shortly after my twenty-ninth birthday, I ended my relationship. And around the same time, I reconnected with an old college friend who was living in San Francisco, and I decided to move there as well. Here, I was finally able to stop using hard drugs, although I continued drinking for a while longer.

My year in San Francisco was a whirlwind. I continued the Kung Fu training I had begun in Chicago, but now, free from hard drugs, I was able to make meaningful progress for the first time. I also learned about the Daoist principles at the core of this training, which opened my mind to a new world of possibilities.

Also during this period, my friend traveled to India to study Yoga, and his journey had a profound impact on me as well. For he shared with me the deeper dimensions of the practice and we spent countless hours in philosophical conversation, which helped me see life in entirely new ways. Before leaving for India, he lent me his copy of the Bhagavad Gita. Reading it felt like reading directly from the book of life. Something within me awakened, and I could not learn about Yoga quickly enough.

As my time in San Francisco drew to a close, the structures of my outer life began to collapse. The restaurant I had helped open in North Beach was failing, and I learned that the rent on my apartment was about to increase by fifty percent! I took these events as a sign that it was time for another big change. It felt as though the universe were funneling my life in a particular direction.

I decided to go to India to study Yoga.

I returned to Southern California for what I believed were purely practical reasons. My sister had agreed to care for my dog while I was abroad. By then, I had been away from my family for thirteen years and had become deeply estranged from them. In my mind, however, returning home was only a temporary stop. I would reunite with my family, make arrangements for my dog, and continue on my way.

Soon afterward, I left for India, where I remained for nearly six months. While studying there, I had the opportunity to travel through South India by motorcycle with my Reiki master. During our journey, I began receiving persistent inner “pings” telling me that I needed to reconnect with my mother. I would sometimes rise from a Reiki session with a single word echoing in my mind:

Mother.

These messages confused me. Although my relationship with my mother had always been difficult, I was not consciously aware of anything immediate that I wanted to resolve with her. I could not understand why, of all things, I kept being directed toward her.

I shaved my head just before leaving for India. I think a part of me was entertaining a fantasy that I might become a Sadhu while I was out there! 😂

When I returned home, I was out of money and needed to find work, so I stayed with my family longer than I had intended. During that time, my sister and I began rebuilding our relationship.

Only a week after my return, she sat me down and said, “I have to tell you something.”

I had no idea what she was about to reveal.

A few years earlier, she had discovered an old family photograph from our mother and father’s wedding day. The photograph was dated several years after I was born. Shocked, she confronted our father. Faced with the evidence, he had no choice but to reveal the truth:

The woman in the photograph—the woman I had always known as my mother—was not my biological mother.

He begged my sister to keep what she had discovered a secret, insisting that he wanted to tell me himself.

Perhaps it had been easier for her to carry this secret while I was living thousands of miles away, drifting through a life disconnected from my family. But after only a week of being together again, she could no longer bear to keep the truth inside.

I broke down immediately—but not for the reason one might expect.

What overwhelmed me was relief.

Some part of me had known all along.

Throughout my childhood, I had sensed that something was not right about the woman I had been told was my mother. I had been too young to consciously remember the change that had taken place, but in an instant, memories and feelings came flooding back: all the times I had believed my mother was somewhere else; all the times I had felt that this woman was not my real mother.

As a child, I had repeatedly searched for my mother, only to be told by the adults around me that she was standing right in front of me. I was severely gaslit and shamed for my inner knowing: ”how can you say that about your mother?!”

I was made to feel like a terrible child for suggesting such an unspeakable thing, all so the people who were supposed to protect me could preserve their lie. Unable to reconcile what I felt with what I was told, I learned to distrust my own perception. Ultimately, I exiled my inner knowing—the quiet voice of my intuition—for many, many years.

Now, my endless tears seemed to offer confirmation:

You knew all along. Your intuition was right.

This revelation marked the beginning of my journey to reclaim and reintegrate my intuition as an essential part of myself.

Finding my way back to that voice would become one of the most important journeys of my life.