Guiding My Parents Back to Love: A Story of Generational Healing and Emotional Transformation

By Luz Maria Campuzano

Every family carries a story. Some are told aloud, some live in silence. The way we are loved or unloved becomes the quiet current running through every generation that follows. My own healing began when I realized I was not only mending my wounds. I was guiding my parents back to love, helping them remember what love truly is.

The Roots of Our Story

My father came from a small town in Tierra Caliente, Michoacán. He arrived in this country as a teenager with twenty dollars and a dream for a better life. The firstborn of eight, he carried the weight of his family’s hopes on his young shoulders. He grew up where strength was survival and emotions were a burden no one could afford. His love for his parents ran deep, though I know the path was not easy.

My mother was born and raised in Chicago’s Pilsen neighborhood, on 18th Street off Blue Island. My grandmother worked as a deputy sheriff at the Daley Center, a woman of remarkable strength raising eight children in a world that did not have time for softness. My grandfather was joy in human form, light-hearted and kind. He was the only person in my young life who I knew loved me without restriction. Love in that home was expressed through survival, through showing up, through doing what needed to be done, yet his presence reminded me that love could also feel safe, gentle, and free.

When my parents met, they were two souls longing for connection, each carrying generations of endurance inside them. My mother fawned and fought to be seen. My father fled and fought to feel safe. They loved each other deeply, yet their love was shaped by what they never learned to heal. That energy became the air my brother and I breathed.

The Silence That Shaped Me

My childhood was difficult for me. My parents loved each other very much, and they still do to this day. Yet they lacked the emotional understanding to express that love in a way that felt safe or healing. My mother would move between fawn and fight, always trying to be everything for everyone. My father lived in flight and fight, searching for peace but never knowing how to rest in it. She often felt unseen, unheard, and undervalued. He felt unloved and unappreciated. Their pain met in the middle, creating a storm of emotional instability, suppression, and chaos.

My love language has always been communication. I am a verbal processor. Growing up in a home where silence kept the peace was incredibly painful. We were not allowed to talk about our feelings or speak the truth of our lived experience. Questioning the way things were felt dangerous, so we learned to hold it all in.

The Fear of Repetition

When I learned I was pregnant with Julian, fear washed over me. I said I did not like children, but beneath that claim lived a deeper truth. I was afraid of becoming the kind of parent I had known. I had never witnessed love that felt calm or safe. My parents loved deeply, yet their love was bound by pain, reactive and conditional. I was terrified of repeating what I had spent my life trying to heal.

I was clairsentient and claircognizant, able to feel what others carried and to know truths they could not yet name. My body absorbed emotion like language. My mind received knowing before words could form. I absorbed the sorrow, shame, and fear that lingered unspoken between us, believing it belonged to me. The anger, the doubt, the ache of unworthiness, I carried it all as if it were my own. Only later did I understand that much of what I held was never mine. It was the weight of my parents’ emotions living in my body, waiting to be released through love.

Choosing to End the Pattern

My father showed love through success. He built a life from nothing, earned his degree, and acquired and owned his own real estate office. Yet the more he achieved, the more restless he became. I felt it as a child, that unspoken message that nothing was ever enough.

My mother’s love came through control. She wanted to protect me from pain, but in doing so she kept me from freedom. The more I grew into myself, the more distance grew between us. She feared losing me. I feared losing who I was.

Through my spiritual studies at the Spiritual Arts Institute, I learned a truth that changed everything. All love comes from God. We are only the vessels through which that love flows. When love passes through pain, it becomes distorted, conditional, withholding, demanding. My parents did not lack love. They lacked the space to let divine love move through them.

A New Way to Love

When Julian was born, I made a vow to love differently. I would not control. I would not withhold. I would not let fear decide how affection was expressed. I would love my children for who they are, not what they do. I would become a clear and open channel for divine love.

That decision began the true work of healing my lineage. I started speaking my truth to my parents, first softly, then with greater strength. I told them what I had needed as a child, what I had felt but never said. I told them that I knew they loved me, yet love without awareness can still hurt.

Some conversations broke us open. My mother cried. My father retreated. Still, I stayed anchored in compassion. Healing is not about winning. It is about remembering that love is stronger than fear.

Rebuilding Through Truth

Over time, something sacred shifted. The walls fell. My father began to see me not only as his daughter but as a woman helping him understand love in its purest form. My mother softened. We stopped pretending and began seeing each other as we truly were.

Our relationship now rests on truth. We speak honestly. We listen fully. We honor boundaries. We laugh more. We forgive faster. The connection between us is not perfect, but it is real, built on honesty and a shared desire to love better.

I became the teacher my parents never had. Not through authority, but through presence. Through patience. Through love that expects nothing and heals everything it touches.

The Heart of Generational Healing

This is not a story about tolerating harm or romanticizing pain. It is about truth, the kind that cleanses and restores. We cannot heal what we will not face. Truth is the light that returns love to its original purity.

Healing a family line is not about fixing anyone. It is about becoming the energy that invites others into their own wholeness. When we live from that place, those who raised us begin to find their way back to love.

Closing Reflection

I hold deep gratitude for my parents and for the imperfect love that became my greatest teacher. Through truth and compassion, I have learned that love is not a static language. It is alive. It grows as we do.

We are each finding our way back to it, one honest conversation, one softened heart at a time.

All love comes from God. The more we clear what distorts it, the more freely it flows through us, back to where it belongs.

With so much love and gratitude, Luz Maria Campuzano