The Mother I Was Searching For

I have always been taught, instructed and encouraged by powerful women.

Not by theory, not by philosophy alone. But by lived experience, by presences, by the way they stood in themselves.

My Matriarchal Grandmother

My Matriarchal Grandmother was the first embodiment of this.

She did not need to raise her voice to lead. She did not need to demand respect. She lived it.

Always impeccable in word and deed. The most stylish lady in a 20 km radius — but it was never about appearance. It was about integrity.

There was dignity in how she carried herself. Love in how she held the family. Faith in something greater that anchored her. And a deep, unwavering respect for life, for people, for order and for her Creator.

She ruled the family not through control, but through harmony.

And something in me recognised that early — this is what grounded power looks like.

My Mother

My Mother carried much of this forward. But life had shaped her differently.

Where my grandmother stood in clarity, my mother moved through complexity. Love was present, deeply so, but often intertwined with guilt, shame, fear and at times, emotional blackmail.

She was physically there, but emotionally and mentally she would sometimes disappear.

And this is where my learning deepened — I began to see that love, when entangled with unresolved pain, can become heavy. It can bind instead of free, it can ask instead of give.

And yet — I do not dismiss it. Because even in its distortion, the teaching was still there. The lineage was still moving.

My Aunt Irene

And alongside her, another presence stood quietly. My Aunt Irene.

She stood on the sidelines, always watching, always aware.

Comforting. Advising. Loving.

She did not need to be at the centre to have impact. In many ways, she was the centre, just without the announcement.

She had a thirst for knowledge, a wicked sense of humour and a way of calling a spade a spade… and then explaining why it was a spade.

There was no hiding around her. Not because she exposed you, but because she could already see you.

She would offer comfort in one breath, and truth in the next, often wrapped in humour just sharp enough to land and soft enough to stay.

Through her, I experienced another face of the Mother:

The one who watches without interfering.
The one who tells the truth without dressing it up.
The one who lets you figure it out — but makes sure you don't lie to yourself along the way.

My Sister

My Sister became something else entirely. Not just a sibling but a second mother, a safe harbour in an extremely stormy ocean.

With her, there is simplicity. I do not need to filter, I do not need to perform. I can bring my truth, raw, unprocessed, unfinished and she knows how to hold it.

Not fix it. Not judge it. Not reshape it. Hold it.

And through her, I came to understand something essential — safety is not about control. It is about being met as you are.

Miss Galloway

Then there was my high school English teacher, Miss Galloway.

At a time when I was still finding my place, she did something simple but profound.

She saw me. She heard me. She engaged with me from a place of respect.

Not as a student to be managed, but as a person to be met. And that changed something. Because when someone sees you without needing to change you, you begin to step forward in a different way. You begin to trust your own voice.

The Search

My spiritual path continued this pattern. Every guide, every teacher who has truly shaped me has been a woman.

They did not just offer me a system to follow, they offered me a mirror to stand in. They held me when I could not hold myself, they challenged me when I wanted to stay comfortable and they walked with me as I faced wounds I had avoided for years.

And slowly, something began to reveal itself. My search was never just for guidance.

It was for the Mother.

Not necessarily the one I had. But the one I believed I needed. The one I thought I deserved. A presence that could hold without condition, a love that did not manipulate, a space where I could be fully seen and still belong.

And life, in its own way, responded. It did not give me one version of that Mother. It gave me many.

Every guide, every teacher who has truly shaped me has been a woman:

Jenny Churr — Breath-work
Wendy Sefor — The Quest Institute
Bev Wilkinson — Postural Integration
Silke Zhile — Postural Integration
Maryna Fuss — The Academy for Future Science
Tanja Myburgh — Family Constellations
Helene van Diemen — Core Regeneration

Each woman carried a different aspect:

The Mother who leads.
The Mother who struggles.
The Mother who holds.
The Mother who sees.
The Mother who challenges.
The Mother who transforms.

And now, also, the Mother who speaks plainly.

The Mother who observes quietly.

The Mother who tells the truth, even when it is uncomfortable.

What I Found

And through these reflections, a deeper truth has begun to settle in me:

What I was searching for outside of myself, was being shaped within me all along.

So this is not just a story of gratitude. It is a recognition of formation, of influence, of becoming.

I THANK THEM.

For what they gave.
For what they could not give.
And for what their presence revealed in me.

I HONOUR THEM.

Not as something separate from me, but as part of what has shaped the man I am becoming.

And I remember.

Because in remembering, I integrate.

And in that integration, the Mother I was searching for begins to live through me.

Honourable mentions:
Lindi Dawson, Tracy Paul, Agnesia Agrella, Leah Sefor, Rika Joubert, Lisa de Beer, Yolandi van den Berg, Paola Wulfsohn, Sky Jensen, Susan Botha, Elmi Du Toit, Rabia Mehri, Mirriam Mdlokomo

Explore our offerings or read about how SomaGiri utilises Family Constellation Therapy.