Like so many of my healing, big duh, “do-over” moments in life, this one begins with a conversation with my mother.

Back in 2011, I’d given my mother the manuscript of Inspired & Unstoppable: Wildly Succeeding in Your Life’s Work! (my second book) and like any self-respecting, neurotic writer, I chewed my own body parts and awaited her feedback.

It didn’t come. Finally, I ask her one day “Did you read my book?” My mother mumbled, “Yes, yes, I did.” Huh. Might be nice to know, I thought.

My mother loved to read. She read romance novels, big plastic-covered books from the library. And she stocked paperbacks in her closet, in case she ran out of library books. So, I was kind of shocked when she hadn’t read my book in a flash.

“Well?” I asked. “Well, what?” she replied. Truly clueless. “What did you think?” I ask. I could feel myself begin to spiral. This is wrong. I feel like I’m begging. Fishing for compliments with a hook the size of Brooklyn. Oh, hell, I’m not fishing for compliments. I’m cornering her for them.

Finally, my mother answers and gives me this feedback about my book. “Oh, I liked the quotes you used at the top of each chapter.” And then she goes on to tell me more important things like how Marge, at the coffee klatch, liked her new blue pantsuit, the one from Kohls.

And how Marge’s daughter, who I do not know, because I don’t even know Marge, was traveling to Wisconsin next month. Naturally, I’m just overjoyed to hear about Marge’s fabulous daughter instead of anything about me… my mother’s fabulous daughter. I feel myself begin to disappear, word by word.

The conversation stays with me, a bit like a bruise. It’s tender when I poke at it to see if it still bothers me. Finally, I realize why it rattles me so much. It wasn’t just the fact that my mother didn’t seem to have a shred of interest in talking to me about my life’s work.

But it’s also this. It’s what I tell my friend, later that week. “She loved the quotations in my book, she said. That’s like actually saying, you know any word that you didn’t write, now, that’s what I loved! WOW, those other writers were really something else. In fact, out of your entire book, that you spent 6 years writing, the only thing that’s worth commenting on, and only if you push me, mind you, is every word that you didn’t write.”

My friend giggles and says, “Oh honey. Well, now that you put it that way, I can see why you’re upset.” And the story I don’t mention to my friend is the real story I’ve been telling myself. The one set to continuous repeat: My mother doesn’t see me. She doesn’t get me. And the deeper sting, an interpretation from my inner little girl: My mother doesn’t love me.

I believed this story. I really did.

But I see this story differently now. I’ll tell you how.

I’ve worked with the spiritual mindset-training of A Course in Miracles for decades now. It has helped me develop self-confidence and a feeling of preciousness for all of my life, including the challenging parts. The more I let go of self-judgment, the more I open to bigger possibilities all around me. I am less needy. I am present.