When I cried with Rapé for everything I couldn’t say to my father 💧

💧 When the words got stuck

Rapé for ancestral healing came into my life like unexpected medicine. I wasn’t searching for it, but I needed it. There were words I never said, emotions I had buried, and invisible wounds between my father and me. What I couldn’t tell him… I cried with Rapé.

There are silences that hurt more than shouting. Words that never came out. Eyes that couldn’t really meet. My relationship with my father was a constant dance between distance and effort. Between love that didn’t know how to show itself, and resentment that didn’t know how to let go.

When he died, I didn’t just feel sadness. I felt confusion. A knot inside me—everything left unsaid, all the unfinished conversations, the missing hugs, the unforgiven mistakes. It all stayed there, heavy.

And no matter how much I tried to close that chapter with my mind… my soul couldn’t release it.
Until Rapé arrived.

🧍‍♂️ My relationship with my father before Rapé

It wasn’t an easy relationship. My father was a tough man, shaped by his own wounds. He believed that showing emotion was weakness. He preferred silence over conflict, and authority over tenderness.

I, on the other hand, was all hidden emotion. Always looking for a sign of approval, a look that said I see you, a word to ease the fear. But those signs rarely came.

I held onto anger for years. Then guilt. Then a quiet resignation. I loved him. I needed him. But I also judged him. And when he was gone… all that stayed inside me.

🌬️ The day I cried with Rapé for him

It wasn’t planned. I was attending a Rapé ceremony to release physical tension. I didn’t expect to meet him. But the medicine, as always, knew better.

As soon as I received the blow, I began to tremble. A weight landed in my chest, like a stone trying to leave my heart. I closed my eyes… and there he was. Not exactly as I remembered, but as a presence—immense, silent, full of something unresolved.

And then I cried. Not just a few tears. I cried for everything I never said. For what I held in. For what hurt. I cried for him, for me, for our broken lineage.

It wasn’t ordinary crying. It was ritual crying. Soul crying. A weeping that cleansed generations.

🌀 Visions, memories, and all we never said

Rapé took me into a space of memories. But they weren’t mental memories—they were somatic, visceral. I felt my inner child waiting for a gesture of affection. I saw my father as a young man, also afraid, also wounded, unknowingly repeating what he had once received.

I saw scenes that never happened, but could have. Him telling me he loved me. Me hugging him without fear. I felt our emotions flowing through me at the same time. It was like the medicine lent me its eyes to see what had always been there, behind the masks.

And then, one sentence echoed deep within me: It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t his either.

That changed everything.

No words were spoken aloud. But so much was said. Rapé opened a channel—soul to soul—where understanding didn’t need language, and forgiveness didn’t require explanation. It was pure vibration. Pure release.

🕯️ A ritual to close and release

After that experience, I felt the need to create a specific ritual for him. I did it one Sunday morning. I placed a photo of him, lit a white candle, and prepared the Rapé with deep reverence.

Before the blow, I wrote a letter. I spoke to him like never before—from my truth, without masks, without blame, without fear. I told him what had hurt me. I thanked him for what he had given, even if it was little. I asked for forgiveness. I forgave him.

And then… I blew.

The medicine came down like a river. I knelt before his image. I cried—not out of grief, but out of surrender. I felt something break… and at the same time, something align.

Since that day, something inside me settled. No more resentment. No more empty space. Just a calm, open place where his energy can be present—without harming, without burdening, simply accompanying.🌿

🌕 Conclusion: healing the lineage, healing the soul

Our relationship with our parents doesn’t end with death. Nor with silence. It lives in the body, in the memories, in the emotions we never processed. And sometimes, only a living medicine can give voice to what was trapped.

Rapé for ancestral healing showed me that not everything unsaid is lost. That there are ways to communicate beyond time. That honoring the lineage doesn’t mean idealizing it—but healing it, from the present moment.

💚 If you feel something is still pending with your father—whether he’s alive or not—Rapé might become the sacred channel you need. Not to revive the pain, but to free its energy and recover your own.

Today I can say I forgave him. I forgave myself. And the weight I carried… no longer belongs to me. I gave it back to the Earth. I turned it into strength. Into root.

Because when we heal the lineage, we also heal the soul.

❓ FAQ – Rapé and ancestral connection

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