In new age circles, it is somewhat clichéd to say that we should release the things that do not serve us. The phrase strikes the listener as a "Duh" statement: "Of course we should release the things that do not serve us. Obviously." As such, it becomes the equivalent of white noise. We hear the words, we agree automatically without thinking about it, and we shove the concept aside. It's right up there with the phrase, "I need to learn to love myself" in terms of both its overuse and our ability to turn the meaning of the words into abstract sounds that have no meaning at all.

I will be the first to raise my hand and say that, yes, I gave these words lip service. I really believed that I knew how to release the things I needed to, gracefully, easily. But now I must be the first to say that I didn't know the meaning of any of it until 2008, a year that will forever be a turning point for me.

Typically, when we think of the things that we need to release, we think of the job we hate, old resentments, or obligations that do not leave enough time left for ourselves or our family. All of these are valid things to want to release. But they may not go deep enough.

We can quit the job we hate, and pursue our heart's desire. We can meditate and use affirmations to release old resentments. We can resign from those activities that simply make us crazy. In that regard, these are relatively easy things to let go of. But what if the thing that we need to release is a friend? What if it's your spouse? What if it's your parents?

These words generally make people want to flee the room, muttering something about having taxes to prepare. Cleaning the toilet looks fun compared with answering these tough questions. I know. I've had to ask them myself.

In my first marriage, I knew I would end up leaving. I had settled. He was holding me back, in every aspect of my life. And, clearly, I married him to work out my issues with my father. They were very similar. Even knowing this, I agonized over this question for years. I consulted psychics. I did countless Tarot readings for myself. Should I go? Should I stay? And what I've learned is, if you have to ask the question, and if you keep asking the question, then the answer is, "Yes, you need to go." Nonetheless, I stayed for a number of years. It wasn't until I met my soul mate that I finally left. And it was hard, even though I wanted to go. But having a reason to go—my soul mate—made the decision a no-brainer. Really, it was the coward's way out. If you're unhappy in your marriage, don't wait for a soul mate to appear. You may have to leave the marriage to find your soul mate at all. Your current spouse may be blocking your soul mate from coming in. Mine is an unusual case, and in that, I was lucky. It made it easier for me.

So, with that Hard Thing to release under my belt, I was done, right? Not quite.

It is certainly true that friendships can drift apart. People change. People heal. The old dynamic that keeps friends together can shift, and a parting of the ways is necessary, and healthy. New friends come in who are more in tune with who we are today. While we may mourn the exit of those we love from our lives, the new relationships act as a balm, and we get through the change in castmembers fairly gracefully. But if the person who needs to leave us is in our own family, this situation becomes exponentially more difficult.

We grow up believing that our parents are gods. From a child's perspective, they are our gods for many years. A fortunate child will have loving, nurturing parents. An unfortunate child will have toxic parents who cannot meet their needs and may be abusive. For many children, their parents fall somewhere in the middle.

In western society, and probably most of the world, the parent is the final authority. "Honor they father and thy mother," commands the western Judaeo-Christian god. And if they smack you around or tell you constantly that you're worthless, then they must be right to do so.

For the child of toxic parents, the one thing they may need to release more than any other is their parents. It took nearly 40 years, but I have finally come to this understanding for myself.

The hard part is knowing that your parents are toxic. They raised you, and this is all you've ever known. What does a "normal" family look like? A happy family? How would you know? I certainly didn't. My parents told me frequently what great parents they were. Wasn't I a lucky kid to have such great parents! And they weren't the worst. Physical abuse and neglect was present, but fairly minor. For me, the damage was largely emotional and verbal. This is the most insidious, because it leaves no mark, and it's easy for a child to rationalize it and defend the parents. After all, who wants to admit that the people who are supposed to love you more than anyone else are probably your worst enemies?

By the time I reached my 20s, I knew that I was angry at my parents, but I did not understand why. I literally couldn't figure it out. They were such great parents! They must be. They said so themselves! What the heck?

When I started the healing process at 28, I visited a sound healer who worked on me. She kept saying, "Oh my gosh, what happened to you? Who did this to you?" She was seeing my rage, sadness, and pain in my energy. And I had no idea what she was talking about. It's not that I disbelieved her. I just couldn't figure out why it was there, or who had "done it."

It wasn't until I met my wife that I really started to understand how toxic my parents are. She has worked in social services, and her mother was a counselor, so she could see what I could not. When I first described my mother to my wife, she thought I was exaggerating. I can understand this. People with "normal" parents think you're just kvetching and laying it on a bit thick because you had a fight with your mother, and you want to paint her in a bad light. I wasn't doing that. I was just telling it as it was. And then my wife met my mother. And then she got to know my mother, and my father. And then she got it.

After one mercifully short visit from my parents, my wife suggested that my mother might have a personality disorder. The idea blew my mind. My mother with a mental illness? Really? This isn't normal, then? So I started to read up on it. Suddenly, everything clicked into place. At long last, my mother's behavior made a sort of sense. And my father's, too. He had married his mother, and his anger at his mother had carried over into his marriage. He was also a classic enabler, and he sided with her in all things. I now had the tools I needed to step back and look at my parents objectively, as adult human beings.

With this new understanding of my mother, I knew that there was no cure for how she was. Within the parameters that I had, though, I worked very hard to have some sort of a relationship. I had just had my children, and these were their grandparents, after all. I learned how to talk to her in less confrontational ways. I had reached the place in my healing where I absolutely had to stand up for myself and let her know when she was hurting me, or when her behavior was unacceptable. I did so, using "I" statements: "I feel this when you do that," or, "I feel really disrespected, and it is not ok to do this in front of my child."

At first, I thought it could work. But the nature of my mother's illness is such that she literally could not hear what I was saying to her. The truth was too painful for her to bear, so her behavior actually got worse. She became more irrational, angry, and, well, mean. She could not understand where her daughter had gone. "We used to be so close," she cried. Which wasn't true, actually.

Growing up, I had learned that my real self was not welcome in our home. Showing my real self was risky business, and it could earn me a rageful outburst from my father, swift denial from my mother, or any form of criticism and humiliation from both. So the person she knew as a child and young adult was not me at all. As I stepped into my power and began to speak my truth in my 30s, she simply did not recognize me any more, and she threw me under the bus with astonishing speed.

The last time my parents visited me, the situation had gotten so bad that my mother was actively trying to undermine our authority with our own children. We'd say "white," and she'd say, "black." The house was filled with her seething anger at me. She even called me Hitler at one point. I pointed out how insulting that was, and she said she didn't think it was an insult. My mother may have wondered where her "real" daughter went, but I was seeing a side of my mother that was scary and confusing. I was amazed at the transformation.

I can now look back and see that the more I healed from my toxic upbringing, the more I embodied my own truth, the worse my mother became. And as a corollary, so did my father, still defending his wife at all costs to protect himself from her anger and venom.

When my parents left for the last time, I knew that they could not return. My own family was in turmoil. My wife and I had been treated disrespectfully in our own home. My mother's attempts to turn our daughter against us were intolerable and resulted in behavior issues. It took six weeks of work to get our daughter back to her happy, even keel. And after seven long weeks with my mother, my self-esteem had tanked. I was deeply depressed when they left. It was just unacceptable.

I made the decision to cut off my parents. No child wants to make this decision, but sometimes you have to do what's necessary to protect yourself. I deserved better. And still, I agonized over it. I do not like the thought of causing anyone pain, least of all my parents. But I am not the keeper of their happiness. This was about me, and what I needed.

I did leave one slight opening for them. They may, if they choose, come for a very short visit, and we can all attend family therapy together. I do not believe they will take me up on it, but the door is open. It is the only door that is available to them.

Once I had made this decision, I had to fight the battle of my depression. It was complicated by post-partum hormones, making it worse. I tried acupuncture with some success. I also started to recover parts of my self-esteem that I didn't know I had lost. We joined Weight Watchers, and as of this writing I have lost 40 pounds. I look in the mirror and think, "Hello! I haven't seen you in a long time." I am recovering myself. I am recovering.

I did go to a therapist for a couple of sessions to help myself be at peace with a difficult decision. Cutting off your parents leaves a psychic wound. This wound can and will heal, but it takes time to scab over. I also participated in an online group for adult children of narcissists. Their stories, all similar to mine—I could've written some of them myself—helped me to understand that it was never really about me. There was never anything wrong with me. It was my mother's illness, and my father's enabling of that illness. This interaction brought me more peace than anything. When you realize that you're not alone in what you have experienced, you can heal it more readily.

In my case, one of the Big Things that did not serve me was my parents. It does not serve me to feel disrespected, ridiculed, criticized, and undermined. I deserve better. I literally can no longer tolerate or allow toxic behavior in my home, whether it's directed at me or any other member of my family. So I release my parents, lovingly, sadly, but finally.

My parents gave birth to the physical vessel that I inhabit. They raised me to the best of their ability. I acknowledge and honor these things. I can even send them love and healing—from a distance.

And inside, little Asha is finally happy and healing. It is a journey that will continue.