BREAKING CYCLES: The Work of a Lifetime, the Healing of a Lineage

For many of us on the path of self-healing, there comes a moment when we realize the pain we carry didn’t start with us. Whether you can trace it back to a parent, a grand-parent, or even a great-grand-parent, sometimes you will find that you are the way you are, because your mom or dad is the way they are, and they are that way, because of their own parents, and so on.

Now I know I feel like I’m stating the obvious. DNA obviously shapes you. Epigenetics as well.

And while it might just mean you get your mom’s eyes and your dad’s penchant for spicy foods, it could also mean taking on her anger and fear, or his silence and anxiety, without even realizing it.

While we’re touching on trauma being inherited at a cellular level, it can also be discovered at the psychological level, or rather, in the events and environments that lead to psychological distress. It can be found in a dysregulated home, in a violent home, in a “we don’t talk about those things” home, in an abusive home, in a hollow home.

Maybe it’s a deep-rooted fear of abandonment.
Maybe it’s a tendency to over-function, over-give, or self-abandon.
Maybe it’s a nervous system that’s always on edge, even when things are "fine."

And if you’re like me, then maybe, for a long time, you thought you were the problem.

But when we zoom out, we begin to see something bigger: We’re not just healing ourselves—we’re interrupting generational trauma.

What Is Generational Trauma?

Generational trauma, sometimes called intergenerational or ancestral trauma, is the transmission of pain—emotional, psychological, and sometimes physical—passed down through families. 

It can show up in families with histories of abuse, addiction, war, poverty, neglect, racism, or emotional suppression.

And it’s not always about what was done to us—sometimes it’s about what we never received.

I’ll give you an example. And please note, while some of this may seem vague, it is because I am about to tell you a story that is not just mine to tell.

In my own home, growing up, there was Big Love, but there was also Big Fear. There was a LOT of uncertainty… Are mom and dad going to fight today? Is something going to get thrown? Is someone going to scream? Am I going to get blamed for something I didn’t do? Am I going to get screamed at? Am I going to be ignored? Are my feelings going to be swept under a rug? Are things getting slammed today? Are the neighbors going to knock to see what’s going on? Am I going to be able to escape to a friend’s house? What’s coming?

Sometimes, from my room, I would listen intently to the sounds around the house… Was mom moving with ease, or slamming cabinets? Was she laughing, or cursing under her breath? I needed to be prepared, so I was always vigilant.

In many ways, growing up in that household was easy. I came from a mixed-race, middle-class family, living in the northern ‘burbs of Cincinnati. I had the privilege of going to a private school, and I lived in a neighborhood where I could walk around after dark without fear. I had big Christmases, family reunions and a full belly every night. I had friends. I had toys. I had a TV, and CDs. I had a computer in my room from the time I was 6 or 7. I had lots of stuff. And it was the 90s, so there was lots of stuff to have. I want to make a joke here about blow-up furniture and black lights, but I won’t digress.

(Side note: As a child I found safety in a lot of that stuff, and it is part of why I still struggle with consumerism today. It’s quicker to find safety in stuff than in myself because I was wired to find safety in stuff during scary times, again and again and again.)

But in many ways, growing up in that household was also extremely difficult. On the outside things looked peachy-keen, but on the inside, at least for me, it felt like everything was regularly falling apart.

When my mom wasn’t showering me with praise or gifts, she was screaming at me, or fighting with me. If I wasn’t special and deserving of everything, I was an “ungrateful, selfish bitch.” And when she wasn’t yelling at me, she was yelling at, or fighting with, my step-dad.

So I would hide in my room if I could. Or outside. I always wanted to leave the house.

And when I couldn’t leave the house, I would escape to the Internet. Books. TV. Movies. Dance parties with my dolls, and camping with my stuffed animals. Make-believe.

And if I couldn’t run there, I’d just… sleep.

And I blamed her for it entirely.

I hated her. But I also loved her. 

And it wasn’t until I started doing healing work that I realized that my hate came from a place of grief… Of wanting something different… someone different… Of wanting connection, comfort, and safety. Of wanting someone to confide in. Someone to hold space for me. A stable, and emotionally available parent…

As I got older though, and as I started doing healing work, I learned about our past, and could finally see the entire picture…

My mom wasn’t just being angry, and mean. And it wasn’t on purpose. And it wasn’t about me. She was just unavailable.

She was hurting, and she was in survival mode because she was over-stimulated and regularly being triggered by a child with big feelings, and lots of needs. And I was triggered because she was unwilling to process, or heal, or grow from her own traumatic past. 

Because her father was the same way.

Because his mother… was the same way.

Because her family… had bigger shit to worry about. Like putting food on the table for eleven children. Working the fields. Surviving.

Neglect led to unimaginable pain that, unhealed, led to unimaginable violence, that, unhealed, led to massive disconnection. And I just couldn’t articulate any of it yet.

Neither could she.

Neither could he.

Our family trauma shifted and morphed and changed hands, and looked different each time… but it was there. And no one had the words to explain it, or the capacity to heal it.

This is how generational trauma is passed down from one family member to the next, and the next.

Hurt people, hurt people.

Unhealed people, do unhinged things.

Until someone says, “ENOUGH.”

Sometimes I would get a glimpse of the mother I needed, though.

We’d laugh, and we’d share, and we’d connect, and I would HOPE, and then…

SNAP. Something would trigger my mom, and the dream would all fall apart.

Leaving me wondering: What was wrong with me? Why wouldn’t she change for me? Why wasn’t I enough?

But most importantly… Was this ever going to change? And… How could I be the one to change it?

Breaking a Cycle Means More Than Just “Being Different”

As you can imagine, this is the kind of trauma that lives in everyone that it touches. And it doesn’t just live on in their minds like a bad memory, it lives on in their bodies.

“Traumatized people chronically feel unsafe inside their bodies: The past is alive in the form of gnawing interior discomfort. Their bodies are constantly bombarded by visceral warning signs, and, in an attempt to control these processes, they often become expert at ignoring their gut feelings and in numbing awareness of what is played out inside. They learn to hide from their selves.” (p.97)”

― Bessel A. van der Kolk, The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma

I don’t know that I will ever be fully okay around loud, abrupt noises. I don’t know that I will ever stop fully assessing the energy of the rooms I walk into, the slight shift in vocal tone of a friend, or the body language that just screams, “I’m about to have a B.F.”

I’m gonna keep trying, that’s for sure! But it lives in me nonetheless.

Because breaking the cycle is more than just “doing differently,” and while I’ve done a lot of healing work, and I’m here to tell you all about it, there is always more healing work to do.

It’s not just about parenting your kids differently, though I certainly will.
It’s not just about going to therapy or journaling your way through pain, though I certainly continue to do this work.
It’s not just about setting boundaries, though, that one has gotten easier as well.

All of those are important—but here’s the deeper truth: Breaking a generational cycle means healing wounds your lineage never had the space, support, or language to heal.

It’s feeling the grief my mother never would.
It’s naming what my grandmother couldn’t say out loud.
It’s choosing to become conscious where generations before me had to stay in survival mode.

I won’t be the last person to tell you this, but… you can absolutely get out of survival mode.

And stopping to wonder… “How can I be the one to change this?” is just the first step.

I wish I could tell you this all went smoothly. It didn’t. Of course.

It really and truly began when I was 26. I was at a mother/daughter type of event for my best girlfriend’s bridal shower. And once again… my mom had chosen work over making time, and space to be there. At the last minute. Via text. While I sat waiting for her arrival.

I’m not going to lie to you, or wrap this up with a cute bow, y’all… I lost my fucking mind that day.

The pain I felt from that rejection was so visceral because it was public, and it was the last straw in a large pile of metaphorical straws that started building up when I was five, and she cancelled my birthday party… at the last minute. And while I know that sounds like some childish shit… that’s because it is.

Unhealed Parts of ourselves are almost always still children, and in that moment, Little Leah was bleeding out all over the floor. 

So a few other Parts (that I wasn’t aware of until I did IFS therapy) showed up to help by… sending deeply hateful verbiage to the tune of “Get The Fuck Out of My Life.”

And I meant it. I know some people can’t understand that.

“She’s your mom!”

Even in hindsight, it was the right thing to do at the time, because what I needed more than anything was one: to set a boundary, and two: to get down to healing. And I needed to create real space to do that work.

The years, yes, years, that followed were the hardest in the bunch.

Wanting to respond to the millions of messages and calls but having to just, not do it… sometimes I felt vindicated, but other times sticking to the boundary made me feel sick. I grieved. I raged.

Yet I pressed on, held my ground, and called my therapist…

The Invisible Labor of Healing

Doing this work is often lonely. It’s rarely celebrated. And it requires tremendous courage.

You may very well be the first person in your family to:

• Go no-contact or low-contact with abusive relatives like I did.

• Talk openly about trauma, therapy, or mental health, like we’re doing here.

• Rest without guilt, which you’re going to feel the need to do once you get into the emotional labor required to heal your past.

• Choose peace over people-pleasing. Ugh, so rough!

• Say “this ends with me.”

Oh, and no one throws you a parade. There is no party. In fact, it might feel like your life is falling apart before it really does start to get better.

I spent just over two whole years actively avoiding and not speaking to my mother.

I avoided family functions.

I didn’t call.

I deleted messages.

I wrote letters in my journal that I never sent.

And I got into therapy.

In therapy I went back into my past with EMDR and relived excruciating moments of rejection, neglect, and loneliness. I grieved for the mother she wasn’t. I wept for the person I didn’t get to be because of it. I got angry. I laughed. I cried some more.

This went on for months.

And then we dove into IFS… Where I got to meet Little Leah, and do Inner Child Work, and Inner Teen Work, and finally start to not just SEE the whole picture, but FEEL the whole picture…

I wept for Little Mom. Felt the fear and the pain she must have felt.

I wept for grand-dad. And the loneliness that must’ve turned into his anger.

I wept for my grandma, and how she must’ve felt not only afraid, but lost, and completely alone.

And then I looked up, and one day, after many many days, it all didn’t hurt so bad, because…

“The wound is where the light enters you.” - Rumi

What Helps When the Work Feels Heavy

Breaking trauma cycles isn’t about doing it all perfectly. It’s just about showing up for the work again and again—with honesty, compassion, and support.

Don’t skip therapy.

Don’t skip journaling it out.

Don’t skip the somatic work.

Don’t skip the meditation.

There are a ton of practices that can support you on this journey! You just have to do them.

Here are a few that helped me the most:

• Name What Happened. Truth-telling is powerful medicine. It breaks shame’s grip because shame and empathy cannot coexist. Plus, you cannot heal what you do not reveal, whether it be to yourself, or a therapist.

• Let Yourself Grieve. You’re not just grieving what happened—you may be grieving what never did. You may be grieving for others. You may have to grieve the you that you never got to be. You may have to grieve the version of you that is now DYING in this healing process, so that you can become new. There is a lot of grief to process. Don’t skip it.

• Regulate Your Nervous System. Trauma is stored in the body. Of this I am most certain. Tools like breathwork, somatic therapy, EFT (tapping - my FAVE), or hot/cold therapy can help bring you home to yourself.

• Reparent Yourself. Hardest part. Still ongoing. Probably never ends. Buckle up. Meet the unmet needs. Become the safe caregiver you never had.

• Lean Into Community. Healing in isolation is realllllly fucking hard. Some parts certainly need to be done alone, or just you and your therapist. But community is important later. Safe, supportive spaces like a church, or a mastermind container, or group therapy like AA, or even our Full Circle Wellness community, can make the journey lighter, and serve as a constant reminder that you are never alone in this.

• Celebrate your progress. No step is too small. Let me say that again… NO. STEP. IS. TOO. SMALL. Take them all. Take note. Give yourself the kudos. Because healing is sacred.

A Final Note: You Are the Breaker of Chains, Khaleesi

If you’re doing this work, even quietly, even imperfectly, even in the midst of chaos—you are rewriting the story.

There is never a perfect time. Never a perfect setting. You just have to start where you can, with what little you may or may not have, and START.

And while it may not always feel like it, you are deeply worthy of love, of rest, of joy, and of peace.

And I firmly believe you will find it.

Because if you are choosing to break cycles…

You are the pivot point in your lineage.
You are the bridge between what was and what can be.
You are healing backwards and forwards.

And that, my friend, is holy work.

After a couple of years on my own, I finally called her back.

I felt whole enough to finally hold space to see if we could develop a new kind of relationship… and in no way was I sure of what that could look like, yet.

I was 28.

And at some point I had the realization that my mom had me when she was 28.

And in that moment I saw the full circle…

I couldn’t have done it at that stage in my life. I wouldn’t have been equipped. I would have failed in all of the same ways.

But she did it. And despite all of the ways in which she failed me.

In other ways she succeeded.

Or I wouldn’t have been able to call her back and say, “I’m sorry. I forgive you. I love you.”

Turns out, while I was gone, she did a little healing of her own.**

And now we have each other, a lot more whole than when we started.

Onward,
Leah

** p.s. This outcome was something I never thought would happen, I’m not going to lie to you. I am batshit grateful, and mystified to see how my healing has rippled through my family. It invited my mother to do therapy, too. It invited big conversations with multiple family members, who have also since taken up the healing baton. Forwards, and backwards my friends. I can NOT promise that those who have hurt you are going to see it, apologize, or jump on the healing bandwagon. You may never get the apology, or the closure, or the reconnection. It happens that way. But it can also happen the way it’s happened for me. Regardless, healing is FOR YOU. Don’t let your hope for the other people involve stop you from healing YOU. Whether or not we were able to reconcile, I would have done what I did, and stepped into a different future for myself. I’m just one of the lucky ones who got to see her momma heal too.