Breaking Generational Patterns
A journey into unearthing patterns of generational trauma may bring about healing and greater understanding
We were sitting by the pool on a warm, sunny day in early March. My parents were, by then, snowbirds, living in Florida part of the year, and my dad joined me to watch my then-toddler son splashing in the baby pool with its cool blue waters during one of our visits to escape the cold up north.
A moment of joy, quiet and connection in my otherwise over-scheduled life.
As always, when we were together, Daddy and I would engage in long, philosophical conversations about everything ranging from the origins of the universe to how were we getting along financially?
We were kindred in conversations covering the cosmos. I loved these rare moments with my father.
Always looking out for everyone else in the family, he never complained.
"You have no idea how difficult it is living with your mother," he said.
I looked at him, startled. Somehow, I had never considered this possibility. Their marriage, from my perspective, had always been perfect—or so I thought.
By then, my parents had been married almost fifty years, together even longer. I had been out of their house for a decade. I knew my mother could be difficult—petulant when things didn’t go her way. She couldn’t tolerate criticism of any kind.
I had grown up walking on eggshells, ever fearful of saying something that might shut her down in anger.
But I had never questioned the dynamic between them.
Mom had grown up the baby of her family. Overprotected. She was the youngest of six —her oldest brother was 22 when she was born. Her businessman father would joke she was a “dividend for his old age.” An accident.
Even if she didn’t register that consciously, somewhere, deep down, it must have hurt.
And, here, my own beloved father was suffering—still trying to protect his beloved wife from harm—emotional or otherwise. It was just what she expected of him, I guess.
I knew, for Daddy to admit even this much, something serious must have happened between them. I didn’t have a clue.
I wish I‘d had the presence of mind to follow up on that moment. To offer comfort or understanding. But there was the pool and the baby, the pull of safety, the distractions of life, and, perhaps, a deeper fear of what his words might uncover. So I let it pass.
But that tiny shard of truth has followed me ever since, touching my own journey as a daughter, mother and now a grandmother.
When my father died, decades later, the buffer he had provided against my mother’s anxiety and her all-consuming need for control, disappeared. Like a light turning on, I saw how much my life had been shaped around being the "perfect" daughter—the one who always got good grades. An advanced academic degree. The career, the marriage, the “perfect” grandchildren.
Mom set the ground rules for our relationship. I mustn’t criticize or complain. A world best seen through rose-colored glasses.
“Tell me something good, Rob. What are the kids up to?” she would prompt me on our weekly phone calls. By this she meant some amazing accomplishment of theirs she could brag about to the Thursday girls who were regulars at mahjong and at her bridge club with the Saturday girls.
SHUT UP.
Things had to be perfect—or at least have the appearance of perfection. On the rare occasions I might bring up a difficulty or challenge I was facing in my life, she would quickly change the subject.
Her way was the only way. If I persisted in arguing a point, she’d insist she was tired and had to go lie down.
SHUT DOWN.
My brother, by contrast, had chosen a different path. In the late 1960s, he dropped out of college, joined VISTA, and moved to small-town Rock, West Virginia, high up in the Appalachians, to build a school and a church for the local community. I imagined my civic-minded parents must be proud.
He bought land on the mountain, built a cabin with an outhouse. When he publicly protested the Vietnam War, burning draft cards—his own and those of other conscientious objectors to that long, unjust and, ultimately futile war—my mother cut him off.
SHUT OUT.
I quietly idolized him for his independence and courage. But I played by the rules.
All these conflicts, my father tried hard to manage. It was only after his death that I recognized the emotional manipulation that had governed our family. And later still that I understood how my mother’s need for control might have been shaped by her own childhood. She was raised by Ukrainian-Jewish immigrant parents who had fled pogroms and poverty for the promise of safety in America. For them, stability, control, financial success and achievement were everything.
The American dream.
So when the war in Ukraine broke out in February, 2022, I felt an unexpected pull toward my ancestors' story. My grandparents’ flight from terror and poverty had shaped my mother’s worldview—her relentless need for security, for things to be done the "right" way, her way.
And suddenly, the Russian invasion of Ukraine wasn’t just a geopolitical crisis; it was personal.
Now, with my own children raising young families of their own, I am only beginning to unpack how this multi-generational trauma has shaped me, and, by extension, all of us.
The Science of Inherited Trauma
Through the lens of epigenetics, we now know that trauma doesn't just shape our psychology—it leaves imprints on our DNA. Studies have shown that children of Holocaust survivors, for example, carry genetic markers of their parents’ suffering. In another well-documented case, the devastating “Dutch Hunger Winter” of 1944-45 left a legacy of metabolic disorders in the children of those who endured starvation.
Trauma rewires us. A mother too wounded to nurture her child can create patterns of detachment and insecurity that ripple across generations. Chronic stress affects not just mental health, but physical health, increasing risks for heart disease, autoimmune disorders, and more.
Yet there is hope. Science also suggests that with awareness and intention, these patterns can be undone. Practices like gratitude, empathy, and conscious storytelling can rewire the brain, offering an antidote to inherited pain.
Popular Culture and Breaking the Cycle
Generational trauma is no longer a hidden conversation, as it was in my day, and my mother’s, and her mother’s. Films like Everything Everywhere All at Once, Coco, and Encanto explore the weight of inherited pain and the struggle to break free. The documentary Descendant chronicles the discovery of the last slave ship in Mobile, Alabama, illuminating the lingering effects of historical injustice on the families who remained in Africatown, the majority-Black community of their formerly enslaved ancestors.
Meanwhile, younger generations are tackling these stories head-on. TikTok is full of #generationaltrauma posts. For Gen Z and Millennials, speaking openly about mental health isn’t taboo—it’s a necessary step toward healing.
But awareness is only the beginning. Recognizing a pattern doesn’t automatically break it. Choosing a new path, a new interpretation, often brings pain—estrangement, resistance, upheaval. My brother experienced that. So have I.
Difficult to process. But suppressing the truth only ensures that the cycle continues.
Six Keys to Breaking the Pattern: Unearthing a New Story
PLEASE NOTE: I am a storyteller, not a mental health professional. Exploring inherited trauma and rewriting your story can surface deep emotions and difficult memories. If you find yourself struggling with overwhelming feelings or mental health challenges, please seek support from a qualified therapist or counselor. You don’t have to navigate this journey alone.
We have all experienced emotional pain—unseen or misunderstood; being abandoned or betrayed; feeling unloved or unlovable.
With awareness comes a call to change. Understanding the emotional and psychic wounds of my own childhood—and my mother’s, and her mother’s—I dug into ways to see the past with new eyes.
To “re-story”—revise the takeaways from inherited trauma and transmuting it.
I have found six ways that helped me get started in visiting—and revising—my story. Perhaps they will help guide you.
Releasing Memories – sometimes it is painful to summon up years’ or decades’-old memories of childhood. From an adult perspective, we begin to see patterns take shape. I was fortunate to grow up in a nurturing, stable environment. Many of these memories are happy. But revisiting the past also helps me see more about how these experiences shaped my life—in ways both good and bad.
Change Your Own Story – In re-storying, you might journal about newly unlocked memories, as I have been doing. Ask yourself questions like: How has my life been shaped by past traumas? What patterns do I see repeating? Naming them is the first step.
Broaden Your Perspective – Over time, with greater awareness, I have been able to let go of many of these past hurts and slights. You might consider: are the stories you inherited still true for you today? Are they serving you, or are they limiting you?
Reflect on Their Stories – While I regret not asking my father what he was going through that day at the pool, my brother recorded oral histories with both my parents. It has revealing listening back to their stories in their voices. If you have living parents or grandparents, ask about their past. If not, explore family memorabilia. And history. What forces shaped their lives, and in what ways have those forces shaped you?
Embody Empathy – Some of what this process has revealed to me has made me angry. Hurt. Resentful. But I have had to let it go. My parents did they best they could with what they knew at the time. While it is tempting, try not to blame. Understand how past wounds may have driven their actions. Compassion does not mean excusing harm, but it can help you release resentment.
Speak Your Truth with Kindness – If you share your new understanding with loved ones, do it without villainizing. Not everyone will be ready to hear it. Be patient—with your family and, especially, with yourself.
This is a journey. Not everyone in your family will embrace it. Some will resist. Some will never change.
But, equipped with knowledge, self-awareness, and compassion, you may be the one to rewrite the narrative—not just for yourself, but for future generations.
We do not have to pass down pain. We can pass down love.
As for me, I am still working on it. Speaking my truth. Rewriting my old story to reflect something kinder. Something hopeful I can pass down to my grandchildren.
Remembering. . .with love.
Additional Resources
How Intergenerational Trauma Impacts Families – Inherited trauma can leave deep imprints on our well-being.
How to Treat the Wounds to the “Soul” by Jack Saul, Ph.D. – A therapist’s toolbox for grappling with collective trauma.
The Miracle and the Crisis: Embracing Our Evolutionary Moment by Thomas Huebl – Exploring crisis as an evolutionary opportunity for humanity.
I will add that doing this has been a lifelong process.
It's very important to acknowledge this before the healing works could start