I Carried My Mother’s Pain Until I Realized It Was Never Mine to Hold
There were often times where I used to think I was just “emotional” or “too sensitive.” But the truth was deeper, heavier, and older than me. You see, what I carried wasn’t just my own pain. It was my mother’s. And it was her mother’s. This pain ran through generations like a river, silent, powerful, and destructive. I didn’t know it had a name until I was grown. A name I would become all too familiar with…generational trauma. No, I’m not a therapist and I am not a scholar. Simply, I'm just a woman who finally decided to stop pretending she was okay. The First Time I Saw the Pattern My healing journey didn’t begin with a self-help book or a wellness retreat. It began with my daughter. She was only five when I caught myself yelling at her the same way my mother used to yell at me, loud, sharp, unpredictable. She flinched, and something in me completely shattered. I saw fear in her eyes, and it felt too familiar. It was the same fear I experienced and knew all too well. And in that ...