From a very young age, I always felt like I was different.
Not in the “special” or “gifted” way people sometimes romanticize, but in a way that made me feel out of place, like I didn’t quite belong, even within my own family. I carried a heaviness I couldn’t explain, a quiet sadness that clung to me even in moments that should have felt joyful. While other kids were carefree, I was always cautious. While others laughed loudly, I hesitated, constantly scanning for signs that something might go wrong.
Back then, I didn’t have the language for what I was experiencing. But now I know what it was: generational trauma.
I was born into a lineage marked by pain, silence, and survival. There were stories my family never told, but somehow, I still knew them. I could feel them in the way love was often laced with fear. I saw them in the patterns of anger, avoidance, and control. I felt them in the expectations placed on me, to be strong, to not complain, to be the one who holds everything together.
I remember being a child, barely in elementary school, and feeling responsible for the emotions of the adults around me. I picked up on every shift in energy, every raised voice, every door slammed in frustration. I didn’t know then that I was absorbing more than just the atmosphere, I was absorbing the unresolved wounds of those who came before me.
That deep-rooted anxiety, the constant need to perform and please, the inability to rest without guilt, it wasn’t just mine. It had been passed down like a family heirloom, inherited without my consent.
Recognizing this truth was painful, but it was also liberating.
I realized I wasn’t broken, I was burdened. I wasn’t too sensitive, I was attuned to pain that had never been named. And once I gave it a name, everything began to shift. Understanding generational trauma helped me extend compassion to the parts of myself that always felt “off.” It helped me see my difference not as a defect, but as a signal, a call to do things differently, to break the cycle.
If you’ve ever felt like you were carrying more than just your own pain, you’re not alone. And you’re not crazy. Sometimes the first step toward healing is recognizing that what you’re feeling didn’t start with you, but it can end with you.
And that’s the legacy I choose to create. One of awareness, healing, and freedom.
Her Legacy Unchained.
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