“Transgenerational trauma refers to a type of trauma that does not end with the individual. Instead, it lingers and gnaws through one generation to the next. Families with a history of unresolved trauma, depression, anxiety, and addiction may continue to pass maladaptive coping strategies and distrustful views of life onto future generations. In this way, one can repeat the same patterns and attitudes of former generations, regardless of whether they are healthy or not.” (Psychology Today, 2021).
There’s a larger conversation that we could have around generational trauma. But I’d like to highlight one facet of it in particular. One that I will not pass onto my children. It will not become generational, though it easily could.
An annoying little detail about generational trauma is that it destroys any sense of accomplishment that its victims could ever possibly feel. Why do I say this? I’m so glad you asked.
In 2022, I accomplished a goal that I had been working towards for some time. While adjusting to life in a global pandemic and simultaneously enduring a difficult pregnancy and having my first child, I successfully earned my master’s degree in psychology. Having obtained my bachelor’s degree in 2012, starting another journey to pursue higher education almost ten years later was daunting. I made the decision to do this long before the pandemic and the news of my pregnancy, so I had embarked on the journey thinking I’d have plenty of time and energy to get it done. I was enrolled in an accelerated course to get my master’s degree in 18 months, which I ended up getting in 24 months after taking a leave of absence to have my daughter. But in the end, I managed to successfully reach this personal goal. But now that it’s done all I can think about… is that I should keep it quiet.
Growing up I was always a high performer in school. I was a self-proclaimed nerd (still am), and I was very much the black sheep of my family. I was not interested in partying, and I prioritized my academics above all else. However, instead of being praised for my determination and drive to perform well I was labeled as pretentious and stuck up. The wet blanket to everyone else’s fiery passion for fun. At the age of 11 I started to experience severe bullying, but it wasn’t by individuals in my school. I actually had no problem making friends. This bullying was coming from individuals in my family. As an adult with a psych degree, I can now see my mistreatment for what it was – the byproduct of bullies who were afraid of something they didn’t understand. Criticizing me because of their own inadequacies. Falling into “groupthink” because it was comfortable and safe as long as they weren’t the target. But as a child, this mistreatment taught me to be quiet. I shut up about my accomplishments because it would make my bullies happy. Whatever made them more comfortable being mediocre protected me from their torture, so I made sure to stay as meek and unthreatening as possible so they would leave me alone. And thus started the pattern. The cycle of my performing well, becoming pathologically anxious at the very thought of telling someone about it for fear that I’d come off as “braggy,” writing off my accomplishment as no big deal, and moving on. And this is a pattern that has extended into adulthood.
I have behaved in a way while pursuing this degree that I am so unbelievably sad about. For the 24 months that I pursued my higher education I kept it very quiet. Only my closest friends and family knew that I was even studying for my master’s, and I tried not to talk about it as much as possible even with them. And while I did (and still do) feel a sense of pride in doing something that so few are able or have the opportunity to do, because of my experiences in the past I was actually embarrassed by it. Something that should have brought me incredible joy and a sense of accomplishment in reality brought me crippling anxiety and self-consciousness. If I were to speak about my degree, I have been conditioned to believe that I would be teased and incessantly mocked and ignored and excluded. I have been taught to believe that pursuing any type of higher education made me annoying and conceited, undeserving of warmth and love. And in an attempt to avoid those negative feelings, I chose to censor myself instead of doing what I should have done – let my friends and family who truly love me rejoice in my successes with me, and tell my bullies and naysayers to fuck off and have the day they deserve.
After some deliberation, I decided to make a social media post announcing that I had earned my master’s degree. And still to this very moment, I resent the anxiety that such a move brought me. I resent that every “like” and positive comment and well wisher makes me nervous. I resent that I am incapable of comfortably accepting praise no matter how hard I worked or how impressive my accomplishment was because some of the people responsible for bolstering my self-esteem and shaping a confident, independent, secure woman simply didn’t. In fact, they did the opposite, and did everything in their power to tear down a child until there was nothing left but a terrified, anxious shell of a girl. Until my college years when I was able to escape into a world where academia was prioritized and I had friends who didn’t know who I was before, I was a meek and scared child. And unfortunately, this has led to me at times being a meek and scared adult.
If you are reading this, and you take anything away from it, please let it be the message that you need to find your tribe and find it early. I’m still fighting the habits and mentality that were ingrained in me because I spent my entire life trying to fit in with people that would never accept me under any circumstances anyway. I tried everything in my power to be embraced by people who have no interest in doing so. And a lifetime of fighting to belong in a world that would never take me has made me an insufferable people pleaser, a self-conscious and uneasy friend, and despite my intense ambition and ability it has made me silent. I have been taught to believe that socially, I have to give out pieces of myself in small doses because me as a whole person has historically been “too much.” Only now after several years of intense personal struggle do I realize that I will now serve myself whole on a silver platter and those unable to handle it can fucking choke.
My daughter will not experience any of this. The generational trauma dies with me. The cycle of abuse and bullying dies with me. The disturbed and disgusting need to make children feel like they can’t be anything they want to be will die with me. When my daughter decides to express herself in ways that I did, I will not meet her with a judgment and disdain and gossip. I will meet her with every bit of support and love in my body.
I choose to pass on resilience. Don’t like it? Too bad.
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