Breaking the Cycle: Healing What We Didn’t Start

Unlearning, Healing, and Choosing a New Path Forward

There’s a saying: what we don’t heal, we pass down.

For the longest time, I thought my struggles—anxiety, people-pleasing, the need to always be “strong”—were just part of who I was. It took years (and therapy) to realize that some of these traits weren’t truly mine. They were echoes, inherited like old family heirlooms.

Except instead of land or jewelry, I inherited survival mechanisms, unprocessed grief, and emotional walls built long before I was born.

Reading It Didn’t Start with You by Mark Wolynn put words to what I had been feeling for so long: some of the battles we fight didn’t start with us. But here’s the thing—just because we inherited them doesn’t mean we have to keep them.

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The Firstborn Burden: When Childhood Comes Second

If you’re the eldest child, you know the script.

Be responsible. Be strong. Be the example. And while you’re at it—don’t ask for too much because your younger siblings need more than you do.

From an early age, I had to be things. The protector. The fixer. The one who held it together, even when I wanted to fall apart. I had to grow up fast, stepping in when my parents couldn’t, carrying responsibilities I never signed up for.

This is what happens in parentification—when children are forced into roles they should never have to fill.

It doesn’t always look like outright neglect. Sometimes, it looks like being the emotional support system for adults who never had one themselves. It looks like learning to swallow your pain because “other people have it worse.” It looks like functioning on autopilot, doing what’s necessary instead of what’s needed.

And that way of living? It follows you.

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Trauma Wears Many Masks

We often think of trauma as one big event, but sometimes, it’s a series of small, silent wounds that pile up over time.

For me, it looked like:

• Constantly feeling like I had to prove my worth.

• Struggling with social anxiety, but never understanding why.

• Bottling up emotions because vulnerability felt like a liability.

• Carrying anger I didn’t know the source of—until I did.

Generational trauma doesn’t just pass through genetics; it passes through behaviors, expectations, and unspoken rules.

My mother never had the space to process her own pain—so she carried it. And I, in turn, carried a version of it too.

The thing about inherited pain? It doesn’t disappear on its own. If we don’t address it, we either pass it down or let it consume us. And I? I refuse to do either.

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The Cost of Being "Strong"

Growing up, my needs were never a priority. As the firstborn, perfection was expected. There was no space to falter, no room to simply be a child.

I learned hustle culture before I even knew what it was called. Always moving. Always striving. Always doing. But what happens when you stop?

When you finally acknowledge the exhaustion, the loneliness, the quiet grief of a childhood spent being everything for everyone—except yourself?

When I tried to open up, my pain was often dismissed, sometimes even blamed on me. So I learned to bottle it up, to carry my struggles silently. My father, a distant and stern man, was never someone I could confide in. So I didn’t.

And it followed me into adulthood.

Marriage forced me to confront this. My husband saw the walls I had built and fought to break them down. He showed me that I didn’t have to bear it all alone. That seeking help wasn’t weakness. That I deserved to be held, too.

And life started to change.

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The Fear of Being Seen

I’ve spent years mastering the art of hiding in plain sight—visible, but never fully seen.

Even now, I catch myself shrinking—not physically, but emotionally. Holding back. Editing my words. Swallowing thoughts before they escape. Because if people see the real me, what if they don’t like what they find?

I learned early that visibility can be dangerous. That the safest thing to be is small, agreeable, easy. Maybe that’s why I’ve spent so much of my life people-pleasing instead of existing freely.

Boarding school only deepened that isolation. I never quite fit in. Even when I did, I still felt like an outsider—like a stranger in my own skin. Home wasn’t much different. During the holidays, I’d retreat to my room, burying myself in books, avoiding conversations, existing in the background of my own life.

But my fear wasn’t just rejection—it was being truly known. Because vulnerability had never felt safe.

For years, I thought hiding was survival. But now, I wonder—
What if being seen is the bravest thing I’ll ever do?

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Fear & The Fight to Break Free

One of my deepest fears has always been failure.

Growing up watching my parents struggle, I knew one thing—I would never bring a child into this world unless I was absolutely sure I could provide for them. Not just financially, but emotionally.

I fought relentlessly to create a stable life, to reach a place where I could stand on my own.

I’m still fighting. But at least now, I understand why.

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Healing: The Hardest, Best Work You'll Ever Do

Identifying trauma is only the first step. Overcoming it is a lifelong journey.

Therapy forced me to see things I had spent years avoiding. Like how my need to always be “fine” wasn’t strength—it was self-protection. Like how my people-pleasing wasn’t kindness—it was fear. Like how my discomfort with asking for help wasn’t independence—it was learned helplessness.

Unlearning these things has been messy, but necessary. Healing isn’t about blaming our parents—it’s about recognizing that they did what they knew.

And we? We get to choose differently.

Here’s what I’ve learned along the way:

• Your deepest fears hold the blueprint to your trauma. Afraid of failure? Rejected as a child. Afraid of vulnerability? Punished for showing emotion. Once you see the pattern, you can start breaking it.

• Boundaries are not rebellion—they are survival. Just because something was normal in your family doesn’t mean it was healthy. You don’t owe anyone your peace.

• Healing doesn’t mean you won’t struggle—it means you’ll struggle with awareness. And awareness is power.

• You are not the sum of what happened to you. You are the pattern-breaker. The cycle-ender. The one rewriting the script for the next generation.

Because it didn’t start with me.
But it will end with me.

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Rewriting the Story

I used to think that healing meant erasing the past. It doesn’t. It means understanding it, releasing what no longer serves you, and choosing how you want to move forward.

I’m still in the thick of it. Some days, I catch myself falling into old patterns. Some days, I still struggle to ask for help, to trust that I’m enough, to believe I don’t have to be perfect.

But the difference now? I notice it. And that’s how I know I’m healing.

Because this story didn’t start with me. But it sure as hell ends with me.

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Let’s Talk: Breaking the Cycle Together

Now, I want to hear from you.

• Have you ever recognized a pattern in your family that you’re actively trying to break?

• What’s one belief or habit you inherited that you now question?

• If you’ve started your healing journey, what’s one thing that’s helped you the most?

Drop a comment below or reply to this post—I want to open up this conversation. Healing doesn’t happen in isolation, and maybe your story will resonate with someone who needs to hear it.

Let’s build a space where we can unlearn, grow, and heal—together.

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Photo Credits: Babalola Idris, Sun Rising & Flower - Amazing Pictures Collection, Vernelaive