It Can End With You

A few years ago, I was sitting in a classroom exploring research ideas when I came across the topic of intergenerational trauma.

I was familiar with the concept, but I hadn’t done a deep dive into it, and I hadn’t really been formally introduced to what we were calling it. I had spent years working with clients who were trying to overcome childhood trauma and learned patterns they no longer wanted to repeat. But I started noticing something: so much of our work focused on moving forward and developing what sometimes felt like a checklist of healing tasks instead of getting to the heart of where these things started and why they took root in the first place.

I can’t tell you how many sessions focused on setting boundaries, finding worth in oneself, breaking people-pleasing patterns, or trying to stop choosing the same type of toxic relationship.

But after enough sessions that included some version of, “I did it again,” or “I don’t know why I keep doing this,” I was challenged to go deeper.

At first, I thought this work would primarily be for my clients.

I later discovered it would become part of my own healing journey, too.

When the Sky Started Falling

Toward the end of 2024, the proverbial sky began to fall in my own life.

My husband and I had made the very difficult decision to make some transitions for our family that we knew would impact people around us. It took many long nights of prayer, tears, and coming to terms with the reality that we might disappoint people we loved—people who had expectations of us.

But we had to make decisions that we believed were led by the Holy Spirit and were also best for our family.

Despite our well-intentioned efforts to limit conflict and transition well, things didn’t quite turn out the way we had hoped.

The details of that situation aren’t important. What matters is the awareness that came from it, because it changed the trajectory of my life—not just personally, but also in how I supported clients and navigated their healing journeys alongside them.

As we entered the new year, I began to recognize something about myself:

I had turned performance and compliance into a surefire way to feel accepted by others.

Growing up, I was often praised for how caring I was. “Mama Taran” or “T Mama” were names people often called me.

And honestly, I loved it.

Because I was being seen.

I was being acknowledged as someone who brought value. I was being praised for something I was good at.

But somewhere along the way, that began to create a lens through which I saw myself:

I am worthy when I’m giving something of myself.

I need to please people in order to feel validated.

That made even more sense when I considered the context in which I grew up. I come from a family of overachievers. My parents had successful careers. My siblings were incredibly smart.

And then there was me—the caring and creative one.

That differentiation sent me into a spiral of not feeling good enough for many years.

Not because someone explicitly taught me that I wasn’t enough. Not because those words were spoken over me.

But because my developing brain began to notice that performance mattered.

It wasn’t until decades later, when my performance and compliance no longer seemed to “fit,” that I was forced to ask:

Where did I learn this?

And perhaps more importantly:

What is actually true about me?

When an Old Wound Meets a New Experience

That season helped me understand not only how trauma impacts us, but why it is so important to get to the root of where our patterns come from.

I knew the transition we were making was right for our family. I believed it was one the Lord was calling us to make.

But when the inner voice started saying:

You’ll always be a disappointment to them.

You only belong here when you perform.

…I knew I was dealing with something deeper than the natural discomfort that comes with transitions and “middle” seasons.

My personhood felt wounded through the rejection I experienced from people whose validation had become connected to my sense of worth.

The Bible speaks to the different dimensions of who we are: our physical bodies, our spirits, and our souls. Our souls encompass our minds, wills, and emotions. It is part of our personhood.

So when we experience pain, rejection, trauma, or deep hurt, it can wound us at the level of our personhood—the places connected to how we understand ourselves, other people, and the world around us.

The rejection I experienced during that transition brought me back to a childhood version of Taran who desperately wanted to fit in. Who wanted to exist as an equal instead of always feeling like she was close, but not quite it.

Looking Back to Understand What I Carried Forward

As I explored this in my own therapy, I had the opportunity to think about my grandparents, my parents, and the legacy I came from.

I come from generations of people who worked hard, established themselves, and made—and are still making—their mark on this world.

I am incredibly proud to come from that lineage.

But there can also be pressure that accompanies a legacy like that. A pressure I imagine my own parents may have felt to achieve, uphold, and continue what came before them.

What my childhood brain could not yet differentiate was this:

Yes, we work hard.

Yes, we hope to make an impact on this world.

But even if you don't achieve another thing, you are still enough.

Your existence is enough.

You are worthy.

You are loved.

You are accepted.

You are enough.

And for me, that truth is not based solely on performance. It is rooted in Who created me and what He has to say about me.

Period.

While I could spend the rest of this post talking about the scriptural foundation for that truth, I want to bring us back to the mental health perspective. My heart is not to over-spiritualize or invalidate the very real feelings and experiences many of us have encountered throughout our lives.

Because for so long, many of us have participated in patterns, upheld beliefs about ourselves, and been plagued by narratives that didn’t actually start with us.

And everyone's story—and everyone's root—is different.

For some, you grew up with caregivers who carried their own pain and unprocessed struggles, and some of that pain spilled over onto you.

Maybe you were parentified and grew up feeling the weight of your caregiver's world on your shoulders.

Maybe you grew up in a family where feelings simply weren't discussed, and now, as an adult, you experience your emotions in isolation.

Maybe your caregivers taught you that love hurts—whether through their words, their actions, or what you watched happen around you.

And for many of us, our caregivers truly did the best they could with what they had.

Both things can be true.

Someone can love you deeply and still pass something painful to you.

Someone can have done their best and still have left wounds that need healing.

It Doesn't Have to Keep Going

In the most ideal world, before any of us have children, we would work through every wound, recognize every unhealthy pattern, and become completely aware of everything we could potentially pass on to the generations that come after us.

Unfortunately, that's not how life works.

Most of us are still healing while we're living.

Still learning while we're loving people.

Still discovering ourselves while raising children, building relationships, navigating marriages, leading organizations, and simply trying to make it through life.

But here's the good news:

It doesn't have to continue.

It can end with you.

The wounds your caregivers carried don't have to become the wounds you hand to someone else.

The beliefs you inherited don't have to become the beliefs you live by.

The survival strategies that once protected you don't have to dictate the rest of your life.

You can heal.

You can live free.

So how do we begin?

Start With Awareness

Awareness is always the first step.

Begin recognizing that there may have been things your grandparents, parents, or caregivers struggled with. In an effort to survive, cope with, or protect themselves from their own pain, they may have developed strategies that were carried into the way they raised you.

And then you learned those strategies.

And perhaps you carried them into adulthood.

Again, it isn't always intentional.

I'm very firm in my belief that, for many of us, our caregivers did the best they could with what they had.

This isn't about pathologizing our families or assigning blame.

It's about honoring the reality that we all come from somewhere.

We all learned something about love.

Something about safety.

Something about conflict.

Something about worth.

Something about emotions.

Something about what we had to do to belong.

And sometimes, the strategies developed to survive one generation create unintended consequences in the next.

So begin by becoming curious about the patterns that exist in your life today.

What keeps happening?

What do you keep believing about yourself?

What situations create a reaction in you that feels much bigger than the present moment?

And then ask yourself:

Where did I learn this?

An Exercise for the Younger You

I want you to try something.

Think back to a challenging moment in your childhood. In particular, think about a moment when you began developing thoughts and feelings about your identity.

Maybe you're sitting alone at a table at school and no one sits with you.

A child in that moment might feel lonely, left out, embarrassed, or ashamed.

And they may begin thinking:

I'm so lame.

I'll never fit in.

No one likes me.

Think about one of those moments in your own story—a moment when you began speaking something over yourself that you eventually started believing.

Once you can visualize that moment, imagine the adult version of you today walking into the scene.

You are no longer that child.

You have resources they didn't have.

Language they didn't have.

Perspective they didn't have.

You are now the capable, competent adult in the room.

Walk over to that younger version of yourself and tell them what they needed to hear.

Not something unrealistic like, “You're actually the most popular person in school,” or even, “They're just some haters”—although, let's be fair, that one might actually be true.

Tell them what they needed to know.

Maybe:

It's okay to feel lonely.

You're still important and worthy. Who sits next to you doesn't determine that.

You don't have to earn your place here.

You matter to me.

You are enough.

And say it out loud.

Because you may discover that while you're speaking to that younger version of yourself, you're also speaking to the parts of your soul that are still a little wounded today.

And as we continue doing this healing work, we may begin uncovering the truest versions of ourselves underneath all that hurt.

Underneath the survival strategies.

Underneath the expectations.

Underneath the narratives we inherited.

Underneath wounds that may not have started with us.

Because while the pain may have traveled through generations to reach you, it does not have to travel through you to reach the next one.

It sure can end with you.