I often find myself at a loss for words when asked to describe my childhood. It's odd, admitting to others the complex feelings I have about my own upbringing. If you had asked me in high school, I would have replied with disdain and shame. I harbored a lot of anger because of my childhood, and I still have moments of frustration when I really think about what I experienced as a kid. It’s difficult to grapple with the way I was raised and who I am now. It’s true that at many points in my childhood, the adults in my life failed me and my siblings. It is also true, however, that these failures are a direct result of repressed generational trauma and its effects. As I’ve come into my adulthood, I am no longer able to look back at my childhood without having empathy for myself, for my siblings, for my parents, and their parents. We all inherited the same unresolved trauma that has shaped the majority of our lives. 

As years have passed, we’ve all come around to addressing some of the more pressing issues in our family, but the truth remains. We are all still hurting, one way or another. Our pain, it seeps into our daily lives and shapes the way we treat each other. So, this is me acknowledging all of the pain that was once ignored. That pain connects us all, just like our love for each other. It too, should be nurtured.