The Wounds We Inherit, The Healing We Choose

The Wounds We Inherit, The Healing We Choose

Have you ever found yourself wondering why you react the way you do?

Perhaps you've always felt anxious, struggled to trust people, found it difficult to rest, or carried an underlying sense that something wasn't quite right. Maybe you've looked back over your life searching for one defining moment that explains it all, only to find there isn't one.

As a therapist, I've had many conversations with people who quietly ask themselves, "Why am I like this?" They often believe there must be something wrong with them. Yet sometimes, the answer isn't found by looking only at our own experiences. Sometimes, we have to look a little further back.

In recent years, research into intergenerational trauma has begun to change the way we understand emotional suffering. Scientists are exploring how the effects of severe trauma may extend beyond the people who directly experienced it. While we inherit our DNA from our parents, research suggests that traumatic experiences can have intergenerational biological, psychological and social effects. Some of this research focuses on epigenetics, which explores how life experiences may influence the way certain genes are expressed. Other research highlights how trauma is passed on through family relationships, attachment, parenting styles, culture and learned ways of coping with the world.

This remains an evolving field of science, and there is still much we don't yet understand. What it does remind us, however, is that trauma rarely exists in isolation. It often lives within families, communities and cultures, quietly shaping beliefs, behaviours and nervous systems across generations.

When I reflect on this, I often think about the stories many of our families carry. Migration. Partition. Racism. Poverty. Domestic abuse. Addiction. Grief. The relentless pressure to survive. The expectation to stay strong, to carry on and not burden others. These experiences don't simply disappear because time has passed. They can shape the way emotions are expressed, how safe the world feels and how families learn to cope.

As a British Sikh woman, this is not just something I've learnt through textbooks or clinical training. It is something I have reflected on through my own heritage. The events of 1984, including the attack on Sri Harmandir Sahib (the Golden Temple) and the anti-Sikh violence that followed, left profound wounds for countless Sikh families across the world. Some people carry vivid memories of those events. Others inherited stories told in whispers, or perhaps inherited the silence that followed. Whether spoken or unspoken, collective trauma has a way of echoing through generations.

This isn't unique to Sikhs. Many communities across the world carry the legacy of war, persecution, displacement and oppression. Understanding this isn't about remaining rooted in the past or seeing ourselves as victims. Rather, it allows us to approach our own struggles with greater compassion. Instead of asking, "What's wrong with me?" we might begin asking, "What happened before me?"

That subtle shift can be incredibly freeing.

It reminds us that many of our patterns once served a purpose. Hypervigilance, people-pleasing, perfectionism, emotional shutdown, or constantly expecting the worst often begin as intelligent survival strategies. The difficulty is that our minds and bodies don't always realise when survival is no longer necessary.

Healing, then, isn't about pretending the past didn't happen. It is about helping the nervous system recognise that the present is different from the past. It is about creating enough safety within ourselves that we no longer have to live as though danger is waiting around every corner.

As both a therapist and a Sikh, I've often reflected on how our spiritual practices may also support emotional well-being. When I think about gathering in the company of others through sadh sangat, singing kirtan, reciting or listening to Gurbani, and practising simran, I see practices that cultivate connection, rhythm, breath, presence and belonging. From a psychological perspective, these experiences can foster a sense of safety and regulation within the nervous system. Long before we had the language of neuroscience or polyvagal theory, communities developed practices that helped people return to themselves during times of uncertainty.

For me, this doesn't reduce these practices to psychology. If anything, it deepens my appreciation of their wisdom.

Guru Nanak Dev Ji did not teach us to escape the world. He taught us to live fully within it—to work honestly, serve others and engage with life—while remaining inwardly free from becoming consumed by ego, fear and attachment. We are invited to participate in the world without allowing the world to possess us. In many ways, I see therapy offering a similar invitation. Not to avoid painful thoughts or emotions, but to develop a different relationship with them, so they no longer dictate every decision we make.

We are living in a time where mental health difficulties are becoming increasingly common. Anxiety, depression, loneliness and suicide continue to affect people from every walk of life. There is no single explanation. Social isolation, financial pressures, unresolved trauma, unrealistic expectations, chronic stress, loss of community and the pace of modern life all play a role. Behind every statistic is a human being carrying a story that deserves to be heard.

In my experience, one of the greatest gifts therapy offers is something that has become increasingly rare: uninterrupted human presence.

For fifty minutes, someone doesn't have to hold everything together. They don't have to protect everyone else's feelings or pretend they're coping. They are given space to slow down, to untangle the constant chatter of the mind, to understand their emotions rather than fear them, and to make sense of experiences they may have carried alone for years.

Sometimes a therapist is the first person who truly listens—not to reply, not to judge, not to fix—but simply to understand.

I don't believe healing asks us to forget where we've come from. Nor do I believe we are destined to repeat the stories we've inherited. Whether healing comes through therapy, faith, creativity, community, nature or meaningful connection with others, none of us was meant to carry our suffering in isolation.

Our past may explain us, but it does not have to define us.

Every conversation we have, every pattern we gently change, every moment of self-compassion we choose has the potential to ripple beyond ourselves. Healing is rarely just an individual act. It is something that quietly touches our families, our communities and the generations that follow.

To me, that is one of the most hopeful things about being human.

If pain can echo through generations, then perhaps healing can too.