Healing from intergenerational trauma
Earlier this year, I spoke on a panel about the legacy of war and migration. I heard stories from community members (more on that here). Details like backgrounds, timelines, and journeys differed, but the pattern was the same: grief, uncertainty, rebuilding from nothing, and a survival mindset that still lingers.
Many of our elders fled war and started again in Australia. They lost homes, work, family, and a sense of safety. That grief didn’t fade; it reshaped into vigilance and wired them for survival. For their generation, it made sense. For those of us who came after, it can feel like an invisible weight we’re still learning how to put down.
Intergenerational trauma doesn’t just live in memory but it also lives in our present thoughts, feelings and behaviour:
Rest is indulgent. If you’re not doing, you’re falling behind.
Risk is foolish. Safety first, even at the cost of growth.
Control is necessary. Plans and “what ifs” never stop.
Emotions are private. Push through; don’t burden others.
Help is for emergencies. Self-reliance over support.
Work equals worth. Achievement as proof you’re safe.
I often see kids absorbing their parents’ anxiety, adults unable to rest even when life is stable. I also see both grief and growth. Some older relatives still live in fear, keeping their worlds small. But many my age are confidently reclaiming what was lost with language and culture. We’re learning who we are beyond survival, and that’s where healing begins.
At the panel, I said it often feels like we’re speaking two different languages. One is the language of safety, emphasising sacrifice, structure, and caution, sometimes at the risk of catastrophising. The other is the language of healing, emphasising curiosity, openness, and expression. Both matter. Our parents’ fear kept us alive; our voice kept us growing. Healing begins when both can coexist, when gratitude and frustration can share the same space.
We can’t change what our families went through, but we can change how it lives within us. Healing isn’t forgetting, but about turning vigilance into empathy, pain into understanding. And it goes both ways in a loop:
You → Parents: share how your world works; invite small experiments like a restful Sunday or movie together.
Parents → You: pass down language, culture, life lessons, recipes, and stories.
Together, agree on what’s there and what’s worth keeping. Research shows that connection is one of the strongest protectors against trauma. But long before studies proved it, our communities knew: healing happens together in conversations that remind us we’re not alone. So I keep asking myself, and others: what are you carrying — and is it still serving you? Because awareness is only the first step. Healing begins not by forgetting our story, but by learning to carry it with less weight.