Reparenting Ourselves While Parenting Our Children: Therapy’s Role in Intergenerational Healing

Note: The following story is a composite of experiences inspired by real patterns seen in therapy, but Isabel and Lucas are not real clients.

Isabel always told herself she had a good childhood. “My parents did their best,” she would say whenever difficult memories surfaced. And it was true—her father worked long hours to provide for the family, her mother kept the house running, and there was always food on the table. But Isabel couldn’t shake the feeling that something had been missing, something just out of reach.

It wasn’t until she became a mother herself that the old ghosts began to stir. The first time her son, Lucas, threw a tantrum, Isabel felt her chest tighten. Not just frustration, but a deep, overwhelming sense of dread. Before she even realized what she was doing, she had grabbed him by the wrist and hissed, “Stop crying right now.” The words came out sharper than she intended, and Lucas’s tear-streaked face crumpled further.

In that moment, Isabel was no longer herself. She was small again, standing in the dimly lit hallway outside her parents’ bedroom, hearing her mother’s muffled sobs through the door. She was seven years old, gripping the hem of her nightgown, willing herself to be invisible as her father’s angry voice cut through the air. She learned, in that moment, that emotions were dangerous. That silence was safer.

Isabel’s mother had never spoken of those nights, and Isabel never asked. Over time, she convinced herself it wasn’t that bad. But now, staring at her son, she felt the truth in her bones: she had inherited something. A legacy of unspoken pain, of fear woven so tightly into love that they were impossible to separate. And now, it was spilling into the next generation.

The Invisible Inheritance

The intergenerational transmission of trauma is not just about the stories we hear. It’s about the ones that were never told—the grief that lingers in silence, the fear that shapes our responses before we even have words for it. It’s the way Isabel flinches at raised voices, even though no one has ever hit her. It’s the way she struggles to comfort her son when he cries, not because she doesn’t love him, but because no one ever comforted her.

Trauma is stored in the body, in the nervous system, in the patterns of connection we form as children. When a parent has lived through pain—abuse, neglect, war, displacement, addiction—it doesn’t disappear when they start a family. It lives in the way they hold their children, the way they respond to distress, the way they protect (or fail to protect) their child from the very wounds they once endured.

This is how trauma echoes through generations. Not always through direct abuse, but through the adaptations our ancestors made to survive. The mother who grew up in chaos and now shuts down in moments of conflict. The father who was never comforted as a child and now tells his son to “man up” instead of offering a hug. The grandmother who never spoke of the war but whose eyes darkened whenever someone asked about the past.

What Breaking the Cycle Looks Like in Therapy

Isabel knew she wanted to be different for her son, but she didn’t know how. The instincts were so strong, automatic. Therapy became the space where she finally began to unravel the patterns she had inherited.

At first, she talked about Lucas—his tantrums, his big emotions, how overwhelmed she felt. But her therapist gently guided her to notice what happened inside of her when Lucas cried. “Where do you feel it in your body?” her therapist asked one day. Isabel hesitated, then realized—the tightness in her chest, the urge to run, the voice in her head whispering, You’re failing. You can’t let this get out of control.

And then, the deeper question: “Who does that voice belong to?”

Isabel’s breath caught in her throat. It was her father’s voice. The same tone he had used when she was small, when she had been “too much.” The same sharpness she had learned to fear.

From there, the work deepened. She began inner-child work—closing her eyes, picturing her younger self. At first, she felt resistance. The little girl inside her was quiet, wary. But with time, Isabel learned to speak to her. To tell her the things she had always needed to hear. You are not too much. Your feelings make sense. I will not abandon you.

This work was not just theoretical. It began to shift how she responded to Lucas. The next time he had a meltdown, she felt the familiar panic rising—but this time, she placed a hand over her heart and took a breath. She whispered to herself, This is not then. This is now. Instead of reacting with fear, she crouched down, softened her voice. “Lucas, I see you’re really upset. I’m right here. You can cry, and I’ll stay with you.”

Lucas hesitated, looking at her as if testing whether it was safe. Slowly, his small body relaxed into hers, his sobs easing. And Isabel felt something inside her crack open. No one had ever said those words to her. But here she was, saying them to her child.

Healing Is a Generational Act

Isabel’s story is not unique. Every family carries unspoken histories. Some are loud and obvious—addiction, violence, abandonment. Others are quiet—emotional neglect, perfectionism, anxiety passed down like an heirloom. But no matter the form, the intergenerational transmission of trauma leaves its mark.

Healing from the intergenerational transmission of trauma is not about blame. It is about understanding. It is about recognizing that our parents and grandparents did not wake up and decide to pass down their pain. They did the best they could with what they had. But now, we have the opportunity to do something different.

Therapy, somatic work, relational healing—these are not just for us. They are for the generations before us who never had the chance. They are for the children who come after us, who will inherit not just our wounds, but our efforts to heal. When we choose to do the work, we are not just breaking cycles; we are creating new legacies.

Isabel won’t get everything right. She will still stumble, still catch herself responding in ways that echo her past. But she will also keep trying. She will keep learning to sit with emotions instead of silencing them. She will keep reaching for connection instead of shutting down. And one day, when Lucas is grown and struggling with his own fears, he will hear a voice inside him that says, I see you. I’m right here. You can feel this, and I’ll stay with you.

And that voice will be hers.

Are You Ready to Heal?

If you see yourself in Isabel’s story, you are not alone. Breaking the cycle of intergenerational transmission of trauma is possible, and therapy can help. If you're ready to begin your healing journey—to understand your past, reshape your responses, and create a new legacy for yourself and your children—reach out today. Change starts with awareness, but healing happens in connection. Let’s do this work together.