Are You Carrying Pain That Isn’t Yours? How to Break Inherited Patterns

(air swooshing) (mouse clicking) ♪ Headspace Studio ♪ (calming music) Hi, welcome to Radio Headspace. It's Dora. So the other night, I was at my kitchen table having tea with a family member. The conversation started out light, stories about our old neighborhood, what so and so is doing now, and the unpredictable changing nature of the weather. But somewhere in the middle, the conversation pivoted. My aunt mentioned something not even in a harsh way, but I instantly felt my internal heat rise. My body tensed and my voice got sharp. And in the middle of reacting, I had this strange moment of awareness. Wait, hold on. This isn't me. The words coming out of my mouth felt older than I am. They carried a kind of ancestral presence, like I was speaking with a voice that didn't quite belong to me. And I remember thinking, where did this even come from? Something I'm learning through my mindfulness practice and therapy is not all of our emotional patterns were born in our lifetime. Some of them were planted generations ago, shaped by our ancestors' struggles, fears, and survival strategies. We inherent more than just our eye color or our laugh. We inherit stories. Some are beautiful, tales of resilience, resourcefulness and love, but some are heavy, beliefs that keep us small, fears that keep us guarded, and ways of relating that keep us from the connection we want most. Part of our healing in this lifetime is learning to recognize these inherited stories, to ask ourselves, is this truly mine or was this handed to me? And when we can name what isn't ours, we give ourselves the choice to break the cycle. In my family, one of the stories I inherited was about achievement. That your worth is measured by how much you do, how hard you work, and how much you can endure without complaint. I remember being a kid and watching the adults in my life work long hours, never resting and never slowing down. Rest was almost suspicious, like if you had time to pause, you weren't doing enough. I internalized that without even realizing it. I became the one who never stopped moving, in school, in my early career, even in relationships. I was always proving, always producing. And when I couldn't keep up, I felt shame. It wasn't until years into my mindfulness practice that I started to question it. I noticed how even during meditation, I'd be impatient with myself, mentally scanning my to-do list, feeling guilty for sitting still. And one day I asked myself, who taught me that rest is wrong? And the answer wasn't just about my own life. It went back further. Two generations who didn't have the privilege of slowing down, who had to work twice as hard to survive, who didn't rest because rest was unsafe. I realized that my inability to stop wasn't just my personal flaw, it was a survival pattern I had inherited, one...