I started a new book today; it’s one of those that immediately makes you pause, underline a sentence, and sit with it for a bit. On page one, I read this:

“The answer may not lie within our own story as much as in the stories of our parents, grandparents, and even our great grandparents.”

It hit me like a quiet truth I’d been circling for years but hadn’t fully faced. That maybe some of the things I carry – the fears, the patterns, the way I respond to the world – didn’t start with me. They were passed down, unknowingly, through generations that were just trying to survive.

Me and my mum have actually talked about this before. Carefully. Honestly. Sometimes emotionally. We’ve both felt it: the weight of things that aren’t really ours but still affect how we move through life. And more than once, we’ve looked at each other and silently understood, “It ends with us”.

We had one of those rare, raw conversations not long ago – the kind where you’re both sat in silence after because something just clicked. We were talking about how I’ve always struggled with the fear of being rejected, of not being enough, of being “too much” or not worth the effort. And as we sat with it, my mum said something that stopped me:

”I think I passed that down to you. And I think it was passed down to me too.”

We traced it backwards – not to place blame, but to try and understand it. My mum told me how she grew up with the same fear I feel now. Not because her mum didn’t love her, my nana was one of the most loving women you could ever meet and she loved us both so deeply. But she carried her own wounds too. Her fear of rejection didn’t come from nowhere – it came from being with a man who made her feel that way.

That pain doesn’t always shout. Sometimes it gets passed down quietly, tucked into how we learn to love, how we respond to silence, how we brace ourselves for people to leave.

And suddenly, I saw the thread: from that man’s behaviour, to how it shaped my nana, to how that shaped my mum, and then me. A pattern we didn’t ask for, but one we inherited anyway. And now, one we’re working to break.

And that’s the thing – ending the cycle isn’t just a decision, it’s a mission. It takes awareness, and hard conversations, and the kind of healing that isn’t always visible from the outside.

It’s not about blaming anyone. Most of the time, they didn’t know any better either. It’s about choosing to do things differently. To unlearn what no longer serves us. To questions the “this is just how I am” stuff. To feel what our families maybe couldn’t. To raise our standards – not just for ourselves, but for whoever comes after us.

It’s hard work. It’s tender work. But reading that line today reminded me that it’s also brave work.

I don’t have all the answers. I’m still figuring it out in real time, same as you. But having that conversation with my mum, and starting to see the bigger picture – it’s changed how I carry things. Not lighter, exactly, but less alone.

That’s why I’m writing this. To say if you’ve ever felt like you were reacting to something way deeper than your own story – you probably were. And you’re not imagining it. And you’re definitely not the only one trying to unlearn what got handed down.

Let’s keep doing the work. Even when it’s heavy. Especially then.

— Lilly x