Breaking Cycles, Creating Joy: How I’m Healing Generational Patterns in My Own Life

I just recently drove to SC to surprise my mom for her 75th birthday. During the 5 hour drive, I had so much time to reflect on our family.... the struggles we have had and our growth. During my visit, I realized that my energy has finally shifted. I was able to be a light and not let any moment of. triggers cause me to shut down or get sad/angry. I came home and told my husband how much fun we had, how much fun the kids had, and I realized that no one around me had necessarily "changed" but that my energy had shifted and it allowed me to see the beauty in every moment vs what was "wrong."

Growing Up Southern, Growing Up Strong

As a Black woman with Southern roots, I carry both beauty and weight in my lineage. My grandmother was biracial and never knew her white father. My mom remembers the day her mother finally met him — and how she was told to go into another room, probably shielded from the moment.

My grandmother carried so much anger about being rejected, about being biracial in a world that treated her as “less than.” Racism shaped her, and that wound shaped the generations that followed. And even though I never lived that story directly, I’ve carried pieces of it — the rejection, the silence, the deep wound of not being fully seen or accepted. Generational pain doesn’t just vanish. It passes itself along until someone decides to stop carrying it.

And yet — she was a force. Born in 1918, she became a pillar in her neighborhood. She paid for her home in cash. She fed the block when people were hungry. She had the only house with a television, and her door was always open. People leaned on her strength, her presence, and her generosity.

She was an entrepreneur before that word was popular. She made moonshine, she rented her guest bedroom out, she hustled, she figured things out. And when Beyoncé dropped Cowboy Carter, I laughed because I thought, “Sis, I feel you because my Grandma is the epitome of Cowboy Carter."

From her, I inherited grit, ingenuity, and determination, but I also inherited the weight of her rejection — a wound I’ve had to name and release so I don’t pass it forward, and sometimes I still struggle with.

My Mother’s Chair

Then there’s my mother. The first person to get a degree, she mostly worked as a hairstylist and built her own salon, holding space for women to look and feel their best, but her leadership went beyond the salon chair. She went on to serve on city council for years — and eventually became the mayor of our hometown.

I grew up in a house where the phone was always ringing with someone who needed help, where people dropped by without calling first, where there was always room for one more at the table. My mom, like her mother before her, carried the weight of community on her shoulders. She showed me that women could be both nurturers and leaders, both healers and decision-makers.

That open-door way of living shaped me. It gave me a blueprint of strength, service, and resilience. But it also taught me how easy it is to lose yourself in the constant giving, to carry more than your share, and to forget your own needs in the name of service.

The First Generation to Leave

And then there’s me. The first generation since slavery to leave South Carolina. That sentence alone feels like it carries a thousand prayers.

Leaving wasn’t just about geography — it was spiritual. It was me saying: I honor what’s behind me, but I also need to create something new ahead of me.

And I’ll be honest — it’s heavy. Being the one to “make it out” sounds powerful, but it also comes with guilt, responsibility, and the constant tug of two worlds.

Where Healing Begins

That’s why this conversation about breaking cycles is so important. Because yes, I am strong. Yes, I’ve inherited courage, endurance, and brilliance from my lineage. But I’ve also inherited patterns that don’t fit where I’m going.

Healing for me looks like noticing those patterns and choosing differently:

• Letting joy lead instead of hustle.

• Choosing rest without guilt.

• Speaking truth where silence used to live.

• Creating freedom where limitation was passed down.

• Releasing rejection that was never mine to carry.

  
  

And I’m still learning. Some days I carry the weight, some days I put it down. But every time I choose joy, every time I choose peace, every time I choose softness — I’m not just healing myself. I’m giving something back to my grandmother, my mother, and the generations before me who didn’t always have that choice.

An Invitation for You

If you’re reading this and you feel some of your own story in mine — especially my Black sisters, especially those with Southern roots — know this: you are not alone.

We carry so much more than our own lives, and sometimes it feels too heavy. But healing doesn’t mean rejecting where you came from. It means honoring it enough to grow past it.

You don’t have to repeat what no longer serves you. You don’t have to hold what isn’t yours. You can laugh at the struggle, honor the beauty, and still choose joy.

Because cycles can end with you. And joy can begin with you too.

Keep the Healing Going

If this resonates with you, I invite you to take it deeper. After you close this page, head over to my latest affirmation video:

Breaking Cycles, Creating Joy: Affirmations for Generational Healing

Let the affirmations wash over you. Breathe them in. Repeat them out loud or let them sit quietly in your spirit. Sometimes the words we need most are the ones we’ve never heard spoken in our families — until now.

Sending you love,