Some people define intergenerational trauma as negative family experiences passed down from generation to generation. However, for me, it’s being told that “there’s nothing to be depressed about” or that being emotional is stupid.
As a Canadian, my parents always tell me that I am privileged to have been born in a country where I am not required to “work hard”. However, as a Black woman, I discovered I have to work harder to prove myself.
According to Brown Gyal Diary, an American blogger who focuses on Black family trauma, the parent-child conflict occurs when a parent attempts to protect their child in a way that appears threatening.
Being shielded by my parents is something that I have never experienced. I don’t come from a loving family where we can openly discuss our feelings.
The thought of sharing something personal with my parents made me cringe. And my depression was always shot down or laughed at, so I kept everything hidden.
Eventually, I found a way to cope with the pain. Quietly.
I started self-harming and using unhealthy coping mechanisms when my parents didn’t show me the kind of love I wanted.
I was only 12 when I gave myself 37 cuts across my forearm. Seeing the blood leave my body forced my journey of trying to figure out who I was and where I fit within my family, and in the world.
Having grown up in a Jamaican household, I learned harsh truths and learned that my family was broken. It was normal for us not to go out together or say I love you every night.
Instead, it was always, “In Jamaica, my mother made me sacrifice my education so what are you complaining about?” Or “you’re too young to be having suicidal thoughts.”
My parents struggled in an environment where they were expected to be strong all the time, but I don’t think they noticed how far their toxicity went.
Living as a Jamaican-Canadian includes absorbing all the pain, tears, and insults from your ancestors. I couldn’t tell about my struggles and feelings with my family, because they couldn’t express their emotions.
Most nights are lonely, and I crave that happy family lifestyle.
I would be lying if I said I was okay because I’m not.
There will always be a part of me that wants to be noticed, no matter how many times I tell myself I’m used to this.
Hearing how foolish I am for feeling like the world is against me gets old after a while.
“From very young ages, there are people from the Black community who have had to deal with safety trauma,” said Shanique Edwards, a development worker at Black Mental Health Canada.
“It has affected their overall well-being and has challenged their ability to cope as they continue to face mount depression,” she said.
When I look back at my childhood, it’s a series of me trying to cope in an environment where I don’t feel safe to express myself.
Sometimes it feels like the trauma of my parents is holding me back from being the best version of myself.
I’m constantly caught between the image of the “perfect Black daughter’ that my parents want and who I am.
“You have to take into account the intergenerational peace,” Edwards said. “I think sometimes that gets missed in the Black community, and how the trauma of our parents and grandparents, they do weigh on us and they do affect us inadvertently.”
One of my biggest fears is that I’m traumatized beyond repair. But I owe it to myself and to my future children to stop the pattern.
This ends with me.