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January 10, 2021

To Those who are Here to Break Cycles of Generational Trauma.

Layers/Pixabay

Dear heart, I see you.

I see the path your weary hands forge into new territory. I see the struggle inside this wilderness of change—the resistance you feel as you work harder than anyone will ever know, or see, to be the catalyst for change. To be the one who liberates others from the heavy chain of dysfunction, abuse, and trauma dragged down from generation to generation. The one who places her flag upon newfounded land declaring, this ends with me.

There is nothing easy about breaking generational cycles. The responsibility of change carried in often-weary arms. The battle to not only heal your own wounds, but to not inflict those same wounds upon others. The overcoming of all that has come before you, the defeating of all that still tries to find its way back in.

The recognising and severing of toxic patterns. The need to take responsibility for past actions. To seek forgiveness. To learn boundaries. To reparent yourself. To fight against years of unhealthy relationships, addictions, coping mechanisms, and means of survival.

It is heavy work. Backbreaking work. Thankless work. Exhausting work. It is scraped knees and blistered hands. Faces marred with sweat and tears. It is lost sleep and unheard prayers and always wondering if it is enough. If we are enough. To do this. To be the catalyst so desperately needed.

It would be easier to traverse familiar paths. To not have to navigate criticism, judgement, and rejection from those who have walked the calf-path for decades before. Who do not understand our rebellion—instead, labelling us the black sheep. The ones who cause so much disruption and drama. The ones who do not conform. The ones who refuse to continue the cycles of toxicity, abuse, addiction, and secrets they themselves are comfortable holding within.

I know there is nothing easy about breaking generational cycles.

But, dear heart, see the work you have already done. See the dirt under your fingernails; the way your hands have worked callous earth that fresh seeds may be planted; these fields now swollen with new birth. The promise of abundant harvest whispered to you beneath the warmth of this early summer sun.

See all you have already accomplished with the empty hands you were given. See how much stronger you are for the work—the straightness of your spine, the way your chin does not yield. How sure and tall you stand upon this land once covered in weeds.

You have been given the work because it is you who has what it takes to complete it. It is you who has the fire of determination in your stomach. The strength in your bones. The persistence and will to keep going pulsating inside every fibre of your being.

It is you who forged your way through unholy ground where others have feared to tread. It is you who remains unflinching and courageous—the heart of a lion and spirit of a warrior burning inside you.

It is you—headstrong and uncompromising, who will not rest until the work is finished.

I know these days of planting have been long and hard. But see the way the light has shifted—the way shadows have become less, days stretching out beneath beams of warmth and hope. See how you are everything the spirit of your ancestors have been waiting for. See how you are everything needed in this broken world.

Dear heart, I know there is nothing easy about breaking generational cycles.

But, do you see?

The harvest is near. The harvest is near.

~

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