Commentary: Learning to recognise my own intergenerational trauma was rough, but it helped me begin healing

In most families, fights and arguments are part and parcel of living together. 
In my family, there are typically two reactions to conflict: A torrential burst of sharp reprimands that culminates in tears, or a rapid shutdown of the issue that is subsequently never brought up again. 
For a long time, these instances left me puzzled and unsettled. I assumed these behaviours were merely personal quirks, perhaps idiosyncrasies born out of our personalities. But as I grew older, I began to wonder whether there was something deeper at play. 
Could these patterns, so deeply ingrained in our family dynamics, be considered a form of intergenerational trauma?
If so, what does that mean for me?
Intergenerational trauma is a concept most commonly associated with severe and overtly damaging experiences — abuse, violence, or extreme neglect — that leave deep psychological scars on victims, scars that ripple down through generations. 
However, I’ve come to understand that such trauma can also manifest in subtler, more insidious ways, influencing family dynamics and individual behaviours in ways that are less overtly damaging or violent, but just as impactful.
In our household, conflict was a “bad thing” that would only quickly escalate to heated words and raised voices. As is the case for many other Asian families in particular, there was an unspoken agreement that certain issues, like longstanding disagreements between relatives or even tragic deaths, were better left undisturbed and that rocking the boat by speaking about it would bring more harm than good. 
There were many times when shouting replaced conversation, when emotional distancing became the norm, or when childhood punishments seemed to exceed the crime and bordered on excessive. 
Over time, it’s become clear to me that these shared family behaviours, though not “abusive” in any overt or conventional sense, are still affecting us in profound ways.
I questioned: Did these really “count” as trauma, though? Or were they just instances of strict discipline? 
Firstly, it’s important to note that trauma is subjective, says Mr Andreas Oehler, psychotherapist at Range counselling services. 
“The extent to which we experience anything is based on how we process the situation, and this is also dependent on what prior experiences have taught us,” he says. 
“What is construed as traumatic for some might not be considered traumatic for others. No two people view the same situation or circumstances similarly.”
Looking back when I was growing up, my mother would often look at herself in the mirror, hold her body and exclaim, “I’m so fat, right?” 
To this, I would always reflexively reply, “No, you don’t.”
It always seemed like an innocuous enough exchange — until I began spending a significant amount of time and energy noticing how my curves fill out a dress, how my legs look in a pair of shorts, or even how a simple shirt clings to my body.
Dr Karen Pooh of Alliance Counselling illustrates this with the metaphor of a child as a sponge, soaking up the environment around them.  
“When a parent frequently expresses anxiety or engages in negative self-talk, it’s like dripping dye into water. The sponge absorbs the colour,” explains the psychologist.
“Over time, the sponge becomes tinted by these repeated exposures … Similarly, a child internalises these repeated messages, and their self-perception and emotional responses are coloured by what they’ve absorbed.” 
For example, Dr Pooh said if a parent constantly worries about their appearance, the child may develop a similar focus on body image and potential insecurities.
A few weeks ago, my mother and I were embroiled in yet another heated argument. I don’t remember what it was about exactly, just that it was over something mundane and minor. 
In a surge of frustration, I found myself shouting back at her, mirroring the very behaviour that had always hurt my feelings and left me wounded.
Only later did it hit me, like a bucket of cold water dumped on my head: Despite all my efforts to be different, I was perpetuating the very patterns I had longed to break. I saw my behaviour mirrored in memories of my mother talking to her own mother on the phone, times where her frustration and annoyance had reached a tipping point and led to her shouting and railing. 
I’d grown up vehemently vowing not to repeat the same hurtful patterns, but in my aversion I had also inadvertently picked them up. 
Reflecting on this incident over the next few days was both humbling and jarring. 
Realising that I was replicating my mother’s behaviour wasn’t about assigning blame. Instead, it was about recognising the humanity in both of us. 
My mother, like her mother before her, was shaped by her experiences and the behaviours she’d learnt. She did the best she could with what she knew. In many ways, so have I. 
This awareness doesn’t erase the impact of those behaviours, but it did provide me with a lens of compassion through which to view them. 
Truthfully, this understanding was deeply unsettling. It forced me to confront my own shortcomings in dealing with conflict, which can be a painfully vulnerable experience. 
But it also presented new opportunities to consciously confront old, ugly patterns whenever they resurface, and to choose a different response. 
While children may be predisposed to inherit some emotional traits and wounds from their parents, this doesn’t necessarily doom us to an unchangeable fate, says Dr Pooh. 
Mr Oehler agrees: “With increased awareness, mental health interventions and intentional efforts to break the cycle, it is possible to prevent transmission of intergenerational trauma.”
Healing intergenerational trauma is not about erasing the past or pretending that these patterns don’t exist. Instead, it’s about recognising them, understanding their origins and their enduring effect on us, and making a conscious effort to do things differently. 
For me, this means taking a pause before my irritation sets in, being even more patient when I sense conflict arising, and knowing which battles to fight and which ones to let go of. 
It’s not perfect, and there are still times when old habits and instincts rear their heads. But with each passing day, we’re learning to navigate these challenges together. We try to meet each other halfway and reframe our differences — maybe my way is not the “better” way, but just a “different” way. 
At home, where once I would retreat into silence, I now try to engage more openly, even when it’s uncomfortable. 
I’m learning to express my needs and emotions more clearly to my family, rather than allowing them to fester beneath the surface. 
This has allowed us to become more aware of each other’s blind spots and even subtle misunderstandings about the other person’s intentions, and we are stronger for it. 
Despite our best intentions, we’re only human. There are still moments when I catch myself slipping back into old habits.
However, each time I choose to respond differently, I feel a small sense of victory — not in blind desperation to escape the past, but as a deliberate step forward, towards a healthier future for myself and my loved ones.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Nicole Lam is a senior journalist at TODAY.