adult hand with a large tree representing a family tree with a baby's hand touching the adult hand

Breaking the Cycle of Generational Trauma: When Understanding Doesn’t Mean Accepting

Breaking the cycle of generational trauma is hard. It requires awareness, effort, and—most importantly—accountability. My parents both experienced their own childhood trauma, which shaped them into the people they became. My mother endured abuse and carried it with her for her entire life, using it as both an identity and an excuse. My father’s defining trauma was his pastor father’s affair, which shattered his trust and shaped the withdrawn, emotionally detached man he became. When his father left, he didn’t just leave—he abandoned his family entirely to be with the other woman, prioritizing his new life over the one he had built.

In true “repeating the cycle” fashion, my father later ended up divorcing my mother due to her narcissistic abuse of him. But instead of taking responsibility or ensuring his children were protected, he left us to fend for ourselves with a dangerous person. Now, the difference here is that we were all grown adults when he divorced my mother—but the fact remains: we still had the wool pulled over our eyes. He knew what she was, and instead of helping, he just escaped, started over with a new woman, and never looked back. He’s still living that new life, which is the epitome of repeating the cycle of generational trauma.

Understanding their trauma has helped me make sense of why they were the way they were, but here’s the thing: understanding doesn’t mean accepting. Feeling sympathy for their experiences doesn’t mean tolerating their behavior. And recognizing their wounds doesn’t mean excusing the ways they hurt me and my siblings.

How Their Unresolved Trauma Shaped Their Parenting

Looking back, it’s easy to see how my parents’ unhealed wounds bled into their parenting. My father, having never had a proper role model, withdrew emotionally. He didn’t guide, didn’t teach—just did everything himself and let us figure things out on our own. He was quick to anger, and that temper was something my brother and I absorbed without even realizing it. Worse, he allowed himself to be a passive participant in my mother’s narcissistic behavior.

My mother’s trauma took a different form. She carried deep-seated abandonment and insecurity issues, learned abuse from her own father, and passed that along to my brother and me. (Notably, my sister never experienced the same level of abuse.) Everything she did was justified under the guise of culture or this is just how I am. Her trauma wasn’t just an explanation for her behavior—it was her shield, something she wielded whenever she needed an excuse. This is yet another example of how generational trauma continues if left unchecked.

Recognizing the Cycle

For much of my life, I didn’t recognize these patterns for what they were. I thought my parents were just difficult—that this was simply how families functioned. It wasn’t until years later, through therapy and reflection, that I realized they weren’t just flawed parents making mistakes; they were repeating the cycle of generational trauma. The things that didn’t sit right with me as a child? They weren’t normal. They weren’t okay. And if I didn’t do something different, I would pass them down, too.

The Struggle Between Sympathy and Accountability

Here’s where things got complicated: once I understood their trauma, I felt sympathy for them. But I also felt guilt. Setting boundaries—something they had never respected—felt wrong at first, like I was betraying them or being ungrateful. It took years of therapy to unlearn that guilt.

At first, my sympathy disappeared entirely. Anger replaced it, and I wanted nothing to do with them. But through healing, I was able to find balance. I learned that sympathy and accountability can (and should) coexist. I could acknowledge that my mother had endured a terrible childhood and hold her accountable for choosing to continue the cycle. I could recognize my father’s pain and see the ways he failed me and my siblings. Feeling sorry for someone doesn’t mean allowing them to continue harming you.

Breaking the Cycle of Generational Trauma: What My Parents Never Did

The difference between my parents and me isn’t therapy. They’ve been in and out of therapy throughout their lives. The difference is accountability. Therapy is meaningless without it. My parents never looked inward and truly examined how their actions hurt us. They never confronted their own behaviors or made meaningful changes.

Breaking the cycle of generational trauma required me to do what they never could—recognize how trauma shaped me, hold myself accountable, and commit to healing. It means that when I see unhealthy patterns in myself, I don’t brush them off or excuse them because of my own childhood. Instead, I take ownership and actively work to do better.

The Hardest Boundary: No Contact

At some point, we all have to ask ourselves: Is this person capable of respecting my boundaries? If the answer is no, then what’s the point of continuing to set them?

It took me years of setting boundaries with my mother—only to have her shatter them—before I realized the only boundary she would respect: no contact. That’s not the right choice for everyone, and it’s not an easy one. But it was necessary for me. Not everyone will require no contact, but learning how to gauge whether it’s the right decision is crucial.

Final Thoughts: It’s Okay to Feel Sympathy, But…

If you take anything from this, let it be this: sympathy does not mean obligation. Feeling bad for your parents’ pain does not mean you have to accept, tolerate, or forgive their actions. And if they can’t respect your boundaries, that’s not your fault.

Breaking the cycle of generational trauma is hard. Setting boundaries is hard. Holding ourselves accountable is hard. But healing? That’s what makes it all worth it.

What about you? Have you struggled with balancing sympathy for a parent’s trauma with setting boundaries? What helped you the most in breaking cycles? I’d love to hear your thoughts. And if you’re on this journey yourself, remember: you’re not alone.

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