Return to Sender: Reframing Generational Trauma through FCT
When people talk about familial love, it’s like hearing a lovely language I don't know how to speak. In Japanese culture, we rarely talk about loving each other; we barely use the word. Instead, love is expressed through degrees of respect and consideration. If the nation had a standardized love-language, it would be Acts of Service. And the deeper the love, the more it warps into obligation and sacrifice. Growing up, my mother repeatedly told me how much she sacrificed for me, working long hours just to be able to provide for us, though we lived well within our means. I felt guilty just for existing, let alone wanting anything. I was always hungry for attention, inclusion, or even just proximity; something that seemed to come innately for every family but mine. Family was always so far away: from the absence of my father, the coldness of my mother, or from being physically separated from Japan.
I felt guilty just for existing, let alone wanting anything.
Suffice to say, family is the thorniest topic. Although I typically don't shy away from public vulnerability, the group setting of Family Constellation Therapy (FCT) always put me off. The thought of being surrounded and witnessed by strangers as I navigate this spiky topic makes me uneasy. But when a friend recommended a remote 1:1 session following my struggles with my mother's death anniversary, I decided to give it a try.
Carmen, the facilitator, began the session with a grounding activation, guiding me to visualize sitting in a serene forest and having family members walk towards me one by one. This was meant to be a gentle opening but I already felt a tinge of nausea. When she asked what I wanted to focus on, I was lost for words because where do I even begin? Emotions around family has been a tangled mess. I’ve done years of talk-therapy just to loosen the knot of our convoluted issues, but I haven’t been able to separate many of the pieces. After some probing from Carmen, we decided to focus on what we could: to remove the sting around family so one day I could work on untangling them.
In front of Carmen lay a round wooden board which became our stage. She also laid out a group of Playmobil figurines and asked me to choose ones to represent me, my mother, and my father. I chose a little girl for myself. For my mother, I chose a woman in a blue top and pants. I couldn’t see the details but later Carmen informed me that I had selected a police woman (there really are no coincidences). Lastly, for my father, I chose the oddest looking male character.
It’s as if a doorway became revealed, one that I knew was there
but couldn’t access until now.
To start the constellation, Carmen placed two figures on the board: me and my mother’s. They stood next to each other facing the camera. She asked how I felt. I shrugged and said “fine”. She made a small adjustment and suddenly the board felt very different. Emotions started to stir up. She had moved my figure to the other side of my mother’s so now I was toward the center of the board. This made my inner child feel delighted–I felt her perk up and widen her eyes at this recognition she has always wanted and needed. It’s as if a doorway became revealed, one that I knew was there but couldn’t access until now.
For the next rearrangement, Carmen had my figure square off my mother and I felt a wave of uneasiness. I had to remind myself that I was an adult now and took a breath. As the tension settled, I remembered the day I realized I was taller than my mother. She had been scolding me for something, probably for hogging the landline to use dial-up. While I was still terrified of her, this literal shift in perspective broke a spell: she wasn’t a god and her words were not absolute.
He has always meant danger, both physically and psychologically.
Then Carmen did the unthinkable, at least to my child-mind: she brought my father into the mix, placing him next to my mother. It was instantly destabilizing; my heart rate increased, my breathing labored, and my hands went cold. Alarm bells I couldn’t hear started going off in my system. My entire existence has been about staying far away from him. He has always meant danger, both physically and psychologically. He has been the Killgrave to my Jessica Jones.
I explained how uneasy and unnatural it felt, given my mother’s lifelong efforts to protect us from him. Carmen challenged this narrative, saying my version of history was a made up story my mother told to benefit herself, and that I didn't truly know their relationship. She said this so flippantly, rage immediately flared. I conceded that I didn't know the full nature of their relationship, but I pushed back, informed Carmen of the gaps in her understanding. My mother had real reasons for keeping us away and I have first hand experience of his abuse and manipulation. We agreed to moved on.
Carmen then added another character to the board: my mother’s mother, the one who doted on me in her absence. With now three generations on the board, it was time to address the trauma that had been passed down. I again didn’t know where to start so Carmen offered her observation: “men are unreliable; they cause trouble and cannot be trusted; we must be vigilant to not fall for their trap.”
She nailed it.
Carmen brought out a black stone to represent the weight of this generational trauma. She instructed me to say, "Mom, I give this back to you," but I hesitated. I had believed that being born into this lineage meant it was my duty to heal the trauma for everyone. And since I was the one still in a body, I had to shoulder the responsibility to break the cycle.
There’s no glory in martyring myself to be the only one breaking the cycle.
Carmen reminded me that I wasn't meant to carry the weight of others. I have to take what is mine and return the rest. My mother has to do the same, so does my grandmother, and so forth. The trauma had to be returned to the original sender, holding us all responsible for it. At first this felt like a betrayal, that I was ungrateful for my mother and grandmother’s efforts. But my mother was an adult. She did the best she could, and she still chose to pass the baggage on to me. I can't heal her, she has to heal herself; to take accountability and do her own work, even in the other realm. There’s no glory in martyring myself to be the only one breaking this cycle. This is not how it works; I’d only be perpetuating the old dynamic of being at everyone else’s disposal. I realized how exhausted I’ve been from carrying this weight alone. When I thought about sharing this responsibility, the weight lifts and life suddenly feels so much more manageable.
Lastly, Carmen brought my partner onto the board. She turned me away from my family to face him. My family was in the past, and he represented my future. She then chose an adult figurine for me and placed it next to the little girl. I do not replace the little girl for she is always there. I am the adult she has always needed. I am responsible for her and can co-regulate her.
In her final move, Carmen placed my partner on the other side of the girl so we stood in line, looking like a unified family. And for the first time, I let myself admit that I felt happy and excited about family, to create and be a part of one. The door that emerged earlier now slowly opened, offering a new path forward; one I've been scared to want, worried it wasn’t available for me, that it somehow wasn’t allowed. Now, I just have to claim it.
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The voice, ideas, and perspective in this essay are 100% mine. However, I did use Gemini as my editor to help perfect the structure and refine the flow.