I Take a Stand Against Generational Trauma - A Poem

In July 2024, I was invited to give a speech at Croydon Council. In my talk, I shared a core belief: trauma is a generational inheritance. It is handed down from father to son, mother to daughter, from generation to generation down the centuries. It is an echo, a loud silence, a sound, and a signal begging to be heard, heeded, and healed.

In my own family, I recognised that this trauma had been handed down over the centuries. My parents inherited it from their parents, who inherited it from their parents, going back to time immemorial. My parents carried it, and like a gift, unwittingly and faithfully passed it to me because they failed to listen to those loud, silent sounds and ignored the alarm bells. This was not because they were careless or malicious, but because they could not fathom that their own parents would pass to them a poisoned chalice—a Trojan horse containing generational trauma.

Life is difficult enough without making our children start from birth with a deficit—trapped and lost in a deep, dark tunnel because we failed in our duty as parents to heal our generational trauma. Meanwhile, their peers, whose families dealt with their generational trauma, are excited, thriving, and living life to the full on land, sea, and air. We must break free of the chains of trauma and free our children so they can have a fighting chance of not just surviving, but, like their peers, becoming able to get excited, thrive, and live life to the full on land, sea, and air. That is the least we owe our children. With this awareness in mind, failing to do everything in our power to begin the journey of healing from our trauma is choosing to hand down a Trojan horse of trauma to our children. What kind of parent does that make us?

I made a promise to take a stand against generational trauma, to heal, and to give my descendants the greatest gift I can offer: the gift of trauma healing. The buck stops with me. This poem marks the occasion, and records the conversation between my soul and I. It explores what happens when we stop pretending everything is fine on the outside, face the mess on the inside, and listen to the ancient wisdom our soul carries. It is a journey from surviving to thriving—and a reminder that true life begins when we decide the buck stops with us.

I Take a Stand Against Generational Trauma

By Hassan Aden - July 2024

I was bored
I felt ignored
I nearly snored
I yearned for eternal slumber
I wondered, how did I earn this sabre?
I had a sword of steel, but my heart was somber.

I had a compass but no direction
I had a map but no purpose
I had a soul but no spirit
I had a body but no song
I had a mind but no serenity
I had skin but no sense
I had eyes but no sight
I had ears but no sound
I had a nose but no smell

Life was passing me by
I was waving it goodbye

My strengths I did not see
I was all at sea
I was told it was time to sink or swim
I cried out, "I cannot swim"
A voice aloud said it was too late to cry—
It was time to try.

I see my weakness
It increases my stress
I look a mess
I must confess
I often regress
I compress
I repress
I digress
I undress
I dress
I distress
I obsess
I excess
I possess
I guess
I assess
I address
I redress
I confess
I press
I express
I progress
I process
I caress
I profess
I am bliss
I am success

I look and find a mess on the inside
I appear normal on the outside
I look formal on the outside
Sometimes even informal on the outside
I try to smile, sad all the while
Feeling life is in vain, reeling from pain.

I look again and find a mess on the inside
I stop and steel myself
I search my soul and find the trauma
I cry, I cry, I cry.

I cry for my unconquerable soul
I ask my soul, "How did I survive this trauma?"
My soul said, "I lived on hope
That you would hear my tears
I had courage to cope
And give in not to my fears.

Even if my host, the body, bleeds
And concedes
And recedes
And dies
Before you hear my cries—
The soul never dies.

But my tears will soak the earth
And my sound will echo
Throughout the ages in the wind
Hoping a long-lost descendant soul will unearth
My trail in the sands of time
And hear my trauma chime
And echo
And not be so unkind."

I fell on my knees to the ground
I heard my soul's tears making a loud sound
The ground shaking with heavy teardrops
I saw the wound and applied honey drops
I smell the scent of sweet surrender
I touched the wound and applied the bandage of kindness
And was instantly cured of my blindness.

The spirit returned to my soul
The song to my body
The serenity to my mind
The sense to my skin
The sight to my eyes
The sound to my ears
The smell to my nose
The direction to my compass
The purpose to my map.

I said to my soul: "Heal, heal, heal
Hope no more
Fear no more
Here I am
Here I am for you
Here I am for us.

Here to pour honey
And share heavenly bliss
And restore unity of soul, mind, and body
And seal it with a kiss.

Restore our core
Heal the sore wound and explore
United as one, adore
Ask for more
Make our spirit soar
And roar
And underscore:
We are returning to our glory of before."

My soul said to me:
"In return for being not unkind
And so kind to me
I am inclined to unwind
To rewind
Get entwined
And remind you of some secrets of the soul kind
I want you to find and get behind.

Every soul carries a wound—
Some small, some large
Some deep, some shallow.

Every soul is set only with a burden predefined
A struggle designed to make it refined
To set it free and return it united.

'Dust thou art, to dust returnest'
Was not spoken of the soul.

To go from surviving to thriving
Return the soul to being alive and breathing
Receiving and giving
Healing and achieving
Leading and seeking
Returning to being King.

Quiet the mind
Rest the body
Sit still
Sit in solitude
Sit in silence
Hear the soul speak silence
Send sound waves, secret messages, silent symbols.

'You are not the ocean,
But the whole ocean in a drop.'
Life begins when fear ends."