Much of our lives are shaped by things that happened before we even existed. We inherit the traumas our ancestors never knew they had. It used to be called life and they put up with whatever misfortune came their way as best they could. Children will be saddled with the hurt in a mother’s eyes before they get a sense of the world they’ve been brought into. Before they learn their name or recognize their face in the mirror.
For more than a year now I’ve been trying to understand the trauma I’ve been carrying around all my life thinking about events that shaped me and the people I knew. What about those I never knew or knew for only a brief time? They’re all here in these black and white photos. Their sorrows are hidden in the stacks of letters, some of which I cannot read as I don’t know the language of my Croatian ancestors or German which they spoke fluently.
It took me days to look at each photo trying to figure out who these people are or what is worth keeping. Many of them are only names to me, while my children struggle to keep track who was whose mother.
We think we know our parents or grandparents, but we only know them from the moment we become able to store memories. Of their lives before us, we know very little. Bare facts. Little of the emotions that bent them this or that way.
The only memories I have of my paternal grandmother are of an old lady yelping in pain each time she sat down at the dinner table. I never knew her as the proud woman as she appears in the center photo. Like I never could understand the struggle of making a new life in a foreign country where fate brought her. The essence of that pain is best captured in the letter with dried flowers. A letter from a sister she hadn’t seen for decades. Nevertheless that sister wrote diligently and sent her those flowers from her garden. To me, it’s more than a moving story, as I and most of our family inherited that feeling of being different. Strangers in a strange land.
There’s a lot of talk these days about immigrants and how they are unable or unwilling to integrate in their adopted countries, and we’re talking about people who wanted to move there. My grandmother came to Romania as a proud citizen of an Austro-Hungarian Empire that was soon to crumble. Her stay, I imagine, was to be brief. Soon though there was no empire to return to and her family had no need of another mouth to feed. As a very protective mother I cannot begin to contemplate the idea of giving a child to be raised by some distant (and rather strict) relative. Grandma was not one to dwell on feelings, but judging by the way she kept letters and photos I can only imagine how much she missed the family that gave her away and her country.
As a child I was always proud that I’m only half Romanian. That made me special, I guess. Looking at my siblings, all of us saddled with foreign-sounding names, no wonder none of us managed to lead an ordinary life. We’re a breed apart, (more than) a bit arrogant, and ultimately lonely.
Another scary thing I discovered going through the family archive is how unaware people were before the start of World War II. I came across albums of photos some unidentified ancestors took while visiting Nazi Germany in the late 1930s. Also from that time there’s a photo of presumably my mother in a group of children performing the Nazi salute. In 1939 my grandmother was visiting her family in Croatia, while my teenage father kept her abreast of his trip to meet a girl he fancied. Life was so normal. Just as normal as me drinking coffee and writing a post while European leaders are gathered right here in our city to discuss war preparations. Just have a look at Macron calling for foreign troops to be sent to Ukraine, while many European countries are discussing military drafts. I would be tempted to put it down as regular fear-mongering, but can I? Once again I look at my grandmother’s photo. She went to great lengths to keep her only son away from the carnage of WWII. She did what she had to do to keep her son safe and I feel I have to do the same for my son. Thank you, Grandma.
That is so very true! I believe much of that has to do with those old family secrets that were wiped under the carpet as if they would disappear. However, not dealing with it, that trauma is passed onto future generations.
Growing up in Apartheid South Africa, we were fed so many lies by the government, but not everyone was blinded by that. Sadly, many are still paying dearly for the injustices of those years, while those in power are so corrupt, raking in millions, at the expense of the poorest of the poor!
I can relate to that as I grew up under a communist regime that also fed us lies to the point that nobody believed anything coming from the authorities. Maybe that wasn't so bad as we learned not to trust official propaganda.
As for dealing with trauma, communists were smart enough to banish psychology. You couldn't study to become a therapist so no wonder most of my generation have a hard time understanding or accepting what the younger generations have to say about inherited trauma.
That's just awful, makes one wonder whatever happened to those with mental health illnesses!
In truth we can only know our unknown past from the moment. It is even better we don't struggle with unraveling the mysteries behind these pasts of ours. It almost an impossible task, and in many cases, it is just better with at peace with our present...
From your writing, your family is certainly a unique one. You grandma most importantly, she must have been a unique personality. Even though you certainly do not have a tangible knowledge about her, her ability to preserve memorable information is simply unique.
Nice encouraging your post @ladyrebecca. Apart from the amazing story of your family, you are a wonderful writer
That last photograph is very interesting, because less than half the class is performing the Roman salute the Nazis adopted. Some of them are performing the salute that America and other Western countries performed, and some of them aren't saluting at all. That has meaning, I think.
Thanks!
Edit: I just looked at that pic of the children again, and noticed the two little girls in front were holding hands. I think that's the best salute of all.
Actually, the little girl on the right seems to be my mother so thanks for pointing it out. After going through hundreds of photos it's hard to focus on the details. I believe the picture dates from the late 1930s and those were confusing times in my country. We were allies with the Germans at that time. However, the military leaders of those times are rarely mentioned and you won't see public ceremonies honoring their memory... like you could see in the Ukraine. Or at least you could before the war. I saw footage on a Russian channel, but it was real and quite unsettling.
I wish I knew more about some of my ancestors. Here in America the genealogical trail often goes cold after just a few generations back.
I do believe we carry the unresolved trauma of our ancestors. It's strange how when a person gets into survival mode they just automatically repress certain feelings and emotions. This allows us to function enough to get through whatever tough situations we're going through but unless we take the time to process those emotions later, after the traumatic event passes, we suffer greatly from their toxicity. This happened to me during Covid when my Father passed so horrifically. It took me over a year to feel normal again.
Our generation (X) carries a pretty big burden I think. Ours is one of the first generation that deems it acceptable en masse to seek therapy. We're processing the trauma of many, many generations.
Great post!
Here in Eastern Europe therapy is not really acceptable. There's a lot of stigma attached to it. People do not want to acknowledge the notion of trauma. I've struggled with this myself. My family is split between those who try to understand their past and those who refuse to talk. I was shocked to realize that there are many things we never talked about even though we were quite close at time. This can only perpetuate trauma...
It was that way here in the States too for the poor/middle class before Gen X. It's widely accepted now. I think sometimes, in certain situations, people can become a bit addicted to talk therapy and it becomes a journey with no destination but I think that depends on the therapist. There were a LOT of repressed trauma I'm finding on both side of my family, especially a couple of generations back. For example, my grandfather's Protestant parents didn't give his children (my Mom and aunt) presents during Christmas because they were Catholic. Seems silly now but that's how the world was.
Indeed, you cannot judge people by today's standards. We have Catholics and Eastern Orthodox in my family, and Christmas gifts were always a must.
Blumen aus meinem Garten ❤️ The war times were incredibly tough, and hearing people share their stories is so sad. It's hard to imagine what they went through. Living in a foreign country without knowing the language and being surrounded by strangers is tough, and I understand that :/ I miss my family so much.