Healing from Generational Trauma
I will never forget when my father yelled at me for not knowing the time in Korean. He asked me when I was around 7 years old and I had no clue how to respond. I grew up in Chicago and my Korean was at a beginner’s level. Mind you, I never took a Korean language course, so it was literally a moment of cluelessness. He flipped out when I didn’t answer correctly and ridiculed me in ways that still traumatize me today.
This was not the first time my father shamed me. My younger brother and I were victims to his unprocessed pain. Often times, he humiliated us publicly, in restaurants and even in movie theaters. It didn’t matter where we were. We stood there straight as soldiers and quietly nodded our heads, listening to our father’s commands. When we were at home, it was even worse, as my brother would get physically hurt. Although, my father did not physically abuse me, his emotional abuse was just as harmful. By the time we were young adults, his abuse occurred so often that it became “normal”. On one occasion, he yelled at my brother at a restaurant that I served in. I brought them in to show off my new job and to also have a nice family dinner. My coworker noticed my father’s mannerisms and asked if everything was okay, I shrugged it off and said everything was fine. I realized, as I looked at everyone else casually eating, laughing, and enjoying their meal, that we were the ones that stood out most. I felt sad that our family wasn’t able to be like the other guests and at that moment, I sat there silently, trying not to cry.
As I write this, I’ve come to understand how I process my emotions. I tend to shut down when I am hurt, since that is the way I’ve always learned to cope. As a parent, I am discovering new and healthy ways to process my emotions. It has been no easy path because just like anyone, I have my good days and my bad days. Though, after shaming my son the same way my father did, it is apparent that my trauma runs deeper than I thought. It’s the type of pain that resonates so heavily that it is not easy to escape from. After seeing how much hurt it caused my son, it is time to address the issues that I’ve been running away for so long. I really do not want to repeat my father’s mistakes.
Discovering positive parenting techniques is like learning a new language. I am unable to speak it, yet I can feel within my very heart how it should sound. I have read many parenting books and after practicing a few methods, I’ve learned some work and some just don’t. I was so hard on myself for not being able to perfect positive parenting. At the end of the day, the first undeniable step to healing is acknowledgement. That in itself is a desire to be better after all.
I look back at the intergenerational trauma my father faced and try to empathize with his struggles. He grew up in a world very different than mine as he immigrated to America after Japanese colonization and the Korean War. My grandparents were carrying onto 5,000 years worth of Korean customs in a new Western world. After living in Chicago for more than 40 years, my grandmother still does not speak English fluently. She has surrounded herself with those that carry the same cultural idealisms as her. When my grandfather passed away in ’96, she never remarried and continued to create her own business in Old Korean Town. I am sure with everything going on, she did not have the answers to help my father process his pain and only helped the best way she knew how to.
When I first became a parent, I was resentful towards my father because I could not fathom treating my son the way he treated my brother and I. Yet, I still managed to repeat his toxic behavior just last night. It truly hurts me to know that I’ve crossed that path and in a way, I forgive my father because I understand that he simply did not know how to identify his trauma. On top of that, he was a single father, as my mother took her own life after separating from him. My father was going through alcohol addiction and possibly other mental health issues. Although, he did not seek healthy ways to process his pain, he tried his best to love, in a way that was taught for him.
It is up to me to break that cycle and be better for my son. In no way do I wish for my son to learn the same maladaptive behaviors my family has. Undoing decades of damage is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to. The past is clearly embedded in me, especially as a second generation Korean American. Creating a new family tradition, however it may look, is something I will never give up on.
