The Mindful Way Through Ancestral Trauma

Mindfulness and My Journey to the Present Moment

Mindfulness is the practice of bringing one’s awareness to the present moment. The mind naturally tends to wander, sometimes into dangerous territory. It wanders much like a toddler, venturing into the future and the past, often dwelling there, completely unaware of the dangers. Like a responsible mother, mindfulness practice involves bringing the mind back to safety, back to the present moment.

My journey with mindfulness began nearly a decade ago. I was walking through a park on my way to work, rushing as usual, drinking coffee, listening to a podcast, my mind racing at 1,000 miles per hour. I was overwhelmed with thoughts—what if this happens, what if that happens, did I remember everything, am I going to be okay? Suddenly, I looked around at the park, the serene trees, flowers, and grass, and in an instant, I realized I was the problem. I thought to myself, how am I walking through this peaceful place and experiencing hell and misery in my mind? Maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m the reason I’m so unhappy. It was both devastating and empowering.

I started reading Eckhart Tolle, Pema Chödrön, Thich Nhat Hanh, and many other authors who wrote about mindfulness. I began to practice. I started noticing how I spent my time, how I treated my body, and how I lived my life. I became more intentional. I returned to the present moment and, in doing so, I came back to myself. I am not exaggerating when I say mindfulness saved my life. I was on a path to destruction and didn’t realize I was the one driving.

Understanding My Context

It’s important to appreciate the context within which I existed and nearly destroyed myself. Some of it was me, and some of it was handed to me. My ancestors survived enslavement and colonization. For many generations, the present moment was not a safe place. Our own bodies were not safe places to be. Enslaved Africans endured brutal cruelty, torture, rape, forced labor, and psychological torment. Would it not be adaptive to project one’s consciousness elsewhere given those circumstances? Would it not make sense to be obsessed with safety when survival required extraordinary effort? I don’t know much about my ancestors, but through spiritual inquiry, I’ve glimpsed fragments of their stories. Seeing even a small slice of it is staggering. I continued to survive in a neoliberal capitalist society in the way my ancestors had until I was called to heal. Though modern challenges exist, they pale compared to what my ancestors endured. I am grateful to them for enduring, surviving, and making it possible for me to be born in a time where I have access to healing.

Healing and Returning to the Present

Returning to the present moment was not easy, and coming back to my body was even harder. I faced the fear and terror stored in my body over generations and learned to cultivate presence in small ways. At first, for just a few seconds. Then, a minute. Then, a few minutes.

For many like me, coming back to the body evokes various difficult feelings and emotions. If this is you, start slow and work around the edges. You don’t have to dive headlong into this practice. Doing so would not serve you. Have compassion for yourself as a trauma survivor. Start with the edges and sit with what you can. Gently move in, deepening your practice one step at a time.

My Mindfulness Practice

When I began meditating, I would become dysregulated as soon as I started to slow down. My heart would race, my hands would shake, and the fear would feel overwhelming. I would cry uncontrollably. So, I turned to yoga. Yoga is a moving meditation and is a great place to start if sitting in silence feels hard. I did walking meditations and guided meditations. With time and practice, I began to find space for a short meditation after a yoga class or session. I carved out a few minutes during my lunch break or in the morning, meditating for three to five minutes at a time.

These days, I can meditate for 30 minutes and access a deep level of stillness that shifts the tone of my whole day. It is a practice that I love and cherish. From a still and quiet place, I can hear my ancestors whispering wisdom, truth, guidance, and love. In these moments, I feel comforted, knowing I’m not alone in the universe, that I am spiritually guided and protected, and that I have everything I need. From this centered place, my day flows with ease. Challenges still arise, but how I meet them is different. I see possibilities and opportunities rather than collapsing into helplessness and fear. I still have hard and painful moments, but I can be with myself in those moments with compassion, and that makes all the difference.