The Bigger Picture of Ancestral Trauma

Hi, and welcome to anyone taking the time to read and consider these ponderings.

I’m writing this before sharing the first in a series called The Bigger Pictures. The opening piece, The Bigger Picture of Ancestral Trauma, may provoke some response and before any potential reactivity finds this, I want to anchor my intention.

At the heart of this work is a call for a broader, more inclusive conversation. One that doesn’t reduce complex histories into binary roles of oppressor and oppressed. That framing, while grounded in truth, often halts dialogue instead of deepening it. And I believe that comes at a great cost to how we view each other.

Not long ago, I voted No in Australia’s referendum. When I shared that, some responded with harsh judgment. The worst was immediately assumed. There was no curiosity. I expected all this. And now, in the name of what I hope to achieve here, I want to share how I arrived at my decision.

I didn’t listen to white people. I listened only to the Indigenous peoples of Australia. Those who voted Yes and those who voted No.

I saw conviction, pain, frustration and deep hope for change on both sides.

But it was the words of an Aboriginal Elder that stayed with me. He was poised and showed no signs of fear or judgement towards those who believed different. He believed a No vote was the wisest path forward for his people. I listened to him not because I was certain but because I trusted his certainty.

I still don’t know if it was the right decision. I hoped, as I believe he hoped, that it was. But what stayed with me more than the vote itself was the intensity of the scorn most people directed at those who believed differently and I saw that on both sides. That judgment became one of the mirrors for this work.

None of this is to defend my vote. I’m sharing it because it points to the chasm between beliefs that The Bigger Picture of Ancestral Trauma seeks to bridge.

We’re living in a time where disagreement feels dangerous. Where to challenge a dominant narrative can result in being exiled from the conversation or even your friend group. But I believe real dialogue and change doesn’t begin until disagreement enters the room.

So I ask: Why is ancestral trauma so often defined only by what was done to our ancestors, and not also by what was done by them? Could the recognition of our shared shadows bring us closer?

Most ancestral trauma discourse focuses on inherited victimhood. Rarely does it explore the pain of inheriting harm done by our own lineage. We inherit everything from our ancestors. Their grief and their guilt, their wisdom and their wounds. If we only honour the pain they suffered, and not the pain they caused, then we’re limiting the potential for a much deeper healing.

The current cultural climate often elevates moral innocence and inherited injury. But what about inherited accountability? If we continue to rank pain instead of including and reflecting on our shared shadow, we stay locked in a story that is only partially true.

We isolate the traits we most resent in others. We fixate on them. We stop listening unless we already agree. We tell ourselves we’re doing it in the name of justice and “good,” but so often it results in division and condemnation of those who don’t agree.

We’ve all inherited complex lineages. No people are untouched by suffering or by power. And to frame any group solely as victims of history is to reduce them.

The Bigger Picture is a way for me to explore the idea that the capacity to care and be cared for, to harm and to be harmed, exists in all of us. Every family tree is tangled with betrayal, resilience, cruelty, and love. If we can own that, we might begin to dissolve the illusion of separation and maybe, in seeing the similarity of our sins, we take a step closer to each other instead of gathering and isolating in self-convinced groups of “good.” Because beneath all the rage and judgment, I believe there is a much bigger picture to be explored.

If you feel like sharing thoughts on this, I'd love to hear from you. No matter what side you're on I'll do my best to meet you in the middle.

Buffi.