The Gospel of the Feminine Story

Imagine a tapestry woven not just with threads of time, but with the very essence of those who came before us. In this opening, I want you to see the picture clearly: a grandmother carrying her unborn daughter, and within that daughter, the tiny, silent egg that will one day become you. It’s a beautiful and almost mystical truth: the matrilineal story is one of inheritance not just of genes, but of experiences, emotions, and untold strengths.

As we step into this story together, we want to look closely at how that maternal lineage carries the echoes of our foremothers. What happened to them, what shaped them, and what they silently passed down through generations is still humming in our own bones. This is not just about biology; it’s about the powerful, deeply human narrative that has been quietly carried forward, waiting for us to reclaim it.

Now, as we stand at this intersection of past and present, I invite you to pause and look inward. The patterns you live with today, the ways you navigate the chaos of this world, are not just your own, they are threads woven from generations before you. One day, they may be threads passed on to those who come after.

Take a moment to recognize the patterns in your own life. How does the stress of the modern world shape your body, your mind, your heart? Are there echoes of your grandmother’s resilience in the way you face challenges, or whispers of her fears in the way you respond to uncertainty?

This is not to place a burden on your shoulders; it’s to illuminate the power you have in this very moment. You are the living culmination of all that came before, and you have the profound ability to transform those patterns for those who will follow. Recognizing where you stand in this lineage is the first step to reclaiming the feminine story and shaping a future rooted in awareness, healing, and strength.

So, as we close this introduction, here is where our journey truly begins. Together, we will weave a tapestry that combines the threads of science, the power of storytelling, and the depth of spirituality. This is a narrative that honors the wholeness of our experiences and the lasting impact they carry. We’ll explore how the stories of our ancestors live on in our cells, how the science of epigenetics meets the wisdom of ancestral memory, and how embracing these layers can help us become more fully aware, more fully healed, and more fully alive. This is an invitation to step into the fullness of your own story. To see yourself not just as an individual, but as a living, breathing chapter in a much larger narrative. Through that recognition, to find both healing and empowerment in the stories you choose to tell from here on out.

The Science of Inheritance and Epigenetics

Now that we've stepped into the heart of our story, let’s gently unfold the science that helps illuminate these generational threads. Epigenetics might sound like a big, technical word, but at its core, it’s simply the story of how our genes respond to the world around us. In the earliest moments of life, as we develop in our mother’s womb, we’re not just receiving a set of genes from our mother and father. We’re also receiving a whole world of subtle influences. Our mother gives us more than chromosomes, she gives us the cytoplasm, the environment of the cell, the mitochondria that power our physiology. Within those tiny powerhouses are more than 30 genes of their own, carrying the echoes of generations past.

Epigenetics is, in essence, the way our genes can be turned on or off by the environment around us. The experiences of our grandmother, whether it was the stress of a difficult era, the resilience she showed in the face of hardship, or the nourishment she had or lacked, all create signals that influence how our genes express themselves. In this way, the science of epigenetics is a bridge. It connects the stories of our ancestors to the ways we experience life today. It helps us understand that the patterns we carry are not just random; they are part of a larger, deeply human narrative of adaptation and survival.

One of the most compelling illustrations of epigenetics comes from the grandchildren of those who survived the Dutch famine during World War II. Researchers found that these descendants often struggled with obesity and metabolic issues, even though they themselves never experienced famine. It was as if their bodies "remembered" the deprivation their grandparents had faced. The genes had adapted to hold onto calories, storing fat as a protective measure against a threat that was long past.

Just as we see with the descendants of the Dutch famine, another poignant example comes from studies of children born to mothers who lived through Hurricane Katrina in the United States. Researchers found that the children of mothers who were pregnant during the hurricane often displayed a heightened stress response and were more prone to anxiety. It was as if the storm’s upheaval had left a mark not just on the mothers but on the very biology of the next generation.

By focusing on this example, we see a clear and tangible link: the immense stress and uncertainty experienced during a natural disaster can tune a developing child’s stress response system to be more sensitive, almost like an inherited echo of the mother’s fear and resilience. This gives us a modern lens to understand how deeply interconnected our stories and our physiology truly are.

In both the Dutch famine and the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, we see that our genes are not just static blueprints. They are storytellers, adapting and responding to the world our ancestors lived through, and in turn, influencing the stories we live out today.

The Burden of Inherited Stories

To truly understand the burden of these inherited roles, we need to look at how these stories were born. Imagine the generations of women who came before us, living in times where their value was often tied to their ability to marry well, to bear children, to maintain a household in a particular way. Over time, these expectations became woven into the fabric of family life, passed down like heirlooms from mother to daughter.

These stories exist because, in many ways, they were once survival strategies. In a world that offered women few choices, fitting into these roles was a way to ensure security, social acceptance, and stability. The problem is that as times changed, these old narratives didn’t always evolve. Instead, they became burdens, pressing down on women who wanted to define fulfillment on their own terms.

So we find ourselves carrying these stories without always knowing why they exist. They persist because they were once a form of protection, a way to navigate a world that was less forgiving. Now, even as we live in a time of greater freedom, those old patterns can linger, whispering that we must be everything to everyone, or that we must follow a certain script to be worthy.

Before we begin rewriting our stories, we have to begin with remembering. Not in the clinical sense of genealogy, and not in a glorified sense of ancestral worship either but in the deeply human act of pausing long enough to consider where our stories came from. The women who came before us, our mothers, our grandmothers, and those even further back were not weak. They were surviving in the only ways they were allowed to. They didn’t have therapists or journaling prompts or Instagram reels reminding them to breathe. They had reputations to protect, children to feed, wars to live through, husbands to placate, and entire decades of emotion they had to swallow silently so the children wouldn’t see. Some of them were cold not because they didn’t love us, but because the world hadn’t given them permission to love themselves. Some were angry because no one had ever made space for their grief. Some passed down the very pain they tried so hard to escape because no one ever taught them that another way was possible.

This doesn’t mean we excuse harm. But it does mean we trace it. We hold space for the complexity. We acknowledge that our lineage is not made up of saints or villains, but of women doing the best they could with what they had. Now, with gentleness, we ask: What do we want to carry forward and what are we finally ready to lay down?

Because here is the truth that lives in your bones: you are not just a product of your past. You are not simply continuing a pattern. You are the turning point. You are the moment of clarity in the lineage. You are the one who can look at what’s been inherited not just in blood, but in behavior, in silence, in shame, and say, “I choose differently now.” That doesn’t require rage. It doesn’t require a clean break. It just requires a willingness to see. To see the pattern. To see the pain. To see the places where love tried and failed and maybe never made it through the door, and to make a different choice anyway.

You get to honor your lineage while interrupting the parts of it that no longer serve. You get to hold your grandmother’s strength and still reject her silence. You get to look your mother’s sacrifice in the eye and still build a life that includes rest. You get to stop performing the roles that no longer fit you. You are allowed to stop carrying what doesn’t belong to you. You are allowed to stop believing that pain is love, or that burnout is proof of your worth. You are allowed to choose presence. To choose softness. To choose a new story, one that your future descendants will inherit not as survival, but as a beginning.

Because your life is not a dead end. It is a doorway. Someone, someday, will be grateful that you walked through it.

Recognizing the Strength in Our Story

We’ve talked about how the story lives in the body. We’ve talked about how it shows up in spirit. Now I want to bring us to the place where those two meet in our blood, our bones, and in the very chromosomes we carry. Because here’s what’s true: every single one of us carries an X chromosome. Regardless of gender identity or biological sex, the X is a constant. And that chromosome is more than a strand of DNA, it’s a thread, tether, and a living library. It holds within it the maternal line, the mitochondrial line, the part of us that reaches all the way back to the beginning. That’s not poetry. That’s science. It’s also magic.

When I did my 23andMe test, I was curious, sure. But I didn’t expect to feel what I felt when I saw my matrilineal line traced back through time. I watched as it moved across continents, through deserts and into forests, through hardship and into survival. My family line likely began in the deserts or tropics of Africa and slowly made its way north. And I found myself wondering what they carried with them, what hunger, what hope, what grief, and what strength. To walk toward the unknown and survive it? That’s not just endurance. That’s sacred.

And then I started seeing it in myself. I looked at my broad hips and my strong thighs and that small but stubborn layer of fat that always sits right over my uterus, and for the first time I didn’t see shame. I saw protection. I saw my Irish ancestors, famine survivors, colonized people, women who had to hold onto energy because the world gave them no guarantees. My body remembered their story, even when I didn’t. And while I’ve spent years criticizing that softness, wishing it away, I now understand it for what it is: an echo. A truth. A reminder that I am the result of thousands of women who made it through.

That story doesn’t just live in the curve of my hips, it lives in how I was raised. My mother grew up in a home where love wasn’t spoken aloud. Her mother, born into a strict Catholic family in the 1930s, had been hardened by a system that taught women to serve but never to soften. But my mom chose differently. She didn’t always get it right, none of us do, but she made sure that love was felt in our house. She interrupted the pattern. And because of that, I’m able to sit here today and say that I have a deeply loving relationship with my own daughter. That’s the power of one woman saying, “No more.”

Call to Action: Tracing the Threads of Your Story

As we come to the end of this journey, I invite you to begin your own exploration. We’ve talked about the power of our lineage and the stories carried in our genes, and now it’s time to connect that to your own life.

Step One: Reflect on Your Maternal Line

Take a moment to think about your grandmother. If you’re willing, go back as far as you comfortably can on your maternal side, but let’s begin with her. Consider the patterns or traits that she embodied. Was she a warrior in her own way? Was she nurturing, resilient, or perhaps a keeper of certain family traditions? You might want to journal about her life, her habits, and the ways her story has shaped the generations that followed.

Then, do the same reflection for your mother. Think about the qualities she passed down, the strengths she carried, and how her experiences influenced you. This is not about getting lost in the past, but about understanding the threads of your own story and how they connect you to a long line of remarkable women.

Step Two: Reflect on Your Present Self

Now that you've explored the stories of your grandmother and mother, turn your focus to yourself. Take some time to reflect on the qualities you carry within you today. What strengths, values, or habits have you inherited from the women who came before you? And where have you chosen to disrupt old patterns or create new paths that are uniquely your own?

In your journal, write about how you see yourself in this moment. Consider the ways you’ve blended the legacy of your lineage with your own individual spirit. This is a chance to acknowledge your role as both a continuation of the past and a creator of the future.

Step Three: Looking to the Future

With an understanding of how science meets spirit and how the past has shaped you, let’s turn our gaze to the future. Think about the steps you can take to help ensure a healthier, stronger future for the next generation. This might mean consciously passing down stories of resilience, creating an environment where children feel seen and heard, or modeling the kind of self-care and self-compassion that breaks old cycles and fosters new growth.

If you’re not a parent yourself, consider how you can be a positive influence on the children in your life such as nieces, nephews, or the children of friends. By embodying the lessons of both your lineage and your own personal growth, you help create a ripple effect that empowers the next generation to thrive.

A Note on Changing the Story

As we wrap up this reflection, remember that not everything is set in stone. If you’ve uncovered anything in your family’s story or in your own patterns that feels uncomfortable or worrying, know that it’s absolutely okay. Our stories are not immovable. We have the power to make new choices today that can resonate for generations to come.

You are not bound by the past. Instead, you’re empowered by the knowledge of it. Each day, you have the ability to shape a new chapter, to create healthier patterns, and to write a story that reflects both where you’ve come from and where you want to go. Your lineage is a source of strength, and your future is a canvas of possibility.

References

Bleker, L. S., de Rooij, S. R., Painter, R. C., Ravelli, A. C. J., & Roseboom, T. J. (2021). Cohort profile: The Dutch famine birth cohort (DFBC)—A prospective birth cohort study in the Netherlands. BMJ Open, 11(3), e042078. https://doi.org/10.1136/bmjopen-2020-042078

Tees, M. T., Harville, E. W., Xiong, X., Buekens, P., Pridjian, G., & Elkind-Hirsch, K. (2010). Hurricane Katrina-related maternal stress, maternal mental health, and early infant temperament. Maternal and Child Health Journal, 14(4), 511–518. https://doi.org/10.1007/s10995-009-0486-x