Visions Journal

Rachelle N Tri

Reprinted from the The Ongoing Journey of Recovery: Recovery across the lifespan issue of Visions Journal, 2025, 20 (3), pp. 35-36

Even after going to counselling and learning strategies to mitigate my anxiety episodes, there are still moments when my racing mind catches me off guard and throws me into another anxious fit.

These moments don’t scare me as much as they did when I was a teenager. The surge of panic and my heart thumping wildly against my rib cage feel the same, but there’s a small wave of calm trying to wash away the tension. “You’re doing ok,” “you are strong and worthy of care” and “you are loved and have done your best” are words of compassion I tell myself. Slowly, my breath returns to normal. 

More recently, during these anxiety episodes, I’ve been trying to tell myself to forgive—not only myself, but those who have unintentionally hurt me. It’s become another way to cope during these spirals. My desire to forgive stems from my knowledge that my anxiety was passed down to me through my family’s intergenerational trauma. 

Second-hand trauma

From an early age, I remember moments of my parents being extremely anxious and, at times, paranoid wrecks. The trauma and atrocities they experienced as post-war refugees made them live in a constant state of fight or flight. Unfortunately, their suffering translated into survival-mode parenting while raising my siblings and I here in Canada. 

This upbringing came with controlling behaviours that intensified my anxiety. One of my parents’ most prominent fixations was efficiency. They constantly reminded—and ordered—me and my siblings to be efficient to limit the possibility of wasting resources. But their nagging only tightened the knots in my stomach and the tension in my chest. I also worried that their controlling behaviour stemmed from a lack of trust in our ability to make good choices, which only made me more insecure. 

My inner turmoil also developed, in part, from a difficult reality many immigrants face: the expectation of resilience. This meant living without closure whenever I questioned my parents about their worries. They never communicated why stress consumed them. I now understand why: they had been taught to internalize their worries rather than burden others. It was simply a cultural norm. But without open communication, a creeping dread took root—one that never truly left me. 

Over time, their anxiety and obsessive controlling behaviours became a language I learned before I even understood its meaning. I got used to their unhealthy habits and, consequently, I behaved as they did. 

Coming to awareness

I hit rock bottom during my late teens. My anxiety started to appear in physical manifestations: terrible, sharp chest pains. At the same time, I was beginning to reflect on my family’s untreated trauma, which opened up a flood of pain and guilt, with no stable outlet to release my feelings. 

I didn’t realize how deeply my anxiety and need for control were impacting my friendships until one summer day in 2023, when a close friend confessed that they felt I was too controlling at times. My advice felt like commands, making them feel incapable of making their own decisions. The realization that I was literally following in my mother’s footsteps made me sick. I felt awful and apologized. Our honesty kickstarted my healing journey. 

I’ll forever be grateful for that transparent conversation. It pushed me to self-reflect and seek support through counselling. I learned self-help strategies through CBT, which helped calm me down during my anxious episodes. 

Pursuing post-secondary education has allowed me to look for opportunities to gain better self-awareness, happiness and new perspectives by talking to others with similar situations. I’m also closer with my siblings now, as we’ve bonded over navigating our dysfunctional upbringing together. Knowing I’m not alone has truly alleviated my anxiety. 

I’ve also started writing about my experiences and, last year, published an article in a student journal about my intergenerational anxiety.¹  It was an eye-opening process that required honesty and many breaks to digest what I was putting down on paper. But I’m glad I wrote it. It was a step towards reclaiming my future rather than suffering from my past. 

A calmer present 

Time has softened painful memories and allowed me to grow. Maturing has eased some of my parents' burdens, helping them mellow out as well. I’m glad I’ve learned to be patient and to understand their trauma. I know a big part of our upbringing was rooted in their untreated mental health issues, as they were victims of a nation's long history of conflict. Though I’m still navigating our relationship, I love them and will continue striving for honest conversations.

I wholeheartedly believe healing isn’t meant to happen alone. Opening up to others can make the path to recovery a bit less intimidating. But that’s easier said than done. Confronting our fears takes courage and time. Yet, with the right people, those who genuinely care and support us, it becomes possible. 

I’m still trying to make healing a reality. The title of my story comes from my wish to move forward while destigmatizing my anxiety. I want to open up to others by expressing that I have anxiety and that it’s OK. I know it’ll probably never leave me, and I believe it’s OK to live with being just a bit more anxious than others, as long as you find healthy ways to keep yourself grounded in those moments. 

Going back to the word forgive, I’d say the word is bittersweet. Forgiveness is freeing, yet painful. It signifies moving forward, but from a past I wish didn’t need forgiving in the first place. Through this word, however, I’ve found peace. It’s driven me to give myself grace rather than being absorbed by guilt. 

Although forgiveness may not be the right tool for everyone, in my case, I think it has fostered a path of understanding, which I hope leads to the end of my family's cycle of intergenerational transmission of harmful habits. 

To those on their own path towards healing, I hope you take each anxious step with kindness and compassion. Generations before you may not have had the tools to heal, but you are choosing something different, which shows immense courage and love!