Breaking the Cycle: A Letter to My Grandma

In honor of Women's History Month, I find myself reflecting on the women who came before me—their stories, their struggles, and the resilience they carried through generations. It's a time to recognize the strength of those who paved the way, even when their stories were silenced or forgotten. One of those women was my grandmother, whose journey of pain and survival shaped not only her life but mine as well.

Dear Grandma,

The adults never protected you. You did nothing wrong. You were taken advantage of, and that violation resulted in a child. I wish I had known your story before you died. However, due to my own experiences, I can understand why you never spoke about it. It doesn’t matter that you were 19 and considered a woman by those around you. The truth is, you had been manipulated for years. As a father figure, he should have protected and guided you, but instead, he betrayed you. And after everything, you were the one who bore the blame.

The weight of your silence, the unspoken trauma passed down through generations—it suffocated me. It felt like a heavy cloak over my childhood, a constant reminder of broken trust and shattered innocence. I longed for safety, for a place where my fears wouldn’t be dismissed and my needs wouldn’t be ignored. But I grew up in a world where the adults were too consumed by their own pain to protect the vulnerable. Every adult in my life failed me. But the ones I hold most accountable are you and my father. This cycle ends with me.

Women's History Month is a time to reflect on the strength and resilience of women across generations. Yet, it also serves as a reminder that many stories remain untold, buried beneath layers of silence, shame, and trauma. My grandmother, a woman who should have been protected and nurtured as a child was instead burdened with pain that was never addressed. And like so many, she carried it in silence, never fully able to heal. It is through her strength that I now understand the power of breaking that silence—of sharing our stories, of honoring our journeys.

Parents are supposed to have discernment, a deep knowing that helps them make the best decisions for their children. But I’ve come to realize that you and my father lacked that ability. That failure, that lack of protection, shaped me in ways I am still unraveling. It created deep-seated anxieties, a pervasive sense of mistrust, and a lifelong struggle with boundaries.

Despite everything I endured, I am grateful for the discernment I have developed as a 41-year-old woman, wife, and mother. I vow to do for my children what no one did for us. I will protect them at all costs. I will have their backs—always. I will create a safe space where they feel seen, heard, and loved unconditionally. I will ensure they know their worth, their power, and their right to a life free from fear and harm.

Why don’t I hold you fully accountable for what happened to me? Because you, too, were a victim. No one protected you. Instead of being nurtured, you were burdened with responsibilities that no child should bear. You were forced to grow up too soon. You were left unprepared to navigate the complexities of adulthood.

Your entire life was a fight for survival. With limited resources and little support, you were trapped, a prisoner of both your past and your circumstances. I see now that you were a product of generations of unhealed trauma. And while I can not excuse the pain I endured, I can acknowledge the weight of the pain you carried, too.

As we celebrate Women's History Month, I honor you, Grandma, and all the women who carried unspoken burdens. The difference between us is that I refuse to pass the silence on. This cycle of silence and suffering ends with me.