By Shannon Hogan-Cohen

I learned early on which subjects were safe, which wounds were off-limits to discuss, and which memories were better kept in nostalgia and tucked away like heirlooms.

There’s a point in every family’s story where silence becomes sacred, not because it’s holy, but because it’s risky to disturb. The unspoken becomes the foundation that holds everything together. I learned very early which topics were safe, which wounds were off-limits, and which memories are better kept wrapped in nostalgia and tucked away like heirlooms. I was being too polite to open them.

But what happens when silence starts to feel like an inheritance?

We pass it down like fine china, fragile, polished, and never used. Generations learn to keep the same secrets, repeat the same patterns, and speak the same half-truths in the name of preserving the family. Where image becomes identity. And yet, beneath the glossy surface, there’s always someone —often the sensitive one, the truth-teller, the noticer …who begins to feel the fracture and no longer wants to keep holding that fragile “heirloom secret” for fear of it breaking the visual impression it once held.

That’s where intergenerational identity starts to matter.

Inherited Emotions, Unspoken Beliefs

We carry more than our family’s stories — we carry their unresolved business.

Intergenerational identity extends beyond ancestry; it’s the emotional blueprint we all inherit. We carry more than our family’s stories; we keep carrying their unfinished business. Their fears, loyalties, and unresolved grief become the unseen foundation of our own decisions.

What I have been researching and studying for years is that science is now catching up to what intuition has always known: trauma leaves a biological mark. Epigenetics shows that stress, silence, and survival strategies can alter gene expression, shaping not only who we are but also how we love, trust, and heal. When we start asking not “what’s wrong with me?” but “what happened to us?” … we shift from focusing on pathology to seeking understanding. It’s easy to mistake silence for peace. But peace built on suppression is fragile. It demands compliance, not connection.

Why Families Stay Silent

Most families don’t stay silent out of malice; they stay silent out of protection.

A mother avoids the truth because she believes it will destroy the family, and because she bears her own quiet shame. Shame for what she didn’t say. Embarrassment for what she didn’t do. The unbearable realization that she couldn’t protect her children, because she never learned how to defend herself.

A father conceals his emotions because that’s what his father taught him, stoicism seen as safety. His wounds are deep, and his ego acts as his armor. He confuses control with strength because he has never seen vulnerability as a tool to survive.

A sister pretends everything is fine because she’s exhausted from playing the peacemaker, smoothing over tension, and carrying everyone else’s discomfort. Another sister avoids responsibility altogether, rewriting the story so she doesn’t have to face herself. And the brother stays neutral, like Switzerland, convinced that silence is a form of diplomacy… believing that if he waits long enough, the conflict will resolve itself.

Together, they continue to act “perfect,” each playing a part that upholds the family myth. But beneath the façade of smiles and small talk, the truth quietly remains, waiting for someone brave enough to stop pretending. When one person finally stops acting, the entire system quivers….not in collapse, but as an invitation – but only if all parties are emotionally willing to accept and acknowledge how to level up.

Breaking the Pattern

Being that person, the one who questions, disrupts, or chooses differently, means becoming the emotional immigrant in your family system. You speak a new language: truth. At first, it feels disloyal or even dangerous. But what’s truly dangerous is pretending that silence equals love.

Breaking generational patterns doesn’t mean turning your back on your family. It means refusing to inherit what isn’t yours to carry. It means offering compassion without enabling harm. Healing begins quietly by naming what was hidden, acknowledging pain without blame, and choosing presence and peace over performance.

We begin to mother ourselves where we were unmet, to father our fears with steadiness, to reparent the parts that never learned safety. And in doing so, we gradually change the emotional DNA for the generations that follow. When we make peace with our past, our children don’t have to spend their lives trying to decode it.

The Larger Conversation

This isn’t just about one specific family: it’s about the culture of silence we all live in. The myth of the “perfect family” is the most harmful fiction we’ve been fed. Our culture and social media outlets reinforce it, while institutions support it; however, authenticity will always undermine it.

Intergenerational identity aligns with the broader cultural conversation because the personal is indeed political. We inherit not only family dynamics but also collective ones: colonization, migration, gender roles, racism, religion…all the unspoken frameworks that determine who gets to speak and who must remain silent. Being honest and open about our origins isn’t betrayal; it’s reclaiming our truth. It’s how empathy grows through one truthful conversation at a time.

Becoming the Lighthouse

A lifeboat saves others by sacrificing itself. A lighthouse remains steady so others can navigate.

At some point, we each must decide: Will I stay silent, or will I be the one to light the way out?

Breaking the cycle isn’t always a loud statement. Sometimes, it’s as subtle as choosing not to repeat a pattern, refusing to parent from fear, loving from a place of lack, or possibly staying quiet even when the truth could set someone free (not my first choice). In short, it’s the decision to become the lighthouse, not the lifeboat. Because a lifeboat saves others from drowning, a lighthouse stands firm so others can find their way home.

For Future Generations

When we acknowledge the truth, we don’t destroy the family story; we expand it. We create space for complexity, humanity, and grace. We allow our children to be whole, not perfect. That’s the purpose of all this: to evolve the story, not erase it. To pass down light instead of silence. Most importantly, to remind ourselves and others that this is where we came from, what we survived, and how we can begin again.

Because someone in every family has to be willing to break the spell, to stand in the fire and call it by its name, someone has to be just crazy enough, like Beth, to go to war for the tribe without fear. Not to destroy, but to defend, not out of rage but out of love that refuses to die quietly.