Pain travels through the bloodline. Some think they can hide from it. Some try to outrun it. I used to think I could outsmart it. I thought I could think logically, make good decisions, and be spared the pain of earlier generations. But now I know this was a lie. That pain may arrive in the middle of the night as a vague feeling that something isn’t right or in a rage of anger that comes out of nowhere. But inevitably, it finds us.

When I first noticed its arrival, I went back to my old tricks, trying to outsmart it. I cataloged it, tried to figure out what made it tick, where it came from, what it wanted. Always a scientist. But no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t quite grasp it. I tried to continue to make the right decisions and choose wisely thinking it would realize it didn’t have a home in me. But it never took the hint.

Instead, it sat in the corners of the room, jumping out at me when I least expected it. It hid under my bed each night, waking me from my dreams to haunt my nights. I began to think that if it wasn’t going to go away, maybe I needed to give it proper home. Maybe pain wasn’t meant to be hidden away. What if I made it a place of honor and learned to sit with it and hold it?

It was then I began to wonder. Maybe pain isn’t the only thing that travels through generations. Maybe love, kindness, empathy, compassion and understanding do too. Maybe all those who have touched you during this life and before you were born can lend you strength. Is love not powerful enough to move through space and time to bring us comfort when we need it most? Can we be brave enough to cry out for help when we need it? And can we be humble enough to allow ourselves to be held by arms we cannot see?