Twelve years. That’s how long I’ve been running my private practice in Family Constellations. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this: we love defining our present through our past.
Just an hour before I sat down to write this, a client texted me: “I have an ancestor from 1880 that I feel I need to recognize. Could we do a constellation?”
My answer was honest: this is too far back. If you feel called to honor this ancestor, do it yourself, light a candle, say their name. But we don’t need a constellation for it. We already carry enough with our own story without adding ancestor after ancestor to explain everything happening in our lives.
Because here’s the truth: we keep defining the present through the past. We become addicted to the story, to the trauma, to what happened.
What I’m really listening for
Yes, when I meet you for the first time, I ask about your story. But not for the reasons you might think.
I ask so I can hear the words you choose. The tone of your voice. The way you say it. I’m paying more attention to the invisible than to the facts, because there’s always a shift in the voice, a hesitation, a particular way of telling it.
Then my work is to look into your subconscious and draw the parallel between your story and what I see stuck, or unstuck, beneath it. That’s the part I truly love.
Your story can become an addiction. It can also become your curse.
Pain, friction, and purpose
I know this is especially hard if you grew up in an abusive family, if you were molested, if you suffered deeply. Of course it shaped you. I’m not saying any of it was a gift, nothing makes abuse, violence, or war in childhood “good.”
But I do believe that at some point, our pain can become our purpose. We grow through friction. We find out who we are when we’re pushed to our limits.
Until 18, your parents are in charge of your story and how you’re taught to respond to it. After 18, you are in charge of how you carry it as an adult.
And what I see, again and again, in clients with the most challenging pasts is courage. The courage to keep going. To still believe in love. To still believe in a new generation and bring children into the world. To still get up and go to work. Because it would be so easy to give up, to fill the void with addictions, with meanness, with repeating the abuse.
Just by showing up, by doing therapy, by working on yourself, you’re already winning.
Stop playing “what if”
Would your life have been different with a loving family? Maybe. Maybe not. We never really know what happens behind a “perfect” family’s curtains.
So stop comparing your story to what could have been. It’s an endless hole. You will never find the answer.
What you can do is turn your story into one of your strengths. Turn toward the little girl or little boy inside you, the one who had no choice but to face a difficult beginning, and finally recognize them:
I see you. I love you. Here I am. I’m here for you now, and I’m giving you the best.
That, to me, is the most important work of all.
Your wound is not your destiny
Your story doesn’t define who you are, your present, or your future.
Your mother abandoned you? That doesn’t mean every woman in your life will abandon you, but it does mean you need to care for that wound.
Your father was emotionally unavailable? That doesn’t mean you have to spend your life rescuing emotionally unavailable men. Take the best from it, and move on.
And here’s something I’ve come to believe: when there’s a big villain in your family story, that person often carried the weight so you wouldn’t have to become them. A villain in a family system usually comes after generations of abuse and violence. At some point, it becomes so big that the cycle finally has a chance to break.
I’ve lived this too. I used to wonder why my life unfolded the way it did. But I’ve found that endlessly asking “why” creates more harm than happiness. So do the work. Three or four generations is more than enough. You don’t need to go further.
You define who you want to be
It’s a bit like saying, “Oh, I’m such a Gemini,” or “Well, I’m a Scorpio.” No. Sometimes you’re just being difficult, and a label isn’t an excuse.
Take full responsibility for the life you want to live, even when it’s hard. Because life is hard. Even after all the inner work, an old pattern may knock on your door again: Hey, remember me?
And that’s okay. You’ve got this.
With love,
Marine Sélénée