Some stories don’t start with us. Wait, what? What is the author trying to say? Hold on, I'll explain everything.
Earlier this year I finished reading an amazing book. Specifically: It didn't start with you by Mark Wolynn. The book explores dne lived reality of inherited family trauma - how unprocessed events can echo through generations.
Because writing doesn't have to be only about creating fiction based on our imagination. We can also turn generational pain into meaning by writing from a more informed, holistic point of view.
Some stories don't start with us; they start in a grandparent’s grief, in the unspoken fears of a parent, in the places where love was lost but never mourned.
The fact that those experiences of our ancestors can be inherited is not a theory - science had proven again and again it is reality.
So if you're writing about the same topics again and again... Exploring the same emotions... Creating the same narratives...
Maybe it's not just the question of your imagination. Maybe you're tapping into the deeper layers of your psyche.
Every writer has themes they return to without trying. Maybe you keep writing about journeys home, or characters who struggle to trust, or people who feel they must prove their worth. Sometimes these are reflections of our own life; other times they echo unresolved threads from those who came before us.
Questions to explore:
• which emotions keep surfacing in my stories? (e.g., abandonment, revenge, wonder, survival)
• where in my family history have I seen similar patterns play out?
• are there untold family stories that seem shrouded in mystery or silence?
When you identify those emotional inheritances, they can move from unconscious repetition to conscious creation. And from there, you can choose how they transform on the page.
When you’re stuck in a scene or struggling to “get it right,” pause and ask: what is really trying to speak through me right now?
Instead of forcing plot, try freewriting in your character’s voice as if they were speaking to you in a letter. What we resist tends to persist.
If you keep hitting the same creative wall, or writing the same kind of dark imagery, it’s not a flaw, it’s a guidepost.
Inherited stories often live in our bodies and in small, unconscious habits. When you write, bring that subtlety to your characters. Instead of telling us that someone “grew up in a fearful household,” show us the way they always glance at the door before speaking. Instead of saying a family “was divided,” show us the awkward silence at the dinner table when a certain name is mentioned.
Wolynn’s work reminds us that healing isn’t about erasing the past, but integrating it.
When you approach writing this way, you are no longer just telling a story. You are processing, integrating, and releasing. You might notice that after exploring a certain theme in your novel, you feel lighter. Or that you suddenly understand a family member’s behavior differently. In that way, your book becomes both an offering to the world and a medicine for yourself.
The next time you sit down to write, imagine that you’re not working alone. Imagine the voices of those who came before you, whispering in your unconsciousness.
Some may be calling for closure. Some may be asking for freedom. Some may simply want to be remembered.
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