Today at church we celebrated All Saints Day. If you didn't grow up in a liturgical tradition, this is a day dedicated to remembering saints from ancient times, modern saints and personal saints (people in your life you've lost and miss). This is subjective in the sense that unless you're Catholic, sainthood is arbitrated at will, at least in our church. To give you an example, the apostles, Trayvon Martin and Glennon Doyle (don't worry, she's still alive) were all mentioned in my church this morning. 

I say this because the music chosen gave me a Little Women vibe (hymns that make me think of generations past) and resonated in a deeper way than usual for me because my parents were just here visiting. We talked about generational change while they were here, our family's history and current events, as we often do. And while I enjoyed my exchanges with my Republican dad filled with questions and curiosity, I was struck again by how in large part, my parents generation and their parents generation, have not often gone to personal therapy. My parents are older than most because I am their youngest, but my friends whose parents are closer to them in age say the same thing. I can only think of two friends of an older generation than me who've undergone personal therapy. 

I don't say this to criticize necessarily, but it came upon me in church this morning, this idea of legacy trauma.