Inherited Things

I did not inherit stories
so much as reactions.

The flinch before the door slams.
The careful tone of someone
who has learned love can vanish overnight.

People before me
lived through things
that taught them tenderness
was expensive.

That safety could evaporate
while you were still inside it.

That love, if you were not careful,
might cost more than you could afford to lose.

So they built their ways of loving
the way people build houses
in hurricane country.

Low to the ground.
Windows small.
Doors that close quickly.

Love became careful.
Conditional.
Efficient.

Not cruel
never intentionally cruel

just engineered
for survival.

My parents inherited those blueprints
and did what every generation does:

they tried to renovate.

They patched the worst cracks.
Moved a few walls.
Let in a little more light.

They replaced fear with responsibility,
distance with structure.

They gave love
in the ways they had learned
it could safely exist.

But renovation
is not the same thing
as freedom.

You can sand down a blade
until it shines.

It will still
cut.

So I grew up
learning love as adaptation.

Not
am I loved?

But

how should I be?

Useful people stay.

Easy people stay.

People who do not require
too much oxygen
stay.

I grew skilled
in the quiet science
of reading rooms.

The twitch in someone’s jaw.
The half-second pause
before disappointment arrives.

I learned to adjust.

Tone.
Posture.
Opinions.

Tiny recalibrations
performed so quickly
they looked like instinct.

I learned how to shrink
before anyone else
had the chance
to make me smaller.

If I could become
what someone needed
fast enough,

they would never notice
the parts of me
I was certain
did not deserve
their love.

This is how inheritance works.

Not only through violence.

Through calibration.

Through the slow, invisible math
children perform
when they are calculating
the cost of belonging.

And of course
I carried it forward.

Not the original wounds
those belonged to people
who came long before me

but my own translation
of them.

My children watch me now
the way I once watched
the adults around me.

Carefully.

They see how easily
I give pieces of myself away.

How quickly
I volunteer
to carry what others drop.

How often
I mistake usefulness
for worth.

They are studying that.

Just like I did.

One day
they will look back
and realize

they inherited
not only my love,

but the architecture
underneath it.

The scaffolding
of fears,
compensations,
and overcorrections
holding the whole structure up.

They will have to decide
what to do with it.

Keep some.

Dismantle some.

Forgive some.

This is the strange geology
of families.

Every generation
is both the erosion
and the sediment.

We are not responsible
for the original fault lines.

But we do decide
how deep
they continue to run.

And sometimes
the most radical act
in a family history
is not perfection.

It is simply this:

looking closely
at what shaped you,

naming it,

and choosing
carefully, deliberately

which parts
are allowed
to become

someone else’s inheritance.

---

This piece reimagined as a song using Suno (lyrics are mine).

Alternate version:

---

Lyrics:

Verse 1
I wanted love that held tight
Something strong through the night
I learned worth you never meant to teach
Replay it in my head when I can’t sleep

I learned love through never needing
Gave so much I was depleting
But I don’t think any less of you
We all have things we’re working through

Pre-Chorus
And I’m not mad at anyone
Aren’t we all just what we’re from

Chorus
I know it’s not all bad
I know you did your best
I’ll keep what’s meant to carry
And lay down all the rest

I’ll look at every piece of it
And the truth each memory brings
I won’t become a casualty
Of inherited things

Verse 2
I know it keeps running through
And I’ll still choose parts of you
But in loving and in leaving
Some things don’t need repeating

Some things made me stronger
Some just hold the sting
I’m learning how to separate
What I drop and what I bring

Pre-Chorus
And I’m not mad at anyone
Aren’t we all just what we’re from

Chorus
I know it’s not all bad
I know you did your best
I’ll keep what’s meant to carry
And lay down all the rest

I’ll look at every piece of it
And the truth each memory brings
I won’t become a casualty
Of inherited things

Bridge
I still catch past voices
Speaking louder than they should
Sometimes they still resurface
Even though I did everything I could

My only hope is someday
When they look back and start choosing what to bring
They’ll do better at breaking
Our inherited things

Pre-Chorus
Please don’t be mad at anyone
Aren’t we all just what we’re from

Final Chorus
Yeah I hope it’s not all bad
I really did my best
Just keep what’s meant to carry
And lay down all the rest

Look at every piece of it
And the truth each memory brings
Don’t become a casualty
Of inherited things

---

Author’s Note:

Recently I was thinking about the things I’ve heard about my grandparents and the lives they lived before I was born. I started thinking about how their experiences shaped my parents, and how my parents shaped me.

Inheritance is often thought of as genetics, something written into our DNA. But families pass down other things too. Ways of loving, coping, protecting, and surviving.

We inherit little pieces of the people who came before us, both the best parts and the hardest ones.

I wrote this piece while reflecting on those inherited things.

---

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Canary Vale 🪶

Poemsbycanary@gmail.com