In advance of the National Day for Truth and Reconciliation, my workplace held a few different learning events – including a talk about the intergenerational effects of residential schools. The woman who presented is the daughter of a fellow employee, and I wondered as she talked (beautifully, kindly, firmly) whether it was unnerving for him to listen. She didn’t share much about their family beyond what he has previously offered in his own words, but still…it seems significant that we’ve been given the chance to hear from both of them. 

While we haven’t all directly experienced the effects of family members taken to residential schools, I think many families can identify with continuing to feel the effects of hardships or horrors from past generations. (That statement is not me equating any of those experiences, but it is me inviting us each to think about how our own family histories affect who and how we are today.)

I have heard people wonder aloud: “When will the ‘truth’ part of this country’s history with Indigenous peoples be complete so we can move fully into the ‘reconciliation’ part?” If tempted to ask that question, we might also ask ourselves: Have we faced our own truths? Are we reconciled to them?
I don’t know about you, but my answers to those questions would be “somewhat” and “not really”. 

So, what can we learn? 

My coworkers and I have been reading a book together; it’s called What it Takes to Heal. The author, Prentis Hemphill, is neither Indigenous nor Canadian – but has inherited and experienced plenty of difficult history. Among other things, Hemphill explains how past harms show up in our interactions today, even if the previous injuries didn’t affect us directly. 

In some cases, the indirect harms might be the most difficult truths to reckon with. If an experience shaped my world without me even being conscious of it, might it be harder to see the truth of that shape? Let alone do anything about it? 

Several years ago, a group of Indigenous youth called on people from my company and other organizations to consider similar questions. I wasn’t present for the event where it happened, but the story of that day continues to be told – reminding us that without the presence and voice of those young people, we may not have ended up with a formalized, company-wide goal that calls on each of us “to change the way we think and act”.

But how do we set out to change the way we think and act? How can we become more aware of the habits and forces that affect our thoughts and actions? Hemphill says it’s all about practice: 

“Our society tends to think of practice as something we do to attain a skill, like playing the piano…We put in the effort and the hours, and we see progress. We consider it less when we think of our emotional development…but of course we’re practicing then, too. Every day, we practice our mood, our way of processing anger, or fear, or joy. We practice being receptive and open to others or closing ourselves off…We have practiced, whether we realize it or not, who we are right now.”

Reading that quote was a bit of an ah-ha moment to me. 

I’ve had long phases of denying the effects of personal and family history. And, I’ve had moments of feeling the opposite – the moments where I tell myself how perfectly happy and adjusted I would be if only it weren’t for ______ (insert person, place, or situation that feels blame-worthy at the time).

On better days, I know both those stances are too rudimentary. It is fairer to acknowledge that the past has initiated a path for me, and I am still responsible for how I travel from here.

I don’t always travel well. Neither, probably, do you. 

Collectively, that reality can be uncomfortable or even dangerous. But fortunately, as pointed out both by Hemphill and my colleague’s daughter, all is not lost. For the vast majority of us (thankfully, there are statistically very few sociopaths and psychopaths in the world!), we can fall short and then we can try to do better. We can continue practicing. 

So, even when you tire of travelling – when you’re hot, hangry, and cranky about the whole trip – I can try to remember that you remain worthy of my best. And I can try to keep practicing how to offer you that.

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