It's Not All Doom and Gloom

I've been reading a lot lately about generational trauma—the idea that our ancestors' unprocessed emotions can be transmitted through families via epigenetic inheritance. It's a fascinating field of research, and there's no doubt that trauma can echo through generations in very real ways.

But as I've been working through my own family history, I keep wondering: if negative experiences can be passed down, what about positive ones? Are we missing half the story?

A Different Kind of Inheritance

My great-great-grandfather Thomas Mazlin had what many would consider a traumatic start in life. Born around 1819, he was the son of two convicts—Thomas Maslin and Hannah Brown—who had met at the harsh penal settlement of Newcastle. He grew up as a "currency lad" in a colony that looked down on children of convict descent. His mother Hannah died when he was sixteen, leaving him largely on his own. He learned the dangerous trade of timber-getting because it was one of the few paths available to someone of his background.

On paper, Thomas looks like someone who might have passed down abandonment issues and emotional wounds. But when I look at what actually happened to his family line, I see something quite different.

Thomas went on to marry twice and raise seventeen children between his two marriages. He transformed himself from a timber-getter into a successful orchardist and landowner at Gordon, north of Sydney. Perhaps most remarkably, he inspired four of his sons to become pioneers in Far North Queensland, where they helped establish the communities that became Atherton and Ravenshoe.

What strikes me about this story isn't the trauma that might have been passed down, but the resilience that clearly was.

Both Sides of the Coin

I'm not suggesting that generational trauma isn't real or important. Families certainly carry forward the effects of violence, displacement, addiction, and loss. These patterns deserve recognition and understanding.

But I wonder if we sometimes focus so exclusively on inherited wounds that we miss inherited strengths. The same mechanisms that can transmit trauma can presumably also transmit positive adaptations—resilience, determination, the ability to start over, the belief that circumstances can improve.

Looking at Thomas Mazlin's sons, I don't see men weighed down by their father's difficult beginnings. I see men who inherited something powerful: the understanding that ordinary people could build extraordinary lives through hard work and courage. When they left Sydney for the cedar forests of Queensland in 1880, they were following a family tradition of transformation and opportunity-seeking that stretched back to their father's own journey from orphaned timber-getter to respected landowner.

What Else Gets Passed Down?

As I've traced my family stories, I've started noticing patterns that seem just as heritable as trauma:

Adaptability: The willingness to leave familiar places and try new approaches when circumstances demand it.

Work ethic: The deep understanding that security comes through sustained effort, not luck.

Optimism: The belief that the future can be better than the past if you're willing to work toward it.

Family loyalty: The understanding that we're stronger together, demonstrated by the way the Mazlin brothers worked as a team throughout their lives.

These quieter inheritances might not generate the same therapeutic interest as trauma, but they seem to have shaped my family's trajectory just as profoundly.

A Broader View

Perhaps what we inherit from our ancestors is more complex than either purely traumatic or purely positive legacies. Maybe families pass down whole packages of experience—the struggles and the strategies for overcoming them, the wounds and the wisdom gained from healing.

Thomas Mazlin's story suggests that even difficult beginnings can become the foundation for something positive. His early hardships might have taught him lessons about resilience and determination that he then modeled for his children. Instead of inheriting only his pain, his descendants might have inherited his response to that pain—his refusal to be defined by circumstances beyond his control.

Room for Both Stories

I'm not arguing against the importance of understanding generational trauma. Recognizing inherited patterns of hurt can be profoundly healing and help families break destructive cycles.

But I am suggesting there might be room for a more complete picture. Alongside the stories of inherited wounds, perhaps we could also explore inherited wisdom. Alongside the patterns of dysfunction, we might look for patterns of resilience and growth.

Our ancestors were complex people who lived full lives. They experienced loss and hardship, yes, but many of them also demonstrated remarkable strength, creativity, and love. If we believe that the difficult parts of their experience can echo through generations, might we also consider that their triumphs can echo too?

When I look at Thomas Mazlin's transformation from an orphaned currency lad to the patriarch of a pioneering family, I see evidence that what our ancestors pass down isn't always their trauma—sometimes it's their triumph over it.

And that story, it seems to me, deserves telling too.

 Image: Thomas Mazlin (1819–1894) and his second wife, Anne Wing (c.1845–1918). Their marriage in 1863 marked a turning point, joining convict and free settler backgrounds. His life challenges the notion that convict origins were a “stain” inevitably passed down; instead, he built stability, prosperity, and a lasting family legacy on Sydney’s North Shore.