Exploring Family History for Emotional Wellbeing and Personal and Professional Growth
At some point in life, most of us visit a doctor, dentist, optician, or nutritionist. In most instances, when filling out a form or speaking with the practitioner, we are asked about our family medical history. This helps them monitor potential health risks and guide us in avoiding anything that might be dangerous.
This principle also applies to why we study history in school. Understanding our past helps us adjust our behaviour and perception in the present, supporting us in making wiser decisions in the future.
Childhood and adolescence play a pivotal role in shaping our emotional and relational lives. Reflecting on these formative years provides invaluable insight into our present-day feelings and behaviours. It influences everything from how we experience and express anger and deal with conflict to how confident we feel in our abilities.
There are infinite complexities, but much of this is rooted in how we were expected to behave or act and how we received—or didn’t receive—love, care, and affection during childhood and adolescence.
How Does This Knowledge Help in the Here-and-Now?
Imagine a child (A) growing up consistently being celebrated for their accomplishments, from the first time they tie their own shoelace to winning an award at school. Alongside this, they experience realistic expectations of their abilities and receive comfort and a positive ‘just try again’ attitude when things don’t go well. The internalised belief system this child develops is that they are not only capable of achieving things, but that success is something to feel good about, and any setbacks are simply part of life—they can get back up again. ‘I am good enough.’
Now imagine another child (B) who is celebrated for their successes but always derided when things don’t go well. Their internalised belief system becomes: ‘I am only valuable if I’m successful.’
Or imagine a child (C) who is envied by a parent. Their successes are ignored, while failures are always highlighted. The internalised belief system here is: ‘I am a failure.’
It’s important to note that these putdowns can be subtle—expressed as passive-aggressive remarks or faux praise.
Another key point is that not all unhelpful or damaging parental patterns stem from spite or cruelty. Parents or primary caregivers may not even be fully aware they are doing it, simply passing on what happened to them and unconsciously continuing the cycle.
Still, the impact remains, and these belief systems become ingrained, invisibly carried into adulthood.
Components like socioeconomic status, gender and sexual orientation also influence belief systems, both our own and of those around us, but the relationships closest to us – like parents/primary caregivers and siblings tend to have the most intimate impact on how we feel about ourselves and what we experience our innate value to be.
A Simple Case Study
Exploring and uncovering ingrained childhood belief systems offers an opportunity to compassionately challenge what is unhelpful, harmful, or false. There are infinite nuances to consider, and each person’s history is unique, but the brief example below will give a glimpse of how the process might look.
Let’s say person C enters therapy. They are struggling with confidence at work—never daring to ask for or pursue a promotion or a raise and always worrying they are doing something wrong.
First, we explore their present-day experiences, providing a space for them to be heard and comforted. Then, we assess the actual situation—are external factors like a difficult boss at play, or is this pattern consistent in other areas of life?
For person C, the feeling of never being quite good enough and always worrying about doing something wrong has been present their whole life. With this in mind, we move backwards to gently explore childhood relationships and experiences, bringing curiosity and compassion to understand more.
Person C speaks of mostly being criticised and derided by a primary caregiver when they did things ‘wrong’ and of being ignored when things went well. This is where we can begin to trace the link between past and present, ultimately uncovering an ingrained belief system: ‘I am a failure.’
A belief system formed in childhood doesn’t disappear overnight, but once we understand that it’s maladaptive, we can begin to challenge its truth and validity—while allowing other, more realistic and supportive perspectives to exist alongside it.
For example, they may have been well-liked by peers, excelled in a particular sport, or had a talent for drawing. By consistently recognising and questioning the old narrative, new ways of thinking can begin to take root.
Two Powerful and Actionable Steps to Create a Healthier Belief System
– Practice self-compassion when negative thoughts arise. ‘I recognise this voice, I understand why it’s there, but it’s not true.’ Repeat this every time it appears.
– Take steps to push through uncomfortable barriers. Ask for a raise even though it doesn’t feel deserved. Ask for help from a friend even though you feel like a burden (an untrue belief system). More often than not, the outcome is far more positive than we expect. Tolerating the initial anxiety and discomfort to experience this will help strengthen a healthier belief system.
With the concept of neuroplasticity—the brain’s ability to reorganise pathways and create new connections—neuroscience offers comforting validation of this process.
Last Thoughts
Being human is a messy process at times, and none of us get it right all the time. But we can improve our chances of living a calmer, healthier, and more congruent life by being curious about our history, challenging what is not helpful, and actively working to create healthier self-belief systems for the present and the future.
The Landscape
It can sometimes feel difficult to speak directly about what we’re going through – even in therapy. The mind might feel crowded with thoughts or flooded with fears, leaving us overwhelmed, fragmented, or simply exhausted. When we’re carrying vulnerabilities, especially those laced with internalised shame, it’s human to struggle to find clarity or meaning amid it all.
To support clients in navigating this space, I developed an exercise called The Landscape – inspired by guided imagery, and metaphor.
The Landscape offers a way to gently step back and observe what’s happening internally – to explore from a slight distance, while still staying emotionally connected.
Below is a short example of how this might look in practice.
If you’d like to explore this exercise with me, feel free to get in touch: linncathrinem@gmail.com
You can also try the exercise on your own, with a partner, or with a friend – either by writing it down, drawing it out, or both.
As a therapist, I sometimes asked clients to imagine themselves standing at the top of a small mountain on a clear day. I’d tell them that the landscape around them – everything they could see – represented their life so far.
Then I’d invite them to assign different parts of the landscape to experiences they’d had and describe it to me.
A bereavement might be a dark valley.
Falling in love, a sunlit meadow.
Troubles at work, a scary forest.
Close friends, a warm lake.
A difficult or complex childhood, a storm.
I’d ask them who lived in this landscape. They would describe scary monsters, friendly travellers, settled communities, and shadowy figures.
Then I’d ask what it felt like to observe all this from a distance. Many spoke of feeling more in control – able to choose who to move toward, and which paths to avoid.
I’d ask:
Did the meadow disappear when you described the dark valley?
No, it was still there.
Did the scary forest go on forever?
No, it was just one part of the landscape.
Only the storms – the difficulties or complexities carried since childhood – could appear anywhere: even in the meadow, even by the warm lake. It was unpredictable, primal, and felt outside their control.
But then I could say: The weather is not your childhood. The weather changes. Your childhood is the ground.
And look – on that ground, you grew a meadow. You created the warm lake.
The weather is simply what sometimes rises from the ground – like water rises to form clouds. And while it can bring destruction, it can also bring life.
You can choose to seek shelter when it arrives.
You can choose to travel elsewhere.
You can choose to nurture your ground – grow new things – using the rain.
Lastly, I’d invite them to descend the mountain and walk through the landscape with me.
We visited the dark valley, knowing the meadow would follow.
We walked through the scary forest, knowing a warm lake lay ahead.
We endured stormy weather and sheltered together until the clouds broke.
We met friendly travellers and parted with a smile.
We avoided the places where monsters lurked – or, when one appeared, we shone a light and watched it dissipate.
We lingered in the settled communities, soaking in nourishment and connection.
We let shadowy figures pass without engagement.
Like the universe around us, the universe within us expands – ever changing, ever growing. Some parts of our landscape are fixed: our childhoods, our losses. But how we move through them – how and how often we visit, what we bring with us – that’s up to us.
We may choose to plant flowers from the meadow in the dark valley.
We may find comfort from friendly travellers in the scary forest.
Our landscape is everything we are.
And it is always changing.
Even the ground.