My Chilean grandmother, ancestral trauma & alcoholism.

Estela Maria Flores Briones, 1973, right before her death from liver cirrhosis

My Chilean grandmother was a “nervous woman” who would shake profusely when she’d talk in front of people.

…at least, that’s what I was told recently.

After my mom died, a family friend asked what she could do for me.

I told her all I could ask for is any details she had about my moms’ mom, Stella, who died of liver cirrhosis from alcoholism before I was born.

I wanted to know as much as she was willing to offer.

The good, the bad, everything.

I didn’t expect a response.

At least, not right away.

What I received was not only surprising but eye-opening.

She said Stella was a sweet, kind, beautiful lady with a powerful disease that truly controlled her.

…& a husband, my grandfather, who controlled her too.

She went to AA meetings & tried to get sober.

Then he’d buy champagne to celebrate her sobriety.

…& the cycle would start all over again.

“We tried to help her, but I don’t think he wanted her to overcome her alcoholism,” I was told.

She’d go into screaming fits randomly.

Especially when the kids would tap or hit something over & over.

One time for a 12 Step meeting, she asked my moms’ friend to help her set up a display with Barbie dolls showing the bad effects of alcohol.

I was told she had delirium tremens so bad from withdrawals she smashed the walls & put her fist through a bedroom door.

Upon hearing these stories, I tried to picture the grandmother I never knew.

…but I didn’t really have to.

Without ever knowing her, I grew up with her too.

I’ve seen my mom in rageful fits, whether she was drinking or not.

I always wondered where it all came from.

I knew couldn’t *just* be how my mom was.

…of course, she never told me any of this stuff.

I could never get more than one or two sentences out of her about her mom.

…without her saying, “I don’t want to talk about it” & walking away.

So I took full advantage of my mom passing away & hoping to receive information about her mom as a token of support.

Shortly after, I saw color photos of Grandmother Stella for the first time ever in a box I was unpacking.

She looks so much like my mom did in the striped shirt.

My mom kept these photos well hidden, I believe for a reason.

First thing I thought was, “oh she brown, she BROWN BROWN.”

It felt like a missing piece to the puzzle.

A piece of my roots denied to me for decades.

Something my mom never could, or would, acknowledge.

She’d say, “I am AMERICAN, I am WHITE.”

My moms’ brain was whitewashed by growing up in the era of John Wayne & June Cleaver.

She disowned her heritage in favor of what was shown to her as “pure” & “right.”

…so much so that back in the day, my dad was the one who told me about my Chilean ancestry & how I should look into connecting with my roots when I’m older.

(which I did, going to Chile on a solo trip for my 30th birthday.)

I wonder how things would have been different had Stella felt welcome here.

…instead of being called “chola.”

I wonder how much more access to help she would have had if she spoke the language natively.

….instead of being ignored at every turn.

I wonder if she didn’t feel tied to my grandfather financially, if she would have run away to start her own business.

…instead of to the local motels to go on drunk benders.

I can go ALL the way back & wonder what would have happened if her indigenous ancestors in the Andes would have been able to honor their traditions, instead of abandoning them.

If families would have never been torn apart at borders.

If women would have never been raped, tortured, abused.

If they weren’t forced into a culture that ignored sensations in the body.

If they could have used ancient healing methods to self soothe, instead of being programmed to use toxic ethanol to numb their pain.

Perhaps it would not have taken hundreds of years in our maternal line for ONE WOMAN to feel she could speak up.

To use her voice, even when it felt shaky.

To repair her DNA, even when the codes were “off.”

To invest in herself & prosper, even when it went against the status quo.

It can take thousands of years for ONE cycle to keep repeating.

…but all it takes is ONE woman to end it.

That woman is me.

…& that woman is YOU.

To break generational patterns for THOUSANDS of years.

To regenerate your energy on a cellular level.

To create new cycles in your family line.

To invite in ancestral blessings ALWAYS meant for YOU.

To do the ONE thing NO woman in your family has done before you.

Speak your truth.

Investing in YOURSELF, more than you invest in the idea of a man being your rock.

Paying YOURSELF, before you pay the price of unhealed trauma.

Giving to YOU, before you give in to the stories of the past.

…by sharing your stories of the past to create a better future.

Focusing on one woman.

One story at a time.

You are a cycle breaker.

You are meant to do amazing things with your life.

Just because you have fucked up family shit doesn’t mean…

you will never make it in your industry.

you will never be taken seriously by people in your work.

you will never succeed at what you really want to do.

Let me be the living & breathing example of what happens when you decide to invest in yourself, your dreams, your healing, your truth more than ANYTHING else in the world.

It is totally 1000% possible.

…when you decide the generational curse of feeling small, powerless & voiceless ends with YOU.

💰🧬🌌💫💗

P.S. I help you end generational patterns to create endless prosperity for LIFE with ease & flow using a 3 step proven & effective process called the Public Speaking Mindset.

Tap this scheduling link now & let’s chat about coaching 1:1 together.

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