But again, what is the context in which you’re living?” Genetically, mothers and fathers prepare their offspring for the world they will live in long before they are conceived. “Those changes are probably meant to be helpful. “Experience can change the way that your genes are regulated,” Yehuda told. Roosevelt Kelly, 1975, Courtesy of Keyaira Kelly This landmark study has far-reaching implications for other populations marred by generational trauma, including the descendants of the transatlantic slave trade and war. Based on these findings, it’s possible that a generation later, children who weren’t directly exposed to the horrors of the Holocaust could still carry the remnants of that trauma in their blood from their parents. Both high and low levels of cortisol have been linked to psychiatric conditions, such as Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) and major depression. Cortisol is a hormone released from our adrenal glands that regulates stress, blood pressure, immune response, and inflammation. Researchers found, by comparing the two samples, that the blood of Holocaust survivors’ kids contained either higher or lower levels of cortisol than the offspring of parents who weren’t in the Holocaust. In a 2020 study published in The American Journal of Psychiatry, researcher Rachel Yehuda, director of the Center for Psychedelic Psychotherapy and Trauma Research at the Icahn School of Medicine at Mount Sinai, and team examined blood samples of Holocaust survivors’ offspring and compared it to blood samples from Jews whose parents weren’t in the Holocaust. One of the most significant studies exploring intergenerational trauma transmission to-date was based on a cohort of Holocaust survivors and their families. Research suggests that trauma, caused by disaster, adverse childhood experiences, chronic stress, and physical and emotional abuse, can alter the way genes are expressed in a parent’s DNA so significantly that it can affect the gene expression of future generations. U.S., World War II Draft Cards Young Men, 1940-1947 Two generations later, I can’t help but wonder what unresolved ghosts from fighting and war are still lingering in my own chronic aches and pains.Ī. My dad cracked up when I shared the discovery with him, because, unbeknownst to my bloodline, Raymond Kelly Sr. But, as the circle of life goes, my tears of grief turned to tears of joy when Sewell-Smith shared with me that she found a newspaper clip from the 1930s that listed a little-known fact about my grandfather: He was a lightweight entree into a Golden Gloves boxing competition in Dayton, Ohio. Before I was born, my grandpa died at the age of 54, after suffering a stroke at 43-a little over 20 years after he was drafted into war. To my surprise, a well of untapped grief around never knowing my paternal elder had been living inside of me all along. I didn’t expect to burst into tears seeing my grandpa’s handwriting, for the first time, on a tan-colored 1940s draft card as genealogist Nicka Sewell-Smith walked me through his buried life history. was drafted into World War II as an army truck driver when he was 20 years old and living in Dayton, Ohio, according to documents I obtained through. My deep dive into my own chronic pain led me down a fighter’s tale I didn’t expect, starting with my own veteran grandfather. Our fandom runs so deep that we have memorized all the lyrics to the Rocky IV soundtrack and are known for impromptu performances of “No Easy Way Out.” Fast forward a few decades later, as I’ve started to investigate the aches and pains of my mid-30s, one of my most nagging ailments has been, ironically, a muscle spasm lodged in my left serratus anterior, known as the “boxer’s muscle.” It’s the muscle group employed by the body when throwing a punch. My dad introduced my sisters and me to the 1970s blockbuster series when we were just little girls. Did my time, took my chances… ” I welcomed this sonic intrusion on my yoga mat only because the iconic Rocky franchise (RIP Creed) is of supreme importance to my family history. During a recent meditation session, my deep lower-belly breaths and silent prayers into the dark abyss behind my eyelids were suddenly interrupted by “Eye of the Tiger” lyrics blasting loudly in the back of my mind: “ Rising up, back on the streets.
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