What we can learn from the people who most shaped us.

One of the most surprising healing exercises I ask my clients and students to do is this:

Make a list of everything a particular person failed to model for you.

Notice I didn’t say, “Make a list of everything you’re grateful for.”

I said, “List your grievances!” Because your grievances often reveal the very values you are here to cultivate. This difficult first step is how we begin to achieve emotional liberation from the quiet weight of our past.

This may sound like an unusual place to begin a healing practice, but here’s why I do it: Most of us are already dragging those grievances around.

We replay them in our minds and revisit the conversations, the disappointments, and the broken promises. Those grievances live in our heads rent-free, unconsciously shaping how we see ourselves and how we move through the world.

We spend so much energy carrying these stories that we don’t always realize how heavy they’ve become. Writing them down gives them somewhere to go instead of asking our minds and bodies to keep carrying them.

This simple act is one way of nurturing our own healing, creating enough space to see those old stories with fresh eyes. As we begin letting go of what no longer serves us, we also create the opportunity to achieve emotional liberation from inherited patterns that may have shaped our lives for generations.

So I invite people to empty them out of their heads by listing them on paper. Yes, this regurgitation can be incredibly liberating, but that list is not the destination. It’s not an invitation to stay resentful or build a stronger case against someone from your past.

It’s an invitation to become intentional.

Once you’ve written down all the ways someone hurt or disappointed you, ask yourself one question under each of the points you’ve written.

Sometimes our deepest lessons come not from what we received, but from what was missing.

Finding Peace In The Lack

Sometimes the things we longed for but never received become our greatest teachers. We look into the quiet, empty spaces of our upbringing and find the blueprint for the person we are truly meant to become. Little by little, those childhood wounds no longer define us, because we’re finally giving ourselves the love and understanding we deserved from the beginning.

The People Who Hurt Us Can Also Become Our Teachers

For me, that question turned years of resentment toward my father into a roadmap for integrity. My father was mostly absent in my life (and even now, in his 100’s, he refuses to engage with me). In the early years, when I did spend time with him, I often experienced inconsistency, emotional distance, and a feeling that I couldn’t truly rely on him.

Looking back, I can see that his absence wasn’t a reflection of my worth, but an invitation to choose a different path. It wasn’t until I started noticing the internal triggers that I understood how much those early experiences were still influencing me.

Those are painful memories. But when I made my list, many years ago, I saw that they were also instructions. They were also pointing me toward the kind of person I wanted to become.

I am going to share my own list that I hope will spark something in you to work on this poignant exercise.

What My Father Taught Me by Not Modeling It

1) My father taught me about unreliability. I learned early that if he said he was going to do something, there was a good chance it wouldn’t happen.

So I chose the opposite: Today, when I make a commitment, I take it seriously. If I cannot follow through, I communicate that. Reliability is one of the ways I show respect to the people in my life.

2) He taught me about absence. One of the deepest hurts of my adult life was that he didn’t attend my wedding, despite being invited and saying he would. There are certain moments in life when you instinctively look into the crowd for the people who helped shape you. His absence said more than words ever could.

So I made a different choice: I became someone who shows up… not because showing up is always easy, but because presence is one of the greatest gifts we can give another person we love and respect. Every time we choose to be present, we’re making a different choice than the one that was made for us. In many ways, it’s also part of processing the deep trauma of being overlooked, because we learn to offer ourselves and others the steady presence we once needed most.

3) He taught me about deception. There were times when he made plans with me that, in retrospect, he never truly intended to keep. One of the most memorable examples is making plans with me (over the phone) to come and see him, then writing to tell me that he couldn’t have me after all. The timing of that sudden turnaround made it clear that he had no intention of following through.

What I do: In light of this lesson of a person saying one thing and not meaning it, I am very conscious of the weight of my own words. If I say I will do something, I want people to know they can trust that.

4) He taught me about insincerity. Telling me anything that was most expedient for him in making me think he was ‘reaching out.’

What I do: This forced me to examine my own relationship with authenticity because I had struggled with shame and wanting to appear better, stronger, or more accomplished than I felt inside. But choosing honesty over performance allows me to show up as I truly am, rather than trying to convince others of who I want them to believe I am.

5) He taught me about emotional avoidance. Difficult conversations were not something he embraced, and painful things were often left unspoken, as if time alone would somehow dissolve them. But unspoken pain doesn’t disappear. A study on emotional development shows how early attachment impacts our ability to handle difficult conversations in adulthood.

What I do: That absence became one of my greatest teachers. I have spent years practicing emotional honesty, learning how to stay present with difficult feelings, and helping others create relationships where conversations aren’t avoided but used to deepen trust.

The Patterns We Inherit Are the Patterns We Can Transform

6) He taught me about selfishness. Having a great deal of money did not seem to change the way he related to others. If anything, I observed a tendency toward being protective and constricted rather than generous and expansive.

What I do: I’ve become very conscious of my relationship with abundance. I notice when I move into fear, scarcity, or holding back, and I intentionally practice being more open, generous, and willing to give.

7) He taught me about the cost of living in fear. I saw how fear can keep a person from reaching out, repairing, or allowing real connection to happen.

What I do: I practice moving toward what feels uncomfortable rather than away from it. Vulnerability, honesty, and emotional openness have become skills I continue to cultivate.

8)  He taught me about the impact of emotional inconsistency. Capricious and very changeable. One mood one time, a different mood another time.

What I do: I’ve spent years developing a deeper relationship with my own emotions. Not by pretending I don’t have them, but by learning to understand them, express them, and create a sense of steadiness within myself.

9) He taught me about the impact of being unseen. When someone doesn’t show much interest in your thoughts, feelings, or experiences, it can create a deep sense of disconnection.

What I do: I intentionally practice empathy and presence. I want the people close to me to know that their inner world matters to me.

10) Perhaps the biggest lesson came from what my father never practiced: Accountability. He never seemed curious about how his behavior affected me. No willingness to explore it. Accountability is about caring enough to ask, “How did my actions affect you?” and having the courage to listen to the answer. Learning to stand in our own truth, even when it is uncomfortable, is how we eventually achieve emotional liberation in our adult relationships.

What I do: I don’t always get this right,  and none of us do. But it has become one of the values I hold most deeply. I’ve made it a priority to be genuinely interested in the lives of the people close to me. I want the people I love to feel seen, supported, and like I’m truly in their corner.

One of the last times we were together. The lessons I carry from our relationship didn’t come from what my father modeled. They came from what he didn’t.

Reclaiming Your Life to Achieve Emotional Liberation

This exercise isn’t about putting our parents, caregivers, or anyone from our past on trial. It’s about reclaiming authorship of our own character.

Sometimes the very experiences that hurt us become the ones that clarify who we want to be.

This is the work we step into during my Elevation Ceremony. It’s a space to honor the journey that brought you here, release the patterns that no longer serve you, and consciously choose the values, intentions, and identity you want to embody moving forward. I’d love for you to join me.

Because healing isn’t just about understanding where we came from. It’s about deciding where we go next.

Perhaps that is one of the greatest acts of healing: Not becoming the people who shaped us.

But consciously becoming the person we needed them to be.

With Love, Becca

Healing isn’t about becoming someone new. It’s about consciously choosing who you want to become. That’s the journey we’ll take together in the Elevation Ceremony.