One of my greatest joys in life has always been understanding how things work. Everything from the raster imaging of Photoshop to mixing physical pigments. From learning how to build a computer to understanding how microprocessors function- it’s always fascinated me.
I have never been able to quite pinpoint where this curiosity comes from, as no one in my family is a renowned engineer, mechanic, or inventor. So, from where do I get this unrelenting curiosity for the world?
This curiosity is still a product of my family; however, I believe it is directly linked to childhood trauma. My parents divorced when I was six, and my only memories of them are fighting and yelling at each other. My mom moved us back to Michigan while my dad stayed in Texas. From an outside perspective, I had a fairly okay childhood. On paper, everything seemed fine, even considering the divorce. But what I could never reconcile was: if, on paper, I had all my needs met, why was I still so unhappy as a child?
That realization is where the rupture started. Something was missing.
The Mother Wound
When my mom and I moved back to Michigan, she immediately became a caretaker for her parents. Between that and teaching elementary school, she would often go days without engaging or connecting with me at all, other than to make sure I was fed and doing my homework.
Not only did my mother not connect with me, but she also never accepted any version of me that deviated from the child she wanted. She was emotionally distant to an extreme. The most emotion I saw from her was when she was yelling at me and scolding me. So, to avoid her wrath, I learned how to mask myself. The only time I didn’t get yelled at was if I did exactly what she told me; thus, in order to feel acceptance, I learned to study behavior.
Everyone in my family, my teachers who knew her, and her friends would tell me she loved me, but why didn’t I feel loved? Why was everyone’s perception different from my own experience?
To this day, she says, "I just don’t understand why you were so unhappy as a child." Despite her best efforts to shield me from it I could always sense my mother’s grief. I was a constant reminder of her hatred for my father and her failure to start her version of an ideal family. Even though she rarely spoke of him, when she did, you could hear the vitriol she was trying to repress. That repression became a burden not only she bore but also passed down to me. When she looks at me, I see the grief in her eyes. When she yells at me, I hear the muffled screams of her own mother scolding her. When she interacts with me, she is interacting with the shadow of the child she always wanted and is ashamed she doesn’t have. I was an extension of her own repressed trauma and grief.
The Father Wound
After we moved to Michigan, my dad stayed in Texas. And although I saw him regularly, we never really connected until I was eighteen or older. He just didn’t know how to connect with kids, and I could never understand why. Connecting with people is so easy: just ask about them, ask what they like, try to understand what they like, and engage with them in it. I remember as a kid my dad always looked sad. Even to this day, when I look at him, I see the guilt and sadness for his unlived life behind his eyes. He wishes so badly that he could have been more present in mine and my brother's lives. He’s satisfied that he has a much better relationship with his kids than he and his siblings had with their parents, yet there’s still that pain buried deep down.
He would always tell me all he wants for my brother and me is to have a better life than he did. And we do, so why isn’t he happier?
My dad loves my brother and me, but we’re still an extension of his own unresolved trauma with his father. He did everything he could for us, but his love has never been the most authentic love a parent can have because it is walled in on every side by his own childhood trauma and the guilt he feels for abandoning us. My dad is very intelligent and an incredible person, but he’s never turned that lens in on himself.
In his quest to break free of his grief and abandonment, he ended up becoming exactly like his father. He is widely loved by everyone who knows him and he is extremely supportive of my brother and me. However, I don’t think he ever found true love, peace, and happiness.
So, as a child, I grew up constantly wondering what was wrong with my life. The wound of childhood cut so deep I would often disassociate from reality. I’d become an observer of my own despair. "Why don’t they love me?" "Why won’t they engage with me?" "Why did they have me if they’re just here to make sure I survive and nothing more?"
"How can they tell me they love me, but I don’t feel loved?"
These questions began stirring at an early age, and ultimately paved the way for me to become who I am today.
In my family, everyone talked so highly of my Uncle Mickey, who was a renowned comic book artist. Most of my life, I have said I idolized him and wanted to be an artist just like him. But I didn’t want to be like him; I just wanted to be loved the way it seemed everyone loved him. So, from an early age I learned the way to be accepted and loved was to be a successful artist. But being a successful artist and then entrepreneur didn’t make the sadness go away. Something was still missing.
That childhood wound, as painful as it was, is what led to me critically analyzing everything. It’s from that wound I formed this morbid curiosity with not just the physical world but also with the psyche. It’s because of that wound I learned to ask why and seek answers that countless therapists could never give me. I learned that people’s perception of me is not who I am.
My parents did not do this to me; they did it to themselves. They were looking for external absolution instead of searching inside for the answers. In their longing to break free from the cycle, they became a part of it instead.
Breaking the Cycle
It starts with identifying the source. I spent twenty years going down the exact same path as many in my family. I never wanted kids because I didn’t want them to turn out like me; I didn’t want to let them down. Somehow, intuitively, I just knew that’s what would happen if I had kids. The problems I didn’t want to perpetuate were rooted in my inability to heal the massive wound left from my mother and father as a child. Just like the problems they had were passed down from their parents.
It’s about forgiving them. When I think about it, this pain I’ve been carrying for 34 years, they’ve been carrying for over twice as long. While I’ve felt frustration and anger, they have been tormented by it.
It’s being radically honest with myself about what I want. I’ve always wanted to get married and have a life partner, but why? To prove I could do it better than those who came before me. That’s living the same disingenuous life that my parents did. I carried this inauthenticity into every relationship I’ve ever had, and it ultimately led to me seeking out toxic relationships. What I truly want out of companionship is enrichment: growth, exploration, and experience.
Healing the Sacred Wound
The sacred wound isn't just about acknowledging a painful past. It's about reclaiming our true selves. By confronting these fractures openly and compassionately, we empower ourselves to break cycles that have consumed previous generations. It begins with radical honesty and examining the deepest motivations behind our actions and relationships.
It’s integrating these experiences into a more authentic, self-aware version of ourselves. We don't have to be defined by our wounds, nor burdened by the unlived lives of our parents. True freedom and love emerges when we choose to pursue authenticity over acceptance, self-understanding over inherited expectations, and authentic love over the shallow appearance of it.
When we really break ourselves down, truly shed every mask and simply be okay existing with that raw trembling inner child- only then can we transmute pain into strength.
"The Sacred Wound" - Nolan Nasser, Digital, 2025