Brittany

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My ancestors, watching me dump an entire stick of cinnamon, two cloves, an allspice berry, and a generous grating of nutmeg into my tea, sweetened with white sugar and loaded with cream, while I sit in my clean warm house surrounded by books, 25+ outfits for different occasions, and 6 pairs of shoes, in a building heated so well I have the windows open in mid-autumn:

My ancestors, who lived through communist insurgencies, American interference in said insurgencies, the literal Holocaust, generational poverty and trauma, fleeing oppressors since we first wandered the deserts, watching me bake lavish sweets for my loving partner who’s never raised a hand to me and respects my desire to never have children and remain financially and socially independent with a domesticated animal that they used to worship tears through my one bedroom apartment filled with soft blankets, bright dyes, and good smells after having suffered a multitude of hardships that maybe aren’t the literal Holocaust are still deeply traumatic and effect me to this day:

The very best part about this is that, whatever trauma your ancestors went through is literally in your bones. It is written in your DNA.