Shifting Generational Patterns: Reclaiming Our Voices
- Apr 16
- 3 min read
By DK Hillard
I was born at the precipice of societal upheaval, where old norms were being challenged and the world was in a period of transformation. Yet, despite the revolution, women were still expected to kneel, the full extent of their power shackled by tradition.
I watched my mother—a brilliant, wise woman—wither under my father’s judgment, her voice growing softer, her spirit fading. She bent to the old ways of patriarchy, swallowing her words until they vanished. When my father silenced me, insisting I stifle my truth to keep the family peace, I felt the same chains threaten my voice. But even though I silenced myself to some extent, the truth burned like a fire in me. My rebellious nature prevailed. I knew I was the one to break the patterns of generations.
My mother’s silence stretched across decades, a quiet storm. I watched as she folded into herself, fading, her brilliance dimmed. Only after my father’s death did her true colors begin to emerge- scarred by years of suppression. Sadness at her life’s loss, emotions she had long denied. For a time, I blamed myself, believing my existence had stolen her dreams. She had blamed me too, voicing regrets for the life she never lived. But in the end, we found peace. We saw the truth: she was not broken because of me, but because the world had made it impossible for her to choose herself over the expectations of others.
She had lived in spoonfuls, never daring to take what was hers. And though I vowed to live differently, I found myself caught in the same cycle, trapped in a marriage that mirrored my parents'—abusive, suffocating. But I lived in changing times, times when women’s voices were rising to be heard. It took me almost seventy years to break free, to reclaim my power, to see myself not as a woman to be used and tamed but as a force to be reckoned with. My sister, ten years my senior, had not been granted the same shifting tide. Her generation had one foot firmly in the old ways.
The difference now? Women are allowing themselves to acknowledge their worth and receive. My mother, and so many before her, were taught only to give—to sacrifice, to shrink, to surrender. They stood behind their husbands, their brilliance unrecognized, their contributions unacknowledged. I saw it in my mother—the sharpest mind in the room, yet she kept her wisdom locked away so my father would not feel small. She worked endlessly, overlooked, while he enjoyed the praise. And when I raged against it, she cowered, too afraid to disrupt the fragile peace. That fury burned in me for decades, waiting to catch fire. And it finally did.
Relearning my worth was a battle waged over years. But as I reclaimed my power, I also discovered the art of receiving—of welcoming abundance, respect, and love without guilt. To receive is not selfish; it is the reclamation of balance. It is honoring the giver, the universe, and ourselves. And in receiving, we open doors to a richer, more expansive life.
Now, I stand rooted in my power, no longer apologizing for my presence, no longer hiding my brilliance. I embrace the friendships, the joys, the love that flow into my life. I create without hesitation. I welcome recognition without shrinking. I see women everywhere awakening to their own value, daring to demand what they deserve. This is not arrogance. It is self-respect. It is revolution.
The tides are shifting. The scales are balancing. And this time, nothing will stop us.
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