More Than DNA: The Stories That Live in Our Bones

All too often, I find myself thinking about my parents. They've both been gone for over a decade now, and yet, like stories tend to do, they still show up, quietly shaping how I move through the world.

Both of them came from hard places. My dad grew up in a coal mining family in West Virginia. My paternal grandfather was a coal miner, doing work that literally took his breath away. (He passed away from Black Lung at a relatively young age), while my paternal grandmother had an even more difficult job: raising my dad and all his siblings!!! The sad thing about my mom's side is I'm not sure what my maternal grandfather or grandmother did (and there is no one left to ask), but it was hard, brutal work. The kind of work that leaves your hands calloused and your back worn before you hit 40. (Sadly, I never got to meet any of my grandparents because they passed so young.) Both my parents were, not surprisingly, blue-collar, scrappy, and determined. They didn't discuss "resilience," "identity formation," or similar concepts we (ME) always talk about. They just kept showing up...day after day, week after week, year after year. I didn't realize until recently that I carry their story, not just in my genes, but in my posture. In my instincts. In the way I grind through tough seasons and keep showing up. So, despite never meeting my grandparents and not having my parents with me today, their stories are threads that are part of the story I weave every day.

There's something powerful about the stories we inherit, especially those that were never written down or discussed in therapy. From a scientific perspective, researchers at Emory University (Duke & Fivush) found that kids who know their family stories, especially the highs and lows, develop greater emotional resilience. Just knowing what your people have been through makes you feel a little more rooted when life starts to shake.

Interestingly, faith traditions have long recognized this. In African Traditional Religions, ancestral stories are an integral part of daily life. Elders speak the names of those who came before to keep their spirits and their wisdom alive. In Buddhism, teachings are passed from teacher to student, generation to generation, as a living story. The dharma isn't just a doctrine, but a lineage of lived experience. In the Abrahamic traditions of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, the story isn't just about how lessons are taught, but also about how identity is formed. The Exodus, the parables of Jesus, the stories in the Qur'an... they're all ways people have come to understand who they are, where they've been, and what it means to keep going. These stories get passed down not just to remember, but to live.

There is also the reality that not every story we inherit is helpful. Some of us were handed narratives full of shame, silence, or harm. Maybe we grew up believing we had to earn love. Or that asking for help was a weakness. Some of these stories didn't begin with us, but they echo through the generations before us and even within us.  

So what do we do with these stories—both the ones that shaped us in beautiful ways and the ones that still sting a little? We name them. Not with judgment, but with curiosity. We ask, "How did this story shape me?" and "Does it still serve me, and the people around me?" The good ones? We carry them forward with gratitude. We let them remind us who we are and what we've come through. And the harder ones? We can still learn from them, but we don't have to drag them into every new chapter. We get to rewrite them and heal from them, because sometimes the most sacred thing we can do is say, "This part of the story stops with me." That's the sacred work of the story: learning not just what to inherit, but what to carry, what to release, what to transform, and what to share with others so they may learn from your story.

So, here's your invitation this week...nothing fancy, just simple and human. Ask someone in your life to tell you a story that shaped them. A parent, an aunt, an older friend, a neighbor...someone who's seen some life. Ask with curiosity, not an agenda. And if they open up? Listen. Really listen. Not to respond or fix or compare, but just to hold space. Let their story be what it is...beautiful, complicated, and unfinished.

And if you're like me and there's no one left to ask, take a different kind of step. Sit down and write out one story that you do know. Perhaps it's something you recall hearing in passing. Maybe it's a story you lived through that's worth putting into words. Give it a beginning, a middle, and an end. Then ask yourself: What did this story give me? What might it still be trying to teach me?

Whether you're passing it on, letting it go, or reworking it into something new, your story matters. The ones you inherited, the ones you're living right now, and the ones you'll someday hand off to others. We don't get to choose all the stories that shaped us, but we do get to choose what we make of them. Because at the end of the day, what lives in our bones isn't just DNA, it's our story. And that story is still being written.

Always digging for stories,

Sam