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On this Truth and Reconciliation Day, we honor the painful legacy of the residential school system, where Indigenous children were forcibly separated from their families, stripped of their identities, and subjected to unimaginable cruelty. Tragically, this pattern of dehumanization feels disturbingly familiar as we bear witness to the atrocities in Gaza, Lebanon, and other regions. Today, we see these tragedies unfold in ways we’ve never been able to before, and this awareness presses heavily on our hearts.
These events are not distant from us. They resonate within our bodies, our personal histories, and our ancestral lines. The suffering we see isn’t a distant chapter—it’s a living thread, woven into the fabric of our collective human pain.
Here’s the truth: we are more aware now than ever. And with awareness comes a responsibility we can’t ignore. We hear the cries for help, and though this heightened awareness feels unbearable, it is the first necessary step in breaking the cycle of suffering.
I’ve seen this pattern in my own life. The first, hardest step in disrupting harmful cycles is awareness. When I become conscious of a behavior that causes harm, stepping out of ignorance is vital. It’s not the solution, but it’s the beginning. After that, I have to face the pain—the pain that’s been driving the pattern all along. Until we face it, it persists.
On a global scale, we are witnessing the same. Collective trauma doesn’t vanish; it’s passed down, reshaped, and replayed. We see it in Indigenous communities, in war-torn regions, and in our own histories. The pain is ancient, just in different forms. And the grief we feel as witnesses is deeply connected—it’s the grief of imagining our children in such situations, knowing our ancestors endured similar horrors or, perhaps, perpetrated them. It’s the realization that we are all part of this cycle, trapped in patterns of violence and helplessness.
But what if this profound sorrow is also part of the medicine? What if this collective grief is the first step toward healing? To break a cycle, we first have to see it, then feel it. And what we’re feeling now is deep, ancestral grief. The grief of lives lost, of children growing up in war zones, of communities still living under the shadow of past violences.
As we move into the darker season in the Northern Hemisphere, many traditions remind us that this is a time for deep connection with our ancestors. In Christian traditions, there is All Saints’ Day. In Mexico, Día de los Muertos. In Pagan traditions, Samhain. And Pitru Paksha in the Hindu tradition. These are all moments that invite us to reflect on our lineage, to remember the pain and wisdom of those who came before us.
Connecting with our ancestors is one way we can help to heal this collective pain. It’s not easy to look at the cycles of violence in our familial histories, but by having the courage to face our internal, ancestral, and human pain, we begin to make a difference. Honoring these traditions, and the ancestors they celebrate, opens the door to healing our collective wounds.
It’s not an easy process, nor is it quick. But it’s possible. I believe that the first step we’re taking now is the hardest one—stepping out of ignorance, stepping into awareness. Owning our responsibilities, both as individuals and as a collective, and facing the painful truth that change does not come from avoidance. It comes from going through. From feeling. From acknowledging the pain we carry, the pain of others, and how deeply connected it all is.
This is our shared human process. And just like in personal healing, the collective healing we need begins with this awareness. It begins with the willingness to look at the painful patterns of the past and ask ourselves—what is my part? How am I repeating these patterns, and how can I begin to change them?
It’s not hopeless. Pain is a part of the process, but it’s not the end of the story. Maybe—just maybe—this is where real change starts.
With heart, Artemis
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