As a descendant of Holocaust survivors, I have inherited considerable trauma from my parents in addition to incurring childhood trauma. As I speak to other descendants regarding their trauma, I thought it was important that I also share my experience.

For 67 years, I functioned well. I had a successful professional career and a good family life and had become an author with several novels. Things changed for me in early 2021. During the depths of the pandemic and while undergoing cancer treatment, I began thinking about my own legacy and that of my family. I sensed that perhaps I was running out of time. I decided to write a memoir describing my personal journey as a child of Holocaust survivors.

I buried myself in research and writing, and soon, the health scares became background noise. Then, the discovery that changed my life occurred in December 2021. I learned that my father had two daughters with his first wife, Estera, in the Bedzin Ghetto while under German occupation. I had already known that my father had been married and that he had a daughter named Laja (pronounced Leah). I had been searching for her birth record to determine when she was born. The records I received from Polish archives indicated that Laja was born on April 30, 1940. But the shocking news was a second record indicating that Laja had a younger sister, Jenta (pronounced Yenta), born on September 6, 1941. No one in the family knew anything about Jenta. My father was no longer around to confirm my discovery. Shortly after that, I uncovered details of their murder in an Auschwitz gas chamber in August 1942. Then, I found a photo of the two girls taken shortly before their death.

These discoveries unleashed a torrent of buried trauma and childhood memories, and my comfortable and stable life evaporated very quickly. Trauma unleashed waves of anxiety that prevented me from sleeping.  When I did sleep, my childhood nightmares returned. Writing was no longer possible because the negative images and voices in my head drowned out my creative voices. Everything felt wrong in my life, and on several occasions, I considered ditching the memoir. By the summer of 2023, I realized that the trauma was not going to go away and decided to try therapy.

I spent several weeks searching for an appropriate therapist. I knew it needed to be someone with experience with intergenerational trauma. But what else? Should the therapist be Jewish? Would they be better able to relate to me if they were also descendants of Holocaust survivors? I decided I didn’t need empathy, and I didn’t want a therapist who had personal biases regarding the Holocaust. I chose a psychotherapist who wasn’t Jewish, Erica Warder. She had been in practice for only several years because of her previous opera vocalist career. Part of my logic was that she could relate to a struggling writer. Honestly, their background isn’t as important as your comfort level with the therapist.

The first three sessions I did a lot of talking. I described my family’s history, and she occasionally would stop me to ask about some Holocaust or Jewish terminology that was unfamiliar to me. I didn’t understand what this process would accomplish but just went along. I assumed I would be healed in 3 to 4 months. After several sessions, Erica pointed out that I had only talked about other family members but not about myself. I stared off into space, thinking of how to respond. I never talk about myself. Certainly not about my feelings. I didn’t even know how to start. But I gave it a stab, and she would guide me into revealing more personal information.

The more I revealed, the more uncomfortable I became. After a session, I needed the rest of the day to process what had happened. I would spend the rest of the week planning what I would say the following week. Conversations would be repeated over and over in my head. I would try to control the sessions to increase my comfort level. I hated the process and would watch the clock to see how much time until each session ended.

Several weeks later, I had what might be described as an epiphany and began to describe how I grew up feeling abandoned by my parents, having trust issues, being unwilling to ask for help, feeling like I never fit in, and having a negative self-image. I experienced a flood of emotions and cried through the entire session. When it was over, I thought to myself, so this was it. I’ve been healed. I began to plan on when to stop therapy.

I should mention that I had one friend who I confided in. She encouraged me to try therapy. I would bounce things off her before a session and process what I had experienced after each session. When I mentioned that I was better and would stop therapy, she gently encouraged me to continue. She noted it can take years to heal. I told Erica I was better and wanted to take a break. Erica has never disagreed with a patient’s decision, and we stopped therapy. Within 2 weeks, I crashed and returned to therapy. I stated I was committed to therapy for as long as it would take to heal. But deep down, I still believed this was a short-term need. I worked hard at talking about myself, my emotional state, and my relationships. As more memories surfaced, I found myself riding an emotional rollercoaster. There were days I felt fine, but I soon discovered how easily I could be triggered. Then, I would come crashing down. My therapy sessions were weekly, but there were weeks when I was struggling and had a second session.

Those crashes involved extreme emotional pain, anxiety, and irrational thoughts. It’s not something that one can easily relate to if you have never had mental health issues. Just imagine back pain so severe that you are miserable and don’t feel like doing anything. I began to have anxiety attacks. I slept even less. In my mind, I blamed Erica for what was clearly a deterioration of my mental health. I loathed therapy. I decided I needed to quit. Then, my friend stepped in and convinced me to stick with it. I reluctantly agreed.

One evening in May 2024, a night I will never forget, I hit rock bottom. Walking downtown with friends to a restaurant for dinner, I had a flashback that triggered a severe panic attack. That night, I did not sleep. I was so desperate to get some sleep that, at one point, I called a crisis hotline. The voices in my head reminded me of every “mistake” I had made, how much of a failure I was, and how everyone I knew had abandoned me. None of this was true, but mental illness can make you believe almost anything.

I fell asleep from exhaustion in the morning. I was determined to change my life when I awoke because I never wanted to go through another night like that. I went to my family doctor and got a prescription for anti-anxiety medication, something Erica had suggested on several occasions. At my next session with Erica, I told her that I would no longer consider leaving therapy. I was prepared to stay in therapy for the rest of my life if necessary. I also stated that I would try to find a better life-work balance. I would limit the hours I worked each day, not work on weekends, walk daily, and develop strategies for getting better sleep.

I’m now 10 months into therapy. The medication has made a difference, and in combination with therapy, I’m doing much better. That emotional rollercoaster I rode for months has slowed down and flattened out. I still have bad days, but I can better manage them.

I was 69 when I decided to try therapy. That’s likely not a time in one’s life when people turn to therapy. It’s never too late to start. I was so naïve about what it would involve. I had no idea how difficult this process was. It’s a lot of hard work. But I’ve never shied away from hard work. Still, this is one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done. Despite feeling better, I won’t be leaving therapy anytime soon. Maybe the frequency will change, but I need that lifeline. There is no cure for trauma, but it can be managed.

I have gone public with my struggles because of the many people like me. I implore anyone struggling with their mental health to consider getting help. Give it a chance, and be prepared to feel worse before you feel better. Fortunately, I found the right therapist on my first go at it. It doesn’t always work this well. Find the right person and stick with it.