“I am not alone.” That sentence first came to me when I was sitting at home again, frustrated, because one of the issues I thought I had worked through in what felt like countless coaching sessions and energetic sittings had come back. I was in my early 30s and could have filled my living room wall with certificates and diplomas from trainings. And yet there I was, in that moment when it felt like I had failed.
That, in any case, was the underlying message that my trainers had given me — I didn’t want it enough, or I wasn’t devoted enough.
So I sat frustrated on the wooden floorboards of my old Hamburg apartment and sent a plea to the putti in the stucco on the ceiling. And then the sentence came to me: “I am not alone.” And suddenly I felt something shift inside me, all the pent-up emotions released, and a groan escaped me that sounded and felt as if it were ancient. I let the process happen and whispered instinctively: “I feel you,” and after that, “It is over.”
And that was it. After all the rounds I had taken before, I needed 30 minutes on my living room floor with groaning, shaking, and many tears—and suddenly there was peace and quiet. Without knowing it, I had laid the foundation for my further journey. I had released an ancestral trauma.
When the Origin Is Not Within You
Later I realized: more often than we think, what we feel is not ours. In my experience now, over 60% of the issues don’t originate with us. They are echoes of our ancestors. Memories that don’t reside in our mind, but in our cells. Feelings that don’t come from us, but from those who came before us.
Today we know: what we experience changes not only our nervous system — it can also be passed on epigenetically. Studies show that traumatic experiences (like war, violence or flight) leave biochemical “markers” that determine which genes are switched on or off. These changes can be inherited by children and grandchildren — appearing as increased vulnerability to stress, anxiety, dissociation, over-responsibility, or the feeling of being “not quite here.”
Studies also show: traumatic experiences don’t alter the genetic code itself, but rather the biochemical “control center” that decides which genes are active. These epigenetic markings can be handed down across generations — even if the triggering event is long past.
For example, a study of Holocaust survivors showed that the children and grandchildren of those people displayed increased sensitivity to stress and changed hormone profiles — even though they didn’t experience the original trauma themselves. Similarly, descendants of prisoners of war, refugees, or starving mothers showed related effects.
Not Nostalgia, but a New Future
For me, working with ancestors is not a retreat into nostalgia. It is an act of transformation — also culturally. We actively change the past and thereby create a new future. And when we begin to consciously reconnect with our indigenous European heritage, we don’t need to look to other cultures anymore. We can live an embodied, rooted spirituality of our own. One that heals — us, our line, our world.
I am not talking about ancestral work as romantic reminiscing of past times, but as a clear, deeply transformative practice that affects our present. Ancestral work means: I consciously make connection to my line — and I make a decision. Which patterns I will carry forward. And which I will end.
It is a sacred act of self-empowerment: Not because we must be strong. But because we are connected. Each of us is part of a story that began before our birth. Our DNA carries not only eye color and height, but also experiences, fears, losses. Science calls this transgenerational transmission or epigenetic imprinting. Spiritual traditions call it the ancestral line. And regardless of what we call it — it works.
Whatever has been passed on can be transformed. We don’t have to carry it forward.
Many of us have searched spiritually outward — in other cultures, in distant traditions. And in the process overlooked something: that our roots are sacred too. Here too, in Central Europe, there is a deep, earthy wisdom. A wisdom of cycles, of dignity, of the connection between the living and the dead, which has long been suppressed — through Christianization, colonization, patriarchy — and which now rises again.
Our ancestors were our first spiritual companions. Pre-Christian cultures held close contact with the invisible world. They honored the dead, asked them for counsel, celebrated the return of souls at the winter solstice. Many customs we dismiss today as “Christmas tales” were originally rituals of ancestral remembrance. The gingerbread, for example — once “loaves of life” — were offerings to the dead.
Cultivating Roots, Experiencing Connection
Today, most of us have not been taught how to speak with our ancestors. It is as if we have cut off our roots — collectively and individually. But we can revive them. We can build connection. Draw strength. Gain clarity. Because when we honor our ancestors, we also honor ourselves. When we reconnect, a new form of safety emerges. Not because “everything will be fine.” But because we are no longer alone. It is no coincidence that there is a saying:
Go as though thousands of ancestors accompany you.
If you feel that your issues run deeper — you are most likely correct. If sometimes you sense you are suffering for something that isn’t yours — then trust that. And if you are ready to reconnect — you are not alone.
In the last 15 years I have worked with many people who made deeply transformative experiences — without many words, without drama. Because they suddenly understood: I am part of something greater. Because they no longer needed to fight to be strong. Because they finally felt held — not by others, but by their line.
Sometimes all it takes is an inner sentence to shift the field:
“I see you. I thank you. And I walk my own path.”
Because: The ancestors do not wait for us to be perfect. But that we are ready to listen.
In Sisterhood,
