By Monique Norington Joseph
When I first began researching my family history, I thought I was searching for names.
Birth certificates.
Marriage licenses.
Census records.
DNA matches.
I believed that if I could simply trace my family back far enough, I would finally understand where I came from.
And in many ways, I did.
But somewhere along the journey, I realized I had been asking the wrong question.
The real question wasn’t…
Who was in my bloodline?
It was…
What has traveled through my bloodline?
Because a family passes down so much more than DNA.
We inherit eye color.
Hair texture.
The shape of our smile.
The sound of our laugh.
But we also inherit things we cannot see.
Resilience.
Fear.
Silence.
Faith.
Creativity.
The instinct to protect.
The courage to keep going when life demands more than we think we have to give.
These things don’t show up on a DNA test.
Yet somehow, they continue moving from one generation to the next.
As I researched the women in my family, I began to notice patterns.
Not just in names.
In lives.
Women who became mothers at young ages.
Women who buried loved ones and kept going.
Women who crossed mountains in search of opportunity.
Women who rebuilt after loss.
Women who learned how to survive systems that weren’t built for them.
Generation after generation, I saw the same determination.
The same quiet strength.
The same refusal to give up.
And I couldn’t help but wonder…
Was I watching history?
Or was I seeing something that had been passed down?
Then I looked at myself.
I have spent my life building community.
Advocating for mothers.
Helping families tell their stories.
Creating spaces where people feel seen.
I’ve always believed I chose this work.
Now I wonder…
Or did it choose me?
Did I inherit more than my grandmother’s eyes?
Did I inherit her compassion?
Her perseverance?
Her ability to carry people while carrying herself?
Perhaps what I call purpose…
Is also inheritance.
Of course, not everything that travels through a bloodline is beautiful.
Some families pass down unspoken pain.
Patterns of abandonment.
Financial hardship.
Generational trauma.
Silence around difficult subjects.
Fear of vulnerability.
The belief that love must be earned instead of freely given.
These inheritances can shape generations just as powerfully as love can.
The difference is this:
Once we recognize them…
We have the opportunity to choose what continues.
That realization changed everything for me as a mother.
Because I began asking a different question.
Not simply…
What did I inherit?
But…
What will my daughter inherit from me?
Will she inherit anxiety?
Or confidence?
Will she inherit fear?
Or faith?
Will she inherit survival?
Or the freedom to thrive?
Every decision I make today becomes part of her story tomorrow.
That is both humbling and empowering.
Researching my ancestry has taught me that legacy is not just something we leave behind when we’re gone.
We are creating it every single day.
In the conversations we have.
In the values we model.
In the apologies we choose to make.
In the forgiveness we choose to extend.
In the traditions we keep alive.
And in the cycles we finally decide to break.
My DNA connected me to places.
To Appalachia.
To Africa.
To Europe.
To Native ancestry.
But my family taught me something even greater.
That identity isn’t only about where your ancestors lived.
It’s also about what they carried.
And what they handed to you.
As I continue writing This Well Runs Deep, I realize the book has never really been about genealogy.
It’s about inheritance.
Not just the inheritance of blood.
But the inheritance of character.
Of resilience.
Of hope.
Of memory.
Of love.
Because in the end…
A bloodline is more than biology.
It is the invisible thread that carries our stories, our strengths, our wounds, and our dreams from one generation to the next.
The question isn’t simply where you come from.
The question is…
What has been entrusted to you?
And perhaps even more importantly…
What will continue because of you?
This Well Runs Deep 