Have you ever paused to wonder how much of your adult self was shaped by the childhood you once lived? Recently, I picked up The Origins of You by Vienna Pharaon, and it sparked a deeper reflection on my own experiences. This book explores the idea of “origin wounds”—emotional scars formed in our early years that shape our behaviors, relationships, and sense of self.
What resonated with me was Pharaon’s concept of "origin healing work," a process that combines family systems work and psychodynamic theory to help us uncover and heal these wounds. While I don’t fully embrace the book’s focus on childhood trauma, it’s an insightful framework for understanding how our past impacts our present.
Reading The Origins of You encouraged me to examine my own journey, especially the areas of my life where childhood patterns lingered long into adulthood. If you’re curious about how your own upbringing may have shaped your story—or if you’re just looking for tools to grow and heal—I highly recommend this book. But for now, let me share some of my personal insights about this topic and how they’ve shaped the way I view both the past and the present.
Growing up, we didn’t have much money, and our meals reflected that. Large pots of spaghetti, cereal, and other inexpensive staples filled our plates. These choices weren’t just about finances; they were also shaped by the government’s Food Pyramid guidelines, which encouraged heavy consumption of grains.
By the time I graduated high school, I was obese and eventually diagnosed as pre-diabetic. My health in my teens and twenties was a struggle, to say the least. It wasn’t until years later that I began the hard work of improving my relationship with food and taking control of my health. Today, in my forties, I’m stronger, faster, and healthier than I’ve ever been. It’s a transformation I’m proud of, but it’s also a testament to the enduring influence of those early patterns—and the effort it takes to rewrite them.
When I think about Vienna Pharaon’s concept of origin wounds, this journey connects to what she calls the “safety wound.” My childhood food environment was shaped by survival and filling our stomachs, but it left a lasting imprint on my relationship with food. Addressing these patterns wasn’t just about dieting or exercising; it was about reexamining the emotional roots of my habits and making deliberate changes to heal.
I’ll admit it—I’ve always been reluctant to dwell on my childhood. It’s not because I think my upbringing was perfect; far from it. My reluctance stems from a belief that as an adult, I should take responsibility for my actions. Dwelling on the past feels unproductive when I can’t change it. But here’s the paradox: understanding the past can help us make better choices in the present.
This is where my perspective diverges a bit from Pharaon’s focus on childhood trauma. While I see the value in exploring early experiences, I resonate more with Bruce Tift’s approach in Already Free. Tift acknowledges the importance of the past but emphasizes that our understanding of it will always be incomplete. Instead, he encourages a focus on the present, using our reflections on the past as a tool—not a destination.
For me, this balance feels more empowering. When I reflect on childhood experiences, like our family’s approach to food, I try to reframe them with the understanding I have as an adult. It’s not about blame or regret but about learning from those moments and making intentional choices moving forward.
One of the greatest gifts of self-reflection is the ability to support others on their journeys. Over the years, I’ve seen friends and loved ones struggle with their own unresolved origin wounds, even if they didn’t call them that. What I’ve learned is that while we can’t force someone to confront their past, we can offer encouragement and perspective.
If someone close to me is struggling with unhealthy patterns or relational challenges, I often share the idea of reframing the past through an adult lens. It’s not about excusing what happened but about understanding it enough to loosen its grip. For instance, when a friend felt stuck in their career because of early messages about “not being good enough,” we worked together to reframe those beliefs. Recognizing how those messages originated helped them see that they were no longer true—and gave them the freedom to pursue something new.
This approach blends Vienna Pharaon’s focus on origin wounds with Bruce Tift’s present-oriented perspective. It’s about meeting people where they are and helping them use their reflections as a springboard for growth.
As I reflect on The Origins of You and my own journey, one thing becomes clear: our past doesn’t have to define us, but it does shape us. Whether it’s the food habits we learned as kids, the messages we internalized about our worth, or the ways we navigate relationships, those early experiences leave a mark. The key is what we do with them.
For me, healing hasn’t meant dwelling on the past but using it to make better choices in the present. Books like Vienna Pharaon’s and Bruce Tift’s have helped me see the value of exploring those origins—not as a way to stay stuck but as a way to grow. My hope is that by sharing these reflections, you feel inspired to examine your own story and take the next step in rewriting it. Because the truth is, no matter where we come from, we all have the power to shape where we’re going.