Inheritance and Independence: Choosing What We Carry Forward.
It begins with the stories we are told before we even know how to speak. “You have your father’s stubbornness,” someone says, or, “That temper of yours? Definitely from your mother”. Before we can form our own identities, they are subtly moulded by the stories and beliefs passed down to us, shaped by the quiet pull of inheritance. These are not just physical traits such as the shape of a nose, the arch of an eyebrow, but entire philosophies about life, love, and the limits of what is possible.
Inheritance, in this sense, is not something we actively choose. It is the beliefs absorbed like osmosis: the idea that certain careers are more “respectable,” that success must look a particular way, or that a family’s honour rests on specific behaviours. Often, we don’t even recognise these beliefs as inherited. They masquerade as truths, until one day they are questioned, often in moments of friction.
Take, for example, the way we approach work. A child growing up in a household where “hard work” is synonymous with long hours and sacrifice might unconsciously adopt the same belief, overworking themselves into exhaustion because they’ve never considered another way. Perhaps they’ve inherited a mindset that productivity equals self-worth. But what if, in the process of self-reflection, they realise this belief was never truly theirs? That it belonged to a parent or grandparent, born of necessity in different times?
This is where independence steps in. Independence is not about rejecting everything we’ve inherited but about interrogating it; holding each belief up to the light and asking, “Is this mine? Does this serve me?”. True independence comes not from a place of defiance but from a quiet confidence that allows us to choose for ourselves. It allows us to keep what fits and let go of what does not, knowing that we are still loved, even if we do not follow the paths set before us.
Take traditions, for instance. A person may inherit religious or cultural practices that feel deeply meaningful to their family. Beyond symbolism, they might also draw values from these rituals, such as compassion, gratitude, or a sense of community. Lighting a diya during Diwali, observing Christmas rituals, or fasting during Ramadan, these traditions can feel like anchors. But independence might look like someone finding their own way to honour spirituality, blending the old with the new. They may choose to meditate rather than attend a temple, or perhaps they take the lessons of kindness and charity from fasting without observing the practice itself. They are crafting something authentic, which respects the past but reflects who they are now.
Another example lies in gender roles. Many of us inherit ideas about what it means to be a “good” daughter, son, or partner. These roles often come with unspoken expectations. A son might inherit the belief that his value lies in financial provision; a daughter, that her worth is tied to caregiving. Independence might look like rejecting these roles entirely, or it might involve reframing them. A man might choose to be a stay-at-home parent, knowing he is no less capable or loved. A woman might prioritise her career, understanding this choice doesn’t diminish her family’s love for her.
It’s not always a smooth process. Independence can feel like betrayal to the people who handed these beliefs down to us and to the communities they represent. But often, the tension is rooted in misunderstanding. In seeking independence, we are not erasing our inheritance but shaping it into something we can carry with ease.
In my own life, this balance has played out in the way I view success. Growing up, success was tied to visible achievements - high grades, prestigious jobs, and measurable milestones. By choosing Psychology as my career pathway I was not conforming to the conventional standard set by society. It took years to realise that these markers belonged to someone else’s vision of a fulfilling life. My own version of success, I discovered, had more to do with the quality of my relationships, the joy of creative work, and a sense of balance. I didn’t discard the drive I inherited, but I redirected it towards goals that felt authentic.
The interplay between inheritance and independence is ongoing. It requires awareness and effort, but the reward is freedom - a life lived on your own terms, imbued with the best parts of what you’ve inherited, and none of the weight. Independence does not mean rejecting love or connection; it means trusting that these things endure, even as we forge our own paths. After all, what greater act of love could there be than to see someone take the best of what they’ve been given and use it to grow into who they truly are?