The quiet legacy of anxiety

We often speak of anxiety as a natural human response to perceived threat, uncertainty or stress. It often emerges from the intersections of experience, meaning and unmet needs. But what happens when the amygdala - the brain’s fear centre - sounds the alarm when the threat is symbolic and triggered by a whisper from before? By a parent's caution or a cultural script written in the margins of safety? What if the body remembers what the mind cannot name?

What is inherited anxiety?

I unplug the sockets when thunder rolls in. Not because I fear the lightning, but because my mother did. Her hands moved swiftly, almost reverently, as if the storm might reach through the wires and take something precious. I watched her fear become ritual and now, decades later, my fingers follow hers.

This is not uncommon. In my counselling practice, I meet many who carry fears that seem older than they are. One client flinches at the sound of an ambulance. She says it’s the siren, but I hear her mother’s panic in the pause. She discloses that a memory influences this, not hers, but held in the body like a second heartbeat. Inherited vigilance, a legacy of survival.

How anxiety is passed down

Our body stores emotional experiences, and these can be passed down through generations, not just through stories, but through gestures, reactions and unspoken rules. The child who learns to scan the room for danger may be responding not to their own experience, but to the inherited rhythm of hypervigilance.

In families shaped by war, migration, illness or loss, anxiety often becomes a quiet companion. It teaches us to prepare and protect. While these instincts may have once been necessary, they can linger long after the threat is gone, surfacing in the flicker of a siren or the crack of thunder.

When anxiety becomes a problem

While occasional anxiety is normal and even helpful (it sharpens focus, heightens awareness), it can become problematic when it is persistent or overwhelming, as it has the power to distort thinking, impact relationships and well-being over time. Support, whether through therapy, trusted relationships or community care, creates space to soften its grip through shared understanding and introduces practical tools that help the body and mind return to safety.

In therapy, one of the most powerful shifts comes when we ask: “Is this mine? When did I first start doing this?” The approach is not about blame; it is about clarity. When we begin to trace the origin of our anxiety, we can respond with compassion rather than shame. We can honour the fear that kept our ancestors safe, while choosing which rituals we want to carry forward.

Once the origin of inherited fear is acknowledged, we can begin to gently introduce choice and agency. This is where therapeutic exploration shifts from understanding to transformation. Clients may be invited to consider alternatives: “If you didn’t unplug the sockets, what do you imagine might happen?” or “What would it mean to respond differently now?”

These questions open space for new rituals that feel more aligned with the present. For some, this might mean leaving the sockets plugged in, watching the storm pass, or hearing a siren and choosing to breathe deeply, reminding the body that it is safe now, and that the past no longer dictates the present. This is how healing begins: not by erasing fear, but by responding to it with conscious choice.

Metaphor, journaling and visual prompts can offer meaningful ways to explore inherited fear. Writing a letter from the fear to oneself or imagining a new ritual to pass down to future generations can help externalise and reshape the emotional narrative. These creative practices invite reflection, deepen insight and gently support the transition from inherited anxiety to intentional wisdom. And when we name the fear, perhaps calling it Alexia, we give it shape. We say: “I see you. I know you. And I get to decide how we relate.” Alexia might say, “I’m here to protect you from the storm,” or “I remember what your parent feared, and I want you to be safe.” Naming invites dialogue, and dialogue invites choice.