I carried extra weight as a kid. This was the early ’80s—long before body positivity was a thing. I wasn’t obese but I wasn’t thin. At 10 years old, my parents got me a personal trainer. His name was Bob. Nice guy. I don’t remember much from that age, but I remember Bob’s face. I remember being told I needed to be healthier. Maybe I had a slow metabolism.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about the story I told myself around that. What does it really mean to be healthy? And what would have better served 10-year-old me? My parents were doing the best they could, and at 49, I’m grateful for a lifetime of movement. But the shame around my weight lingered for years. Ok, fine—it still sneaks up on me sometimes and lord knows I’ve held onto that metabolism story. It sort of fits.

Healthy. Heal-thy.

I wonder how things might have been different if, instead of a personal trainer, I’d had someone who was curious—someone who asked why I was eating my weight in cheese and sneaking cookies at night. I hid behind food for a long time. I didn’t address these things until my own healing (heal-thy) journey.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about generational wealth and wondering why we don’t talk more about generational health. Imagine if we prioritized passing down emotional resilience over real estate, self-regulation over stock portfolios. What if, instead of just building financial legacies, we raised kids who could express their emotions, face hard conversations without defensiveness, and navigate life with a sense of wholeness?

In Untamed, Glennon Doyle shares a moment when her father was asked how he contributed to her eating disorder and addiction. He was furious. Thought it was her problem. But we don’t exist insolation. We live in systems. We are shaped by them, and we shape them in return. Healing happens in relationship. Everyone in a system contributes to its health—or its decline.

So, here’s the question: How are you actively contributing to the health of your system? How are you working toward generational health?