Healing our Stories, Part 1: a look at Hawaiian Generational Trauma

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A talk story series about generational trauma with Native Hawaiian therapist Alexis Kamakanoe Ornellas

Written by Cris Romento, Director of Dear Aloha

I clearly remember my first day of school in Washington State. My parents had secured a boundary exception, allowing me to attend a school outside our district. They had heard stories of crime and kids on the "wrong side of the tracks" in our area. Wanting the best education for me, they chose a school in an upper-middle-class neighborhood.

Looking around the school gym that day, I didn't see any faces like mine. I hugged my new Levi's jacket around me, something my father was so proud to buy me. I had changed from my little cloth muʻu and slippers to a turtleneck and jeans just the day before.

In the large circle of kids, a teacher introduced me. "Let's say hi to our new classmate Cristina. She's from Hawaii." The faces all turned towards me in shock. The questions and whispering came. "Did you have electricity there?" "Is there running water?" I was weird.

My story isn’t unusual. Growing up in a white suburb as a person of color, I assimilated—attending speech therapy to erase my pidgin, enduring countless microaggressions, and learning to hide my real feelings. I carried the belief that I wasn’t good enough well into adulthood. That feeling settled over time, manifesting as an overwhelming shame. It wasn't until making Dear Aloha did I realize that there was more to these experiences I had as a child, and why it deeply affected me. The shame I carried wasn’t just mine—it spanned generations on both sides of my family, building up until it felt unbearable. There was a word for this: generational trauma.

Creating Dear Aloha allowed me to learn new words I wish I knew growing up. I felt empowered learning the term "Hawaiian Diaspora." It gave me something to hold onto. I could create stories through the lens of our displacement. I hoped that Dear Aloha could help people deepen into these uncontextualized emotions we carry, just as it helped me.

"Kau i Kāpua ka poʻe polohuku ʻole. Those without resources will land at Kāpua. Without resources, we get nowhere." - ʻŌlelo Noʻeau

What is Generational Trauma?

Mental health isn’t something we talk about enough in the Pacific Islander community, but so many of us—especially in the diaspora—carry feelings of shame or emotional weight without really knowing why. This post will dive into generational trauma, why it affects us, and how we can find healing in ways that make sense for us. I'm so grateful to bring Alexis Kamakanoe Ornellas, a Native Hawaiian therapist, to the table.

Who's at the table:

Alexis Kamakanoe Ornellas, (she/her/'oia) is a Licensed Professional Counselor in the state of Colorado, a consultant and trainer for therapists and practitioners and is a truth teller who is soul committed to collective liberation, the land back movement, and the return of Hawaiian sovereignty. She identifies as a mixed race Kānaka maoli queer woman of the generational Hawaiian diaspora as she was born and raised in New York to a white European mother and a Kanaka Chinese Portuguese father. She is a mother, a wife, an artist, a hula dancer, an activist and a person who stutters. She has been a psychotherapist since 2010s working with mixed and BIPOC folks to heal developmental, complex, historical and intergenerational trauma, and has been more recently focused on building community within the Hawaiian diaspora to create online spaces where Kānaka can feel Hawaiian enough and reclaim their culture and heritage. You can learn more about her and the work she does on her website, manacounseling.com  or on IG: @manacounseling.

Interview by Cris Romento, Director of Dear Aloha.

As a diasporic Hawaiian, I’ve definitely had to navigate this deep shame, and not knowing where it came from for most of my life. I’m still navigating it. Where does this shame come from?

Alexis: As a diasporic Hawaiian, I have had to navigate this deep shame too. It can be so painful and debilitating. At times in my life, it has made me feel like I am broken, damaged, not good enough or not Hawaiian enough —that no one gets it or understands.

The deep shame we may feel as diasporic Hawaiians is likely not entirely our own, meaning we may have inherited shame from our mākua (parents) and kūpuna (ancestors). 

"The study of epigenetics (how our genes can be altered and then handed down) can help us understand these phenomena and how trauma history in past generations can increase the likelihood of mental health issues like anxiety, depression, and shame in future generations. "

Our people experienced severe trauma for centuries, were treated as “savages," shamed for our cultural practices, and forced to disconnect from them. Can you imagine the impact that can have on the generations that came after? The transmission of shame is one of them.  

One of my favorite writers and speakers on the intersection of colonization and mental health is Dr. Jennifer Mullan. In her recent book Decolonizing Therapy, she wrote this about grief and shame:

“When a society disenfranchises the legitimacy of grief among any people, the resulting intrapsychic function that inhibits the expression of grief effects is shame. The grief is covered by a deep shame that impairs relationships with self, others, culture and community. The sacred is extracted, and instead the grief and rage replace, or attempt to replace - the deep collective and communal loss.”

I have also been curious about how that shame may also be connected to our displacement.  Kānaka Maoli are inherently connected to the ʻāina and we consider the ‘āina our relative.  Being diasporic can leave us disconnected from ‘āina (especially those of us who have never set foot back in the pae ‘āina) - a missing critical piece that could contribute to feeling not whole and not enough.  

What are some of the ways generational trauma affects us in the diaspora that we might not be aware of? 

Alexis: Generational trauma for many Indigenous communities has a similar flavor. It can be passed down and manifest in many ways, including: sadness, emptiness, numbness, difficulty feeling motivated, self-criticism, shame, fear, speedy thoughts, heart racing, hard to focus, perfectionism, feeling unsafe without known reason, anger and rage, autoimmune conditions and other health-related disorders, substance abuse and other addictive processes, incarceration, domestic violence and other forms of abuse.

"Kānaka Maoli have some of the highest rates of depression, anxiety, suicide, diabetes, cardiovascular disease, cancer, and chronic stress.  Generational trauma along with ongoing sociopolitical factors play a huge role."

Why is it important to have Pacific Islander (PI) counselors and mental health practitioners?

Alexis:  It can be really impactful for PI clients to have a PI therapist or practitioner because having shared lived experience or history, and seeing ourselves reflected in our practitioners can help foster deeper connection and understanding - two aspects that are essential for therapy to be healing. I also think that a PI therapist is more likely to know the historical impact of colonization/imperialism on PI communities. Bringing this historical perspective, along with the shared cultural lens of practice, can help clients relax, feel a sense of kinship with the therapist, be more open to exploring difficult topics, and create an environment conducive to healing.

For context, what kinds of experiences in recent history did our ancestors have to carry that contributed to our generational trauma, specifically in the Diaspora?

Alexis: Our people are the survivors of centuries of historical trauma. Since 1778, with the arrival of Captain Cook—a time known as “first contact”—our ‘āina and people have endured colonization; genocide and mass death due to disease and killing; the loss of sovereignty through the illegal overthrow of the Hawaiian Nation by the U.S. government and American businessmen; the suppression of spiritual and cultural practices, as well as our language, through laws, physical force, and the threat of humiliation, death, and imprisonment; the loss of land rights due to missionary and U.S. involvement; the commodification of our culture; extractive tourism and U.S. military actions that have decimated parts of our ‘āina; and now, displacement, as so many Kānaka are priced out and forced to leave in order to survive.

For those of us who are generational diaspora (meaning born and raised away from Hawaiʻi), we may carry the extra generational trauma of mākua or kūpuna leaving their home, and the significant impact of the grief and loss they experienced. This is compounded with the pain that can come with assimilation into the dominant culture they entered. That can be a brutal combo. I will never forget the story that my makuakāne, in tears, recently shared with me of his diaspora story and moving to the continent from Molokaʻi at age 18. He shared that as soon as he stepped off the plane, he immediately felt sick to his stomach and thought that he had made the worst mistake of his life.

"It took him years to assimilate, and it was lonely and painful.  I cried with him because I could feel the pain. I immediately knew in my heart that I carried that pain in me too."

Are there any tools we can use to support our mental health journey if we do not have a counselor available?

The biggest factors that can improve mental health for Kānaka Maoli is returning to and reclaiming Hawaiian values, principles, and practices while connecting to community/lāhui. Learn about Hawaiian history, language, and culture through books, podcasts, and social media accounts. Start learning ‘Ōlelo Hawaiʻi (there are so many online options), and converse as much as you can in ‘ōlelo.  If you are in an area with many PI, join your local civic or community club.  Start connecting with other Kānaka online or in person (I’ve met so many great ones through Instagram and TikTok), and share your stories/experiences with each other. Start/continue your moʻokūʻauhau (Hawaiian genealogy) journey, so that you can learn about your kūpuna and where you come from - there are so many great resources you can utilize online.  

"For those of us in the diaspora, remember that the ʻāina is in your iwi (bones) even if your feet are not there.  What that means is that connecting to the land you are already on can reignite that ʻāina connection in your iwi."

Walk or stand barefoot on the earth and imagine you can give and receive mana to and from the earth.  Hug a tree. Learn your local flora/fauna. Grow food. Make lei with what you have available to you. We are keiki o ka ʻāina (children of the earth), so connect to the earth or water that you have available to you.  

 I feel like mental health can be a complex word. It carries this idea that something is wrong with you, at least in my own family. Why is that?

Alexis: The impacts of Western colonial values are real. They are likely values that impact us all, and are the problematic waters we swim in. One such value is that if you are struggling with mental health, it is a "you" problem, and that it is something inherently wrong with you and to be ashamed of.  

For most people, especially Indigenous and other marginalized populations, mental health struggles are a direct result of systemic oppression over generations, both in the past and present. This makes mental health a system and community problem, and thus one that needs to be addressed not alone, but within the context of community/lāhui and with professional help.  

"Struggling with your mental health is absolutely nothing to be ashamed of, just like someone with high blood pressure or diabetes should not be ashamed of their disease. However, they need proper lifestyle changes and treatment to manage it and/or recover."

Mental health is no different. It is also important to understand that when struggling with mental health as a Native Hawaiian or other marginalized people, this is an understandable and appropriate response to generational and historical trauma. Our bodies and brains can only take so much before there are consequences.

A lot of PIs don’t trust therapy or mental health services. Where does that hesitation come from? 

Alexis: The hesitation can be connected to many factors, both conscious and unconscious. I think we have to consider beliefs and values of not wanting to have strangers in our business, not wanting to appear weak, and wanting to maintain loyalty to our ʻohana by not being in situations where we talk ill of them (ie. talking about abuse equals “talking bad” about our ʻohana). 

Other factors can include seeing mental health providers as authorities who are extensions of our oppressors, especially if they are white or haole. 

"Historically, the field of mental health has been steeped in colonial and white supremacist values in which ethnic and cultural differences were pathologized and treated as disorders, further harming marginalized people.  This has made MANY marginalized peoples very suspicious of mental health providers, and rightfully so."

I’ve read recently that our ancestors, pre-colonization, valued mental health and self-care. Is this something you can talk about?

Alexis: I've only recently started my journey of learning about how our kūpuna conceptualized and valued mental health, through Kānaka content creators like Adam Keawe, and a recent memoir I read called Local by a diasporic kanaka, Jessica Machado.

"Historically, our people valued holistic healing, meaning healing that addresses all aspects of the person - including their physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual wellbeing.  They were much more open about their emotions and acknowledged them in many ways - through language, mele, hula and uhi (tattoos)."

Adam Keawe said, “ Traditionally, Kānaka Maoli looked towards sacred places or lands of their ancestors to restore a sense of self. They may also seek help from an elder or kahuna who specialized in these mental health concerns. They may also compose mele or find ways to work out their feelings through art, travel or building something.”

Just like with the different forms of weather and land, they had nuanced terms for mental health, including: 

• Luʻuluʻu - to be incapacitated by sorrow and/or grief

• Lauele - to feel anxiety that causes your mind to wander or thoughts to jump around

• Loha - meaning “to fade or wilt,” to name depression or anxiety triggered by an outside event or influence

• Hoʻopalai - when one is so ashamed of themselves for situations beyond their control, they stop being themselves and isolate

• Manawahua - to be overtaken with so much worry your stomach hurts

It is my hope that mental health care, approached through a decolonized lens and incorporating more of our people's practices, can serve as a modern-day version of how kahuna specializing in mental health once helped the lāhui when needed. I hope there are still kahuna practicing this work today, but I don’t know.

How do we even begin talking about the Hawaiian Diaspora in our families?

"We can start by saying to ʻohana (and pick ʻohana that you feel the most comfortable or safest with first, so you can practice) that we have been contemplating the impact of being a Hawaiian away from Hawaiʻi and we can ask if they are willing to engage in conversation about what that experience has been like for you and for them (if that applies) and others that you know. "

When we ask for consent about having a conversation, people are more willing and open to have it.  Then go from there - see how it unfolds. And let go of any specific outcome outside of just starting the conversation. Talking about the Hawaiian Diaspora may need to be many conversations that unfold over time.

Stay tuned for Part Two of this Generational Trauma series with Alexis, where we explore how to begin healing within our families.

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If you liked this blog, please subscribe for updates. Our Part 2 series drops this Thursday!

Explore more:

• About Dear Aloha, the documentary about the Hawaiian Diaspora.

• What is the Hawaiian Diaspora? And why should we care?

• Kiliona Palauni's story on returning home from the Hawaiian Diaspora.

• Follow Dear Aloha on Instagram.