Problem Ancestors —You
Can’t Choose Your People
At some point in your research, you’re going to uncover some problem ancestors, or the people in your family, whether by blood or marriage or adoption, who did horrific things. This is quite possibly one of the hardest parts of ancestor work to deal with, because while we’d like to believe our people were all noble and grand, here’s a plot twist for you: they weren’t. In fact, some of our ancestors downright sucked. They weren’t badasses, they were terrible people who did terrible things to other people.
Obviously, you’re the only one who can decide what sort of behavior in your family tree you can live with and what you find unpleasant. But let’s talk about a few examples of things you might have to contend with the further back you go in time.
For about four to six generations during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, one branch of my direct ancestors owned other people. That’s my elephant in the room when looking at my ancestors, and I struggle with it on the regular. And don’t get me wrong—all of those people in those four to six generations were wealthy enough to own hundreds, or possibly thousands of acres of land in colonial Virginia. They’d be perfect to call upon for assistance with financial matters … but I don’t. I can’t bring myself to ask for financial assistance from people who built their own fortunes on the backs of enslaved people. I’ve seen the documentation, the itemized wills and testaments in which property is enumerated as Four hundred acres on the banks of the Guinea Creek, two good tables, five chickens, and one adult male Negro.
I just can’t do it. I’ve got plenty of other people in my tree I can call upon for wealth and prosperity; I won’t engage with the people in those few generations for this matter. That’s my own standard. Yours may be different, but that’s mine.
If one of your ancestors caused direct harm to another, that can be problematic as well. You’ll want to make sure you don’t call them both to join you at the same time. Did you have an ancestor who was responsible for the death of another? I did. Imagine having these two people seated across from each other at the family Thanksgiving dinner, because that’s exactly what it would be like if I were to invite them both to my altar and ritual space. It would be uncomfortable and painful for both of them.
Maybe someone existed in your lifetime—or close to it—who perpetuated a cycle of abuse upon either you or your parents. This can be tricky to navigate—and again, you’re the only one who can decide how you want to deal with these particularly unpleasant branches of your family tree.
You don’t have to like them. You don’t have to work with them. You’re under no obligation to have anything to do with them if they’ve done things that make you uncomfortable. But consider this, for just a moment.
There are times when ancestors who have done appalling, horrific things might just come in handy. There are times when we need protection or guardianship, and circumstances in which we are about to take on major conflict and need power and strength. Can you find a way to draw boundaries between your existing spiritual needs and the heinous acts your person has committed?
One of my problem people is Thomas Jefferson. While not in my direct line of ancestry, he is distantly connected through a tangle of marriage, blood, and other degrees of separation. Jefferson owned human beings as property, and forced at least one—his wife’s half-sister—to bear his children, beginning while she was still a young teen, among some other repulsive acts. He also was one of our founding fathers, a statesman, a diplomat, and the third president of the United States and primary author of the Declaration of Independence. So, do I work with Jefferson on an ancestral level? I’d be hard pressed to do so—I’ve got plenty of other options—but if I was about to write a political manifesto declaring my independence from an oppressive and tyrannical government … well, he might turn out to be useful, despite all of the other despicable things he did. I’m not prepared to work with Jefferson yet, by any stretch of the imagination. If I ever do, I’ll have to lay down boundaries that let him know in no uncertain terms, that the vile actions he engaged in were and are intolerable. He may find this boundary unacceptable and refuse to work with me—and I can live with that. I’m truly not sure I’ll ever be able to bring myself to call upon him.
Maybe you’ve got an ancestor who was a war hero but you’re having trouble justifying your work with him because in addition to saving an entire platoon from slaughter, he was responsible for the deaths of dozens of other people, civilians and soldiers alike. Which do you focus on? Only you can decide for sure, but if you’re ever in a position where you need to call upon your kin for courage in a frightening situation, this ancestor might be the one to reach out to, warts and all.
Meanwhile, as you’re trying to figure out what to do with problematic kinfolk, you can set them on the back burner for a while. You’ve got plenty of other badass people you can work with, at least until you’re ready to tackle unsavory Great-Grandpa Whoever. Let him stew a bit, unbothered.
How do you leave these problem ancestors out of your workings? You specifically make sure you don’t invite them in. Think of your ancestor altar as a representation of your family home. Who do you invite into your house as guests? People you know and like, sure. You probably also welcome people that you maybe don’t know well, but you’d like to get to know better. Know who you don’t have to invite in to sit on your couch and put their feet up on your coffee table? People that are abusive jerks.
Same goes for your ancestor altar, and your practice as a whole. You’re allowed to leave those people out. Doing so is easier than you think; refuse to acknowledge them on your altar until you’re prepared to deal with them. Don’t include any photographs, cremains, heirlooms, or anything associated with that person—or persons—on your ancestor altar. When you do rituals calling upon your people, skip over that one’s name. Don’t call out an invocation to All of my people if what you really mean is All of my people except those three cousins who were high-ranking officers in Germany’s Nazi party.
Can they try to push their way in? Sure. Just like at a family reunion when that one racist, abusive uncle shows up drunk and things get really uncomfortable because no one knows what to do with him … until a cousin firmly tells him No, as she escorts him to his car. You get to tell these people No if they show up unrequested, unwanted, and uninvited. The word No is a complete sentence, and it’s an empowering act of badassery to use it. No one is entitled to make you feel bad in your own house. Kick them to the curb as needed, with no regrets.
It’s a good idea to take work with these ancestors slowly at first. You’ll still be feeling each other out, and if the person is someone who caused pain to you or other loved ones while they were alive, you’re going to have to find some middle ground. You don’t necessarily have to forgive them their trespasses, so to speak, but you may be able to someday reach a point of agreeing to be civil to one another.
Don’t be afraid to ask other ancestral guides to run interference for you. Was grandpa a raging alcoholic who liked to terrorize his neighbors? Call in that spunky aunt who always stood up to him, and ask her to be a gatekeeper, watching over his behavior in the afterlife and in your space.
When you finally decide to let your problem ancestors into your sacred space, lay out the ground rules and expectations. You can say things like I welcome you to my altar, but boundaries will be respected, no pain shall be tolerated, no hurt will be allowed. I welcome you to my altar, for as long as you are willing and able to treat me with the honor and respect I deserve. I welcome you to my altar, a space that is for love and healing, and have no room or time for those who would cause me suffering.
You can also tell them why you’re laying those ground rules. Make it very clear which past behaviors caused the disconnect between you and the individual—they most likely already know, but it can be empowering to verbalize it. Let them know: Your alcoholism caused fear for my brothers and me, when you abandoned me it made me distrustful of others and has cost me relationships, the abuse you perpetuated on my mother created physical and emotional scars.
If your problem ancestor was someone who died before you were born, you can still take the same approach. Tell them why you’ve been reluctant to work with them and lay out the rules for interaction. As long as they’re willing to coexist peacefully with you, and you’re willing to stick to your guns as to what you’ll put up with and what you won’t, it’s possible that you can heal some of the damage that was done in the past.
Ritual to Banish a Problem Ancestor
If you’ve got an ancestor who keeps popping in and you just can’t get them to take No for an answer, it might be time to tackle a banishing ritual. This is an aggressive and powerful method to completely get rid of someone, but if you have a person who caused harm to you or others, at some point you may feel like it’s your only option. Keep in mind that if you do this ritual effectively, the target is gone for good—if there’s any chance you’ll want to work with them again in the future, this might not be the best approach. Ultimately, banishing is in itself an act of badassery, because it’s a way to reclaim our power, our space, and our sense of self.
To do this ritual, you’ll need to remove the photos of everyone else on your ancestor altar that you do work with and replace them with a single unframed photo of the person you want to banish. They should be the only one whose image is in your space right now. If you don’t have a photograph of the individual, you can use vital records documentation—a birth or death certificate—or even a paper doll that you’ve written the person’s name on. You’ll also need a black candle—in many modern magical traditions, black is the color associated with banishing magic—and a cast iron cauldron or other fire-safe bowl.
Light the black candle and close your eyes. Imagine yourself standing on one end of a long bridge, suspended over a deep chasm. On the other end of the bridge is the person you wish to banish, facing you. What do you want to tell them? Do you want them to know why you’re sending them away? Can you tell them how much damage they’ve caused? Great grandfather, I am banishing you, exiling you from my life and my heart for the pain you have inflicted. I am eliminating you from my future and am taking back any power you’ve had over me. Although you don’t have to speak aloud, you may find it empowering to do so. Sometimes a loud and angry voice sends a message; yell your words across the bridge to get your point across if it feels right.
Take the photo and begin burning the paper around the edges using the flame from the black candle. As you do so, let the ancestor know that you are burning away your familial connections to them. I burn away my feelings towards you. I burn away any animosity, jealousy, sense of hurt that I have towards you. I burn away my ties to you, and your ties to me. I burn away all of our connections, I burn away our links, I cut every cord that ever existed between us.
Now, imagine yourself dropping that burning photo onto the bridge. Feel the flames as the bridge catches fire. Encourage it, send it forward, so that every plank on the bridge is soon consumed by fire. Burn as much of the paper as you can, little by little, before you drop it into the bowl. Visualize the bridge engulfed and ablaze, and ultimately collapsing into the chasm. Now there is nothing left but a vast gap between you and the person who caused so much pain. They’ll never be able to reach you again—that giant canyon, spanning many generations, will keep them far away from you and from your future descendants.
Look at them one last time. Do you have anything else you need to say? Because this is your last chance. Get it out of your system. As the photo turns to ash, shout across the chasm, I banish you from my life, I banish you from my home, I banish you from my world.
Extinguish the black candle and take it, along with the ashes of the photo you just burned, to a place far away from your home. Dig a hole and bury them, scatter them to the winds, or drop them in a moving body of water to be carried off and out of your life. Once you’ve done this, return home without looking back, cleanse your altar thoroughly, and reset it with the badass ancestors who love you.
Transgenerational Trauma Healing
There’s a concept that trauma is passed down from one generation to the next, and that each subsequent generation, although further and further removed from the original cause of pain, still suffers from it as much as their ancestors did. In the United States, we’re really good at ancestral trauma; forced immigration, religious oppression, and unwanted displacement were widespread for a significant part of our history, and people are still experiencing its aftereffects today. Even immigrants who came to the U.S. voluntarily still left their family and friends in their homelands; if you came to the New World to settle, it was understood that you’d probably never again see those who were left behind. All of these events led to a disconnect in which we lost many of our ancestral customs.
African men, women, and children were violently uprooted from their homes and forced into the trans-Atlantic slave trade. Native Americans were exterminated or pushed further west, all in the interest of manifest destiny. Hundreds of thousands of Jews fled their homes in Europe to escape the Holocaust, and during the same period, Japanese Americans were interned in camps here in the states. Is it any wonder that people today are still trying to heal from collective transgenerational damage? Working with your ancestors directly to mend this disconnect is beneficial not just to you, but to them … and also to the many generations yet to come. Can you find a way to release your ancestors from the burdens of the trauma they experienced during their lifetimes?
One way to do this is with a ritual to help them move forward. To be clear, this is not a case of telling Great-Great-Aunt Pernilla that she just needs to get over it and move on. What this can do is let your people know that you feel their pain, understand it, and you want to help them triumph over it.
Trauma Healing Ritual
Prior to beginning this working, it’s a good idea to get yourself into the right head space—working with ancestral trauma can be draining, and you don’t want to do it when you’re tired, depressed, or feeling off-kilter. Make sure you’re well rested before you begin; you may even want to take a ritual bath and eat a nourishing meal to prepare your body, mind, and spirit. Be sure your altar is clean and purified before you begin.
For this ritual, you’ll need a blue candle, as the color blue is associated with healing. Place it on your altar and light it. When you’re ready to begin, call your ancestors in one at a time or in groups. If you’re trying to heal a specific transgenerational trauma and know when it took place, you can simply call in the generation that directly experienced it and all of their subsequent descendants. If you’re working with something more general, concentrate on the family line that seems to be the most directly impacted.
As you invite your people in, close your eyes and feel their presence around you. Welcome them in, saying Thank you, my ancestors, my mothers and fathers, for joining me this evening. Welcome to my altar, and know you are safe with me. My home is your home as well.
Once you have welcomed them in, it’s time to encourage them to reclaim the power that was taken from them by trauma all of those years ago. If you know the source of the trauma, call it out, as you take back power on your ancestors’ behalf. As you do so, you can chant or sing your words, or yell them out like a battle cry. Move or dance or stomp your feet if it feels right. Your invocation might go something like this:
My people, my clan, my tribe, my circle,
You have been broken and beaten,
you have been harmed and hurt,
Abused and shamed, robbed and
marginalized, oppressed and subjugated.
That ends tonight, and healing begins.
My people, my clan, my tribe, my circle,
I reclaim your power for you, taking it
back from those who would crush us,
From those who took your land,
who violated your bodies,
And stole our heritage.
My people, my clan, my tribe, my circle,
I reclaim your strength for you, building
you up, making you whole once more,
Growing in perfection and power and energy,
Retrieving that which is rightfully ours.
My people, my clan, my tribe, my circle,
Together we fight, together we rise, together we stand,
Together we release and together we heal.
Because we are many, and we are powerful, as one family.
Continue your invocation until you feel you have said all you need to say. When you are done, take some time to meditate on your ancestors, and the gifts of healing you can give one another. Before you end your ritual, closely pull as many of them to yourself as you can so that you can take strength from one another’s power. Imagine them surrounding you, touching you, holding each other, and forming a tight circle with their love. Call them out by name if you can.
I draw Great-Grandma Charlotte to me, I draw Great Aunt Zariah to me, I draw Cousin Marlowe to me, I draw all of my mother’s people, going back nine generations, to me …
When you have called them all, think about this incredible network of powerful people in your ancestral line. Build the energy, and chant, Blood of my blood, hearts of my heart, souls of my soul, we are happy, we are healing, we are whole. Repeat your chant as many times as needed and feel the magic and power of your ancestral connections surrounding you.
When you’re ready to end the ritual, bid your people farewell. You can simply say, Thank you for joining me, and for healing with me, and working with me this night, or say something with more detail or complexity. Say what’s in your heart when you let them go.
After your ancestral guides have gone, take a moment to reflect on the healing process. Think about how your life could change as you begin the steps to battle transgenerational trauma. When finished, extinguish the candle.