30/03/2026
Lovely reminder, from Becky 💙💙💙
I used to think generational wealth was measured in gold. That inheritance was coins stacked in a vault, keys passed from palm to palm, a name engraved on a building.
But my grandmother left me recipe books stained with memories of the times we baked together. She left me notes in the margins that say things like call your sister and there’s always room for one more.
My mother inherited from her mother the art of naming storms without becoming them. She taught me how to hold anger like a match – a spark that can ignite change instead of burning the world down.
My father’s wealth was quieter: a hand steady at the back of a bicycle, running beside me until balance became something I could keep. He passed down the value of joy and silliness: the importance of having fun whenever you can, of never losing your inner child. Of reading stories, playing games and singing even when no music plays.
You see, there are accounts that do not empty when the market falls. There are dividends paid in phone calls, in togetherness, in family and friends who say I love you and mean it like a promise.
In the same way, there are families who pass down debt – heirlooms of imbalance and silence; storms that rage, recipes for disaster. But even here, someone is always the first to write a different will: to leave behind boundaries, therapy, a door that opens both ways.
I am rich. I’ve inherited from people who taught me compassion and courage, acceptance and aspiration. Who taught me to look for the joy around me and the light inside of me. Who left memories in margins and belief in balance.
So, let others measure their wealth in gold.
I will not measure mine in coins or keys or grand estates, but in knowing how it feels to be safe. To be kind. To be loved. To be free.
To belong.
*****
Becky Hemsley 2026
Gorgeous artwork by Vickie Wade
