The Colonization of Our Minds: Reclaiming Ourselves, One Thought at a Time

There is one impact of colonization that we rarely speak of.

Long after the ships sailed, the treaties were broken, and the land was claimed, a quieter conquest unfolded—one that made its way into our minds, our families, our dreams.

Most people think of colonization as something external—something that happened to land, nations, or culture. But the most lasting, insidious legacy is how it reshaped the very way we see ourselves, each other, and the world. This colonization of the mind seeps through generations, infecting not just what we do, but who we believe we are.

The Quiet Inheritance

Growing up, I learned to see myself through a distorted lens shaped by Western ideals, religious dogma, and the systems designed to keep us measuring, judging, and competing. I learned shame as a native language. I learned to distrust my own voice, to doubt my worth, to shrink or contort myself to fit someone else’s idea of “good.” My family, like so many others, inherited wounds born of these systems—wounds that showed up as silence, addiction, resentment, perfectionism, and so much hidden pain.

The truth is, colonized thinking is so normalized we often don’t notice it. It masquerades as “success,” “progress,” or even “faith.” It’s the drive to achieve at all costs, the belief that rest is laziness, that self-sacrifice is virtue, that difference is dangerous, and that love must be earned.

The Impact on Body, Mind, and Spirit

This way of seeing doesn’t just live in our thoughts. It shows up in our bodies as chronic stress, dis-ease, anxiety, and exhaustion. It shapes our relationships with food, work, rest, and each other. It leaves us isolated, competitive, suspicious, and always hustling for a sense of belonging that somehow remains just out of reach.

In my own life, this showed up as self-loathing—an inner voice that told me I was too much and never enough all at once. I watched the people I love struggle with the same invisible burdens, repeating patterns that began long before any of us had words for them. These are the generational curses no one wants to claim, yet we keep passing down—stories of unworthiness, silence, and survival.

The Work is Ongoing

Let me be clear: this is not a story with a tidy resolution. The work of healing the colonized mind is not finished for me—or for any of us. It is daily, messy, nonlinear work. I am still learning to unlearn, to challenge inherited beliefs, to be gentle with the parts of myself that ache for acceptance. I still catch myself repeating old patterns, sometimes unconsciously. But I am committed to the practice of remembering—returning, again and again, to the possibility that I am, and always have been, enough.

Awakening—Not a Trend, But a Remembrance

In this time when “woke” has become a slur, when people are ridiculed for daring to question, to see, to care—it matters more than ever to reclaim what awakening really means. It is not a trend. It is not moral superiority. It is the brave, uncomfortable work of seeing the water we’re swimming in and daring to imagine something better.

To awaken is to remember who we are beneath the layers of shame and scarcity. To see ourselves and each other with new eyes. To question, to grieve, to celebrate, to reconnect. And yes, to challenge the systems—inside and out—that keep us small, divided, afraid.

What Becomes Possible

When we begin to decolonize our minds, even in tiny ways, something shifts. We reclaim our right to belong, to rest, to love ourselves without condition. We begin to see our families, our communities, and our ancestors with compassion and understanding—not as broken, but as survivors, as dreamers, as teachers. New stories become possible—stories rooted in dignity, connection, and real freedom.

This journey is unfinished, and that’s okay. The important thing is that we keep choosing it, one thought, one act of kindness, one moment of remembrance at a time. That is how we heal. That is how we reclaim ourselves.

And that is how we make space for something new—for ourselves, and for all those who will come after.