There aren’t many filmmakers living today who are as consistent as Pedro Almodóvar, who has released at least one film hailed as a masterpiece within every decade since the 1980s. Although he was praised for his recent work on the melodrama The Room Next Door and the western short film Strange Way of Life, Almodóvar made his masterpiece of the 2020s with the psychological drama Parallel Mothers, which reunited him with his frequent star Penélope Cruz. Almodóvar and Cruz have worked together on All About My Mother, Volver, Pain & Glory, Broken Embraces, Live Flesh, and I’m So Excited, and have developed a creative partnership similar to that of Robert De Niro and Martin Scorsese, or Bong Joon Ho and Song Kang-ho.

Almodóvar has such a consistently excellent track record that it is often hard for his new films to stand out, given the tremendous expectations that they are faced with. Parallel Mothers received two nominations at the Academy Awards, including Best Actress for Cruz, but it was strangely not submitted by Spain for consideration as Best International Feature, and didn’t earn recognition in major categories like Picture, Director, and Original Screenplay. Parallel Mothers may start with a somewhat familiar premise, but it soon becomes a more thought-provoking meditation on the value of life and the importance of remembering the past.

What Is ‘Parallel Mothers’ About?

As its title would suggest, Parallel Mothers is the story of two women who give birth at the same time and develop an unusual relationship as a result. Cruz stars as the highly respected photographer Janis Martínez, who becomes pregnant after having an affair with the forensic archaeologist Arturo (Israel Elejalde). Despite his hesitations, Janis decides to go through with the pregnancy, despite being obligated to work on a photoshoot involving mass graves that were dug during the Spanish Civil War. It is while at the hospital that Janis meets the single teen mother Ana (Milena Smit), who was forced to give birth by her father, even though her pregnancy was the result of a sexual assault. Janis and Anas’ lives become intertwined when they realize they took home the wrong children. Janis had actually been raising Ana’s daughter, Cecilia, and Ana had been left to care for Janis’ daughter, Anita.

Even though the basic premise may seem like the sort of saccharine storyline that would appear on a network television show, Parallel Mothers proves to be a powerful story about nature and nurture. The dynamic between Janis and Ana is a complex examination of class, age, and economic divisions, as their strengths as mothers are determined by the resources that they have to provide for themselves. Janis believes that as a photographer, she is obligated to document history to ensure that the atrocities of the past are not repeated; however, she struggles to apply that same argument to her own life, as she wonders if saving Ana’s knowledge of what happened could make her life easier. Janis also reflects upon the fact that they are both individuals who are forced to be responsible for themselves, even if it was because of different circumstances; while Janis had the clout to have an independent career in which she was able to raise a child on her own, Ana was forced by factors outside of her control to be a single mother, even if she doesn’t entirely feel grown up.

‘Parallel Mothers’ Is a Moving Reflection on Mortality

It is not unusual for Almodóvar to draw from his own life and culture when coming up with his stories, as Pain & Glory was inspired by some real experiences with illness. Parallel Mothers is a profound exploration of generational trauma, as it is amidst her ongoing sexual relationship with Ana that Janis begins to learn more about the devastating war that she has been photographing. By seeing the horrific circumstances endured by her people, Janis is empowered to be grateful for the privileges that she has and begins thinking about how she would want to be remembered. The many generations that have passed since the war do not make it any less tragic, as the film ends with a heartbreaking sequence in which people come to mourn their ancestors after the mass graves are uncovered. However, Janis realizes that both taking account of her loss and helping Ana shape her family will allow them both to heal and allow them to ensure that they will be remembered.

Although it deals with topics regarding sexual abuse, economic stress, and the ramifications of war and genocide, Parallel Mothers is still a very watchable film based on the excellent chemistry between its stars. Almodóvar has a unique way of creating poetic, lightly comical dialogue for his characters, as his style of writing is just as instantly identifiable as other acclaimed filmmakers, such as Quentin Tarantino, Paul Thomas Anderson, or Richard Linklater. Parallel Mothers is a great film for those unfamiliar with the bulk of Almodóvar’s work, as it shows how wildly his stories can fluctuate in terms of tone. However, those who have loved his entire career may find that Parallel Mothers serves as a continuation and maturation of the themes that he has always been interested in.

Montooth is a direct descendant of a Stewart Indian School survivor, and though she never attended the school herself, its impact has rippled through generations in her family. “My grandma was four when she was brought [to Stewart], and she was raised in violence by the matrons,” she says. “She never had an opportunity to learn parenting skills from her parents. That experience, in my family at least, was the start of violence, alcoholism, and generational trauma. I have relatives who still will not step foot out here because our grandma was abused on a regular basis.”

This experience at Stewart was not unique. Through the 19th and 20th centuries, there were at least 526 Indian boarding schools that operated in the United States, 417 of which received federal funding, while the remaining were financially supported by religious organizations. A list of these schools was shared with the public in February 2025 thanks to the ongoing research of the National Native American Boarding School Healing Coalition (NABS), a Minnesota-based nonprofit dedicated to increasing national awareness about the trauma inflicted on Native communities at and via boarding schools. The team has also created an interactive digital map in partnership with Canada’s National Centre for Truth and Reconciliation to help educators and travelers find the Indian boarding schools that operated across 38 US states and Canada, highlighting which destinations now offer a museum or cultural experience for visitors to learn about this painful era in North American history.

“This list holds a remarkable opportunity for travelers to see the impacts that this history has on America at large,” says Samuel Torres, deputy chief executive officer of NABS. “Ultimately, the goal is to bring the truth to light. And though the number of over 500 schools feels staggering, we can’t lose sight that this is just a piece of a larger story of forced assimilation and Native resilience as a response to it. Having these schools identified means something to so many folks individually because they experienced it personally.”

The historic Quarters 2 building within remnants of the Carlisle Indian School in Carlisle, Pennsylvania, which 7,800 children from more than 140 nations attended

Carol M. Highsmith/Library of Congress

The Indian boarding school era in the US began in 1819 with the Civilization Fund Act, which authorized funding from the federal government to be directed to European American missionaries and church leaders for the purpose of establishing schools in predominantly Native American territories. Then, in 1824, the federal government established the still-active Bureau of Indian Affairs to implement boarding schools to “civilize” Native Americans.

The goal for all boarding schools was to “kill the Indian, save the man,” a philosophy first developed at what was arguably the most notorious of the Indian boarding schools, Carlisle Indian Industrial School in Carlisle, Pennsylvania. Founded in 1879 by US Army officer Richard Henry Pratt, approximately 7,800 children from more than 140 Native American nations attended Carlisle during its nearly 40-year tenure. Abuse was rampant, with many children beaten, starved, or forced to perform hard labor when they dared to speak their languages. Nearly 200 children died and are buried in the campus cemetery, with many nations still seeking the return of their ancestors’ remains.

Despite the hundreds of other schools like Carlisle that existed in the US, it is the only national monument that recognizes the harmful legacies of the boarding school era. Established as a monument in December 2024 by former president Joe Biden, the old Carlisle school grounds are now the United States Army War College, but original spaces like the gymnasium, the bandstand, the superintendent’s house, and the cemetery still exist. Because the school is within an active military installation, there isn’t a standard museum experience offered; the best way to visit Carlisle is on a scheduled walking tour through the Cumberland County Historical Society. (The historical society also hosts a permanent exhibit of the Carlisle Indian Industrial School and occasional rotating exhibits.)

“Healing doesn’t mean the damage never existed. It means the damage no longer controls our lives.” ~Akshay Dubey

The realization came to me during a chaotic day at the Philadelphia public school where I worked as a counselor.

A young student sat across from me, her body language mirroring anxiety patterns I knew all too well—the slightly hunched shoulders, shallow breathing, and watchful eyes scanning for threats that weren’t there. She responded to a minor conflict with a teacher as though she were in genuine danger.

Something clicked into place as I guided her through a simple breathing exercise. The patterns I saw in this child weren’t just individual responses to stress—they were inherited responses. Just as I had inherited similar patterns from my mother, and she from hers.

At that moment, looking at this young girl, I saw myself, my mother, and generations of women in my family who had the same physical responses to authority, conflict, and uncertainty.

And I realized that the breathing techniques I had been teaching these children—techniques I had originally learned to manage my own anxiety—were actually addressing something much more profound: generational trauma stored in the body.

The School That Taught the Teacher

My decade as a school counselor in the Philadelphia School District shaped me in ways I never anticipated. Every day, I worked with children carrying the weight of various traumas—community violence, family instability, systemic inequities, and the subtle but powerful inheritance of generational stress responses.

I came armed with my training in psychology, cognitive techniques, and traditional counseling approaches. Helping these children understand their emotions and develop coping strategies would be enough.

In many ways, it helped. But something was missing.

I noticed that no matter how much cognitive understanding we developed, many children’s bodies continued telling different stories. Their nervous systems remained locked in stress responses, and no amount of talking or understanding seemed to shift them completely.

The same was true for me. Despite my professional training and personal therapy, certain situations would still trigger physical anxiety responses that felt beyond my control—particularly interactions with authority figures or high-pressure social situations.

The patterns were subtle but persistent. My voice would shift slightly, and my breathing would become shallow. My authentic self would recede, replaced by a careful, hypervigilant version of myself—one I had learned from watching my mother navigate similar situations throughout my childhood.

The Missing Piece

Everything changed when I discovered therapeutic breathwork—not just as a temporary calming technique but as a pathway to releasing trauma stored in the body.

While I had been teaching simplified breathing exercises to students for years, my experience with deeper breathwork practices revealed something profound: the body stores trauma in ways that cognitive approaches alone cannot access.

My first intensive breathwork session revealed this truth with undeniable clarity. As I followed the breathing pattern—deep, connected breaths without pausing between inhale and exhale—my body began responding in ways my conscious mind couldn’t have predicted.

First came waves of tingling sensation across my hands and face. Then tears that weren’t connected to any specific memory. Finally, a deep release of tension I hadn’t even realized I was carrying—tension that felt ancient, as though it had been with me far longer than my own lifetime.

By the session’s end, I felt a lightness and presence that no amount of traditional therapy had ever provided. Something had shifted at a level beyond thoughts and stories.

Bringing the Breath Back to School

This personal revelation transformed my work as a school counselor. I began integrating age-appropriate breathwork into my sessions with students, particularly those showing signs of trauma responses.

The results were remarkable. Children who had struggled to regulate their emotions began finding moments of calm, and students who had been locked in freeze or fight responses during stress began developing the capacity to pause before reacting.

One young girl, whose anxiety around academic performance had been severely limiting her potential, explained it best: “It’s like my worry is still there, but now there’s space around it. I can see it without it taking over everything.”

She described precisely what I had experienced: the creation of space between stimulus and response, the fundamental shift from being controlled by inherited patterns to having a choice in how we respond.

However, the most profound insights came from observing the parallels between what I witnessed in these children and what I had experienced in my family system.

The Patterns We Inherit

Through both my professional work and personal healing journey, I came to understand generational trauma in a new way.

We inherit not just our parents’ genes but also their nervous system patterns—their unconscious responses to stress, conflict, authority, and connection. These patterns are transmitted not through stories or explicit teachings but through subtle, nonverbal cues that our bodies absorb from earliest childhood.

I recognized how my mother’s anxiety around authority figures had silently shaped my own responses. Her tendency to become small in certain situations also became my reflexive pattern, and her shallow breathing during stress became my default response.

These weren’t conscious choices—they were inherited survival strategies passed down through generations of women in my family.

The most sobering realization is that despite my professional training and conscious intentions, I had unconsciously modeled these same patterns for the children I worked with.

This understanding shifted everything. Healing wasn’t just about managing my anxiety anymore—it was about transforming a lineage.

The Three Dimensions of Permanent Healing

Through both professional practice and personal experience, I’ve come to understand that permanently healing generational trauma requires addressing three dimensions simultaneously:

1. The Mind: Traditional therapy excels here, helping us understand our patterns and create cognitive insights. But for many trauma survivors, especially those carrying generational patterns, this isn’t enough.

2. The Body: Our nervous systems carry the imprint of trauma, creating automatic responses that no amount of rational understanding can override. Somatic approaches like breathwork provide direct access to these stored patterns.

3. The Energy Field is the subtlest but most profound dimension. Our energy carries information and patterns that affect how we move through the world, often beneath our conscious awareness.

Most healing approaches address only one or two of these dimensions. Talk therapy targets the mind. Some somatic practices address the body. Few approaches integrate all three.

Breathwork is uniquely positioned to address all dimensions simultaneously, creating the conditions for permanent transformation rather than temporary management.

Beyond Management to True Healing

Working in Philadelphia’s schools, I saw firsthand the difference between management approaches and true healing.

Management strategies—breathing techniques for immediate calming, emotional regulation tools, cognitive reframing—all had their place. They helped children function in challenging environments and gain more control over their responses.

But management isn’t the same as healing.

Management asks, “How can I feel better when these symptoms arise?”

Healing asks, “What needs to be released so these symptoms no longer control me?”

The difference is subtle but profound. Management requires effort and vigilance, while healing creates freedom and new possibilities.

This distinction became clear as my breathwork practice deepened beyond simple management techniques to include practices specifically designed to release stored trauma from the nervous system.

As this happened, I began noticing subtle but significant shifts in how I moved through both my professional and personal life—particularly in situations that had previously triggered anxiety.

Interactions with school administrators became opportunities for authentic connection rather than anxiety triggers. Speaking at staff meetings no longer activated the old pattern of becoming small. My voice remained my own, regardless of who was in the room.

I wasn’t just managing my anxiety anymore. I was healing it at its source.

Practical Steps to Begin Your Own Breath Journey

If you’re carrying the weight of generational patterns that no longer serve you, here are some ways to begin exploring breathwork as a healing tool:

Start with gentle awareness.

Simply notice your breathing patterns throughout the day, especially in triggering situations. Do you hold your breath during stress? Breathe shallowly? These are clues to your nervous system state.

Practice conscious connected breathing.

For five minutes daily, try breathing in and out through your mouth, connecting the inhale to the exhale without pausing. Keep the breath gentle but full.

Notice without judgment.

As you breathe, sensations, emotions, or memories may arise. Instead of analyzing them, simply notice them with curiosity.

Create safety first.

If you have complex trauma, work with a trauma-informed breathwork practitioner who can help you navigate the process safely.

Trust your body’s wisdom.

Your body knows how to release what no longer serves you. Sometimes, intellectual understanding comes after physical release, not before.

Commit to consistency.

Transformation happens through regular practice, not one-time experiences. Even five to ten minutes daily can create significant shifts over time.

Breaking the Chain

Perhaps the most profound lesson from my work in Philadelphia’s schools and my personal healing journey is this: We can break generational chains.

The patterns of anxiety, hypervigilance, and trauma responses that have been passed down through generations are not our destiny. They can be recognized, released, and transformed for our benefit and those who come after us.

I saw this truth reflected in the children I worked with. As they learned to recognize and release stress patterns through breathwork, they weren’t just managing symptoms—they were developing new neural pathways that could potentially interrupt generations of trauma responses.

I experienced this truth personally, watching as my healing journey created ripples in my relationships and interactions.

The anxiety patterns that had been silently passed down through generations of women in my family were being interrupted. The chain was breaking.

Breathwork offers a profound gift: personal healing and the chance to transform a lineage.

The chains of generational trauma are strong, but they’re not unbreakable. And in their breaking lies personal liberation and the possibility of a new inheritance for generations to come.

About Alyse Bacine

Alyse Bacine is a trauma healing expert and breathwork practitioner with a master’s in counseling psychology. After a decade of serving as a school counselor in the Philadelphia School District, she developed the Metamorphosis Method, which addresses mind, body, and energy to create permanent transformation from anxiety and trauma. Learn more at alysebreathes.com.

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