“Your great-great-grandmother was a Cherokee princess.”

No other single sentence could capture my childhood like that one. My father, in his loafers and noisy windbreaker, would proclaim this line with full conviction anytime the subject of family heritage came up, and every time, it landed on me like a storybook promise. It was shorthand for “our people are special,” a whispered implication that there was a wild and noble streak somewhere in our otherwise unremarkable family tree.

I carried this myth with me for years like a family heirloom tucked in a dusty attic trunk. It came out during middle school history presentations when I (admittedly) wanted to seem a little cooler, and it lurked in conversations about ancestry as a point of pride. It wasn’t until adulthood—after a curious effort to connect the little dots I had—that I began to realize something was off. This Cherokee princess wasn’t just improbable; she likely never existed.

There was no disappointment in this discovery, no rush to find some gold-plated replacement for a story gone dull. What I felt instead was clarity—and the realization that most of us grow up with these kinds of family myths; they shape the way we see ourselves in the world, until one day, life paints a different picture. Beneath their charm and shimmer, though, myths like this aren’t always harmless. Sometimes they need unpacking.

Let me explain.

When Family Stories Become Shields

The truth about my family’s “Cherokee princess” myth (aside from it being historically inaccurate—Native tribes didn’t have princesses) lay in where it came from: a way of sidestepping a discomforting truth.

My roots run deep in the red Alabama clay, generations stitched into the Jim Crow South. On both sides of my family, you can find a complex web of race and power relations, pieces of history not so much discussed as politely ignored. This myth was a sleight of hand, a way to craft an admirable origin story rather than confront murkier realities.

But here’s the thing: the beauty of family myths is their ability to bring us together, to lend meaning to who we are and where we come from. The danger, though, is when they keep us from digging deeper. We all have that relative who swears “that’s just the way it’s always been” or dodges certain questions faster than my grandmother’s cornbread disappears at Thanksgiving. These myths can be a comfort, but they’re also walls—and real connection doesn’t live behind walls.

The Romanticized Past vs. Real Relationships

What do family myths have to do with modern relationships? More than you’d think. Whether it’s exaggerated tales of a saintly grandmother or that one cousin who’s definitely done time but no one will admit it, we’re often handed stories meant to define us. And sometimes, we carry those stories straight into our love lives.

Are you the “caretaker” because great-aunt Ruby taught you “that’s what women do”? Do you avoid conflict because grandpa preached about “keeping the peace”? Family stories shape expectations in relationships—sometimes for the better, but often at the expense of our authenticity. I personally spent too long in a one-sided situationship because I thought being the patient, endlessly understanding Southern sweetheart was my role—blame it on years of watching Steel Magnolias on repeat.

Relationships thrive on honesty, not playacting some ancestral narrative passed down like a keepsake quilt. If your family myth tells you to stick things out no matter how miserable, you’ve already got a thread to pull.

How To Unpack Your Own Family Myths

Spoiler alert: questioning your family history doesn’t mean love and respect for your relatives go out the window. It’s less about proving them wrong (we’re not about to fact-check Nana at Christmas dinner) and more about seeing where a narrative might be holding you back or shielding you from honesty. Here’s how to start peeling back the layers:

  • Identify the Myth: What stories about your family have been passed down the most? Is it a tale of sacrifice? Resilience? Or maybe just how “we’re the kind of people who never complain”? Think about how those beliefs have defined you.
  • Name the Function: Ask yourself why that myth might have been created. What purpose does it serve? For my family, the Cherokee princess story was a way to claim pride in belonging somewhere without confronting harder truths. For others, it might be about projecting strength or unity, whether or not it holds water.
  • Question What It’s Cost You: Has subscribing to this narrative ever made you feel boxed in? Are you playing a “role” in your relationships because of it? Get curious about how it’s shown up in your life—both the good and the not-so-good.
  • Rewrite the Script: Once you’ve identified the story and its impact, decide what’s worth keeping. Maybe there’s a kernel of truth or a value worth holding onto, like the grit and independence Grandma Betty swore got her through the Great Depression. But maybe parts of the script need editing. That’s okay, too.

Family myths don’t have to die for us to move forward, but they do require a little honesty.

Lessons From Letting Go

After my “princess” revelation, you might think I went back to family gatherings waving ancestry records like a modern-day Indiana Jones. Not quite. The truth is, I’ve learned not to knock a good story for what it is: an entry point, not an endpoint.

Yeah, the Cherokee princess was fictional, but at its heart, that legend shaped my family’s sense of pride, the need to connect to something meaningful. In the same way, my parents’ oft-repeated advice about “choosing love that brings you peace” is less about their word-for-word accuracy (peace isn’t always easy to spot in the messy beginnings of romance) and more about the values they hoped I’d carry forward.

So here’s the balance I’m learning to strike: holding space for the beauty of what those stories tried to teach me without letting them dictate my relationships or how I see myself.

Turns out, I don’t need a Cherokee princess to feel rooted or special. And in sharing this journey with partners and friends, I’ve found that more often than not, they’re grateful for the chance to tackle their own inherited myths, too. There’s something healing in realizing none of us are more glamorous, or more flawed, than anyone else—we’re just trying to make sense of the stories we’ve been given.

The Big Takeaway: Your Myth Isn’t Your Destiny

Family myths are tricky things. They can offer meaning, connection, and comfort—but they’re also just one piece of the puzzle. If you’re feeling stuck in a role your family handed down or in a belief that doesn’t quite fit, pull on the thread. Face the discomfort. Rewrite where necessary.

Because at the end of the day, the most honest and lasting relationships—whether with loved ones or the person you swipe right on—aren’t built on fantasy. They’re built on showing up as exactly who you are, messy history and all.

There may be no Cherokee princesses in my past, but you know what? The girl raised on stories about finding her place in the world—that part’s real. And I’ll take it.