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It’s Not All Your Parents’ Fault

It's Not All Your Parents' Fault | Annie Wright, LMFT | www.anniewright.com

“It’s not all your parents’ fault.”

In the words of the inimitable Chandler Bing, could there BE a more provocative phrase to say to someone in therapy?

All joking aside (but really, I do love Friends), this is not exactly what I would ever say to a therapy client.

When and if the time comes to talk about why and how parents were the way they were, we have a more nuanced, less provocative expressed conversation about what may have led to parents behaving the way they did in the early childhood years.

It's Not All Your Parents' Fault | Annie Wright, LMFT | www.anniewright.com

It’s Not All Your Parents’ Fault

We invite a wider lens into our conversations about the pain and suffering endured, and we begin to talk about how the abusive major forces of the world may have shaped their own individual parents’ behavior.

We have a conversation about social justice.

It’s Not All Your Parents’ Fault; Early Childhood Abuse Is A Social Justice Issue.

Before having my daughter, I could only intellectually guess at what I now know in my bones: having a child can be, at times, unrelenting, exhausting, and trying.

And then, having a highly spirited young child in a global pandemic with no community or parental support in any way shape, or form for nearly 1.5 years is next level hard.

And we are privileged.

We are incredibly privileged to be able-bodied, employed, and economically secure, to be White and not the target of racial aggression, to have done lots of personal growth work prior to becoming parents, and to have had reproductive rights and freedom to delay having a child until our mid-thirties.

And we are privileged, too, that we are a couple and that the whole burden is not falling on one of us.

And still, it has been an unbelievable hard stretch of time that has tested our emotional regulation capacities regularly and sometimes brutally.

And that’s with all of our privileges.

Raising a young child without those kinds of privileges is a kind of hard I can only imagine at this point.

So why am I sharing this?

I’m sharing this because I now know – through lived experiences – that being a parent and attempting to do it well is, by far, the hardest job on the planet.

It’s why I personally consider those doing their very best, day in and day out, to give their children childhoods that they won’t need to recover from, as goddamn heroes.

I’m sharing this, too, because parenting without privilege and being at the mercy of abusive social and systemic forces is harder still by leaps and bounds.

I’m sharing this because I know that the reason I am able to show up and be a good mother most of the time (not always, though – I’m no saint) is because I was born when and where I was in time, able to take advantage of birth control, education access, financial freedoms, and political freedoms not afforded to the generations of women who came before me.

And, we have to name it: I was also born white, able-bodied, and neurotypical and thus able to move through the American education system (still only largely designed for someone with my neurotypical brain structure) easily.

My privileges have made me a (mostly) good mother despite the fact that I come from a background of early childhood abuse and, at times, poverty.

If I didn’t have these privileges (and if I hadn’t taken advantage of them) and if I came from a background of early childhood abuse? I think it would be a far different story.

My ability to (mostly) emotionally regulate myself and to manage my autonomic nervous system, to provide stable housing and consistent food for my child, to exist in a solid, good partnership, my ability to pay for my own private pay therapy so I don’t have to disappear into alcohol or other addictive behaviors to cope with the stress… these are all choices and impacts resulting from my privilege. Not luck. Privilege.

Parenting my daughter with mindfulness about my inherent privileges has given me a wider lens on “parental fault” and helped me understand how so many of the painful, abusive moments that my clients may have experienced were shaped by not just their parents’ stand-alone behaviors, but that those egregious behaviors were often the attendant impacts of abusive systems and forces that the parents themselves endured.

What do I mean by this?

I’m a Feminist therapist and I strongly believe that we live in a world shaped by the forces of Patriarchy, Colonialism, Misogyny, and Capitalism.

Those forces have shaped our systems and structures since time immemorial (I often in my essays say “since the dawn of Judeo-Christianity” but Kara Cooney, PhD, a brilliant Egyptologist based at UCLA is shining a light at how ancient cultures were also Pariachical as well despite some females achieving “power.”).

These forces have subjugated women, people of color, the differently-abled, the neurodiverse, and anyone who is considered “other” (other being in reference to cis, hetero, neurotypical, White men) and have led to some (a very small slice of the planet) receiving more while others (the vast majority of the planet) receive less.

Concretely what this means is that most of our parents, grandparents, and ancestors have been at the mercy of these abusive forces and therefore their own actions with their children were reflections of the forces they had to endure (think slavery, racism, poverty, invasion, war, displacement, food deserts, internment, denial of reproductive rights, denial of education access, inability to steward their finances, lack of social safety nets, abysmal parental leave policies, broken healthcare systems, and so much more).

With such abusive forces at play in their own lives (not to mention the lives of their parents who came before then), their ability to be regulated, empathetic, loving, and logistically and emotionally present parents would have been greatly hindered (if not impossible).

For examples of this, I think about Kate Winslet’s character in Revolutionary Road. How stuck she felt and how she suffered because of what society dictated she could and could not do at the time and what was expected of her as a woman. I think about how her children may have witnessed this suffering, this anguish in their mother’s soul, and how it would have impacted them. I wonder if she dies at the end of the film after attempting a home abortion to, in a way, try to save her life… And I think about the tens of millions of housewives in the 1950s who were not fictional and who may have actually lived like this.

I think of the 20th century Irish Catholic mother in small-town America who didn’t, in her heart of hearts, really want to be a mother but who was “mandated” by her faith that she abstain from birth control and have as many children as her God willed. I think of how she may have coped with her postpartum depression and general suffering by drinking, how this may have impaired her behavior regulation, and then how her many children would have witnessed her alcoholism if not been at the physical abuse receiving end of her existential rage and what impact that would have had on them.

I think of the cis, White, hetero young boy raised in the 50s and 60s in a culture that told him amalgams of messaging such as “you’re the best and others are not and you can own your wife’s body” and how these messages would have shaped him into perpetuating abusive dynamics with his wife, absolving him of personal responsibility for his actions in his business dealings, and how living with a misogynistic, abusive father would have impacted the well-being of his young daughters.

I think of a toddler, torn from her mother’s arms at the Texas border, and the severe attachment wounding she will endure as she grows into adulthood and how this might play out with her own children because of the criminal way the US government treated asylum seekers.

And jumping forward in time to today, I think of a young 15-year old girl now living in Texas, sexually assaulted and raped by her date and not able to now legally obtain an abortion to cope with her trauma and prevent herself from an unwanted teen pregnancy. I think of the limited and limiting choices and herculean pressures she will now have been forced into (through no fault of her own!) and what the physiological and psychological trauma impacts on her and her child will be because of the dominant political forces that waged an unjust war on her woman’s body.

In each of these cases, I think about how the context of the lives we live shapes who and how we are with our children.

I think about how the need for relational trauma recovery doesn’t happen in a vacuum.

People from healthy, functional, relationally responsible, and socially supported backgrounds don’t wake up one morning and spontaneously, willfully, and consciously decide to erode the safety, well-being, and dignity of their children.

Psychologically whole and healthy people do not do this.

But hurting people hurt other people.

And many people are hurting because of the abusive, dominant forces that have shaped our world since time immemorial.

Now please, hear me out: this essay is not about absolving parents of their responsibility and culpability in perpetuating abuse with their children.

I would never, ever suggest that someone’s feelings and experiences are invalid or that you should “forgive” your abuser because their abusive behavior was shaped by the context of their lives (quite the opposite, in fact).

I truly believe you can have understanding and compassion for someone and their own experience, and still not have a relationship with them or not ever forgive them.

So this essay is not about permissing bad behavior, victim-blaming, or gaslighting anyone into premature forgiveness or single-note compassion.

That is not what I stand for.

Instead, what I stand for is helping each and every person who comes from a relational trauma background to do whatever personal work they need to do in order to live a beautiful adulthood despite their adverse early beginnings.

AND, I also believe that doing our own personal work to become psychologically and physiologically whole and healthy people IS – full stop – an act of social justice.

I believe this because the more people who can see individual abusive behaviors and collective abusive systems more clearly will, in turn, stop perpetuating this abuse on their own children (or anyone else in their lives) and also be more equipped to call out and challenge the abusive forces that they see in the world.

So again, this essay is not about forcing forgiveness with your parents’ or dismissing or diminishing your lived experience; rather, the point is to invite a conversation and hold a wider lens about how and why your own personal story happened and how it might be inextricably linked to the global historical context.

Now, I would love to hear from you in the comments below:

What came up for you when you read this essay? Do you believe that childhood abuse is a social justice issue? How do you personally hold a wider lens about why and how your parents acted as they did alongside the potentially painful feelings you have about what they did?

If you feel so inclined, please leave a message in the comments below so our monthly blog readership of 20,000+ people can benefit from your wisdom and your participation in this conversation.

If you would personally like support around this and you live in California or Florida, please feel free to reach out to me directly to explore therapy together.

Or if you live outside of these states, please consider enrolling in the waitlist for the Relational Trauma Recovery School – or my signature online course, Hard Families, Good Boundaries, designed to support you in healing your adverse early beginnings and create a beautiful adulthood for yourself, no matter where you started out in life.

And until next time, please take very good care of yourself. You’re so worth it.

Warmly, Annie

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Reader Interactions


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  1. Anne says

    This speaks so, so much to me. I am currently working on difficulties with my parents and I am realising how their own background was far less privileged than mine and how this has impacted how they raised me. They really did the best job they could at the time. I have always known that but now I have really integrated it. And I am still pretty lucky in the sense that what my parents went through and what I went through was/is very far from the examples you mentioned, so still ‘privileged’ by many standards.
    If this essay would be the intro of a book I would buy it immediately!

    • Annie says

      Hi Anne, I’m so pleased to hear that this post spoke to you and thank you for your kind words! I fully intend that this essay will be part of my first book and your comment felt so validating for me to read. Thank you for being on this journey with me and honoring me with your time as you read my work. I’m very grateful. Warmly, Annie

  2. Karin Stienemeier says

    Thank you for this. I my case this is exactly true. My parents were traumatized from growing up in WW II in Europe with parents who themselves were overwhelmed and traumatized and in one case a soldier himself later a prisoner of war. My parents came to this country to start anew but did no therapy themselves. The also lost their first child in childbirth and it wasn’t therapies. Our – I have 2 siblings – was marked by my mother’s emotional frigidity and her putting my father before us in all things. His over emotional narcissism and his constant belief that he is the victim in all things. There were beatings, spoken hate of girls, rigid rules, constant moving, and always my parents being a unit against us with the family hate focused on my middle sister. It was only the love of my Grandmother which saved my sister and I from going under.
    She became defiant, I become promiscuous and addicted. After 30 years of therapy, 2 stints in rehab, I am clean and healthy and over my many failed marriages and relationships and have a happy and healthy son, 24 despite all odds.
    I am my parents caregiver, they live with me, after years of not speaking we started a new relationship where we try not to let the past influence our daily living.
    I have come to terms, I know why they are the way they are. It isn’t always easy, I need to often redraw boundaries, some days I feel hate and anger but I retreat and if need be voice it.
    I have learned that we can break the cycle, it is hard hard work. But in the end I can live with it.

    • Annie says

      Hi Karin, I really, really appreciate the time you took to share your story with me (and with other blog readers who, I’m guessing, will see themselves in your story. It says so much about you that can have compassion for your parents’ experience while also acknowledging the truth of how they impacted you. Thank you for sharing your story, and for being a blog reader. Warmly, Annie

  3. jjpk says

    I had a really mixed response to this. I agree that with more equitable access to all the things you discuss- food, shelter, peace, opportunities for educational and career, health, money, etc- would greatly improve the functioning of families and the experience of children growing up. I agree that parents cannot be entirely blamed by expectations to”self-regulate” regardless of adversity. Without invalidating the experience of abused children, I feel kinda gross judging my parents, those who are marginalized in ways I am not, and parents from previous generations that did not have access to certain privileges that make healthy parent-child relationships more likely to develop. I agree that much of this problem is rooted at the level of society and will only be healed there too.

    On the other hand, I feel like “social justice” can fall prey to what I call the “Hallmark theory of values” by which I mean that any set of values (be it patriotism, religion, love, family etc.) no matter how benevolent it may sound can become a trigger for people. This is not because the value per say is wrong, but because it has been evoked often enough by abusive authority figures, such as an abuser claiming to “love” you, a predatory spiritual leader discussing “forgiveness,” or a controlling parent discussing the importance of “family”. Because of the disturbing and complex history of left-leaning authoritarianism, “social justice” can triggering for me as a stated value even if its implementation could be positive. (Note: My family is from the former USSR.) I believe you are correct that true justice is necessary to achieve more supportive family systems, but I also hope to see more people using terms like “justice” with the same sensitity and nuance that people are learning to use to when discussing “family”- understanding that true justice is extremely important but also that the ideal is sometimes painful when it’s been a smokescreen for abuse.

    • Annie says

      Hi, I really appreciate your comment and completely agree that “social justice” must not and cannot be used to broadly excuse bad behavior. My thinking here is that we can both have compassion for the abusers’ experiences (seeing them and their stories through a lens of oppressive and broken social systems) while also having all our feelings about how they treated us and then make choices to protect ourselves, regardless of the origins and causes of their behavior. It’s not either/or, it’s both/and. And my greatest hope is that as we work to repair and develop new, better, more humane and inclusive social systems, we’ll see a decrease and diminishment in child abuse, neglect, and mis- and mal-treatment. Again, thank you for sharing your perspective. I appreciate the richness you brought to this conversation. Warmly, Annie

  4. Jessica says

    In my case, I recognize the trauma that my family faced. On my moms side, everyone was a victim of abuse. Sexual, physical, verbal, etc. And how those unhealed traumas lead to them passing on the abuse to me, their own children, and others. How they still suffer today and seem emotionally and mentally trapped. In sympathize for them and their pain. I sympathize for my parents pain in their own childhoods. But I don’t excuse their abuse and neglect towards me. As adults their jobs were to and create a healthy environment for me. And they failed. That isn’t to say my childhood did not have any love. I’ve had plenty of happy and fun memories in my childhood that they were a part of. Memories I hold onto and make me smile. But I can also hold them accountable for how they abused me and contributed to my current struggles and trauma.

    • Annie says

      Hi Jessica, thank you so much for you comment! There’s a famous (albeit cliché) saying in therapy: We cannot heal what we cannot feel. I’m so proud of you for acknowledging your past and learning how to process and grieve it, rather than dismiss it. This is a powerful tool in your healing. I’m wishing you all the best as you navigate your healing journey. Warmly, Annie

    • Annie says

      Hi there, thank you so much for leaving a comment on this post. I’m pleased the blog feels helpful – my goal in writing these pieces is that they will serve as a library of information, comfort, and support for my readers. So your comment means a lot to me. I’m wishing you all my best, and hope you have a wonderful week. Warmly, Annie

  5. Achala Kumar says

    We are currently struggling with our son’s trauma because we used physical punishment to discipline. We would not do it if we had the slightest idea about how it would impact him psychologically. We were raised at a time in India when corporal punishment was the norm, both at home and schools. I am still perplexed as to how we endured it without being scarred and though we regret from the bottom of our hearts for having used physical punishment, we are unable to make him understand that it was not because of lack of love. That we were misguided. We were young 27 year old parents who were raised a certain way, and knew only that way.

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