Ever wonder why your therapy sessions keep circling back to the same childhood stories? Why certain phrases from your parents still make you cringe at 35?
I’ve been there. Still am, actually. Just last week, I found myself apologizing profusively to the grocery store clerk for accidentally dropping a jar of honey.
As I cleaned up the mess, fighting back tears of embarrassment, I heard my mother’s voice: “What will people think?”
That moment sent me spiraling into reflection about all the well-meaning lies our Boomer parents told themselves just to get through their days. Lies that seemed harmless enough back then but left us, their adult children, unpacking emotional suitcases we didn’t even know we were carrying.
Growing up in my small Midwest town, these beliefs were as common as casseroles at church potlucks. My parents weren’t bad people. They loved us fiercely.
But they were operating from a playbook written by their own parents, who were operating from an even older playbook. And somewhere along the way, survival mechanisms became family doctrine.
1) “Children should be seen and not heard”
Remember family dinners where kids weren’t supposed to speak unless spoken to? In my house, we ate together every single night, but conversations stayed surface-level. Weather, school grades, chores. Never feelings, never dreams, never the hard stuff.
Our parents thought they were teaching us respect and manners. What they actually taught us was that our voices didn’t matter. That our thoughts and feelings were less valuable than keeping the peace.
Now? Many of us struggle to speak up in meetings, set boundaries, or believe our opinions have worth. We’re the ones texting our therapists: “How do I tell my boss I disagree without having a panic attack?”
2) “Stop crying or I’ll give you something to cry about”
This one still makes my chest tight. Our parents genuinely believed that shutting down emotions would make us stronger. Tougher. More prepared for the “real world.”
What actually happened? We learned to stuff everything down until it exploded in our twenties or thirties. We became experts at disconnecting from our feelings, which sounds great until you realize you can’t selectively numb.
When you shut down the hard feelings, you shut down joy too.
I watch my five-year-old daughter cry over a broken crayon, and I have to actively fight the urge to minimize her feelings. Because that programming runs deep.
3) “What will the neighbors think?”
My mother was a master at this one. Everything we did was filtered through the lens of hypothetical judgment from people who probably weren’t even paying attention to us.
This obsession with appearances taught us that image matters more than authenticity. That keeping up appearances trumps addressing real problems. Is it any wonder so many of us struggle with perfectionism and people-pleasing?
I still catch myself curating my life for an invisible audience. Making sure my kids look presentable at the park. Apologizing for my messy car. Living for approval from people who don’t even know my middle name.
4) “We don’t talk about family problems outside this house”
The family secrets rule. Whatever happened at home stayed at home. Depression, anxiety, addiction, dysfunction – all swept under the proverbial rug.
Our parents thought they were protecting the family reputation. Instead, they taught us that problems were shameful. That asking for help was weakness. That suffering in silence was noble.
How many of us waited until we were drowning before finally calling a therapist? How many of us still struggle to open up, even to our closest friends?
5) “You have to respect your elders, no matter what”
Blind respect for authority, regardless of behavior. This wasn’t just about grandparents or teachers. It was about never questioning, never pushing back, never trusting your own instincts when something felt wrong.
Our parents believed this created order and stability. What it actually created was a generation that struggles to recognize and escape toxic relationships. We became adults who stay too long in bad situations because we were never taught that respect should be earned and mutual.
6) “Big boys don’t cry” and “Good girls don’t get angry”
The gendered emotion rules. Boys learned that vulnerability was weakness. Girls learned that anger was unladylike. Everyone learned that certain feelings were off-limits based on what was between their legs.
These parents thought they were preparing us for societal expectations. Fair enough. But the cost? Men who can’t access their emotions until they’re having a midlife crisis. Women who apologize for having boundaries. Everyone struggling to be whole humans.
Watching my two-year-old son cry freely when he’s sad and roar when he’s frustrated gives me hope. Maybe we can break this one.
7) “Money doesn’t grow on trees”
The scarcity mindset disguised as financial wisdom. Yes, money requires work. But the constant anxiety about never having enough, the guilt around any small pleasure, the belief that wanting nice things made you greedy or materialistic?
Our parents, many of whom grew up with even less, thought they were teaching us the value of hard work and frugality. What many of us internalized instead was that we don’t deserve abundance. That pleasure is selfish. That there’s virtue in struggle.
Now we’re adults who feel guilty buying ourselves new underwear or taking a vacation. Who work ourselves into the ground because rest feels lazy.
8) “Just be grateful for what you have”
Gratitude weaponized as a silencing tool. Had a bad day? Other people have it worse. Feeling sad? You should be grateful for your blessings. Want more from life? Stop being so ungrateful.
Our parents thought gratitude would make us happier, more content. And gratitude is wonderful. But using it to dismiss legitimate feelings or desires? That just taught us that our struggles weren’t valid. That wanting better meant we were bad people.
Breaking the cycle
Here’s what I know: Our parents did the best they could with what they had. They were surviving their own traumas, their own programming, their own fears.
My mother, who made everything from scratch but lived with constant anxiety, was doing her best. My father, emotionally distant but always providing, was doing his best.
But we get to do better. Not perfect, just better.
Every time I validate my daughter’s big feelings instead of shutting them down, every time I let my son see me cry, every time I admit I don’t have all the answers – I’m rewriting the script.
The therapy bills might be steep, and the work is definitely hard. But watching my kids grow up believing their voices matter, their feelings are valid, and they’re worthy of love exactly as they are? That makes every difficult conversation with my therapist worth it.
We’re not just healing ourselves. We’re healing generations.
