When we were younger and we complained about our family dynamic we were told that “no one’s family was perfect, that every family had their share of baggage”. The older we got the more we realized that while everyone has dysfunction, some families were more screwy than others. Looking around at what others were going through, we began to start being grateful for the problems that we didn’t have, all the while minimizing all the problems we did have. All in all, most of us grew up and were appreciative of the home we grew up in. We had this understanding that we really didn’t have it “that bad”. Right?

While this reasoning of “someone else always has it worse” can be helpful in the moment, it can also cause us to minimize our trauma. Our complex traumas that would later come back to haunt us, destroy relationships with family members and consume childhood memories as we try to remember them. To kick off this doozy of a post, I am going to share a little bit of my upbringing. Again, while I did not have it “terrible”, there were definitely events that had a lasting impact on me. I grew up as an only child with a single mom. For most of my childhood we lived with my grandpa, who very much helped raise me. My dad was not in the picture until I was an adult, the positive side to this is I didn’t have to float between households every week like my peers with separated parents. For about 7 years, during my time in grade school, my mom was with a man who I consider my “step dad”. He was around until he suddenly had a heart attack, so no more step dad for me. As I got older I learned of his drug issues that contributed to his death. When he was around though, I had a childlike innocence that prevented me from seeing any of that. Of course, as a 12-13 year old, I took this with a grain of salt and didn’t quite understand the impact his death would have on me. Growing up with only one parent had its own set challenges but, growing up not knowing who my other parent was gave a whole new set of problems and experiences. I can very vividly remember telling people that my dad was an African Rockstar (he is in fact not) because if I didn’t know who he was, he could be whoever and whatever I wanted him to be. Enticing stories were fun to make up however, I still felt awkward when only one parent could attend back to school night, I didn’t understand “dad jokes” and I never knew what to do on Father’s Day.

Again, I’m not completely fucked up from this. I’m a functioning and productive member of society, don’t worry. But growing up in a “not normal” household definitely had its oddity’s. Unfortunately, what this did do (along with many other things) is grow an enormous and practically irreparable tension between my mom and I. The older I got the more we fought, and the more “dysfunctional” we became. Eventually my grandpa moved out, my mom didn’t have any other boyfriends and it ended up just being me and her. We only had each other to argue with and one another to blame when things went wrong. The mother-daughter hostility that comes with teenage years was as apparent as ever, which I am sure many can relate to. We of course had our own set of unique problems, but that I will save for another time.

As we are going into adulthood something weird happens with our relationships we have with our parents. We start to appreciate our parents more while simultaneously finally holding them accountable for their part in our trauma. Do we blame them too much? Is it really all their fault that we are this messed up? Did they even know their actions were mistakes when they made it? These questions are all things that we ponder as we fight to continue a relationship that is worth having. When we bring up our trauma the response most of us get is, “I don’t remember that happening like that, but if you say it did, and your this upset about it, I’m sorry. And I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was just doing my best”. For some of us this apology that displaces blame, is enough to forgive and forget. Some parents are in a mode of complete denial. Every traumatic experience we had “never happened” and we are “ungrateful” for judging them when they were just “doing their best”. I’m sure many people can hear their parents voices in their ears as while reading through those sentences. Unfortunately, both of these responses from our parents leave us stuck. Because how can we move on if they won’t fully admit to their part in our trauma?

I have come to a conclusion that will most likely be extremely controversial but, here goes. At what point do we stop blaming our parents for our trauma and just get on with our lives? I mean really, most of them will not apologize the way that we want them to. But why can’t we forgive them for their short coming’s and get on with it? Whether we have relationships with our parents is up to us but, we cannot be successful adults if we are still waiting on apologies from our parents. We cannot be good parents to our children if we are still waiting on them to show remorse. This does not mean our feelings and trauma is not valid, but it does mean that we will not let an unheard apology dictate our future.

What would it feel like to just accept the fact that most of us have slightly better than “shit” relationships with our parents? Could we possibly consider all of the circumstances encompassing our upbringing and maybe, just maybe, come to the conclusion that all of the trauma was outside of anyone’s realm of control? At what point does the baggage stop being our parents fault for giving it to us, and our fault for continuing to carry it for so long?