We need to get over our parents - and yes, it hurts.

Most of us—myself included—were raised by Boomers, a generation shaped by post-war prosperity, rigid social norms, and the belief that hard work was the ultimate key to success. When tough conversations about emotions, relationships, or behaviors arise, we often hear the same refrain: That’s how I was raised. But it runs deeper than an excuse. It’s not just a justification; it’s an inheritance—an unconscious pattern passed down through generations. Our childhoods were shaped by unspoken rules, survival strategies, and generational wounds disguised as wisdom. This isn’t about blame; it’s about recognition. Once we understand the patterns we've inherited, we have the power to change them.

Who are "the boomers"?
Boomers—born between 1946 and 1964—grew up in a world vastly different from ours. Their childhoods were shaped by post-war economic expansion, political upheavals, and shifting social norms. Many were raised by parents who had lived through the Great Depression and World War II—generations for whom survival often outweighed emotional depth. For Boomers, stability meant home ownership, lifelong corporate loyalty, and upward mobility. Hard work wasn’t just encouraged; it was the key to a better life. They believed in effort as currency and in struggle as a virtue. But the world they prepared for isn’t what we live in today.

However, this focus on external success came at a cost: emotional literacy was often neglected, vulnerability was seen as a weakness, and personal fulfillment was secondary to duty. Feelings weren’t discussed; they were suppressed. Mental health wasn’t acknowledged; it was stigmatized. Relationships weren’t nurtured with depth; they were endured out of obligation.

Their values—discipline, resilience, and self-sacrifice—were meant to prepare us for the neurotypical world. Yet, in many cases, these teachings inadvertently led to emotionally disconnected parenting. As children, we learned that love was transactional, expressing our needs was burdensome, and success mattered more than our inner world.

This is not to say that all parents were unloving or intentionally harmful. Many did their best with the tools they had. However, the generational gap between emotional needs and practical survival left many of us with wounds we struggle to name.

The psychological depth of patterning
It’s important to understand that these patterns didn’t form randomly. They were built through years of reinforcement, attachment dynamics, and nervous system conditioning. When children learn that expressing sadness leads to dismissal, they adapt by repressing emotions. When they see their parents endure loveless relationships, they internalize that suffering is noble. When love is given inconsistently, they develop anxious or avoidant attachment styles, unconsciously recreating those dynamics in adulthood.

The brain is wired for efficiency. Neural pathways develop based on repeated experiences. Those pathways would become deeply ingrained if our formative years were filled with neglect, criticism, or emotional unavailability. This is why simply knowing something is unhealthy isn’t enough to change it—our bodies and nervous systems are still operating under outdated rules of survival.

Recognizing patterns doesn’t mean we’ve broken them

It’s easy to intellectualize the dysfunction. To read books, to have aha moments about attachment styles, trauma responses, and inherited wounds. But understanding isn’t the same as rewiring. Knowing the pattern doesn’t mean you won’t repeat it when you’re triggered, tired, or longing for love in all the wrong places.

So, what do we do?
First, ask the hard questions:

• Did they teach me how to love in a way that wasn’t transactional?
• Did they show me how to leave when something no longer serves me?
• Did they model emotional safety, or was I walking on eggshells?
• Did they communicate clearly, or did I learn to interpret silence and tension like a second language?
• Did they make space for my emotions, or was I taught to suppress them?
• Was love something that felt secure or something I had to earn?
• Were their expectations based on my happiness or their perception of success?

The sad truth is that many of these answers won’t be satisfying. And that’s painful. But pain is not a life sentence; it’s an invitation to change.

Rewire yourself: the deep work.
First, we need to separate love from loyalty. One of the most brutal truths to confront is that we can deeply love our parents and still acknowledge their shortcomings. As children, our survival depended on staying emotionally close to our caregivers, which often meant silencing our pain to maintain that bond. As adults, this loyalty can turn into unconscious self-betrayal. We can be grateful for what they gave us—the roof, the food, the sacrifices—while also actively rejecting what harmed us: the emotional absence, the critical tone, the inconsistency.
We can understand why they were the way they were—products of their own conditioning, pain, and survival patterns—without excusing the damage they caused. This distinction is key to breaking generational trauma loops.

1. Change is not just cognitive—it’s somatic. Insight alone doesn’t set us free. The nervous system, shaped by years of hypervigilance, learned that love might come with a price: silence, performance, self-abandonment. Safety, love, and worthiness must now be re-learned at the level of the body, where trauma lives. To truly shift, we need to experience love that doesn’t require shape-shifting. We need to feel safe without being small. This isn’t an intellectual process—it’s a physical one.
2. Practice mindfulness and self-regulation techniques. These are not quick fixes—they’re daily acts of self-respect. Breathwork helps re-center the nervous system. Meditation creates space between stimulus and reaction. Therapy provides a co-regulated environment where shame can be processed. These tools allow you to move from survival mode to a space of self-trust. You begin to trust that not every discomfort will turn into danger. That your voice can be heard without punishment. That your needs don’t make you a burden.
3. Build emotional muscles that weren’t modeled for you. If your upbringing lacked emotional safety, chances are no one taught you how to regulate sadness, process anger, or stay present during conflict.
   Now is the time to learn:
   1. To sit with discomfort instead of avoiding it
   2. To self-soothe without numbing
   3. To feel instead of fleeing
4. Choose partners, friends, and environments that don’t force you to repeat the past because it’s familiar. Familiarity is not the same as safety. What’s familiar may be what you survived.

It is time to break the cycle consciously
Cycles continue by default. It takes consciousness to interrupt them. It takes courage to stop mid-reaction, reflect, and do something new. That moment of choice—of not yelling, shrinking, or abandoning yourself-is the rewiring in action.

• Recognize when you’re repeating patterns and actively choose differently.
  These micro-moments shape a new narrative—not perfect days, but present ones. Healing happens not when we get it right but when we notice we didn’t and gently return. Be patient. Neural rewiring takes time. It’s not a single decision—it’s a daily practice. Old patterns have deep grooves; they’ll resurface. But slipping doesn’t mean failing. It means healing is still in progress. And progress isn’t linear—it spirals. You return to old lessons with new awareness.
• Commit to creating a new legacy. If you have children—or even if you don’t, but are in a position to influence others—be what you needed. Teach what you weren’t taught. Show what love looks like when it’s safe, consistent, and unconditional. Model emotional honesty. Model repair after rupture. Show that love doesn’t require perfection—only presence.

The future is now
The next time someone says, "That’s just how I was raised," don’t let the conversation end there. Say, "Yes, but it’s on us to break it. It ends with us." Breaking cycles is a lifelong commitment to awareness, healing, and conscious change. It’s recognizing that just because something was normalized doesn’t mean it was healthy. It’s holding space for grief while also making space for new possibilities. Healing means allowing yourself to live a life no longer dictated by inherited wounds. It means teaching yourself, sometimes painfully, what safety, love, and self-worth genuinely feel like. It means standing at the intersection of past and future, making the radical decision to do things differently.

Ultimately, that is the greatest gift we can give ourselves and the generations that follow: a new inheritance built on intention, emotional depth, and the courage to break free.