Why Blaming Parents Is Sometimes
the First Step Toward Healing

There is a moment in many people’s lives—often in therapy, often after years of inner struggle—when they begin to see that the difficulties they face as adults did not start with them. Whether the struggle takes the form of chronic anxiety, low self-worth, emotional numbness, or repeated relationship turmoil, it is rarely random. Beneath the surface lies a blueprint that was formed in childhood—not because the child was flawed, but because the environment required the child to adapt in ways that compromised their authentic self. And yet, in the absence of another explanation, most children reach the same heartbreaking conclusion: something must be wrong with me. This is where the healing journey begins—not with forgiveness, not with insight, but with the audacity to place blame where it rightfully belongs.

This is not about vilifying parents. It is about liberating the child—now grown—from a burden they were never meant to carry. The child’s core wound is rarely just the pain of what happened or didn’t happen; it’s the internal story that they were the cause of it. In developmental terms, this self-blame is a survival strategy. A child who believes their parent is flawed, unreliable, or emotionally dangerous must confront a terrifying reality: the person they depend on for love and safety cannot be trusted. Far safer—psychically and emotionally—is the fantasy that the parent is good and the child is the problem. This coping strategy may allow the child to maintain hope and attachment, but it comes at the cost of shame, self-alienation, and lifelong distortion of identity.

These dynamics don’t only apply to overt abuse or neglect. In fact, some of the most corrosive wounds occur in homes that appear “normal”—even loving—from the outside. Sometimes the injury comes not from what was done, but from what was missing: attunement, reflection, honest emotional contact. It might be a parent’s chronic distraction, their inability to validate emotion, or their reliance on the child to meet adult emotional needs. In many cases, the harm stems not from malice, but from emotional immaturity, inherited trauma, or unconscious absorption of societal values that reward perfection, productivity, or stoicism over vulnerability and relational presence.

“Some of the deepest wounds are inflicted not by cruelty, but by absence—and not in violent homes, but in seemingly normal ones.”

It’s important to recognize that most parents will struggle to acknowledge this kind of impact—not because they are malicious, but because doing so would require confronting painful truths about their own limitations. This defensiveness is not proof that the adult child is wrong; it is often the clearest confirmation that the parent was, and perhaps still is, emotionally unequipped to meet the child’s needs. The very inability to hear and reflect on a child’s experience without becoming reactive often was the original wound. At the same time, it’s critical to understand that this failure is not solely personal—it is also systemic. In the decades following the Second World War, societal structures increasingly undermined the deep parent-child bonds needed for healthy emotional development. Community life eroded, extended family support dwindled, and children were socialized more by peers and institutions than by stable adult figures. In this environment, even well-intentioned parents found themselves overwhelmed, isolated, and unequipped. Without this broader lens, it’s easy to fall into the binary of blaming or excusing parents. But the truth often lives in a more complex space: many parents both loved their children and were unable to protect them from emotional harm, in part because the culture made it nearly impossible to do so.

In fact, it is often those who experienced more “subtle” forms of harm who struggle most to identify and validate their pain. They may compare themselves to others and feel guilty for resenting parents who “did their best.” But emotional pain does not require a dramatic backstory. When the child’s needs for empathy, mirroring, and unconditional acceptance are unmet—or worse, subtly shamed—the damage is internalized as a belief that the true self is either too much or not enough. And not all children respond to this by collapsing inward. Some develop in the opposite direction, constructing a grandiose or inflated self-image to defend against the underlying wound. If a child learns—often unconsciously—that being vulnerable leads to rejection or shame, they may instead overidentify with being exceptional, gifted, or above reproach. This adaptation is not rooted in true confidence but in the desperate need to avoid the unbearable feeling of being ordinary, flawed, or unlovable. It can lead to behaviors that exploit or dominate others, often without awareness of the insecurity driving them. What appears as entitlement or arrogance is often a carefully constructed shield against internalized shame.

“What looks like superiority is often just shame, trying not to be seen.”

To heal, this internalized shame must be dismantled—and that means allowing the truth of childhood to come into full view. Often, this includes feeling anger or grief toward one’s parents. This is not an act of cruelty, but one of reclamation. Anger is the rightful response to boundary violations and emotional abandonment. Grief is the appropriate reaction to recognizing what was never given. These feelings are not obstacles to healing—they are the healing. Only by feeling them fully can the adult begin to release the loyalty to self-blame and start building a sense of self rooted in truth rather than survival.

This process of emotional truth-telling can paradoxically create the conditions for a more honest and sustainable relationship with one’s parents—if such a relationship is possible. When the child stops performing or suppressing to protect the parent’s image, it allows for a kind of clarity and integrity that was never available in the original dynamic. It may require grieving the fantasy of who the parent could have been. It may also invite the parent, if they are capable, into a more mutual relationship based not on guilt or denial, but on respect for boundaries and emotional truth. Importantly, this is not always possible, and many find that healing requires distance or disconnection. What matters is not the outcome of the relationship, but the freedom to choose it from a place of self-possession.

“Healing is not dependent on reconciliation. It’s dependent on truth.”

Blaming parents—at least temporarily—is often treated as taboo, even selfish. But refusing to place blame can be a form of emotional imprisonment. It keeps the adult child stuck in a loop of shame, loyalty, and silence. To say, “This hurt me,” or “You failed me in ways I’m only now beginning to understand,” is not to reject love—it is to reclaim truth. And from truth, healing becomes possible. Not because the past is rewritten, but because the child no longer has to carry the story that they were broken from the beginning.

How Parents Can Respond: Making Space for the Child’s Truth

When an adult child begins to express blame, hurt, or unmet needs from childhood, it can be profoundly disorienting for a parent. For many, it stirs up feelings of guilt, defensiveness, shame, or fear of being cut off. But this moment, painful as it may be, holds the possibility of transformation—not just for the child, but for the relationship itself. The child’s expression of blame is not an act of destruction. It is a vulnerable signal that something in the relationship still matters enough to be healed. How the parent responds in this moment may determine whether trust can begin to be rebuilt—or whether the silence between them will deepen.

The first step is acknowledgment without self-protection. This means listening to what the child is saying without trying to correct, justify, or minimize it. The impulse to say “but I was doing my best” or “you misunderstood” may come from a wish to be seen as a good parent—but in the moment, it derails the deeper need: for the child to feel seen. When a child shares their pain, the most healing response is not explanation—it is recognition. Words like “I hear you,” “I didn’t know you felt that way,” or “That must have been so painful for you” can open the door to safety in a way that defenses never can.

Part of this acknowledgment includes resisting the urge to bring in the parent’s own childhood story. While it may feel natural to respond with “I went through the same thing” or “You have no idea what my parents were like,” this almost always shifts the emotional burden back onto the child. It asks them—often unconsciously—to empathize with the parent in the very moment they are finally expressing their own hurt. Even when well-intended, these detours can derail the healing process and reinforce the same dynamic the child is trying to break free from: being responsible for the parent’s emotional experience.

This is especially difficult when a parent’s own parents are no longer alive, and the impulse to share one’s grief or unmet needs has nowhere else to go. But the child is not the place for this grief. Those stories need space to be processed—but with a therapist, a trusted friend, a partner, or through personal reflection. The task of emotional repair with one’s own parents belongs to the parent, not the child. Resisting the pull to “pass upward” unresolved pain is one of the most loving and mature things a parent can do. It protects the sacred space the child needs in order to reclaim their voice and identity without being drawn back into emotional caretaking.

Second, parents must resist the urge to control the timeline of reconciliation. When deep hurt has been carried for years—sometimes decades—it cannot be resolved in a single conversation. Trust that was eroded over time must be rebuilt over time. This process may include long silences, firm boundaries, or the adult child needing space. While this can feel like rejection, it is often a necessary part of healing. Respecting a child’s boundaries—without pressuring them to “move on” or “let it go”—communicates a level of respect that may have been missing in the original dynamic.

“Being willing to be blamed may be the first act of real parenthood.”

It’s also essential for parents to understand that their child’s pain is not an accusation of total failure. Most children are not asking for perfect parents—they are asking for real parents: people who can take responsibility for their limitations without collapsing, deflecting, or turning the conversation back onto the child. Being willing to say “I wish I had done that differently,” or “You’re right—that wasn’t okay,” without qualifying statements, shows the kind of maturity that creates a new emotional template. It demonstrates that the parent is no longer bound by the immaturity that may have caused the original harm.

In some cases, parents may benefit from their own process of reflection or even therapeutic support. Exploring where their own emotional limitations came from—how they were parented, what cultural messages they absorbed, what fears they carried into parenthood—can create greater compassion for themselves without diminishing the validity of the child’s experience. This inner work allows the parent to show up not from shame, but from growth.

Importantly, reconciliation does not mean returning to old patterns. It means building something new, based on mutual respect, emotional honesty, and an acceptance of who each person truly is. This often includes honoring the adult child’s need for new boundaries, new forms of communication, or a different kind of closeness than before. When a parent is able to say, “I want to know who you are now, not just who I imagined you to be,” it invites the child into a relationship that is no longer based on roles and survival, but on authenticity.

There is grief in this process—for both sides. Grief for what was missed, what was broken, what can’t be undone. But there is also grace. There is the possibility of a relationship not defined by guilt or performance, but by two people willing to face the truth, make space for one another’s pain, and move forward with eyes open. In this sense, being willing to be blamed is not the end of being a parent. It may be the beginning of being a parent in the way the child always needed.