Having a toxic parent often impacts you negatively as an adult

Do all children receive a sense of safety within their homes? Or are parents, more often than not, our worst aggressors growing up?

Trigger warning: Physical violence, emotional abuse

A scene in the fifth episode of the latest and final season of the popular Netflix series Sex Education shows the character of Adam Groff (Connor Swindells) confessing to his friend Jem (Bella Maclean) that his father—who accompanies him on his driving lessons—has always thought of him as an “embarrassment.” “He was the headmaster at my school, and I just couldn’t get it. More I tried, the worse I got. He used to yell at me a lot,” he says.

“Sounds like a bully,” Jem replies. “Yeah, it’s a little bit scary. But now he seems to be trying to, I don’t know…trying to be a normal dad, I suppose, or something,” Groff shares.

Even when taken out of context, the scene poignantly delineates the core of the father-son dynamic as being riddled with trauma and toxicity. However, the good news for the both of them, perhaps, is that the father was willing to make reparations unlike several parents in the real world.

The prevalence of toxic parent-child relationships is as staggering as at least one out of seven children having experienced abuse or neglect at home in the United States, according to a survey conducted by the Centers of Disease Control and Prevention in 2020. In India, studies on the subject are limited, with only one large-scale, state-sponsored national survey conducted in 2007 by the Ministry of Women and Child Development, which states that 69 per cent of children and adolescents reported physical abuse, 53 per cent reported sexual abuse, and almost 49 per cent reported emotional abuse. In addition, nearly 71 per cent of female children reported facing neglect within their families. The survey, however, did not examine neglect among male children.

These figures point to the difficult reality of how, for a majority of children growing up in India (or even the world at large), their homes cease to be safe spaces. “My home was literally the most unsafe space for me growing up,” says 22-year-old Amrit Singh (first name changed on request), a Jodhpur-based student of psychology. Singh identifies as gender non-binary, a truth that further complicated his equation with his parents who made up an orthodox, lower-middle class family. “Even before I came to terms with my gender identity, my parents were pretty difficult to live with. I wasn’t the brightest child because I have dyslexia, so my parents would resort to beating me up as I didn’t do well at school. I didn’t even have too many friends like the other kids did,” he says.

According to psychotherapist Alaokika Motwane, who practices in Mumbai and Goa, traumas stemming from disturbed relationships with parents can manifest in myriad ways in a child, including as learning disabilities. “The child will either act in or act out. In a school environment, we could see the child behave like a bully; in some others, they may be unable to focus. Once stress enters your system, it wreaks havoc. In young girls, it can even cause hormonal imbalances,” she adds.

Coping with trauma as a child

Singh, ultimately, severed ties with his parents, who "punished" him for being “different” from other children. They even kept him away from their relatives, stating that Singh brought them shame and embarrassment. He currently lives in his hometown with his partner, and hasn’t been in touch with his family for over a year. This option, however, may not be available to everyone.

Motwane points out how, in most cases, the parents—inadvertently or otherwise—are the perpetrators of trauma, because “it’s never easy for a child to turn against their parents, as they are dependent on them.” These dynamics then result in resentment and animosity within a child towards their parents.

When Delhi-based researcher Shriram, 33, was growing up in a conservative joint family in Chennai, he remembers running to his grandparents for cover when his father would beat him up. “He was a typical dominating character who thought he could never be wrong; he’s still the same. My mother was a homemaker and was fairly timid, so I couldn’t really ask her for help when my father beat me up,” he recalls.

The cycle, however, was finally broken when Shriram left home to pursue his higher education abroad at the age of 21. He never looked back. “Initially, I would miss home and felt like coming back. But then when I did, I realised I couldn’t do this again, because I was a different person who was used to being independent. Back at home, even though my father did show me a little more respect, I was still being put on a curfew and had to be answerable for everything I did. So I moved to Delhi and have been living here for 10 years. I visit home maybe twice a year now,” he says. 

Shriram, much like Singh, did not have support systems growing up, especially since he, his younger sister, and his parents moved out of their family home to live separately when he was 13. “I remember thinking, what do I do now? My grandparents won’t be there to protect me, so where should I go?” As a result, he devised ways of safeguarding his peace. Shriram’s father was a disciplinarian, who was strict about academic excellence. “He just wanted me to study, right? So I would keep the book open and daydream. I had no one to talk to. I had a strange relationship with my sister where our parents and family would keep comparing the two of us, and how much can you tell your friends that you were being beaten up every day? My father would keep hitting me until he wanted to stop,” he says.

How childhood trauma manifests in adults

Shriram’s habits of maladaptive daydreaming and lying to his parents to reclaim control over his life continued well into his adulthood, until it was flagged in therapy. He mentions wanting to unnecessarily lie to his friends about taking a smoke break, even though no one would judge or penalise him for it. “I realised I would lie unnecessarily at work, especially to my female managers. Thankfully, these habits are much under control after I sought therapy. But I was quite surprised to learn that most of it led back to some part of my childhood and upbringing,” he says.

Motwane does not find this surprising. In fact, she mentions how individuals who come from toxic home environments, when introduced to therapy as an adult, actively seek mental health care only when cracks start to show in their professional lives or relationships. “Sometimes, the child may not be even looking for an apology as much as they may be looking for some acknowledgement of what was done to them,” she says, adding that parents can often be dismissive of their children opening up about their feelings of being hurt by them, further perpetuating the cycle of trauma. “Parents have to be more willing to acknowledge and accept what they have done, and children also need to learn to let go.”

But for 25-year-old Shubhanjana, a Goa-based independent journalist, life with parents meant—and still means—navigating her mother’s moods and affections that oscillate between extremes. With her father—who has been living separately since she was eight years old—she shares a rather strained relationship. As a result, she does not really feel genuine love or affection towards either—or the kind a child should feel towards their parents. “At a humanitarian level, sure, I can feel bad for them if they’re going through something. But now that they’re aging and that time might soon arrive when they won’t be able to get by by themselves, I have still not processed what I might do then. Does it mean I will have to move back in to look after them? I can’t do that. The thought just makes me anxious,” she says.

Owing to severe financial distress growing up, where she remembers having to drop out of school for six months because her mother couldn’t afford the fees once her father left, Shubhanjana mentions that emotional needs were never even a cause for concern at home. “We were struggling to make ends meet; two months after I was born, my parents, sister and I were thrown out of our joint-family home. There were bigger survival issues to deal with, so we did not have the luxury to think about emotions,” she says. While she acknowledges her mother’s contributions to raising two children almost single-handedly, she also refuses to pedestalise her for it.

Much like Shriram’s father and Singh’s parents, Shubhanjana’s mother, too, believes she’s beyond committing errors. “She wants me to worship her and has literally said that one would be lucky to have a mother as sacrificing and generous as her. I get that she was dealt a bad hand—getting married into a family where her in-laws mistreated her, saddling her with domestic responsibilities where she was almost treated like a domestic worker at a very young age. But she took it all out on my elder sister and I,” says Shubhanjana.

In turn, her older sister parented her and shielded her from their mother’s unpredictability. As a consequence, Shubhanjana grew up to become a “people pleaser” who was always too afraid to upset others, even at the cost of her mental and emotional peace.

Hailing from a lower-middle class family, she was trained into thinking that she should only dream within stipulated limits, repeatedly cautioned against being too ambitious. Last year, when she decided to apply for higher education abroad, her parents discouraged her. “It made me question myself and wonder whether I am really being too audacious and trying to achieve what is beyond my means; if it will put me and my family under financial pressure. Honestly, it becomes quite difficult to fight these voices inside my head on some days,” she says.

Coping with childhood trauma as an adult

While Shubhanjana, Shriram and Singh have all resorted to stepping away from their families—one way or another—to lead more emotionally tenable lives once they were capable of financially sustaining themselves, teenagers and adolescents may not always have that path available.

Kolkata-based therapist and psychology teacher Rakhi Sengupta, a practitioner for over 20 years, says that finding ways to forgive one’s parents for inflicting trauma on them is important to reclaim agency over one’s narrative. “It’s also important to always place yourself first, practice self-care, and of course, draw boundaries, which is absolutely essential,” she says.

More often than not, most of her clients deal with issues that stem from their childhoods and upbringing. While some seek quick fixes that allow for superficial intervention, others require more intensive therapy and counselling. “For children and teenagers in India who depend on their parents to pay for therapy, it becomes tricky, because the children will ask the therapist to not tell their parents what they have shared, while the parents will probe and ask what their children have shared. In some cases, parents have refused to pay for their children in general when they found out they are seeking therapy, because they are of the idea that therapists are rousing their children against them. It’s a thought born of guilt,” she says.

However, drawing boundaries within South Asian families is easier said than done, Sengupta says, due to which it’s important to become “lovingly detached” from your family, and always look out for yourself first, or seek support from a reasonable adult or peers. “Start saying no; tell them you’re not being disrespectful, just that you don’t agree with them,” she emphasises.

The mental-health professional mentions how trauma is generational, owing to incomplete healing, which urges an individual to transfer their emotional baggage to the ones after them. This perpetuates a toxic and hostile cycle of parent-child relationships.

Delhi-based 32-year-old Shruti, who lost her mother in 2020 unexpectedly, finds herself being more critical of her now, than when she was alive. “Growing up, my parents treated me more like an obligation than a decision. My mother was physically abusive, but would also want to take credit for my achievements because I was a meritorious child,” she recalls.

Now a mother to an eight-month-old boy herself, Shruti realises she doesn’t want to consciously repeat the patterns her mother had introduced. “I want to be kinder and more patient with my son. When she passed away, I had a lot of unresolved trauma and grief to address. I think I was softer when she was around, but now, in her absence, I call a spade a spade. I acknowledge the trauma she inflicted on me because I want to do better than her as a parent,” she says. Shruti admits to having missed her mother during her pregnancy, as the journey felt isolating on most days. However, it also allowed her to design her own path and set her own standards for what she would like to achieve as a mother.

However, drawing boundaries—like Sengupta also highlights—became a game changer for Shruti, allowing her the freedom to navigate her life on her own terms. She talks about being the parent she never had for her son, and she hopes with her, the cycle of generational trauma is finally broken.

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