Philip Larkin’s poem “This Be The Verse” starts with a striking line: “They mess you up, your mom and dad./ They may not intend to, but they do.” Rarely has poetry captured such a universal truth. While some parents engage in truly awful behaviors, for many, the harm is more mundane. They raise their voices too often, bottle up their emotions, belittle their children, overlook signs of mental health struggles, and fail to provide the affection and attention their kids crave. The result? Grown children who often feel unloved.
My own parents were no exception. I faced constant reprimands and heard the question, “What’s wrong with you?” way too often. I still remember the one time I saw my mother in tears; I panicked because I had never witnessed her vulnerability before. I was labeled as overly sensitive and lacking common sense.
For years, I battled severe anxiety, depression, and mild ADHD. I never felt adequately loved or cared for. When I went off to college 600 miles away, I nearly pushed my parents out of my dorm room, eager to start anew—free from their emotional turmoil.
As we grow up, we often find ourselves at a crossroads: do we cut ties with the parents who may have hurt us, or do we reach out and embrace them? This question haunted me for a long time. It involved deep soul-searching, painful revelations, and numerous discussions with my therapist, not to mention advice from a well-known columnist (no links here; it’s all pseudonymous). Ironically, I made my decision during the tumultuous time of my parents’ divorce: I chose to keep them in my life. I needed to—for my own well-being, for my children, and for them.
Sure, they can be difficult to deal with. My parents often go silent for months after a couple of weeks of communication. If I try to reach out during those silent periods, the conversations are usually short and strained. I often feel like a pawn—valued when I’m achieving something noteworthy, like getting an article published, but ignored during my struggles, such as when I’m facing a mental health crisis.
They have their flaws. My mother struggles to understand my mental health issues and seems to dismiss my ADHD as a fabrication. My father—well, he thinks that using racial slurs in Italian somehow makes it okay. He drinks excessively, despite his health issues, and has a history of infidelity. He often calls me, seeking reassurance that he’s a good person, yet he rarely inquires about my children or acknowledges their birthdays.
However, I recognize their efforts. My parents’ generation rarely spoke about mental health, often treating it with mockery or euphemisms. My dad has acknowledged not getting me the help I needed as a child, albeit while blaming my mom. They were overworked and exhausted, doing their best to provide for us. Their frustrations often stemmed from their own struggles.
When my mental health hit rock bottom, my parents surprised me by buying a horse—an extravagant gift that helped lift my spirits. They cheered for me at academic achievements, track meets, and riding shows. They really did try their hardest.
This effort is what keeps me connected to them. There have been significant bumps along the way, including long stretches of silence when I was angry about something they said or did. My grandfather has even called me, insisting I reach out to my mom. I’ve felt excluded from family discussions and have been frustrated by their lack of interest in my kids.
But I remain. They deserve a chance to be involved with their grandchildren. My kids adore them; they see Nana and Poppy as playful figures who bring joy, toys, and adventures. My mother has a unique ability to soothe my children to sleep, and she has gone above and beyond, even driving 600 miles just to help me with the kids during tough times.
My father, despite his shortcomings, deserves the opportunity to be a grandfather—albeit under certain conditions (like no drinking). He’s eager to take my boys fishing, and he’s genuinely moved by their happiness. He takes pride in my writing accomplishments, often bragging to his friends about my work.
So, I’ve decided to keep my parents in my life. While they have toxic traits, I’ve noticed those traits soften with age. It wasn’t easy to forgive them for my childhood; it took extensive therapy and recognition of their limitations. If your parents’ flaws aren’t deeply harmful, consider keeping them in your life. This choice might be right for many, especially those whose parents aren’t truly toxic.
Ultimately, I chose to keep my parents, and it wasn’t the worst decision I’ve made. I still have family connections, and that bond is a gift worth the occasional struggle. Perhaps this journey of forgiveness will influence my kids, and one day, they’ll choose to keep me in their lives too. After all, I’m not perfect either, and I’m aware that I might be messing them up in some way.
For further insights about family dynamics and relationships, check out this excellent resource on pregnancy and home insemination at the CDC. For those considering self-insemination, you can learn more about at-home insemination kits here. If you’re interested in the latest updates on reproductive health, take a look at this authority on the topic.
Summary
In navigating the complexities of familial relationships, Amelia Thompson reflects on her decision to maintain a connection with her parents despite their shortcomings. After years of struggle with mental health issues and conflicting emotions about her upbringing, she recognizes the value of family ties, particularly for the sake of her children. Despite the toxicity that can arise, she chooses forgiveness and connection, believing that her parents deserve a chance to grow and be involved in her kids’ lives.