The Parents We Blame, the Selves We Become

As we grow older, many of us begin to look back. We start to notice how childhood shaped our fears, our need for approval, our discomfort with conflict, our hesitation to trust love, or our habit of proving our worth through achievement. In that inward journey, parents often stand at the centre of the story.


That is understandable. Childhood matters. Home is the first emotional world we inhabit. A child does not merely hear words; a child absorbs tones, silences, tensions, expectations, affection, and absence. Much of what we later call personality begins as adaptation.


Yet there is a subtle error we often make. We are quick to trace our wounds to our parents, but slow to trace our strengths there. We say our anxiety came from childhood but rarely ask whether our sensitivity came from the same place. We connect our insecurity to the past, but forget that our discipline, endurance, empathy, and emotional intelligence may have been shaped there as well.


Life is rarely so neat that one part becomes wound, and another part becomes entirely self-made.


The same childhood that leaves a person anxious may also make that person deeply observant. The same lack of comfort may produce inner strength. The same pressure that creates fear may also build stamina. This does not make suffering noble, nor does it excuse parental failure. It simply reminds us that human beings are formed through a mysterious mingling of hurt, adaptation, resilience, and grace.


Here, the wisdom of Vedanta offers a deeper light. The Upanishads do not deny pain, memory, or conditioning. But they ask a profound question: who is aware of all this?


Usually, we identify completely with our story. We think: 'I am the neglected child, the anxious adult, the one shaped by criticism or misunderstanding. But the sages of the Upanishads gently point beyond the story. Thoughts are known.' Memories are known. Hurt is known. Even the sense of 'my life' is known. There is, within us, a witness deeper than all passing states of mind.


That inner witness is the beginning of freedom. When we live only from our wounds, the past becomes our prison. But when we begin to rest in the deeper Self, the past remains real without becoming final. The hurt is not denied, but it is no longer the whole truth of who we are. Parents may shape the mind, but they do not define the soul. They may leave impressions on the personality, but they do not exhaust the mystery of our being.


Perhaps true maturity lies here: not in blindly blaming, not in blindly forgiving, but in seeing clearly. Our parents may have hurt us. They may also have strengthened us in ways we did not notice. And beyond both wound and gift, there remains something untouched — the quiet Self, the inner seer, the light within.


To remember that is not to lessen pain. It is to place pain in a larger truth. And perhaps that is where healing truly begins: when blame softens into understanding, and understanding deepens into wisdom.

Authors: Shashank Joshi and Shambo Samrat Samajdar