Seeing ClearlyFamily, Adaptation, and the Ghosts of the Past
I recently spent several months traveling and visiting family after being away for nearly three years. It was a perspective-shifting experience—like closing a chapter or being visited by the ghost of Christmas future. I saw my blind spots, the ways my relationships have been shaped by my worldview, my avoidance, and my survival patterns.
I have survived, but I’ve struggled to truly connect. I’ve moved through life guarded, cautious, hyper-aware of rejection—wanting closeness but fearing it just as much.
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On this trip, I saw something more clearly than ever: both of my parents struggle to take up space. They withdraw from conversations, as if afraid they might be a burden. My father started working at twelve, my mother cared for her siblings—work has been their measure of worth. They love me, but expressing it is difficult. My mother shows love through making my favorite foods, giving advice, and doing things for me. My father keeps his distance but slips cash into my hands as his way of caring.
One of my core memories is of my mother rejecting a gift I had saved to give her. She felt defensive, and instead of acknowledging me, she pushed me away. I am sure that was not just one time, but one of many moments when I felt that disconnection. My survival adaptation was to reject her first—to close my heart to her, to give up on the warmth I longed for. I held onto anger because it kept me from feeling the grief of that loss. Instead, I sought closeness with my aunts and carried contempt for my mother for years. It is only now, in my forties, that some of that is melting away as I heal my trauma and process the grief.
Even as I long for more emotional closeness, I feel the discomfort of it too—just as they do. I imagine their childhoods were not filled with warmth, attention, or curiosity. My father left school after sixth grade, my mother after third. Their families couldn’t afford to educate them; they needed their labor. My mother grew up in a violent, unstable home, while my father’s was absent of a father figure and heavy with responsibility.
I don’t share this for sympathy but to acknowledge how much more clearly I see them now—their vulnerability, their journey. They did the best they could. And I love them. But I also see myself more clearly: how I so brilliantly adapted to being raised by them, to living in poverty, to migrating to a new country and all that came with it. I see how these experiences shaped me, how they live in me, and how I want to grow beyond them. I want to expand my capacity to stay in my body, to experience life fully without disconnecting or numbing.
How We Adapt to Developmental Trauma
Most of us have experienced some form of developmental trauma—extended separation from a caregiver, repeated lack of attunement, basic needs going unmet. These experiences shape how we see ourselves and the world. For a child, it is often more adaptive to believe that something must be wrong with them than to recognize that their environment is failing them. It would be too overwhelming to grasp that their caregivers might not be capable of meeting their needs. The nervous system protects against that unbearable truth through adaptation.
This is where distortions in our sense of self begin—where nervous system dysregulation takes root.
But we don’t just suffer; we survive. We develop strategies to maintain connection with our caregivers, even if it means disconnecting from ourselves. These survival styles form in response to what is welcomed and what is rejected in us as children.
Children sense the parts of themselves that their parents accept and value, as well as the parts they reject. They adapt to maintain and maximize the attachment and love relationship." — Lawrence Heller & Aileen Peltier
Here are some ways these adaptations take shape:
If a parent rejects emotional expression (e.g., "Stop crying," "Don’t be so sensitive")
The child learns to suppress emotions to avoid disapproval.
They may become hyper-independent, believing their feelings are a burden.
People-pleasing becomes a survival mechanism—hiding their needs to maintain connection.
If a parent only attunes to success and achievement
The child equates love with performance, leading to perfectionism.
They may develop workaholism, feeling restless unless they’re achieving something.
Relaxation and play feel undeserved or irresponsible.
If a parent rejects vulnerability or dependence (e.g., "Be tough," "Figure it out yourself")
The child becomes fiercely independent, avoiding reliance on others.
They struggle to ask for help, feeling ashamed of needing support.
Strength becomes their identity, making it hard to admit when they’re hurting.
If a parent only attunes to their child's caretaking or helpfulness
The child learns that their worth comes from taking care of others.
They have difficulty setting boundaries, feeling guilty for saying "no."
Their own needs take a backseat to everyone else’s.
If a parent only attunes to compliance and "good behavior"
The child loses touch with their authentic self, suppressing desires and opinions.
They fear expressing disagreement or upsetting others.
Self-criticism and guilt become ingrained, making assertion difficult.
If a parent rewards rebellion but ignores vulnerability
The child over-identifies with independence and pushes people away.
Vulnerability feels dangerous or weak.
They challenge authority to maintain a sense of control.
These adaptations make sense. They helped us survive. But as adults, they may keep us from true connection—not just with others, but with ourselves.
The work is not about blaming our parents or dismantling the defenses that once protected us. It’s about recognizing these patterns, bringing them into awareness, and gently expanding our capacity for something new.
For me, this trip illuminated the past, but it also showed me the future—the possibility of moving through the world with less fear and more presence. The work is ongoing. But I am hopeful of being able to live more fully.
What about you? Do any of these adaptations resonate with you. Feel free to schedule a free consultation to see how I might be able to help you reconnect to yourself.