We love blaming our parents, it’s practically a rite of passage in modern psychology.
But there’s a double standard buried in the trend: we attribute what’s broken in us to our upbringing, while claiming what’s strong as ours alone.
This is the Parental Attribution Error.
Like the Fundamental Attribution Error (where we blame others’ actions on their character but excuse our own by pointing to circumstance), this is a skewed way of assigning credit and blame.
We externalise the bad, internalise the good.
You’re quick to blame, slow to credit.
You say you’re anxiously attached because no one held you when you needed it. But isn’t your ability to be alone with your emotions and to endure discomfort quietly also forged in that same crucible?
You blame your parents for pushing you too hard in school, convinced it made you perfectionistic and neurotic. But when was the last time you acknowledged that same pressure gave you ambition, discipline, and drive?
You point to a childhood where mistakes weren’t tolerated as the reason you fear failure. But what about your meticulousness, your standards, your refusal to phone it in?
You complain that no one ever asked what you wanted growing up. But could that also be why you’re so tuned in to what everyone else needs?
You say your low self-worth comes from never being praised. But isn’t that the same fuel that makes you outwork everyone around you?
You trace your conflict avoidance back to all the shouting at home. But isn’t that also where your talent for de-escalation and emotional radar came from?
You chalk up your hyper-independence to not being able to trust anyone. But isn’t that also what made you capable, adaptable, and calm under pressure?
You say you’re emotionally guarded because no one took your feelings seriously. But isn’t that also why you’re steady when the people around you fall apart?
You’ve labelled yourself a people-pleaser because you had to keep the peace at home. But maybe that’s also where your social fluency and emotional intelligence were born.
You blame your poor boundaries on parents who didn’t respect yours. But isn’t that also why you’re so careful not to cross anyone else’s?
You say your fear of being a burden comes from being treated like one. But isn’t that the same fear that now makes you reliable, disciplined, and impossible to disappoint?
You attribute your sensitivity to criticism to all the judgement you grew up with. But isn’t that also what makes you thoughtful, receptive, and serious about getting better?
You say your nervous system never relaxes because your home was unpredictable. But isn’t that also why you’re perceptive, quick-thinking, and never caught off guard?
The traits you’re most ashamed of are often just the dark side of something light.
Your sharp edges didn’t appear out of nowhere. They’re often the by-product of something useful, a strength turned up too high, or a gift handled without guidance.
Think about a sword: powerful, precise, designed to cut through resistance. But if it’s double-edged, and most strengths are, then sometimes, it nicks you on the backswing.
That doesn’t mean throw the sword away, it means learn how to hold it properly.
Because most traits worth having come with risk.
The truth is messier than a single cause.
Every trait is entangled.
Wounds and gifts often share a root.
The self-reliance you’re proud of might come from the same childhood where you couldn’t rely on anyone else.
The confidence you carry may have started as a defence against ever feeling small or dismissed again.
Even your drive to succeed might be rooted in the fear of not being good enough.
But this perspective requires maturity.
It’s simpler to cast yourself as the victim of bad parenting than to reckon with a complicated inheritance.
It’s easier to say “they hurt me” than to admit “they shaped me in ways I’m still figuring out”.
The cultural narrative rewards blaming your parents more than it does understanding them.
Therapy turns them into villains.
Instagram makes them punchlines. But how often do you thank them in the same breath you critique them?
None of this excuses abuse, neglect or dysfunction.
But it does ask for honesty.
If you’re going to draw a straight line from your childhood to your flaws, you should trace that same lineage to your strengths.
If you can’t let your parents take credit for what’s right with you, maybe you shouldn’t be so quick to make them the villains for what’s wrong.