You Didn’t Inherit a Disorder… Just a Flaming Pile of Generational Dogshit

This blog basically wrote itself, thanks to a text from my buddy—one of those "need your therapist brain, not your friend brain" kind of messages. Which is code for: I already kind of knew the answer but needed to talk it out with someone who won’t bullshit me. I love this man. He's hilarious, thoughtful, and like most of us, carrying around a backpack full of family shit he didn’t sign up for.

And the theme? One most of us are familiar with:

How the fuck do I keep my kids from carrying the same shit I was forced to carry?

Let’s be real—our parents handed us some serious emotional baggage. And to be fair, they were handed a whole mess of their own. War, poverty, addiction, silence, religion, shame—you name it. But here's the difference: most of them aren’t doing a damn thing about it. They just kept moving, like if they didn’t talk about it, it wouldn’t count. So now here we are, trying to do something with the flaming pile of generational dogshit they left on our doorstep—while half of them still think therapy is for people who "can't handle life."

Here’s the punch in the gut: in doing that, we sometimes end up passing on the exact same shit... just wrapped in a different package.

Then he said something that just landed—simple, honest, and heavy:

"I feel like I don’t need to beg my own father to see me."

That line should never have to exist. And yet it does. For a lot of us.

And then he said:

"It’s probably what makes me good at what I do... not all that different from what he did."

Boom. There it is. What he thought were flaws in his personality? They were just skills. Skills learned in response to chaos. Charm, likability, reading a room, saying the right thing, avoiding depth—that’s what survival looked like for a kid growing up in a house where connection was unpredictable or nonexistent.

But here's the thing: survival skills don’t always translate to actual closeness. They help you sell, lead, coach, present... but they don’t teach you how to sit in silence with your kid when they’re sad. They don’t teach you how to say "That really hurt me" without needing a punchline. They don’t teach you how to be close to someone without performing like you’re on a goddamn stage.

And speaking of performing...

The other day I was sitting in my mom’s office doing our taxes—already a vibe—and I overheard her and a colleague proudly share their go-to strategy for when things at work get especially stressful, like someone's on the verge of a full-blown menty b (that’s Gen Z for mental breakdown). Their solution? They just look at each other and say, "get over it." Like that’s the reset button. And look, it wasn’t cruel—it was reflex. But the irony? I’m sitting there—a highly skilled and trained therapist who literally helps people process their shit for a living—watching my own mother dropkick the concept of mental health right in front of me, mid-tax prep. I gave her a look like, “Are you serious right now?” She didn’t flinch. It was like trying to fix a house fire with a spray bottle. That kind of thing might’ve worked back in the day, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t burning everything down.

It got me thinking about the crossroads my buddy is at now—the same one so many of us eventually hit. Do I say something to my dad? Do I protect my kids from feeling what I felt? Do I hand this shit back to the man who gave it to me?

Yes. You fucking do.

You speak your piece. You tell your story. Not because it'll change him. But because it unburdens you. And that weight? It was never yours to carry.

You want to break the cycle? Start there.

Start by recognizing the ways you overcorrect. Start by noticing when you’re trying to be everything your parents weren’t, instead of being something your kids actually need. Too much love, too much presence, too much protection—it can smother just as much as absence can starve. The goal isn’t perfection. It’s awareness.

Start by realizing that your ability to build rapport, raise money, coach kids, or lead people? That came from somewhere. And while it’s a hell of a skill, it was born out of something painful. Honor both. Use the skill. But address the pain.

And finally—give the trauma back to its rightful owner. Don’t let someone else’s emotional illiteracy define your identity.

You didn’t inherit a personality disorder. You inherited survival strategies.

Stop carrying what was never yours.

Shoutout to my friend/assistant coach for putting words to something most people spend a lifetime trying to untangle—and doing it with a perfectly timed Jerry Springer quote and a self-roast. Guy’s got range.

-Matt